by A. K. Rose
She’d successfully willed her mind to not think about Jessica for more than twenty-four hours—since she’d seen Rachel for brunch—and now, there was an email in her inbox with Jessica’s name on it. She didn’t know what it said, and thought about deleting it. It wouldn’t be fair to do that though, so she sat, considering.
She’d had a great brunch date with Rachel on Sunday. They had plenty to talk about, but they didn’t have history. History takes time to build, she knew that, and she was optimistic that they might have a connection building. Time would tell. She’d kissed Rachel at her car when saying goodbye, and she’d be fooling herself to say her mind hadn’t wandered to other possibilities. There was a hint of a spark there. Not a full-on raging inferno, but the potential for the kindling to take the light of the match. It was worth investigating further, she’d thought.
Seeing Jessica’s name in her inbox derailed her thoughts about any potential with Rachel, snapping her back to the reality that she probably wasn’t really ready to date. Wasn’t ready to lead someone on, because her heart was taken, whether or not her feelings were reciprocated. It was a shitty place to be, but it’s where she was.
When she couldn’t resist temptation any longer, she stood up, pushed her desk chair back, and left her little home office. She’d set up a niche in the corner of her second bedroom with a desk, her laptop, and a small bookcase with some of the most common texts she referenced—it made it easier on days when she wanted to work from home.
Cassie headed to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, her bare feet adjusting to the cool temperature of its ceramic tile floor. If she was going to read this email, she at least needed coffee.
When she could stall no longer, when the coffee was in the cup and there were no other distracting tasks she could think of, she read the email.
That wasn’t so bad, she thought as she finished it. It was comforting. It was sent from a place of caring, of compassion. It left the door open to something she wasn’t sure she could do: be friends. But, as much as she didn’t think she could, she didn’t want to close the door forever. Just until her heart could heal. Maybe seeing Rachel was a good idea after all. In fact, maybe seeing her after work that day would be a good idea. It was a Tuesday and she wasn’t one to stay out late on work nights, but as long as she was re-writing rules, why not re-write that one too?
Hey, want to have dinner tonight? –C
The text was sent before she could stop herself. It was early, she’d just realized. Would her text be considered pushy? She found out in less than a minute.
Yes! I know just the place. Meet me at my office at 6. XO, Rach
Okay, so the text wasn’t considered pushy. This was promising. She didn’t want to seem needy, so she sent a quick reply simply agreeing to the time and place. She’d write back to Jessica later, when she had time to compose a thoughtful reply.
+ + +
“How was your day?” Rachel asked, eyes focused on a manila folder Cassie assumed held a patient’s chart. It felt weird to be sitting in a dentist’s chair for no other reason than to chat.
“Oh, not bad. I closed ten cases today . . . for now. They often get closed only to land back on my desk again. Comes with the territory. Deadbeat dads are deadbeats for a reason—they don’t just change overnight because a judge tells them to.”
“Don’t you find that frustrating?”
“Well, yeah, but don’t you find it frustrating when your patients don’t floss?”
“Ah, too true. Yep. But not so much so that I’m quitting tomorrow. It’s hard to change behaviors, I know that one all too well.” Rachel dropped the folder on a side table with authority and shook off her white overcoat. “Are you hungry?”
“You have no idea,” Cassie flipped back, speaking in both a literal and figurative sense. She was hungry for dinner, sure, but she was also hungry for romantic companionship. She’d been in a drought and finally saw a glimpse of water. She just didn’t know yet if it was a mirage or the real deal.
“Well great, I’m taking you someplace really special tonight.”
“Where?”
“My house,” Rachel said with a wink, the grin on her face telling more of the story than her words allowed.
With that wink, Cassie realized that mirage of a mud puddle she thought she saw was more like an alpine lake: deep and full of crystal clear water.
“Wow, okay, sure. But I didn’t bring anything—not even a bottle of wine. Let me stop on the way. What can I bring?” Cassie’s hands had nothing to hold and her reclined position on the dental chair didn’t exactly seem becoming, so she sat up and rotated to put her feet on the ground, the smile appearing on her mouth difficult to contain.
