by K A Moll
“I said we’ll see,” Coby repeated with gentle but direct eye contact. She tugged open the knife drawer, staring for a moment. “Does your mama have any cookbooks around here that I could look at?” she asked.
Coy rolled her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, “but I doubt any with low-fat recipes.”
“Recipes don’t matter,” Coby responded. “I just look for ideas anyway.”
“You created all those entrees at McMurdo from scratch?” Coy asked with her mouth falling slack. “And this morning’s breakfast?”
“Yeah, some,” Coby said. “Nothing to it really.”
“Wow,” Coy responded with a shake of her head. “I’m impressed!”
“I wouldn’t have known where to begin,” Coby answered, “if Diego hadn’t shown me the basics.”
“Maybe,” Coy said, “but I’m not so sure about that.”
“What do you mean?” Coby asked.
Coy palmed Coby’s cheek, meeting her gaze. “I think what he did for you, honey,” she responded, “was to help you discover a talent that you didn’t know you had.”
“Maybe, I don’t know,” Coby said.
***
Coy’s room, theirs now, had a two-cushion sofa with round matching pillows tossed to one side. End tables, lamps, and a small flat screen TV finished off the sitting area nicely. With the exception of the fact that it had no kitchen, the suite reminded Coby of a deluxe version of her old apartment. As she sat down, she thought about her belongings and Midnight.
Coy stepped out of the bathroom wearing silky, royal blue pajama bottoms. Her hair was wrapped in a towel. Her nipples were erect, leaving wet spots on the fabric of her faded University of Alabama t-shirt. She smiled knowingly to Coby as she sat down. “You’ve been staring at ‘em since the beginning,” she said with a satisfied smile, “I believe since that first night.”
“Yeah, I have,” Coby admitted, feeling her cheeks flush. “They’re beautiful,” she added “it was hard not to.”
Coy shook her head slowly. “I wish I’d known what the problem was sooner,” she said quietly. “We’d have just dealt with it.”
“I don’t know if I could have,” Coby responded. “I don’t think you’d have gotten me cornered.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Coy answered. “Regardless, I’m just glad we got it dealt with now.”
“I hope so,” Coby responded with a sigh.
“We do,” Coy said confidently. She padded over to talk to her bird, give her a slice of apple, and retrieve the book she was reading from her nightstand
“Kathy Bird loves apples,” the parrot squawked softly.
“I know she does,” Coy cooed with a gentle finger rub between her eyes.
“Your boobs weren’t all I was staring at,” Coby called out.
Coy looked over with the raise of an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” she asked with a wink, turning to display a larger-than-life wiggle, and adding, “I’ll bet this was your other interest, huh.”
“Uh-huh,” Coby responded, spreading her legs and scooting downward on the cushion to relieve pressure. “Do it again,” she requested with a wink and a smile.
Coy did, a couple more times in fact, before returning to sit beside her. She slipped on her reading glasses, narrow and rectangular, and cracked open her book. It had a drawing of female genitalia on the cover. She marked her page before closing it. “Okay,” she said, removing her glasses, “you’re just sitting there watching me read, so we may as well have the conversation that you’ve been avoiding.”
“Busted,” Coby said with a sigh.
Coy laid her book on the table, patting her thigh. “Lay your head on my lap,” she invited. “Just like last night,” she went on, “this’ll turn out alright.”
Coby settled where she wanted her, looking up.
“I thought you might enjoy the view while we talked,” Coy commented with the raise of both eyebrows.
“It’s gonna be real hard to lay here and not touch,” Coby responded, wondering what had gotten into her.
Coy’s eyes widened with her smile. “Touch if you want, baby” she answered, “anytime you want to.” She gently fingered Coby’s earlobe. “Okay, so this feels weird,” she began, “to talk with you like I’d talk with a patient.” She took a soft breath and exhaled, knowing that she had no choice.
“It’s okay,” Coby responded. “I mean that’s kind of what I was last night.”
