Fire and Water

by Amanda Kayhart

  “That’s one long ass road you’re paving then.”

  Shawn swatted at her, and Michelle laughed.

  Diane laughed too. An odd couple they were, but their affection for each other was clear with their playful jabs and mirthful expressions. She felt absurd, overthinking and worrying the entire week. Over this? It wasn’t the first time she’d blown a situation out of proportion. Watching their relationship play out before her certainly helped and lightened her mood, and Diane relaxed, feeling more welcomed and at ease than when she first arrived.

  “Clearly, what my business partner is trying to say is,” Shawn glanced at Diane, his blue eyes bright with mischief, “if you want glass blowing demonstrations from a professional,” he said, “you know where to find me. And you’re welcome any time. Especially if you bring pie.”

  “Which I have.” Diane smiled, gesturing to the treat on the table.

  “You’re too good to us,” Shawn said, sliding the dish closer. He leaned in and took a big whiff. “This is literally what heaven smells like.”

  Diane laughed.

  “What kind?”

  “Cran-apple.”

  “It looks phenomenal, too. So hey,” Shawn said, nudging Diane with a smirk, “speaking of pie…”

  “Oh, God.” Michelle rubbed her temples. “Here we go.”

  “You hush,” Shawn growled. “Why did the pie go to the dentist?”

  Diane smiled, eyeing Michelle as she grimaced across the table. “Why?”

  “Because it needed a filling.” Shawn chuckled.

  “Seriously?” Michelle asked, shaking her head, her lips flattened with disappointment. “You’re so lame, dude.”

  “Diane likes my jokes, don’t you?”

  “They’re certainly amusing.”

  “The word you’re looking for, Diane,” Michelle responded dryly, “is pedestrian.”

  Clicking his tongue, Shawn shook his head and crossed his arms. “You just don’t appreciate the fine art of joke telling.”

  “Oh, is that it?” Michelle said, leaning on the table. “Actually, I do appreciate fine art. In glass form. So why don’t you hop to it and make me some more, to really win me over.”

  “I think you forget sometimes I own half this place too,” Shawn said, pushing his chair out with smirk.

  “I don’t forget,” Michelle slapped him playfully on the behind, “you’re just cute when I boss you around.”

  Shawn rolled his eyes. “Would you like to help me with this one, Diane? I could use a blower.”

  “Oh.” Diane looked at Michelle. “My friend is commissioning a piece and I’m here to give it some direction.”

  “Right,” Shawn nodded. “I remember. For the restaurant?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure you two can come up with something good,” he said. “Just don’t let this control freak stifle your creativity.”

  Diane smiled at Michelle as she scowled. “I won’t.”

  Shawn winked at her and headed off to work, leaving Diane and Michelle alone at the table.

  “You two are a delight,” Diane smiled.

  Michelle snickered. “I’m glad you find our immature squabbles so charming.”

  “I can tell how close you are,” Diane said. “It’s nice.”

  “So,” Michelle said curtly and circled the table. She plopped in the empty chair next to Diane, dropping her elbow on the table and leaned her cheek on her fist. “Here we are. You and me. You ready to work something out?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Good. Me too.”

  Diane felt her cheeks warm as Michelle settled next to her. Giving herself a moment to compose herself, Diane dug through her bag and took out a notebook and pen, and slipped on her reading glasses. There were several pairs in her nightstand at home, glasses were the only item she really indulged in, but these were her favorites. This pair—round, tortoise shell frames—Diane had since grad school. The style was a little dated, but Diane was fond of them still, and it gave her comfort sliding them on—something she felt she needed in this moment, sitting so close to Michelle.

  “I like those glasses,” Michelle said.

  “Oh.” Diane blushed. “Thank you.”

  Michelle’s eyes danced over her face. “They look good on you.”

  Scooping a lock of gray hair from her face and tucking the strand behind her ear, Diane regarded Michelle over the tops of the frames and flipped the notepad open. She cleared her throat.

  “Thank you, also, for doing this today,” Diane said. “It means a lot to my friends. And me.”