“The only thing you need to bring is yourself and your appetite. Let me just say goodnight to Crystal and we’re out of here!”
Rachel Gifford was intriguing, Cassie thought. She was confident and comforting. I wonder what her bedside manner is like . . .
+ + +
As she pulled into Rachel’s driveway, Cassie did her best to calm her uneasy stomach. Her nerves had taken over on the drive, and she’d almost turned home several times. She reminded herself repeatedly that it was just dinner, just a conversation with an engaging human. What was so tough about that?
“Nice house,” Cassie offered as her host let her in through the garage.
“I’m sorry to bring you in the back way! I don’t actually keep a key with me. I always enter through the garage. I know it’s a terrible habit, but I like to keep things as simple as possible.”
“It’s totally okay, I get it.”
“I’ll give you the nickel tour later, but first, what can I get you to drink? I know you like IPA, but I don’t have any beer, sorry. How about some wine?” Rachel dropped her briefcase, a surprising choice for a dentist’s bag, Cassie thought, and had already slipped off her shoes. She had her hands on a bottle of Shiraz before Cassie could answer.
“Wine, yes . . . please.” That wine glass couldn’t get into her hands fast enough.
“Here you go, cheers,” Rachel offered, and then turned, pulling out a kitchen drawer and rifling through take-out menus. “So, for dinner, my idea of cooking involves calling someone who knows how to do that. What’s your poison? Pizza? Thai? Indian?”
Cassie smiled. “All this time I was worried you were planning to cook. Thank God you’re just as lazy as I am. Let’s keep it simple, how about pizza?”
After the pizza was ordered, Rachel offered up the tour of her home, a single-level ranch-style with a pool. She’d done well for herself, it was evident, but she didn’t flaunt it. Her house was tidy, but lived in. Her furniture was comfortable-looking and sturdy, her taste somewhere between Better Homes & Gardens and Southern Living, with a splash of what could only be called “casual Texas” for good measure.
As they rounded the corner into the master bedroom, Cassie felt a hand grab her wrist and stopped in her tracks. Rachel was in her personal space.
After a beat, a moment to collect her thoughts and realize what was happening, she pulled Rachel in closer, wrapping her free arm around the brunette’s waist and breathing in the faint scent of vanilla that must have been from shower gel or lotion. There they lingered, breathing softly, eyes closed, trapped in a time space continuum that stopped the world around them.
It was only a split second, but it seemed like eternity passed before Cassie felt the unmistakable soft touch of lips on her own. She tasted the Shiraz they’d been drinking, felt damp lips caressing hers, breathed in that lovely smell of vanilla, and leaned in.
I’ve missed this, she thought, the comfort and reassurance of the woman in her arms reinforcing what she’d known about herself for so long. She had no idea if there was a future with Rachel, but in the moment, it didn’t matter. It’s not like they were promising to spend the rest of their lives together—it was a kiss. A very good—no, a great—kiss, nothing more.
As her hands began to wander, she found her fi
ngers intertwined in wavy caramel-colored hair, sending a tingle through her own scalp in return. She loved long hair, and her fingers felt at home weaving their way through Rachel’s. It was sensory overload masked in the reassurance that she knew what she was doing. It felt right to be here, now.
The repeated tune of the doorbell broke their embrace with such suddenness it was disorienting.
“The pizza . . .” Rachel groaned. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
As Cassie surveyed Rachel’s bedroom, she took note of a black four-poster bed, a couple of end tables, and a door that clearly led to the bathroom. She slumped onto the edge of the mattress to wait, and noticed a framed image on the dresser. It was a photo of Rachel and two people who must have been her parents, her maroon cap and gown indicating it was a graduation day. College, most likely, but was it undergraduate or dental school? It didn’t matter. She looked so happy in that photo, her head thrown back, her mouth engaged in a huge laugh. Those perfect teeth proudly on display.