“No, Coby Lee,” Coy countered, “it was not.” She shook her head with another breath. “Last night, you were a woman putting your scared girlfriend out of her misery.”
Coby nodded, swallowing.
“So, anyway,” Coy continued, “your condition is called clitoromegaly or sometimes macroclitoris.”
Coby didn’t breathe for a moment.
“It’s usually congenital,” Coy continued, “meaning that it was present at birth, but sometimes it’s acquired.”
Coby wrinkled her brow, trying to follow. “Who in the world would want to acquire it?” she asked with her mouth hanging open.
“It happens, honey,” Coy responded kindly, “sometimes unintentionally through the use of steroids, including testosterone.” She paused for a moment of direct eye contact.
“No, never,” Coby responded with a shaking head and widening eyes.
“Okay,” Coy said with a nod. “So your condition is most likely congenital, and on most measures, your level of masculinization would be considered to be quite minimal.”
Coby cocked her head, wrinkling her brow.
“What I mean,” Coy continued, “is that you don’t have anything to worry about.” She met her eye. “And as cases go,” she said, “you’re not that large.”
“I don’t know what to say to that,” Coby responded.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Coy answered, “because as far as I’m concerned, this subject is closed.” She cupped Coby’s cheek in her palm. “You’re handsome, sweet baby.”
“Until you get down to the nitty-gritty,” Coby responded, “then not so much.”
“Please stop,” Coy whispered, “because I can’t stand to hear you talk that way about yourself.” She leaned down for a kiss. “Your high school girlfriend was immature at best, and it kills me that you’ve been seeing yourself through her eyes for all these years. You’re handsome, sweet baby, and I want you, very, very much.”
Coby shook her head. “It’s like I’m in somebody else’s life or a dream or something,” Coby responded with a hard swallow. “I don’t have a beautiful girlfriend who wants me. I don’t have people, not parents or friends, at least not around. And I don’t live in a nice house, not like this one.” She choked back tears, unsuccessfully. “Not me,” she continued, “not Coby O’Brien.”
“You do now, sweet baby,” Coy murmured. “You do now.” She leaned in for a kiss before she suggested that it was time to fix supper.
“Stay put, I’ll get us something,” Coby responded. “Just give me thirty minutes or so.” She smiled. “I didn’t get you anything for Christmas, so the least I can do is fix you something you like.”
“Oh, you got me something alright,” Coy countered softly. “You got me more than I ever dreamed possible.”
Coby tilted her head, unsure what she was talking about.
Coy stroked her cheek with her fingertips. “You, darlin,’” she added with a sweet smile. “You quit your job and spent all you had to get to me.” Her eyes glistened as if covered with early morning dew. “I’d say you got me quite a lot.”
Coby touched a lock of Coy’s hair, dropping to one knee beside her. “I thought I was gonna die when you left me,” she choked. “I just did what I had to do, trying to survive.” She gently lifted Coy’s glasses from her face, nibbling her lips, and kissing her lightly.
“Hold me,” Coy murmured. “I need you to hold me for a couple of minutes before you go.”
***
Coby opene
d the door of the refrigerator, scanning her options. She set containers of scallops and pineapple onto the counter, dug out a fresh jalapeno from the vegetable drawer, and diced a baked sweet potato. She was tossing the scallops in a bit of sea salt and cayenne pepper when Coy came up behind her.
“I finished my book,” Coy announced as she slipped her arms around her from behind, peering over her shoulder. “Mmm,” that’s gonna be good,” she commented. “Anything I can do to help?”
“You can sit at the breakfast bar and look something up for me on your laptop,” Coby responded. She gently turned the scallops for even browning, adding pineapple chunks, diced sweet potato, and julienned jalapeno.
“Okay,” Coy answered. Her eyes narrowed, and she had a slight questioning lift to her voice. “So, what am I looking up?” she asked.
