Lane comes, shuddering against Willa’s mouth and making a racket as she chants oh, oh god, oh and clambers along the walls for something to hold on to. Willa coaxes her through the aftershocks until Lane goes limp and slides off the edge of the holder. Willa stands, rubs at her knees and smiles at her handiwork: Lane slumped against the wall, dress reduced to bunched fabric around her waist, eyes closed, and mouth turned up in bliss.
“God,” she says. “That was—” Her eyes are bright and wild, like a kid on Christmas morning. Willa can guess what she’s feeling; she remembers the first time she felt the same way, realizing that sex could be like that.
“Can I?” Lane says, tugging her clothes back in place. “To you?”
“If you’re su—” Is all Willa gets out before Lane is pinning her against the wall.
* * *
Willa tries her best to sit with Lane’s parents and act as if nothing at all transpired in the bathroom.
“I was feeling sick,” Lane tells them, as if that might explain why her cheeks are red and her lipstick is long gone, why her dress is wrinkled and she’s absolutely parched, slugging down a glass of water while her mom looks on with a peeved expression.
Willa’s hair is in a state. The updo that Hunter so expertly crafted is now completely undone. Willa hasn’t a clue how to fix it, and after Lane tried to help by making an attempt at a ponytail that looked more like a frizzy feather duster, Willa decided it was best to leave it loose to do what it may, which is be a disaster, mostly.
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Chip says.
Lane replies, “Oh, I am,” in a way that makes Willa choke on her mineral water.
They finish dinner, decline dessert, and wait for the check in relative silence. Next to her, Lane is significantly more relaxed, and Willa is still in shock that they did that. Here. Just now.
“This is such a nice club, isn’t it?” Marie says. Despite the pleasantness of what she said, she’s looking at Lane as if she angry. “It’s not too late, Laney.”
Lane’s body language shifts back to stiff and uncomfortable. “I don’t want to join the club. I already told you.” With some effort, she cracks a smile.
Marie’s answering smile is chilling. “You know,” she says the same fake-pleasant way, “I would think that after all we’ve done for you: Welcoming you home with open arms in spite of the way your sailing career ended, giving you a job at the family firm even after you swore for years that you would never demean yourself by working there—”
“I never said—”
Marie goes on as if Lane didn’t speak. “And all I ask in return is that you humble yourself just a little to return the family name to good standing amongst our friends and associates. There is a regatta coming up, and the club could use someone with a little clout. Minus that whole ugly incident at your last race, mind you. I’m sure most people have more or less forgotten about that. But still, you could redeem yourself! Don’t you want to erase that awful experience?” She looks down, pressing a hand to her heart. “Don’t we just want the best for you?”
“I don’t think you do,” Lane snaps. “Let’s just be honest with each other. For once.” Lane’s chin lifts in challenge, and the tension is as palpable as the stench of that woman’s horrible perfume that still clings to Willa’s clothes.
Willa doesn’t know where to look; she holds her breath as she waits for someone to speak and glances at Lane and then Marie and at Chip, who is scowling and muttering at the check, seemingly oblivious. Or, perhaps more likely, he’s purposefully oblivious. Lane takes a breath, as if to stand up for herself, finally say what she’s been trying to say, then lets the breath out and hunches in her seat. Under the table, Willa slips her hand into Lane’s and holds tight.
“Did sales tax go up?” Chip says. “I think they’re trying to hit us with some extra fees.”
“I’m gay,” Lane blurts. “I like girls, women, I—” Chip and Marie stare at her. Willa holds her hand tighter. “I don’t care what anyone here thinks of me. I don’t care what you think of me. All my life I have been afraid to be myself because you convinced me that the only thing that matters is what other people think of me, but screw that. I’m gay and Willa’s gay and we don’t give a fuck!”
The people at the table next to them gape, wide-eyed, then turn away, moving food around their plates but not eating, trying to appear as if they aren’t listening to—and judging—every word Lane says.
