Neighborly Love

by Christine L'Amour

  “What?” Meghan asked, baffled. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

  “Give me my money in two weeks,” her father snarled, “or I’m going to go and take it from you.”

  He hung up. Meghan stared at the wall in front of her, then slowly lowered her phone to stare at it in turn.

  She couldn’t believe what her father had said. How did he plan on just taking the money from her? She had no idea, but a part of her was also sure that whatever her father wanted, he would get—she had taken after him, after all, and he was the sort of man who kept his promises and got things done.

  She hadn’t known that ignoring his calls would end in this. All she knew was that if her father showed up in two weeks and wrenched the money from her empty hands, she wasn’t going to be able to keep her publishing house open.

  “Meghan?” Amy asked, voice quiet like she wasn’t sure she wanted Meghan to hear her. “Is everything okay?”

  Meghan clutched at her phone until her knuckles went white. She spoke without turning around.

  “Yep! Just work stuff. Money stuff. It’s all the same. Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.”

  She wanted Amy to say something—to tell her it was obvious that had been her father, not anything related to work, that she would help her, that she could do something—but Amy didn’t. She subsided and leaned back into the couch, looking like she didn’t know what to do.

  ***

  Meghan lay in bed with her head on Carlos’ shoulder and didn’t pay attention to the movie playing on the laptop balanced half on her legs, half on his. She didn’t hear when he suggested it and hadn’t looked at it properly since it had started playing, her mind away and preoccupied with more important things. Carlos would have said she was ruminating and giving in to her anxiety, but he had fallen asleep a few minutes ago and couldn’t say anything.

  A part of her was thoroughly occupied thinking about Amy on her couch the day before. She couldn’t stop thinking about her sweet hands around Meghan’s neck, the blush on her face, the solid frame of her under Meghan. She knew that if her father hadn’t called, they might have gone further, and it had been so long since she had been with anyone. It was common for her to kiss people during her parties, but life was too stressful for her to find a girlfriend.

  Amy made her want to linger.

  Another part of her couldn’t stop thinking about her father’s words. She hadn’t realized she had been alienating him so much he would feel free to make such a phone call to her—and it hurt her, too, that he had done that through a phone call. He could have come to tell her face-to-face… but she knew that she would have denied him, and said she was too busy.

  She didn’t know how she would get his money. It wasn’t like she had been irresponsible with it—she had done her best, she had tried harder than anyone else; this press was her baby and her life’s work, and she had wanted more than anything for it to flourish. It was just that the market was changing, and she hadn’t changed with it fast enough. She didn’t have anything to give him.

  She sighed, rubbing her hands over her eyes. She wished Carlos were awake to talk to her. They could figure something out together.

  She wished Amy weren’t so obviously lazy and unmotivated. Meghan liked her how she was, but she could have done with someone a bit more upbeat, she thought, someone who would have sprung up from that couch and started to make up plans, who would have cursed at her father and taken Meghan out to take her mind off of things. Amy had just sat there and looked away. It was a new relationship (and Meghan wasn’t sure this was a relationship yet) so she understood if Amy didn’t feel secure enough to do those things, but…

  Meghan didn’t know if Amy would help her, or if it would be too much trouble for her—if she would be content with being Meghan’s distraction and not do anything else. Would she help, or was Meghan alone in this?

  “Carlos, I should have become an accountant instead of trying to open my own business,” she said to her friend, even though he was still asleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Chelsea looked at the dinner Amy had assembled on the dining table and how artfully arranged and beautiful the room was and turned to Amy with surprise clear in her eyes. She touched the white tablecloth Amy had found on a drawer and picked up one of the roses from the vase in the middle of the table. Amy was proud of what she had done—she hadn’t wanted to do too much, because this thing with Meghan was still a bit new, but she had still managed to do something decent and romantic.

  The roses were perfectly red. The table was artfully made, with plates on top of plates and enough cutlery to make everything look fancy. The apartment didn’t have a dining room, with the dining table in a corner of the living room, and it gave Amy the opportunity to spread candles around the room and move the plants around from the apartment to here so it all looked like a garden. Brenda really did have a lot of plants.

