She couldn’t get yesterday out of her mind.
What had compelled her to go to Salama’s? While it was true that it was the slow time of day at the cafe, that didn’t mean it was worth taking Salama’s purchase to her. Why don’t I admit I wanted to see her? Except Heaven had not anticipated seeing a part of Salama she had never noticed before. I wasn’t supposed to notice, now was I? In truth, she looked like any other young woman. Then she let me try on a headscarf, and she was touching me like… All right, that part was in her head. The part about touching her with the hesitation of someone she made nervous. The touch of someone who wanted to be her lover.
She really, really loved touching Heaven’s hair. That much had been evident!
Granted, lots of people liked playing with Heaven’s curls. She normally didn’t mind when she was in the right mood. Wasn’t like she could really feel it, as long as people didn’t yank and twist like some were wont to do. I definitely felt it yesterday. The tenderness. The careful approach. The awe-inspired respect that came with touching another person’s hair. Salama hadn’t thought anything of manipulating another woman’s hair. Yet Heaven had sat there, waiting for something else to happen.
It still drove her insane over twenty-four hours later.
What was going on with her? Before that week, she had never, ever thought of a woman the way she thought of Salama. Why would she pick now, of all times, to start questioning her feelings for women? Where was this back in high school, when gay girls were a dime a dozen, or at least common enough she could’ve openly dated one or two and nobody would have given a damn. Nobody except my parents. While the Mossbergs weren’t outwardly homophobic to their LGBT neighbors, Heaven wasn’t confident that they would openly accept a bisexual daughter. I had Rob, anyway. They had dated off and on through high school, and didn’t make it official until senior year. Still, Heaven always had boys on the brain when she was going through puberty. Then she married one a year after graduating.
She had also divorced him, but not because she suddenly realized her sole attraction to women. There had been too many other factors, like his alcoholism – and what it made him do.
Still, it had been a while since the divorce was finalized, and even longer since the breakup. In that time, Heaven had never seriously dated any other men. She had wanted to focus on herself, her business, and her future as a woman who could provide for herself and ensure her parents’ well-being in their old age. She had wanted to be single for a little while, since she never had the opportunity to know what it was like during the height of her youth. I make it sound like I’m middle aged. Heaven was an average thirty-year-old in health and appearance. Some people thought she was older because she was a no-nonsense businesswoman who didn’t take shit from people. Others thought she was younger, because she had yet to acquire sizable wrinkles. It didn’t matter what they thought, though. She should have been doing more to…
What? Have a love life?
I don’t know what to do. It wasn’t simply a matter of letting Salama down now. That came from Heaven’s confidence in her sexuality and knowing that it would never happen between them. Except she wasn’t confident. Not since she received a damn flippin’ rose from someone who made a living ranting about her life online!
Maybe this was a phase. Curiosity had been piqued. Yet if Heaven wasn’t careful, she might hurt someone else’s feelings.
“Focus.” She let out a heavy breath, palms on her table and brain redirecting to facts and figures. Heaven’s goal when she sat down was to prep for her meeting with Hesper Chess, the only real accountant in town. She made a killing in small business tax advice and prep, and Heaven was one of many who kept her business at this time of year. First, however, Heaven needed to sort out her current numbers and then get to 2018’s taxes.
She was about to jump back in when somebody knocked at the door.
The pound was too heavy to be a woman. At that time of night? Given what had happened recently? I know who it is. Heaven remained at her table, hoping Rob would go away.
“Hey, Heavy!” She nearly had a heart attack when the bastard appeared at the back door, hands shielding his eyes as he peered through the square-shaped window. “You so busy you didn’t hear me knockin’? Open up, girl!”
He talked like they were still dating. Or, God forbid, still married. He almost sounds like he’s been drinking. That’s how he used to sound leading up to the dark night of their marriage. The anxiety curdling within Heaven’s chest almost made her blackout. The therapist she briefly saw in the days after her split from Rob would say he had triggered her.