“I’m bi actually,” Willa cuts in. “Or pan maybe? Bodhi likes ‘fluid’ but personally I need something a little more solid in terms of identity? It’s really like, a gray area, for me anyway—” Lane’s parents stare at her blankly. “And that’s probably a conversation for another time. Lane? Are we running late for the ferry? Don’t want to miss the last one.” She widens her eyes at Lane, desperate to leave as soon as possible.
Lane gets it. “Yes, right.” She stands. “Also, I sold my boat. And, I don’t want your job, or your support, or— or your yacht club dinners, not if any of it comes with conditions. Not if it means I’m still afraid to live my life how I want.” Willa stands, too, and tugs at her hand. They start to walk away, but Lane pauses and turns, adding in a softer voice. “I’m sorry if this hurts you, but I hope that someday you can understand.”
Ch. 34
Willa feels the weight of dozens of eyes as they leave the restaurant. Lane’s head is held high, and her shoulders are squared as she forges confidently ahead, and Willa wonders how close she is to breaking, how tightly she must be holding herself together before she can safely fall apart. Will she let Willa be there? Or will she close off, shut down, and pull away again.
Her own coming out had been unceremonious; after some off the cuff remark from her mom about Willa having a boyfriend someday, Willa had added, “or a girlfriend.” And her mom blinked, corrected course, and said, “or a girlfriend, yes.” Willa was twelve, and that was that.
It’s not until they’re at the ferry port, waiting at the empty dock next to idling cars with their interior lights turned on, that Willa asks, “Are you okay?”
Lane turns, presses her hands to her mouth, and beams. “That. Was. Amazing.”
Across the sound, a ferry lumbers toward them. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” Lane stretches her arms out wide and throws her head back to smile up at the star-speckled sky. “Like a huge weight has been lifted; you have no idea.”
She does though. Not that particular weight, but hasn’t she been dragged down by the heaviness of her own secrets? She’s been tethered to the bottom of the sea and drowning from the weight of her insecurities, her fears.
“Now what?” Willa asks. The ferry is a few feet from the dock; the final journey is always done in increments. It has always seemed so impossible to Willa, how something that huge can slot into place so gently: this giant thing churning in the water only to nudge itself right into place at the lip of the dock.
“Come over?” Lane says. She’s the most ebullient Willa has ever seen her. Free.
There are boxes stacked against a wall in Lane’s living room and just a few stacked up, orderly and neat, near the TV. Willa wants to ask, but she doesn’t get a chance because Lane switches on a dim lamp and stands in front of Willa with her back turned. “Unzip me?”
The zipper is one of those unobtrusive types meant to blend in with the dress; it’s small and inefficient in Willa’s fingers, slipping and getting stuck as she drags it down Lane’s back. Her knuckles brush the smooth, muscled skin of Lane’s back, and, when the zipper makes it down to the sinuous curve at the base of her spine, Willa lingers, stroking across a spot that she’s thought about so many times. “You’re gorgeous,” she whispers, no longer bothering to keep that thought to herself.
Lane catches the dress against her chest just before it falls. “Thank you. I’ve never really—” She shakes her head, stoppin
g herself from dismissing the compliment. “Thank you.”
Willa understands now, after meeting her parents, why Lane of all people would feel as if she isn’t enough or worthy or beautiful. And here they are, the two of them, finally standing on solid ground after spending so long near-drowning in self-doubt, and Willa can feel it, as Lane turns and presses a soft kiss to Willa’s lips, that something huge and scary is slotting itself delicately in place just right, as if it was always meant to land just there.
I’m falling in love with you. She doesn’t say it. Not yet.
Lane is gentle this time, the earlier thrill and desperation giving way to slow drags of her lips between Willa’s with her hands cupped almost reverently around Willa’s face. Lane breathes out slow sighs; her body bends into Willa’s like the tide coming in. Lane’s dress falls, and she steps out of her shoes, then asks, “can we?” and looks toward the hallway leading to her bedroom.
Lane undresses Willa and takes her to bed, shyer than she was back at the yacht club, yet not as awkward as she was the first time they tried this, when she was so sure she’d be terrible at it and was convinced that Willa didn’t care about her at all. It’s much too soon for Willa to tell her that nothing could be further from the truth, but Willa tries to show her.
