by Harper Bliss
“Are you all right?” Tess whispers in my ear.
I don’t even know what to say to that.
From my left, Rachel inquires, “Are they who I think they are?” Already, indignation is the main note in her voice.
I nod, hoping to answer both their questions at once.
The priest is unperturbed by the goings-on, and finishes the sermon. When everybody says ‘Amen’ I can hear my father’s voice the loudest.
✶ ✶ ✶
After the service ends, I don’t know what to do. So I just stand there a while longer, accepting people’s condolences with a meek smile on my face. But I can’t keep my eyes off them. Their presence hangs over me like the darkest cloud. Oh, how I regret making that call now.
“You don’t have to talk to them,” Rachel says. “You don’t owe them a goddamn thing.”
“Would you like me to go over?” Tess points at them with her thumb, as though they’re a mere nuisance to be dealt with. They are. “I can talk to them.”
“It’s fine. Just give me a minute.”
“Do you want me to pretend I’m your girlfriend?” Rachel asks.
This elicits a nervous chuckle from Tess.
I extract myself from our circle of three and head over though, as I do, I fear my legs may give way. When I reach them, my father, typically, has already found an opportunity to talk to the minister, so I don’t say anything. I wait until he catches a glimpse of me.
“Laura.” He opens his arms wide, as if he wants to give me a hug. “Laura, my daughter.” To my relief, he doesn’t go for a fully-fledged hug, he just touches his palms to my shoulders lightly. But it’s still too much.
“Please, don’t touch me.” At least my voice is still working.
“Laura,” my mother, the woman who couldn’t bring herself to say anything of importance to me on the phone when I called her, says, “we came.” She says it as though they made the biggest sacrifice, flying out here and renting that ludicrous car.
“You’re a bit late.”
“Through no fault of our own. Our flight was delayed,” my mother says.
I feel like walking away from her there and then without saying another word. Why would I waste any of my time talking to someone who can’t even say sorry for arriving late at a funeral?
“We’re very sorry about that, Laura,” my father says. “Sadly, Millicent and I hadn’t been on very good terms for a while, but I do know she was always a stickler for punctuality. We should have booked an earlier flight.”
“Is there a reception?” my mother asks. Her face is turned toward me but she doesn’t look straight at me. Her glance shoots right past.
If I had known they’d be coming, I would not have done it at the house. “Yes.”
“We only have a few hours. We need to catch a flight out of Houston tonight,” my father says.
“I’m sure this is all very inconvenient for you,” I say.
That shuts them both up for a minute.
“Look, Laura,” my father starts to say. “We would love to get a chance to—”
“Hey,” someone shouts from the side of the road, “can someone move this black sedan? It’s blocking everyone’s way.”
“Oh, heavens. I told you, Richard,” my mother says.
“I have to go.” I start turning away from them. “People will start arriving at the house soon. Just follow the crowd.”
I walk back to where Tess and Rachel are standing. Tess’s family has joined them.
“Are those your folks?” Earl asks.
“Afraid so.” For some reason, I can’t look him in the eyes when I say this. I’m ashamed of them. Is that how they feel about me?
“Are they coming to yours?” Tess asks, her voice full of concern.
“Yep.”
“We’ll meet you all there, okay?” Tess addresses her family.
When it’s just her, me, and Rachel left, she asks, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I just shrug because, inside, I feel as dead as Aunt Milly’s body in the coffin we just watched being lowered into the ground.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
TESS
At the house, Rachel and I try to hover around Laura as much as possible, but it’s inevitable that she gets drawn into conversations with friends of Milly, the manager of the nursing home and, at one point, what appears to be a long talk with Myriam and Isabella.
I have my own social courtesies to adhere to as I know most of the people present in Laura’s house much better than she does. But, from the corner of my eye, I watch her and conclude that, even though she doesn’t perceive herself that way, she’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. To go through today with the dignity that she has takes courage and a whole load of strength of character.