“The AA Hotline,” Coby responded with a shallow breath. “I need a list of meetings, close enough that I can walk to, or maybe if it’s okay, ride your dad’s bike.” She met her eye. “I’d look it up myself,” she added sheepishly, “but I don’t read so well.” One by one, she was releasing her secrets into the light.
“Well, you know what,” Coy responded, “I don’t cook so well.” She winked. “I’ll get my laptop.” As it was booting up, she added, “And you don’t need to walk or bike.”
“I know you’d give me a ride,” Coby answered, “but I have to be able to get there on my own in case you’re gone.” She transferred her scallop concoction to a plate, drizzled on a bit of vinaigrette, and garnished it with orange slices.
“I’ll print what you need after supper,” Coy said as she set aside her device. “We can go through it together.”
“Where have you been all my life?” Coby asked as she set the colorful, and hopefully tasty, entrée in front of her.
“You know,” Coy answered softly, “I’ve been pondering the very same question since you showed up at the hospital.”
“So what’d you come up with?” Coby asked with a thin smile.
Coy took a pensive breath, releasing it slowly. “I think we had to be ready for one another,” she said tenderly, “and I think we were destined to fall in love right where we were—on a sheet of blue ice, isolated and alone in the most terrifyingly beautiful place in the world.
***
“So, what’d you mean earlier when you said ‘been there, done that, it didn’t work out’?” Coby asked as she forked her last scallop and sweet potato bite. “Were you saying that you used to be a doctor?” She cocked her head, furrowing her brow. “Because I thought that once you were, you always were,” she added.
Coy swallowed a long sip of coffee, looking off.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Coby said. “I get not being able to share something until you’re ready to share it.”
“But I do want to,” Coy responded, “I just can’t right now.”
“Whenever, or not at all,” Coby said with a kiss on her forehead, “either way’s fine.” She stood, collected their plates, and loaded the dishwasher.
“Where have you been all my life, Coby Lee O’Brien?” Coy whispered, holding Coby’s eye.
“It doesn’t matter,” Coby responded with a smile and another kiss, “because I’m here now.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Coby walked over to the mahogany upright piano, leaning in to study the large collection of family photos arranged on its top. “You were a happy kid,” she commented, pointing to the smallest candid shot. “I love your smile in this one.”
“I was,” Coy agreed. Her voice was far away and nostalgic. She stepped in to snuggle under Coby’s arm. “I was five, maybe six, in that one,” she added. “Daddy took it at our county fair, just outside the funhouse.” She shook her head, smiling at the memory. “My brother and I used to love taking turns in that old barrel. One of us would get inside while the other one pushed. Mostly, Greg pushed.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Coby chuckled. “He was what, four, maybe five years older than you were?”
“Just four,” Coy responded, adding, “I think that was the year daddy made us our own barrel out of this big ol’ cylinder that he brought home from work.”
“I don’t have any memories of my dad,” Coby admitted softly, “not really.” She scrubbed her hand over her face, pausing to think about her family. She hadn’t seen her brother since the night she got them placed in foster care. “My dad was gone by the time I was two,” she went on, “and then my stepdad came into the picture.” She curled her upper lip. “And he wouldn’t have made us something special if his life had depended on it.” She met her gaze and added, “We came up in different worlds, you and I, didn’t we?”
“I think that’s why we get along so well,” Coy responded. “We each bring different things to the table.”
“I don’t bring anything to the table,” Coby mumbled with a slow shake of her head, “you bring it all.” She shook it again before locking onto Coy’s gaze. “And for the life of me,” she continued, “I can’t figure out why you do.” She pressed her lips together, looking away.
“You bring everything, all of you,” Coy countered as she palmed her cheek. “And you make me feel alive, more than I have in years.”
“I’m glad,” Coby responded, “because that’s the way you make me feel too. When Coy’s lips parted, she fingered through the back of her hair and kissed her. It was the kind of kiss that started soft, lingering and deepening. As their bodies pressed into one another, all she could think about was the feel of Coy’s breasts against her abdomen. Her fingers ached to touch her, and before she knew it, her hand was on its way down to palm, and gently squeeze the cheeks of her ass.