They wind together, side by side and naked, kissing with so much want that Willa’s jaw soon begins to ache and her skin buzzes with heat. Lane moves back, and Willa curls over her, sliding her legs between Lane’s spread thighs. Willa ducks to curl her tongue around Lane’s nipple; Lane whines and begins to rock her hips, and Willa moves back up to kiss her while her hips grind down against her. Lane’s kisses grow erratic and distracted; just her lips rest against Willa’s mouth as she gasps and ruts. She begins to tremble, back arching, vocalizations loud and uninhibited.
Willa comes, shuddering, body humming and content until she realizes that Lane is shaking and shaking and not quite getting there. Willa nudges her onto her back, pushes her knees wide, and presses deep inside her with three fingers, working them in and out, then four, fucking Lane with them. Lane’s skin shimmers with sweat, and her back is strung as tight as a bow, just on the cusp of release. Willa presses in, twisting her hand and searching with her fingertips until she feels the raised spot that makes Lane’s hips twist up off the bed, then she curls her fingers back toward herself and rubs her thumb against Lane’s clit. Lane comes and comes, grabs Willa’s wrist when she starts to pull her hand away, and comes again.
“Jesus,” she says, several minutes later, with her arms curled up behind her head, body loose, and smile wide. “I think I could go for a cigarette and I haven’t touched one in almost twenty years.”
Willa laughs, but feels a little strange about the statement. She doesn’t often notice the age difference between them, it doesn’t matter to her at all, but Lane lived a lot of her life before Willa came along. Does that make her a blip on Lane’s radar? An affair she’ll soon look back on fondly? Willa pushes the thought away.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she says lightly.
Lane’s grin stretches wider. “You should.”
Willa isn’t sure what level of cuddling is appropriate, but she snuggles close enough to rest her cheek on Lane’s shoulder. “Did you really sell your boat?”
“Mmhmm,” Lane says, eyes drifting closed. “I feel like… A new person.”
Willa frowns. Maybe she doesn’t want Lane to be a new person. Maybe she likes the person that Lane already is. “So what happens now?”
“We’ll see.” Lane tucks her face into Willa’s neck, presses her lips in a lazy, open kiss there. “We’ll see.”
Ch. 35
Willa is ripped from a deep sleep by a sudden blast of light. She groans and yanks the covers over her head, hoping to escape the painfully bright light. She has a flashback of recovering from her concussion, when sunlight felt as if it was cracking her skull into pieces. She peeks out to chance a look, letting the brightness in by increments, checking the clock on Lane’s nightstand. She groans again.
“Rise and shine!” Lane chirps, pulling back the covers and waving a cup of coffee in front of Willa’s nose. “We should do something today; are you working?”
Willa cracks one eye open. “Yeah.”
“Well, call in. I feel like being irresponsible.” Lane bounces onto the bed with way too much excited energy for this early in the morning. Or ever. “Oh! I know, let’s go clubbing! I’ve never done that.”
Willa opens her other eye and pushes up off the pillow. “It’s seven in the morning.”
“Oh. True.” Lane sips the coffee that she brought for Willa, and given the way she’s nearly vibrating it’s likely not the first cup she’s had this morning. “Hmm, okay.” She bounces again, thinking. A few drops of coffee dribble down the side of the mug. “Oh! I know, do you have drugs?”
Willa sits up. “What?”
Lane slurps more coffee. Willa takes it from her. “No, never mind,” Lane says. “I have a better idea. Get dressed, come on!” She throws last night’s clothes onto the bed. Willa sighs and texts Bodhi to see if she can go in early today and cover her shift.
Lane’s “better idea” turns out to be having Willa teach her how to skateboard, only she rejects Willa’s offer of a helmet and her advice to stay near the grass, then insists on starting on the top of a hill by herself.