No thanks to them, I think, as I glance over at Laura’s parents who awkwardly sit on a couple of chairs. Why did they even come here?
“Refill?” Rachel asks, holding up a bottle of red wine.
“Gladly.” I offer her my empty glass. I’m so happy she’s here, staying with Laura through this ordeal. I watch her make the rounds, most people gratefully accepting her offer to top up their drinks.
“Booze and funerals go hand in hand,” she says, after she’s emptied the bottle.
“Not for everyone.” Laura hasn’t touched a drop.
“True enough.” Rachel nods. “Though Lord knows she could use a drink.”
“She sure could.” Our gazes meet and we exchange a knowing look. I remember what Laura said to me when she told me about Tracy, that Rachel was the only person who knew what went on between Tracy and her. “She told me,” I say in a low voice. “I know what happened with Tracy.”
Rachel is silent for an instant, as though considering her words. “It was a tragedy. And I don’t just mean her death. I mean the whole thing, the entire marriage.” Rachel shakes her head. “If it had been up to me, Tracy’s family would have found out exactly what kind of person their daughter was, but Laura wouldn’t have any of that. ‘What does it matter now?’ she asked. I thought it mattered a great deal, but I also understood that she was ashamed. With what she’s been through,” she lets some air escape from between her teeth, “I have no fucking clue how she picked herself up. Moving here has helped. I can see that. She has more confidence about her. When I arrived here, she even gave me a real, genuine smile. One from the heart. One that showed that moving here has been the right decision for her. Though I miss her like crazy.” Rachel gives me what I interpret as an appreciative once-over. “And then there’s you.”
“And then there’s me.” It’s silly to repeat the phrase, but it’s all I can do while my heart skips a beat. Did Laura talk to Rachel about me?
“She told me about that kiss, by the way.” Rachel is beaming a big smile at me now, then just rambles on. “Either way, I’ve heard her mention the name Tess over the phone so many times, I just had to come to Nelson and see for myself.”
“She, er, has mentioned me?” My cheeks are starting to heat up.
“Of course she has. What else is she going talk about? The new movie in the multiplex and the new art show at the Nelson Museum of Modern Art?” Rachel narrows her eyes. “She has feelings for you, Tess. That’s clear as day. I already knew that before I arrived here, and my suspicions have only been confirmed, but she needs time. It’s only natural for her to be afraid. Tracy was a perfectly nice woman when they met. I was Laura’s maid of honor at their wedding, for Christ’s sake. I signed my name on a goddamned piece of paper to approve their union.”
“We’re friends.” I find myself repeating the phrase over and over again. It’s starting to get old.
“She may have feelings for you, but you might have to be friends for quite some time before anything else can happen. You’re going to have to win her trust and then some. So she’d better be worth the wait to you.”
Rachel is starting to make me feel as though I’m auditioning for the part of Laura’s girlfr
iend. “I get it,” is say a tad defensively. “Trust me, I get it.”
“I didn’t mean to give you a speech, Tess. Laura is strong, but we all have a breaking point. I’m not sure how much more she can take.”
“My ears were ringing so loudly, I just had to come over and break up this let’s-discuss-Laura party,” Laura says.
I’d been so engaged in conversation with Rachel, that I didn’t see her approach.
“We’re only looking out for you.” Rachel wraps an arm around Laura’s shoulder and pulls her close. This is the most at ease I’ve seen Laura, when she’s around Rachel.
Laura gives a sheepish smile, then looks over to the chairs where her parents are sitting. “I’d better go do this,” she says. “Get it over with.” She eyes my glass of wine longingly.
Rachel doesn’t say anything, though she must see this as well.
“Need some liquid courage?” I ask.
“You know what?” Laura says. “Yes, I do. Today of all days, I do.”
I offer her my glass, but before she can take it, Rachel says, “Are you sure?”
Laura just nods, takes the glass and brings it to her lips. After she’s taken a sip, she asks, “Can I hold on to this?”