  “Sure thing,” Michelle said, keeping their eye contact. Her lips curled in a soft smile. “I enjoy a challenge, and it seems both your friends have rather high expectations.”

  Diane sighed. “That’s an understatement.”

  “We’ve got our work cut out for us, then.”

  “I suppose we do.”

  A spark of something fierce hit Diane as they held their gaze longer than necessary. Her heart pumped faster. Her skin prickled. It was only when their shoulders brushed gently, sitting so closely together, that Diane had the momentum to pull away. She stared at the blank page in front of her. There was something about the intimate proximity of Michelle, and the mixture of a warm familiarity and an alluring mystery fused together that unsettled Diane the most.

  And good Lord did Michelle smell good.

  So, unbelievably good.

  The September sun sneaked through the high windows above the studio, stirring the smell of smoke and fire, with the gentle hint of peppermint and rosemary soap on Michelle’s skin. The situation was terribly inviting. More than she could’ve ever prepared herself for. Diane didn’t realize how spellbound she was, until she involuntarily fell closer, breathing her in. Her eyes flashed open to Michelle’s muffled voice calling out through the enticing fog.

  “I’m sorry?” Diane said, blinking quickly with a shake of her head. She snatched up the pen and pressed it firmly on the paper. “Where were we?”

  “I asked,” Michelle said amusingly with a smirk, tilting her head closer, “where would you like to begin?”

  ***

  Elegant.

  Captivating.

  Bold.

  Diane read the three focus words jotted in large letters across the top of the page, and sat back in her chair with a satisfied grin.

  Over the last hour, Diane and Michelle brainstormed a statement piece for the restaurant. Using the country style of Maureen’s concept—a clean, all white palate with shiplap walls and rustic shuttered windows—as a focal point, ideas flowed effortlessly between them. Colors. Shapes. Textures and accents of all sorts made it to paper. With her glass blowing experience, and vivid style preferences, Michelle brought some risky choices to the table. Ones Diane didn’t expect were possible to create with glass, ideas more daring than Diane’s more conservative approach. But it worked. Their aesthetics, though wildly contrasting, after time, eventually came together and blended into a single, stunning creation, sure to be the focal point of every tabletop conversation at Kelly Ann’s new Southern Belle.

  Diane was impressed. Awestruck by Michelle’s artistic vision—not that she should’ve been surprised after watching her blow glass earlier. But Diane found herself leaning in, hanging on every word, clinging to every ounce of creativity coming from Michelle, and thoroughly enjoying their session together. Michelle possessed an extraordinary attention to detail. When she filled the blank pages with fantastic concepts and extravagant sketches, Diane knew this project was in good and very skilled hands.

  With Michelle and Shawn straightening up for the day, Diane caught herself unabashedly smiling as she collected her things too, sliding her glasses and notebook into her bag. She couldn’t get over how well they worked together—including several instances where Michelle not only made her laugh, but chuckle from down deep in her gut, more than anyone had in a long time. The whole experience was refreshing. Wonderfully surprising. Sl
iding her bag on her shoulder, Diane waited patiently at the door, observing the two friends as they worked, cleaning and caring for their studio at closing time.

  “Hey, Shawny,” Michelle said, sweeping up some broken glass and tossing it in a bin, “I’ve got a freshly-made pie on my hands, you want to come over and help me with it?”

  Shawn grimaced, sliding a few blow pipes into the holding barrel. “Can’t.”

  “What’s up? Hot date?”

  “Actually…” Shawn said. Diane smiled, noting the excited expression on his face. “Yes. His name is Travis and we met at the gym last week. I needed a spotter. He was impressed with my plate count, I blushed like a big, gay buffoon, and we exchanged numbers. We’re meeting for coffee tonight.”

  “That’s awesome. Good for you,” Michelle said enthusiastically. She hung the dust pan on the wall and walked over, resting a loving touch on his arm. “Tell me everything tomorrow.”

  “I totally will.” Shawn grabbed his sweatshirt off the back of the chair and threw it on. “I am sorry I can’t take you up on the pie offer.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Michelle said. “I’ll save you some.”