Yeah, he wasn’t winning any points with her right now, huh?
“What are you doing here?” She pushed back in her seat, but kept her distance from the locked door. I’m not opening it until I’m sure he’s not drunk. Maybe not even then. Heaven had to take care of herself, first. She was done taking care of him, too. “You scared the shit out of me, Rob.”
“Sorry, hon!” He stepped back from the door, probably anticipating her opening it for him. When she didn’t budge, Rob walked back up to the door. “Just wanted to have a chat! I’m leaving town tomorrow morning.”
She left the chain in its slot as she turned the handle and opened the door. The idiot was still grinning like it was his birthday. Yet she didn’t smell alcohol. Or tobacco, for that matter, which would mark another improvement since he got sober. Hell, was he wearing cologne?
“For God’s sake, Heav, can I come in? Cold as shit out here.”
Sighing, she unlatched the chain and swung the door open. Frosty air rolled into her kitchen. So did Rob, who wore a button-up and his favorite belt buckle. The man looked like he was dressed for a night out on the town. Or, at least, a night out in Paradise Valley, where the locals still wore hoodies and muddy boots to candlelit dinners.
Rob dusted himself off and took a look around the kitchen. As soon as his eyes landed on the table, he let out a low whistle and said, “See I caught you doing paperwork. Sorry about that. Should’ve called ahead, I guess.”
“Yes, perhaps.” Heaven crossed her arms.
“Aw, come on, what’s with the sad look? I only came by to have a quick chat before I leave town. Heading down to Roseburg tomorrow. Hey, remember when we went there to see that concert one weekend? I think for our third wedding anniversary.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. What a segue. There wasn’t a genuine bone in this man’s body. Maybe a genuine desire to make her think about the “good old days” while he was in the room. “Yeah, I remember.”
“We had some really good times, huh?”
Heaven said nothing.
“What’s gotten into you, girl? You got your monthly hormones or something?”
So suave! How did she ever let this one get away? “I’m in the middle of work, Rob. Got to figure out my financials and work on my taxes. They’re pretty shitty when you run your own business with overhead and whatnot.”
“I bet. But you always had that smart head on your shoulders.” He laughed so uproariously that Heaven leaped one step back. “You had the good sense to kick my ass to the curb, right?”
The blood drained from Heaven’s face. He did not… after what had… Even if he doesn’t intend to be a callous monster, he’s still got that deep inside of him. Sometimes it was the lack of intent that hurt the most. Like when he told her he didn’t mean to hit her. He didn’t know what came over him! That wasn’t the real him! “Come on, Heav, you know me! I ain’t no wife-beater!” Yet what had her mother told her when Heaven announced she was leaving her husband? “The drink makes people’s real selves come out. Sometimes that person has no control over how they hurt other people. If you’re gonna marry a drunk, marry a drunk who doesn’t know how to stop cracking dumb jokes or falls asleep on the floor. A violent drunk is asking for trouble, hon.”
“Yes, Rob, I kicked you to the curb, all right.” Heaven sighed. “You know why, right?”
“’Course I kn
ow why. I’m not the brightest man you know, but I’m not stupid.”
You sure about that? Heaven didn’t dare say that.
“I’m still sober. Put all that behind me.” Rob cleared his throat. “I know we ain’t got much hope of patching things together but… truth be told Heav, it’s not like you’re the only reason I sobered up. Sure, I hit rock bottom after you kicked me out, but it made me realize that I couldn’t keep on living like that. I gotta make money and maybe live long enough to see my grandchildren, right?”
“What children you got out there, Rob?” They sure didn’t have any together. A small miracle. Not many of their classmates could say they divorced in their twenties without any kids clinging to their skirts.
“None right now. I’m just saying.”
Heaven closed her eyes and attempted to reground herself once again. She sure was doing an awful lot of that on a Saturday night. What would my old shrink say about what’s happening here? Boundary crossing? “And I’m just saying that you can’t come up to my door when it’s dark out and scare the living Jesus out of me.”