“Sorry about that!” Rachel apologized as she re-entered, “Oh, good, you found the bed . . .”
“I . . . uh . . .”
“Relax! I’m only kidding. Though, I wouldn’t mind showing you around that as well, sometime. Not now, unless . . .”
“No, no . . . don’t take this the wrong way, but I think it’s too soon for me. I’m sorry.” Cassie cast her eyes to the floor as she apologized, but the truth was, she was sorry. Rachel was her type, just as she’d told Holly in the bar. She was long and lean and the thought of those legs wrapped around her sent her mind into a tailspin, but it was too soon.
“Don’t worry, I agree. But you know, you owe me the story of who stomped on your heart so hard that you’re hesitant to fully open up. Come on, let’s get some of that pizza and you can tell me.”
+ + +
“So, spill it. Who is she? What did she do?” Rachel persisted, determined to the get the story of Cassie’s heartbreak out in the open. If they couldn’t talk about it, there was no chance they could build a relationship. She didn’t know if things would go anywhere with Cassie or not, but she liked her, and always thought it best to get the dirty laundry on the table early. At least, the other person’s dirty laundry. Her own was another topic entirely.
Cassie sighed, unsure how much to share, before deciding to just tell the story. She put her fork down—she was a fork and knife pizza eater—and started into it. “Oh, okay. So, my best friend since I’ve lived in Austin, Jessica . . .”
“. . . is not gay. . .”
“Yep. I’m guessing you know where this story goes, then. It’s pretty predictable, huh? Everyone keeps guessing where this is going before I even get it out . . .”
“Oh, Cassie, I’m sorry. That’s a hard one. I’ve been there. It’s predictable because it happens. It just does. How long has it been?”
“Yeah, it’s not surprising, I know that. It is what it is. It just happened last week, me telling her I mean, so it’s fresh. Oh geez, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. We barely know each other—it’s okay—I don’t expect your eternal devotion or that you don’t have a past. How did you leave it? Still friends?” Rachel probed, pushing back her chair to go fetch the bottle of wine she’d opened earlier.
“Eh, not in a great place, truthfully. I told her I can’t see her, not for a while anyway. She tried to convince me otherwise, but I just can’t, you know?”
“I get it. But, from her perspective, it’s just as devastating as it is to you. She lost her friend in this, too.”
“Yeah, I know. My sister said the exact same thing . . . Why are you so wonderful?” Cassie asked before she could stop herself, the wine glass in her hands now officially empty, clove notes of the red wine lingering on her tongue.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Rachel started, pouring a refill and stopping as her guest’s hand gestured she’d poured enough. “I just know where you’re coming from, that’s all. I’ve certainly got my fair share of baggage. I wouldn’t be thirty-three and still single if I didn’t.”
“Like what? Let’s hear it.”
“I think that might be a conversation for a third date . . .”
SEVEN
Jessica wondered if she’d hear back from Cassie. It had been a week since she sent that email, since she’d tried to smooth over a situation she didn’t know how to fix, and she hadn’t heard a peep back. She’d been completely occupied by a new case her firm was fighting, so at least she had a distraction. She wasn’t sure if sending the email was a mistake, if Cassie was purposely ignoring it, or if maybe it didn’t go through.
Her mind tended to wander as she was reading case law, finding its way off the rulings and back to what to do about Cassie. Jessica had to hand it to her—her friend had successfully erased all concern about her ex-boyfriend, Tony, in one fell swoop. She’d re-read the same judgment in an insider trading case four times before she finally saw the information she was looking for. It was an inefficient way to spend her days, considering she billed by the hour and couldn’t go home until she met her quota.
As Jessica packed up to leave that day—she glanced at her phone, checking for anything she’d missed while her head had been buried in books. She had a reminder from her dentist about an appointment in two days, several newsletters that she didn’t even know why she received, and finally, an email from Cassie.