“Sure.”
“Here I go,” she says, and walks off. Before she reaches her parents, she’s accosted by a few people saying their goodbyes.
“I hope this ends well.” Rachel glances at Laura, then looks back at me. “I was with her on the night Tracy died. We’d been out and, over a few drinks—a few too many perhaps—she talked about leaving Tracy for the first time. She’d needed a lot of liquid courage for that as well. Then… she didn’t need to leave her anymore.”
“I can’t imagine what that must have felt like.”
“Honestly, to me, it felt like a relief,” Rachel says. “Maybe I’m not supposed to say that about a woman who died well before her time, but by God, what she put Laura through. And who knows what it would have taken Laura to actually leave her? Tracy might have ended up killing her first.”
I’m taken aback by Rachel’s forwardness. “It was a complex situation.”
Rachel shakes her head vehemently. “There was nothing complex about it. After they married, Tracy turned into a controlling, abusive monster. She terrorized Laura. Scolded her for the smallest things. She beat her, Tess. Broke one of her ribs one day. The woman was a two-faced psychopath. Maybe nobody else knows, but I do.”
I see my mother coming over, and clear my throat to warn Rachel. A change of subject is required pronto.
“Hey, hon,” Mom says. “We’re going to take off. Aunt Margaret is minding the kids and you know she can only handle them in small doses. Megan and Scott will stick around for a while.”
I introduce her to Rachel, who promptly gets an invitation to dinner—not to be refused—while my gaze wanders to Laura. She’s talking to Elizabeth Jansen, Milly’s oldest friend in Nelson, so she might not make it over to her parents in a good long while. The glass of wine I gave her is empty now.
Make them wait, I think. Laura waited long enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LAURA
When I finally reach my parents, I’ve had another refill of wine, and after so many months without a drop of alcohol, I’ve almost finished my second glass of the day. I haven’t eaten much; my appetite went as soon as the black sedan showed up. So the alcohol has gone straight to my head, which I consider a good thing. I don’t feel much like doing this sober.
“You would love a chance to what?” I ask my father, who looks like a fidgety shadow of the mighty Pastor Baker. “I’m giving you a chance to finish that sentence, so there you go.”
“Can we speak somewhere privately?” my mother asks.
I want to contest her, just because I can, but quite frankly, I’d much rather have this conversation without Tess and Rachel lurking in the other corner of the room.
“Follow me.” I lead them to the patio outside. It’s a muggy day and the black blouse I bought for the occasion sticks to my back instantly, as though I’ve just stepped into a vacuum-sealed room instead of the early Texas summer.
We sit around the table, me with my back to the garden, though I could use the sight of some greenery and the memories of Aunt Milly it inspires.
“We’re glad you called,” my father starts. “And we’re glad to see you.” The thing about my father is that, because of his profession, he can make the biggest bullshit sound like the most genuine words you’ve ever heard. “Glad to see you’re doing well.”
Doing well? What a joke.
“I heard you live here now,” my mother says. “Is there any particular reason you came here?”
“A relative in need of company and help.” I try to keep my voice firm. I could do with another glass of wine. As far as uncomfortable situations go, this one is right up there with being questioned by a police officer after Tracy’s death. I don’t want to be here, I keep thinking. I don’t want to sit here with these people and exchange words with them. It’s all too little too late.
I look at neither of them, but just stare through the window inside. I can make out Rachel and Tess, though I can’t see their features clearly. Then, I realize that I don’t have to have this conversation. I can walk away any time.
“We should have come to your wedding,” my father says then, and it feels like being kicked hard in the gut. Like all life just rushes from me in a wave of pain. “We’re sorry about that.”
They don’t even know Tracy is dead. I sent them a wedding invitation but no notification of my wife’s untimely demise. They don’t know anything. These people who created me, raised me, and tried to mold me into their image.
“Why did you come here?” I ask.
“She was my sister,” my father is quick to say.