“Said I was sorry…”
He was sorry for a lot of things. “I’m happy that you’re doing so well, Rob. I really am. God knows I’ll always care about you and how you’re doing. It’s … we’re not like that anymore. We gotta move on.”
“It’s not like I came by to ask you out, girl. You made that clear the first time.”
“If you wanted to say goodbye, you should have texted me first. Or come by the café.” Was there really no other time he could stop by all day? The fact he waited until this late, when Heaven was alone at home, said everything. “You’ve still got my email. Shoot me a message if you wanna chat. That should work for both of our schedules.”
Rob looked like he really had no idea what was going on. Seriously? It was that kind of thing that roped Heaven in back in the day. A simple man. A simple life. A simple kind of wholesome love they could have shared for years.
Yet it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe Heaven was meant to be single right now. In control of her life, her business, her destiny. Maybe the universe had something in store for her. Something that wasn’t Rob Pritchett, former star basketball player at Clark High School.
“I’m seeing someone else.”
That did it. That got Rob putting his hands on his hips and looking like his ex-wife had slapped him across the face.
It’s also what got him to finally leave, with only a promise to email her sometime soon.
Now, if only Heaven knew what she meant when she said, “I’m seeing someone.” Because she knew who she thought about, it opened up a whole new can of fish. Or was that a kettle of worms? The deeper she fell into a pit of overthinking her life, the more likely she was to mix up her idioms.
All she knew was that she didn’t have a chance in hell of finishing her bookkeeping that night. She’d barely finish that bottle of wine.
Chapter 11
SALAMA
“What is talent like this doing all the way out here?” Fatima stepped as close as one could dare to the painting hanging on the gallery wall. “She could easily sell her art in Portland. Make a lot more money, too. Do you see how much she’s undercharging herself? This would easily go for a few grand in a decent downtown gallery.”
Salama looked from the rolling peach-colored waves on the painting to the price tag off to the side. Kendra was only asking for $500. It probably barely covered the cost of materials, let alone the time it took her to paint something this big.
“But do you like it?” Salama asked her childhood friend.
“Who cares? It’s not about how much you like it. It’s about having a decent centerpiece for your next get together. Resale value isn’t a bad thing to consider, either.” She tucked her fingers beneath her chin and cocked her head. “Hmm. Since she’s seriously undercharging, maybe I should buy it and help her get a little notoriety in the city. You know, from the interest I garner when I resell it.”
Salama sighed. Good thing Kendra isn’t around right now. She had gone into the back room while Salama and Fatima browsed the small gallery. The only reason Salama suggested Kendra’s gallery was because Fatima was “soooo into art,” as she had expressed over the phone. While that wasn’t new, her supposed enthusiasm was. Salama couldn’t recall a time when Fatima ran around looking for art, let alone for investment purposes.
Yet it was something she had mentioned before coming to Paradise Valley for a day trip. She stepped out of her Bentley, looking like a million bucks in her black body-con dress and feathery hair. Louis Vuitton shoes? Check. Prada bag? Double check. Chanel sunglasses? Salama shuddered to think about how much they cost. Then again, Fatima got designer wear at a steep discount, thanks to her branding company’s direct link to the fashion industry. Her official title was “Brand Consultant – Pacific Northwest Tastes” and she took it quite seriously. That was how Fatima went from sharing an apartment with five other girls to having her own two-bedroom abode on the South Waterfront, one of Portland’s more expensive neighborhoods. Salama hadn’t thought anything about Fatima’s transformation from daughter of a traditional family to a modern fashionista, but when she stepped out of her luxury vehicle in a place like Paradise Valley… suddenly, Salama thought she fit in more!
“I’m parched.” Fatima fanned herself and lowered her expensive sunglasses. “Is there a good place to get a drink around here? Would love a mimosa, but I won’t hold out any hope in a place barely big enough for brunch.”