  “Thanks.” Shawn eyed Diane. “But…”

  Michelle narrowed her eyes. “But what?”

  “Maybe Diane could join you.”

  Michelle and Diane looked at each other as they responded simultaneously,

  “Oh. No—”

  “I don’t—”

  They both laughed nervously.

  “That’s quite all right,” Diane continued softly, “I’m sure Michelle has bigger plans on a Friday night than spending it eating pie with me.”

  Shawn howled with laughter, and Michelle scooped up her jean jacket off the hook on the wall, serving Shawn another hot scowl.

  Diane looked at Michelle. “Why is that funny?”

  “Michelle? Have plans on Friday night?” Shawn tucked his hands into the pouch of his sweatshirt, smirking. “I think the last time she went out for the evening, she posted it proudly on her away status on AIM.”

  “Yes, yes. I’m a hermit. It’s hilarious.” Michelle flipped on her jean jacket, collecting her keys from the pockets. She grabbed the pie and hit the lights in the studio. “Do you mind if we lock up now?”

  “She doesn’t date.” Shawn mumbled, flicking his eyes on Diane as they made their way out. “Or I should say, Michelle dates work. Exclusively. They’ve been going hot and heavy for…how many years now, Shell?”

  “I’ve lost count.” Michelle pushed him through the empty selling shop, Quinn having left already for the night. “But feel free to do the math on your way out the door,” she said.

  Diane followed closely behind. With the sun fading behind the trees, a veil of gray light shrouded the glass shop, leaving only a few display lights shining in the cases brightening their path. The colorful glass sparkled silently in the light.

  “I love you even if you are socially inept,” Shawn wrapped his arm around her waist and hugged her as she closed the door and locked up.

  “Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” Michelle said, turning and elbowing him in the ribs. “Have fun on your date, turd.”

  “I will.” Throwing his hood over his head, Shawn walked backwards towards his car and waved. “Have a good night, ladies.”

  “Goodnight, Shawn.” Diane waved.

  The engine rumbled, and when Shawn’s truck slipped down the road, everything fell quiet. The coolness sweeping in earlier was prominent now, the briskness drawing out the enchanting autumnal undertones, flavoring the air. Silently, Diane and Michelle crossed the parking lot, the gravel crunching under their steps. Diane eyed Michelle. She wondered why it’d been so long since Michelle dated. She was beautiful. Talented. Charming. And, as Diane found out that afternoon, unexpectedly funny. If she laid it on, there’d be no person who wouldn’t be attracted to those qualities—including herself. Diane pulled her eyes away with a hard swallow, pushing that thought far from her mind.

  “Thank you, again,” Diane said quietly, “for getting the ball rolling on this project. I think we’ve got a solid design.”

  Michelle looked at her. “Me too. I think your friends will be very happy with it,” she said. “I’ll draw up a proper blueprint and concept tomorrow morning and email Maureen the details. After I get the go ahead from her, I’ll get right on it.”

  “Should it take long to construct?” Diane shivered. The temperatures had fallen since she entered the shop, her light popover top not providing any warmth now. She wrapped her arms around herself.

  “No.” Michelle shook her head. “Especially if Shawn jumps on it with me. Which I am sure he will.”

  “That’s good.” Diane looked down at her feet as a brief silence came between them.

  “What’s your agenda for the rest of the night?” Michelle asked. They stopped walking, landing beside her Jeep parked outside the farmhouse.

  “Nothing extravagant,” Diane said, sighing. “Nuke some leftovers. Plop on the couch. Scroll mindlessly through Netflix until I zonk out.”

  Michelle laughed and leaned against the back of her vehicle.

  Diane laughed at herself, too. “Thrilling, I know.”

  Michelle stared at the ground, pushing a few rocks with her shoe. “Did you want some?”

  Diane’s brows lifted. “What?”

  “Pie?” Michelle looked up, her eyes lit with a hopeful light. She wiped a strand of hair out of her face. “I’m too tired to think about dinner, but I could dig right into this. I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d like to have some with me? If you want.”