She slid back into her chair and flipped the lid on her laptop open. She’d just shut it, but didn’t like to read important emails on her phone.
Jess,
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write you back. As it turns out, I got really busy with work this week and haven’t had the energy to write a meaningful reply. I didn’t want to write back until I could give it my full focus.
I really appreciate your note—you have no idea. I have been beating myself up repeatedly for coming clean with you, but I know in the end it was the right thing to do. I was living a lie and torturing myself in the process. It wasn’t healthy for either of us.
I do hope we can be friends again. It’s a little soon for me, okay? Let’s just give it some time.
Thank you for being you—I’m not at all surprised how caring you’re being about this.
-C
Cassie’s email was a relief. Jessica re-read it three or four times just to convince herself everything would be okay. She was beginning to think it would be. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Someday.
+ + +
Rachel Gifford was an up-and-comer in a trade dominated by men—her practice was thriving, and she had a waiting list for new patients. Little girls don’t typically dream of growing up to be dentists, but Rachel had. She couldn’t explain it, but since she was young, she’d been fascinated by teeth. Of all things, teeth were her passion.
She couldn’t help but think of Cassie Hollander and want to remedy that little gap between her maxillary central incisors—her two front teeth. It would be an easy fix. A year’s worth of straightening trays and Cassie would have a perfect smile. If there was one thing Rachel knew, though, it was that talking to a love interest about her teeth was a recipe for disaster. She’d made that mistake more than once. It just made them self-conscious and uncomfortable, not something she wanted to do with Cassie. She liked Cassie. She was comfortable with Cassie. She had hope that there was potential there.
Rachel hadn’t found it particularly hard to meet women in her life, but she had found it hard to meet the right woman. Until she met Elise. She’d thought Elise was it—she was done; she’d found her match. They had a stormy relationship, sure, but they always found their way back to each other in the end. That was, of course, until they had “the talk.” Truthfully, they should’ve had it sooner. They were drunk on love and neglected to understand each other’s motivations until it was way too late. When a late night conversation turned serious—to the topic of starting a family—it was clear they had differ
ent goals. They shouldn’t have stayed together so long after that talk, not when one so desperately wanted kids and the other most definitely did not. It wasn’t a recipe for success, and it didn’t end well.
Since Elise left, Rachel hadn’t met anyone that was even on the same measuring stick as her, until Cassie showed up at the bar. It seemed cliché to go in search of love in a bar, but when your target market was a small subset of the population, narrowing down the choices helped. It’s not like people just walked around town with a big “L” pinned to their shirts like Laverne used to do on Laverne and Shirley. It would be helpful if that were the case, but alas, it’s not. Life isn’t a ‘70s sitcom, no matter how much Nick at Night one watched.
Rachel caught herself laughing as she mused on the idea of Laverne’s embroidered “L” and if there was some sort of double-meaning there. Probably not, she decided, and continued cleaning old Mr. Johnson’s teeth, noting that his eyes had rolled back in his head. She hoped he was still alive.
“Jessica Taylor’s in room three,” Rachel’s lead hygienist, Crystal noted. She’d gotten Jessica settled in and taken X-rays before returning to Mr. Johnson to give him a flossing demonstration, again.
“Hey Jessica, how are you these days? Win any big cases lately?” Rachel asked as she sat on her rolling stool and grabbed her magnifying glasses. She tried her best to keep track of her patients’ interests and jobs, but it was a challenge. Some were easy to remember; some not so much. She remembered Jessica because she found her attractive. It wasn’t every day well-heeled redheads with piercing eyes sat in her chair.
“Oh not too bad . . .” Jessica started, “they don’t let me try the cases, you know?” The green in her eyes reflected a bit of pain, but Rachel couldn’t place it.
“Well, they should. Let’s have a look and see what you’ve got going on in there . . . does this hurt?”
Jessica didn’t really need to answer. The probe from her dentist’s sharp instrument into the sensitive area of one of her molars sent her into the air on impact. Of course it hurt.