  “What do you think?” Amy asked.

  “It’s beautiful,” Chelsea told her with a smile. “I wish you put half this effort into everything you do. You would be a millionaire by now.”

  Amy rolled her eyes, bumping their shoulders together.

  ***

  Amy wasn’t surprised when Meghan answered her door looking a bit haggard. She had been like that ever since that phone call a week ago. Amy didn’t really understand what was going on and wouldn’t push when Meghan herself wasn’t offering up information, but a blind man would have noticed just how awful Meghan had been feeling since. Right now, the bags under her eyes were hidden under make-up, but still a bit visible, and there were lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

  “Hey,” Amy said with a smile, bouncing on her feet to stave off her anxiety. “It’s a bit late, I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me?”

  Meghan’s smile, which had grown soft and happy when she saw Amy, dimmed a bit.

  “I don’t know if I can, Amy,” she said.

  “Say yes,” Amy said, reaching forward to catch her hand. “I’ve already made it and I know you’re hungry, you haven’t been eating well. Come on, it’s the first time in weeks I put effort into something, you have to reward me for it. Please?”

  “What do you mean, you put effort into it?” Meghan asked, curious. “We could just get take-out or something…”

  Despite her earlier words, she was leaning toward Amy, and a small push was enough to get her to walk forward. Amy closed the door behind her and led her to her own apartment, bracing herself for Meghan’s reaction. She hoped she would like it, but who knew? Maybe Meghan hated romantic dinners.

  When they crossed the threshold and Meghan caught sight of the plants and her candles, her expression cleared into something surprised. Her gaze was drawn to the table, which Amy had dragged closer to the veranda, and she walked up to it as if on a daze.

  “Oh,” she said, voice low and soft, touching a fingertip to the petal of one of the roses Amy had arranged between the plates.

  “I noticed you were feeling down these days,” Amy said, anxious. “I’m not sure what’s going on with your dad, but I thought I could cheer you up somehow. I can’t cook, it’s just lasagna, it’s assembled, and I just need to pop it into the oven, so it’s nothing fancy, but—”

  “Amy,” Meghan interrupted, turning around on a heel. She marched up to Amy with a smile and a glint in her eyes, and moved forward until she was crowding Amy against her front door. Her body was a furnace; they were touching from head to toes, Meghan’s fingers circling her wrists. “Amy, don’t make excuses, don’t try to reassure me, this is perfect.”

  Amy relaxed all at once, relieved that she had done something right. It brought her somehow impossibly closer to Meghan.

  “You’re right,” Meghan said with a smile, leaning closer until the tips of their noses touched. “I really should reward you.”

  Amy let out a strangled laugh, but it was cut midway by Meghan’s kiss. Meghan was obviously more experienced than Amy—she
kissed her soundly, her lips firm and unafraid.

  Amy found herself gasping into her mouth without meaning to, clutching at Meghan’s dark hair with both hands as their mouths slid together wetly. Amy liked the weight of her on top of her, pressing her against the door now and against the couch a few days ago. She carded her fingers through strands of Meghan’s hair and curled them, holding on.

  “Let me,” Meghan whispered against the shell of her ear.

  Amy felt her face go up in flames, and she was glad that they were too close for Meghan to see it.

  “You mean—up against the door?”

  “No?” Meghan said, sounding a bit disappointed.

  She slid a thigh between Amy’s legs and raised it just a bit, enough to make heat travel up Amy’s spine. She breathed in deeply, clutching at Meghan’s hair, and thought to herself that it was totally okay if Meghan wanted to stay at the door, really, she wouldn’t mind at all.

  “Couch?” Meghan asked.

  “Anywhere,” Amy told her, surging forward into another kiss.