  Their eyes connected.

  “After all, you put in the ingredients,” Michelle shrugged and glanced at the pie in her hands, “you might as well find out how they all taste together.”

  Diane smiled nervously. “Michelle, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Invite me over,” Diane said. “Shawn was just using me as an excuse to tease you, I believe.”

  “I know he was,” Michelle said. She chewed her lip and broke their eye contact, looking across the street.

  Diane followed her gaze. The small cape was empty, its windows gray and dark. The waves of Champlain churned black in the distance, under a sky of muted yellow. The house looked so cold and gloomy, and painfully lonely, standing solitary in the evening shadows.

  “I am seriously offering,” Michelle continued, “if you would like to come over. I’d enjoy your company.”

  Diane wet her lips and looked back. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Michelle smiled.

  “Okay then.” Diane nodded. “I’d love to join you.”

  “Good.” Michelle pushed off the Jeep and turned towards the house. “Come on.”

  Heading up the porch steps, Diane enjoyed the array of colorful mums and pumpkins, leading towards the house. The festive décor counterbalanced the home’s chipping paint and crooked steps, and the splattering of spider webs along the exterior. Michelle’s house needed some sprucing up, sure, but the home was an eighteenth century, classic New England farmhouse, its architecture agrestic and charming. Plus, it suited Michelle, Diane thought. She couldn’t imagine Michelle tolerating Diane’s old neighborhood in Gulfport. The big money. The big sports cars and even bigger yachts. Nor the tacky people who indulged in it all. Michelle wouldn’t last one second there—another reason, Diane decided, she was starting to like Michelle more and more as the day went on.

  Holding the screen door open for Diane, Michelle smiled and welcomed her inside. “Come on in,” Michelle said. “I can hang your bag for you, if you’d like.”

  Diane wiped her Chelsea boots politely on the area rug and looked around, while Michelle closed the front door and clicked on some lights. She took Diane’s bag off her hands, placing it gently on the corner coat rack.

  “It’s not a lakefront oasis like you have across the street,” Michelle said almost defensively. She tucked one hand in
to her pants pockets and balanced the pie in the other, watching Diane examine the space. “But I like it.”

  Diane’s eyes rose up the stairs curling towards the second floor. Though a little smaller, Michelle’s house was much like the one Diane grew up in, and she imagined its thick banister wrapped in sparkling white lights and evergreen branches at Christmastime, like how her mother would decorate. She turned to Michelle with a smile.

  “You should like it,” Diane said. She placed her hand on Michelle’s arm, resting her touch for a moment, savoring their brief connection. “Your home is very lovely.”

  “So, um, you can follow me into the kitchen, if you want,” Michelle spit out quickly. She spun around, nearly tripping over her own feet, and stumbled backwards across the braided rug, leading down the hallway. Michelle latched onto the pie before it fell and regained her balance, heading past the stairs. “Or take a spin around and be nosy,” she shouted over her shoulder, “whatever. Make yourself at home.”

  “Thank you,” Diane said politely as Michelle left her by the entrance, confused by her host’s sudden lack of self-control. Shaking it off, Diane peeked through the first threshold by the stairs into the family room and eased inside. The floorboards creaked under her step.

  The place was immaculate and cozy. But, as Diane walked around the room, and studied the plain, white walls, wood floors, and simple leather couch and reading chair, something was off. While the room wasn’t dusty or dirty in that sense, Diane was taken aback by the cleanliness of everything, simply because the space was nearly bare. Scarce. Art, nonexistent. No touch of style. No design. Zero pizzazz. Aside from a rather limpy house plant, hanging on for dear life on the window sill, there was no splash of color, no pop of personality. And most concerning, no evidence Michelle lived there at all.

  Anywhere.

  Running the fingers along the large mantle, Diane eyed the television hung above the fireplace, catching the pleasant aroma—fresh wood smoke and a splash of citrus—as she walked around. The house was welcoming in that manner, Michelle obviously took pride in her home’s appearance, but she couldn’t get over how much was missing.