Salama rolled her eyes while Fatima was turned away. “There’s a nice café down the street. No alcohol, but enough caffeine to help you drive back later.”
“Ugh. I am so gonna need it. Let’s bail.”
Salama wondered how they must have looked walking down Main Street together. Anyone glancing in their direction could tell how close they were – or at least used to be – and even in their own neighborhood growing up many assumed they were sisters. It wasn’t only the similar facial shape that their mothers joked about, or how loudly they conversed when they thought nobody was eavesdropping. It was the evidence of shared experiences. The kind Salama couldn’t have with her real sister Rana, because of their mild age difference and how starkly different their early childhoods had been. Like Salama, Fatima was American-born. Unlike Salama, she had left behind the identity her family had given her and struck out on her own. She was a vocal opponent to the way her family raised her, even if Salama thought much of it was more growing pains than real gripes. She’ll calm down eventually, right? Salama hoped so. The crowning moment was when Rana had confronted Fatima about being a bad influence on Salama. I never heard them scream so loudly, let alone to each other! It was impossible for Salama to take sides when she didn’t really agree with either of them. Plus, she loved them. Rana was her sister, and Fatima was her adopted family. She respected them both and used them as sounding boards for different facets of her life. Yet it felt like they became so extreme that Salama couldn’t talk to them anymore. She wasn’t progressive enough for her best friend, and she wasn’t traditional enough for her sister. They also loved to make sure she knew this.
No wonder she had to get the hell out of Portland. Everyone was driving her crazy!
They wandered into Heaven’s. That Sunday afternoon was busier than usual. Must have been the first warm weekend of the year that brought everyone out of their houses and enjoying the sunshine. Salama was somewhat grateful for it, though. She was anxious to slip into a crowd, let alone with a friend. Heaven was probably working that day. The last thing Salama wanted was to face her in front of a friend who would use it as an opportunity to critique her identity.
“Why do you do this to yourself if you’re gay?” Fatima had said that when Salama was last crying over a girl who had broken her heart. Really rich, since she was the first person Salama ever came out to. Yet she discovered that Fatima’s acceptance had come at a price.
Luckily, Heaven wasn’t in the front of the caf
é at the moment. The young high schooler who helped out on the weekends was taking on every order coming through the doors. Fatima called him charming after she came back from ordering a latte and a scone. When she realized Salama had bought her usual decaf tea, she scoffed and said, “Then again, maybe it’s for the best you stay away from caffeine. That shit is addictive, and I was never restricted from it.”
“Neither was I,” Salama reminded her. “Amin also thinks it’s weird that I never drank caffeine. Then again, he’s in software development, so he has an IV drip in his arm, I guess.”
Fatima laughed. “I’ve dated a few of those guys, and you’re not wrong. I always dump them because they don’t have enough time for me. Me. The woman who pulls overtime four times a week! They’re trying to tell me that they work too much to date me. Whatever.”
“I don’t miss the city life,” Salama said. “Everyone is in such a rush, and you always have to be so alert walking down the street.”
“You’re saying you don’t have to be here?”
Salama looked up with a start. “What do you mean?”
“A hijabi has to seriously stick out in this small town. Way more than in Portland.”
“I actually feel safer here than there. Women look out for each other here.”
Fatima raised one of her styled eyebrows. “Is that so?”
Salama didn’t expect her to understand. Fatima had a cold turkey approach to dropping old habits, even if they had been ingrained since birth.
“So,” Fatima said, and Salama foolishly assumed she was changing the subject while they sipped their drinks, “I see you’re writing a series about coming out of your shell.”
“My sister emailed me to give me shit about it. And to tell me I should wear a demurer hijab for my author photo.”
“I don’t even remember what you were wearing.”
“Bright orange.”
That dramatic eye roll made Salama want to change the subject. Again.
February Kisses Page 7