“Fat load of good that did her.” My nerves have no way out of my system, so I start tapping my heel against the floor.
“I’m almost eighty, Laura, and, lately, I’ve started to realize that throughout my life I’ve made a few grave errors.” He tries to find my gaze, but I look away. When I glance back at him, however, I see too much of me in that sad, old face. I inherited his eye color, and that dimple in his chin, and a bunch of other features that conspire together to reveal we are related.
My mother remains silent. Maybe they agreed that the pastor would do the talking—for maximum impact.
“Your mother and I are very sorry for casting you out the way we did.” His tone is exactly the same as I remember from the endless hours of services I had to sit through as a child. “Times have changed. We even have some gay folks in our congregation these days.”
“Oh really?” I stare him hard in the face. “And what did you tell them? You’re very welcome here. Our daughter is a lesbian. We were too stupid and cold-hearted to accept her, but we’d like to make up for that by embracing you into the bosom of our church.”
“Laura, we know what we did was wrong,” my father again. “We’re not here to ask for your forgiveness, because we know that’s too much to ask. We’re here to try and make a start of, perhaps, rebuilding our relationship with you. Before it’s too late.”
“You mean before you die?” Nerves are quickly transforming into anger. “It’s been fifteen years. And I called you. I’m not buying any of this. If Aunt Milly hadn’t died, you wouldn’t even be here.”
My dad utters a sigh, while my Mom finally speaks. “Which one is your wife?” she asks, her voice as icy as ever. “The tall blond or the short African-American?”
That’s it. I’ve had it. I push my chair back and stand up. “I would like you both to leave now.”
“Laura, come on.” I witness how my father gives my mother a scolding look. At least now I know which one of the two instigated their trip here. “Let’s talk a little longer. We came all this way.”
“Oh, the sacrifices you’ve made for me.” I don’t care that I’m raising my voice. I don’t care who hears what I ha
ve to say. I look at my mother. “Neither one of them is my wife. My wife is dead. And please stop pretending you care one iota. I will never have a relationship with you. Why would I spend even a second of my life considering whether to forgive you, my parents, the people who hurt me the most in my life. Do you have any idea what it feels like to cease to exist for your own kin? Every Christmas, every Thanksgiving, every birthday, every single year, was never a celebration for me, just a brutal reminder of how cruel you were. Yet, for the first few years, every single time, I had hope. Foolish, ridiculous hope that you’d see past your bigotry. But it never happened. Not a word. Nothing in fifteen years. Do you have any idea what that does to a person?”
“Laura.” A voice comes from behind me.
“You’re fifteen years too late, Daddy,” I say.
“Laura.” I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look to my right. It’s Rachel, Tess right behind her. “Come on, let’s go inside,” Rachel says.
I look at my parents’ flabbergasted faces one more time—and some part of me hopes it’s the last time I see them—then let Rachel coax me inside, into the room I use as my office.
“Are you all right?” Tess is there as well, of course.
My breath is coming quickly, my pulse is pounding. “I lost it when my mother asked which one of you was my wife.” Whereas it enraged me before, the statement now sounds so ludicrous, I burst out into a silly giggle. When I come to, I say, “It was just such blatant evidence of how they know absolutely nothing about me. Of how family is not always who you’re born to, but who loves you.” I look at Rachel, then at Tess. I love them both in my own way. “I don’t have many people left, but I have you two.” Emotions are quickly starting to catch up with me and my eyes are getting itchy.
“You will always have me,” Rachel says as she grabs my hand.
I glance at Tess, who stands there looking as though she doesn’t know what to do. But she doesn’t have to say or do anything, I know she has my back. Sometimes, you just know. Even when the most horrible things have happened to you, and the person you loved most in the world, the person you were so in love with that you married her, tried to take the last speck of your dignity with her fists. Even then, you can still know. Because I know now, while Rachel holds my hand, and I stare into Tess’s eyes, I know she won’t hurt me.