  Meghan laughed into her mouth, delighted, and started shuffling back. They had to separate for a moment or else they would fall, but Meghan kept Amy’s hands in hers and their bodies close. Amy felt flushed, feverish, proud with herself for getting something right for once. Meghan would relax finally, would stop thinking about work and her problems and just be lazy and hungry for a second, and then everything would work out.

  Meghan pushed Amy onto the couch, and she fell with some alarm, though Meghan immediately followed her, a laugh on her lips. She settled herself comfortably on top of her, Amy’s legs falling open automatically to accommodate her body, and Meghan hummed in satisfaction. Her hair escaped her bun and fell down around them like a dark curtain, framing her face.

  Amy traced her cheeks with a finger. Meghan was so beautiful.

  “I want to touch you,” Meghan said in a low voice. “I do want to reward you. Can I?”

  “Yea—yeah,” Amy said, a bit awkward, wishing she could stop blushing and be a bit smoother, like Meghan was—but Meghan didn’t seem to find fault in her, because the smile she gave her was blinding.

  She leaned down into another kiss, her hands tracing Amy’s body and making her tingle, even if the touch was over her clothes. Meghan just had this air about her of confidence, of competence, that made Amy think that she was going to take good care of her. It only took a moment for their kiss to go from languid to hot—Amy tilted her chin up hungrily, bashfulness forgotten as she raised her knees to frame Meghan’s hips. She wanted to be wearing her miniskirt instead of these trousers, she wanted to be closer, with less clothes around them.

  Meghan sighed against her mouth, tracing the edge of her lips with a tongue—Amy tasted her own lipstick. Meghan braced herself on her knees and ground down, and heat like lava shot up Amy’s body, punching a moan out of her. Meghan lowered her face to Amy’s neck and kissed the thin skin there, pressing her open mouth to Amy’s pulse point, dragging her teeth slightly, and Amy breathed out a moan.

  “Meghan,” she said, strained. “Stop teasing, come on—”

  She felt Meghan smile against her skin. She slid hands up under Amy’s shirt, bunching it up, then brought them down again to pop open the button of her trousers.

  “I wish you were wearing that miniskirt,” she said in a low, husky voice. “You looked amazing in it.”

  “I—well,” Amy said, face aflame, unsure what to answer to that.

  Meghan just grinned at her and leaned away. Amy whined despite herself, hands still attached to her, but Meghan pressed a kiss to her lips and slid off the couch. Amy protested until she realized what exactly Meghan was doing—kneeling there between her legs, drawing her trousers off of her.

  “Oh,” she said.

  Meghan smiled and pressed a kiss against Amy’s stomach. Amy breathed out a trembling breath, feeling shivery and strung-up. She didn’t want to say it to Meghan, didn’t want to just in case, because she knew people judged, but this was the first time she did anything like this.

  Meghan hooked her fingers under the elastic band on Amy’s underwear and drew it down and away. Amy was so glad she had shaved, even if it had felt a bit presumptuous at the time. Meghan smiled smugly, like she was satisfied at getting to do this, set a hand on the inside of Amy’s thigh, and licked her from bottom to the top.

  Amy felt the touch like a live wire, Meghan’s name drawn out of her in a moan. Meghan clutched at her leg, drawing it over her shoulder, and plunged her tongue into her. Amy bucked up against her mouth even though she knew she shouldn’t, it was impossible for her not to, but Meghan didn’t complain—she just licked up to her clit, closing her mouth around it to suck.

  Amy had never felt like this before; it had never been like this with just her own hands. Just the knowledge that Meghan was doing this to her, that Meghan had looked smug about getting to do it, and the sight of the other woman kneeling between her open legs, it was all too much for Amy. She never wanted Meghan to stop but she needed Meghan closer right now, so she clutched at her shoulders and babbled nothing at her until Meghan drew herself up and laid on top of her again.

  They kissed deeply, Amy with an arm wound around Meghan’s neck like she was afraid Meghan would draw away again. Meghan pressed a leg between Amy’s and Amy did the same, both of them grinding against each other like teenagers, panting against each other’s mouth.