Coy moaned, palming upward to reciprocate.
Coby’s pelvis thrust forward as nerve endings, ignored for years, ignited.
“Mmmm,” Coy murmured, pressing closer.
Both startled at the sound of the turn of the front doorknob.
“Shit,” Coby barked.
“Shit is right,” Coy panted.
“Merry Christmas,” the group boomed as they entered.
“Merry Christmas,” Coby and Coy responded, forcing pep into their greeting.
As the guests trailed upstairs, Coby’s attention returned to the last few photos on the piano. “And what about this one?” she asked.
“Oh that was us in one of our many church portraits,” Coy responded with another breath, “of course that’s mama and daddy, my brother, and my granddad.” She swallowed hard. “That had to have been taken just before he died,” she added with a light brush of the photo with her little finger. “He and daddy look a lot alike, don’t they?”
“Yeah, they do,” Coby responded softly as she reached for her wallet. “I don’t have family pictures, except this one of my grandpa and me,” she added as she held it out.
“Awww…you were so cute,” Coy cooed. She lifted the photo for a closer examination. “He was tall like you are,” she commented, “and look, you both have that beautiful red hair.”
“Yeah,” Coby said, “and green eyes too.” She took a breath, wanting to share more, but didn’t.” Instead, she tucked the photo away and asked about the next one on the piano. “You’re smiling, but you look like you want to cry,” she commented.
“I did,” Coy responded. “That’s the day my brother enlisted in the Army.” She shook her head and pressed her lips together. “I was just sure he was gonna die.”
“But he didn’t,” Coby said.
“No, thank God,” Coy responded.
“Okay, last one,” Coby announced. “I’m about ready for some eggnog.” She pointed to a three by five.
“That was at my seventh birthday party,” Coy said, “and the year mama and daddy got me my first stethoscope.” She shook her head and smiled. “Of course, it was only a toy.”
“It looks good on you,” Coby responded with a wink. “Did you know then that you wanted to be a
doctor?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Coy choked, her eyes misting over, “I did.” She swallowed, turning toward the kitchen. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get you your eggnog.”
***
“Night everybody,” Coy called down as she made her way to the top. “Don’t forget to unplug the lights before you come up.”
“Night…Merry Christmas…We won’t,” rang out from various points.
Coby stepped in behind her, dropping onto the sofa, and scooping up the remote.
Coy did what she always did when they came up; she made a beeline across the room to see the bird. “Mama left you by yourself for a long time today, didn’t she,” she cooed to her. “Shame on mama.”
“Shame on mama,” the African Grey echoed softly. “Love you.”
“I know you do,” Coy responded with a rub to the top of her head and an invitation to climb on, “and I love you too.”
“Hey Coy,” Coby interjected, “you know the number for the sports channel? I can’t seem to find it.”
“Dumb fucking bitch,” the parrot piped out with a loud squawk. “Never gonna amount to squat.”
Coby cocked her head, frowning. She’d never heard Coy use that language and wondered why she kept the foul-mouthed bird around.
“Sorry,” Coy offered. She swallowed hard and then promptly returned her attention to the feathered nuisance that sat preening on her shoulder. “It’s bedtime, Bird,” she said firmly. “That’s not how we talk. At least not anymore,” she added, almost inaudibly. She returned the parrot to her perch and dropped her cover over her. “It’s channel forty-four,” she responded as she made her way over.
Coby couldn’t help but shake her head as she arrowed up. “I never would’ve pegged you as a bird person,” she commented.
“I’m not,” Coy responded, her voice fading off, “with the exception of that one.” She took a breath and released it slowly. “She was Fergie’s,” she added. “We have that in common.”
Coby clenched her jaw as a huge boulder landed in the pit of her stomach. When Coy’s cell rang on the nightstand, she got up to get it for her. “It’s your mom,” she announced on her way back to the sofa. It was almost eleven, too late for her to call unless there was a problem.