“This is not a great idea,” Willa says, shielding her eyes from the sun as Lane stands with one foot on the board. There’s a strange flip of their dynamic now, Willa the sensible and serious one, and Lane recklessly forging ahead without regard to consequence.
“How do I jump with it? Like off those stairs?” Lane calls.
“You don’t.”
Lane waves off the response and puts her other foot on the board.
“Told you,” Willa says later, cleaning Lane’s knees and elbows with antiseptic pads while she sits perched on the closed toilet in her bathroom. “No jumping.”
“Oh, you’re no fun,” she hisses as Willa swipes at the scrape on her hand. “Okay, so what’s next?”
“What if we… stay in and watch a movie?” Willa smiles hopefully. If Lane keeps going at this rate, she’ll end up with a concussion to match Willa’s.
“Ugh, no.”
Willa frowns. She isn’t sure what’s gotten into Lane, whether she’s freaking out about what went down last night and is keeping herself busy to avoid thinking about it or is overcompensating to make herself think that everything is fine or—
“Come on, Willa. For the first time in my life I feel like I can do anything I want. I’ve missed so much. Please?” Lane’s eyes are wide and beseeching, and she pulls Willa into a deep kiss that leaves them both breathless. It’s not as though Willa can say no after that.
“Let me stop by home and change first.”
* * *
“Well, well, well look who finally made it home.” Bodhi spins around on a bar stool like an evil mastermind welcoming their minion. “And where have you been, young lady?”
“Hilarious.” Willa slams the door shut behind her. “A real laugh riot.”
“Wait.” Bodhi’s teasing smile slips away. “Did you not have fun?”
“Yes, I— I dunno.” She slides onto the stool next to Bodhi and steals a piece of toast from her breakfast; god, she is ravenous. “I guess I was hoping we could talk about stuff, like figure out where I stand, what our relationship is, but we mostly just had sex.”
Bodhi lifts an eyebrow. “And this is problem because…”
Willa sighs and steals a bite of scrambled eggs. Bodhi must have gone grocery shopping. “I’m not like you, Bo. I’m not good at the casual thing. And Lane has spent her whole life being all serious and committed and responsible so now she’s going all out in the opposite direction.”
Bodhi nods sagely. “Mid-life crisis.”
&n
bsp; “She’s thirty-six, Bo.”
“Exactly.”
Willa rolls her eyes. “Anyway, she wants to ‘do something crazy,’ whatever that means,” Willa does air quotes and hops off the stool. “So I’m gonna change and stuff.” Hopefully it’s not something that involves more bleeding, or clubbing, or drugs, for Pete’s sake.
“I might have an idea.”
Willa pauses at the door to her room. “If you say threesome I swear to—”
“No.” Bodhi tips her head. “Well— No. Something else. Bring your helmet.”
Summer weather hits Porter Island hard. That’s great for beach goers, not so great for standing on the highest dock on the island where the sun beams hot all around them, on the dark-painted boards beneath their feet, reflecting on the water below, heating their stooped backs and exposed skin as they set the skateboard at the beginning of the dock.
“Now,” Bodhi announces. “The low railing will stop the board, but there’s enough space between it and the top railing for you to fit between and be launched into the water.” She nods to Lane. Lane sits on the skateboard and claps.
“And what if it doesn’t?” Willa says, apparently the only person here with any sense, which is terrifying because she does not have very much of it. “What if she hits the railing instead? What if there isn’t enough room? What if the board goes flying into the water too? What if only the board goes into the water?” Bodhi shrugs. Willa tries to appeal to Lane’s usually more reserved nature. “Lane, before you do this you should know that Bodhi is by far my least-smart friend.” Bodhi protests with a hey! and shoves Willa’s shoulder. “Okay, but seriously, this is not a good idea.”
Lane grips the edge of the board and leans forward. “That’s the point.”
“Okay, but what if—”
“Willa.” She sits back to squint up at her. “I got one B in school, ever. I used to go from studying to training to studying to competing. I didn’t do stuff like this. I wasn’t really living. I was just existing. I think I need to get this out of my system, one way or another.”
Tack & Jibe Page 15