  Amy came suddenly, the heat in her belly overflowing into her veins in a tidal wave. She squeezed her eyes shut and kissed Meghan messily as she came, though Meghan was still just as fervent.

  She pressed Amy’s head to the side as her body relaxed and cooled and kissed her neck, then lower, lips dragging against her collarbones. She was still grinding against her leg, and it was beautiful. Amy lifted her knee higher just to watch Meghan whine.

  “Please,” Meghan said. “Just—your hand?”

  Amy lowered a hand to Meghan’s trouser immediately, even when she had no experience doing this and had no idea what to do. She slid her fingers into the waistband of her underwear, feeling the coarse hair there, and Meghan immediately bit out a curse and rocked forward against it.

  “Just a finger or two,” Meghan panted.

  Amy obliged, face on fire and heart beating a mile a minute on her chest, slipping two fingers into her. Meghan sighed, satisfied, and Amy didn’t really need to do anything—Meghan drew herself up and rocked against her hand, hands clutching at Amy’s shoulders.

  She ground down one last time and came with a groan, clenching around Amy’s fingers. She let her body fall down slowly, capturing Amy’s lips on a soft, lingering kiss.

  They breathed together in silence for a moment, their bodies cooling, none of them wishing to get up from that couch ever again.

  “I definitely need to cook more often,” Amy whispered to herself.

  Meghan laughed, pressing a kiss on her cheek. When she leaned away to look at Amy, Amy looked at her flushed face and bright eyes with satisfaction. Meghan didn’t look tired anymore, and maybe this would teach her to relax a bit more sometimes.

  “Thank you for doing this for me,” Meghan said softly. “I didn’t think… But thank you.”

  Amy just kissed her again.

  Chapter Eight

  Meghan was walking on clouds for the rest of the week.

  Some would say she was just better because she had gotten some, but the truth was much simpler: Meghan was high on having been shown kindness. Amy making dinner for her from scratch, even if she had repeated again and again that it was just lasagna, and the fact that she had gotten candles and made a romantic atmosphere… it was the kind of thing Meghan had always seen in movies but never had anyone actually do for her.

  It was sweet and it was kind and it put all her fears to rest.

  “So!” she exclaimed brightly, slapping her hand over her desk. Carlos, who had been half napping on top of it, sprung up and awake again. “I’ve got some ideas here. Do you have
anything?”

  “Aside from finishing my book and becoming a billionaire? Not really,” Carlos said with a sigh. It was like Meghan’s good humor and renewed fervor had given him an excuse to be as downtrodden as possible. “I mean, I did think of some things, but it’s nothing we never commented on before. The stuff about e-books…”

  “Yes,” Meghan said. “We already publish some e-books, but we need to lean on it. If I find some people to publish several short stories, or smaller novellas, open an anthology or a competition—”

  “But again, it’s all stuff we’ve commented on before,” Carlos interrupted.

  “We’re going to actually do it this time,” Meghan said firmly. “Our last anthology did well, and your presence in those writing groups online means you can call directly to people you think would do well. I’ve been meaning to update the website for months now, too, so it’s time to actually hire someone to do that. If we get people’s attention with the short stories and then launch your book, it’ll already have eyes on it—especially if you write something for the anthology—and it’ll bring in some money—”

  “I still don’t know if this will work,” Carlos said softly, as if he didn’t want to say it, but thought he had to. “I don’t know exactly how much money your dad gave you, but…”

  “We don’t need to get all the money for him now,” Meghan said firmly, putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder. She sat down again, pressing down her own fear and resentment and doing her best to let her hope shine through. “We just need a solid enough plan that my father will agree not to do anything rash like demand the money back right now, uncaring that it will definitely screw me up forever.”

  Carlos looked at her for a moment, then sighed. He couldn’t not go along with her—Meghan always was so sure and certain that one just knew, deep down, that whatever she did would turn out all right. Meghan gave him her best smile.

  “You’re just chipper because you and Amy are going to have your weird garden time the day after tomorrow,” he said, playfully annoyed, rolling his eyes.