Looking back now, Emily wonders how four long years of high school seem to have passed in a blur. She can’t pin down any one day in her memory that highlights her former friendship with Jenna; instead, the hours build upon each other like layers of sedimentary rock upon which every other relationship she had was based. No one else ever meant as much to her and yet somehow they’re no longer friends. When did Emily see Jenna last? It almost pains her to realize she doesn’t remember.
Their high school graduation was bittersweet—Emily applied to college in northern Virginia, a good three hour drive from South Market, and Jenna…well, didn’t. She always said she wanted to be a writer, and claimed one didn’t need to go to school to learn how to write, but Emily suspected her decision not to apply had more to do with money than anything else. There were student loans, of course, and Jenna had the grades for scholarships if she wanted to go that route, but by June of their senior year, she hadn’t even bothered to send in an application to the local community college.
Emily tried to keep in touch, at first. It was hard; her mother bitched whenever the phone bills came in, and the long distance charges ate up what little spending money Emily had. Soon she could only call Jenna on the weekends, and she had to resort to writing letters during the week. But it was hard to cram in everything she wanted to say; things happened that she couldn’t put into words or forgot to mention, little things that were nothing, really, but would’ve been nice to share as friends. Instead they pushed between Emily and Jenna, creating a gap in their closeness, driving them apart.
Soon it was easier not to call. Emily looked forward to Jenna’s letters, but they, too, grew infrequent. Maybe it was Emily’s fault. Maybe she didn’t write back soon enough. She had new friends now—though none as close as Jenna had been—and her classes, and a job. She had a girlfriend, her first. She had a whole life, one Jenna wasn’t a part of anymore. It was obvious from Jenna’s ever shorter letters that she, too, was moving on.
Eventually one of them stopped writing the other. One of them stopped calling—Emily doesn’t know who, and really, at this point, who cares? It’s been years since they last spoke. She doesn’t remember if she was angry back in the day when she finally realized she wasn’t going to hear from Jenna again. Right now, though, she’s happy to see Jenna again, and glad for the chance to catch up with an old friend.
Face it, she thinks as she eats her waffle and eggs, what I’m really happy for is any excuse to keep from having to go straight to my parents’ house after this.
Yeah, well. That, too. Thankfully it is Jenna and not the former quarterback, whatever his name was. Lord knows she isn’t that desperate.
* * * *
By the time eight o’clock rolls around, Emily’s finished eating and down to the dregs of her second cup of coffee. Another waitress has come in to replace Jenna, and the only other customers are a pair of elderly men at opposite ends of the bar. They obviously know each other, though; they carry on a conversation as if they’re sitting side by side. Emily sips her coffee and fights the urge to tell them to shut the fuck up.
Jenna finally comes out from around the counter again, no apron on this time, a purse slung over one shoulder. That long curly hair—the first thing Emily still thinks of when she thinks of her former best friend—is pulled into a messy bun at the nape of Jenna’s neck; wavy strands escape to frame her face. She looks exhausted from her shift, and Emily expects her to plop down into the booth to relax, maybe order a coffee while they catch up on all the time they’ve spent apart.
When Jenna approaches, Emily nods at the seat across from her. “Want to sit down?”
With a laugh, Jenna shakes her head. “You kidding? I work here. Can we go outside, or something?”
Outside it’s sweltering, but the sun is setting and Emily doesn’t think she’ll melt if they sit in the car. “Let me pay my bill and I’ll be right out.”
Jenna heads outside, and while Emily’s at the register, she wonders if they’ll even have anything much to talk about anymore. It’s been so long since they saw each other last. But when she steps out into the heat, she finds Jenna leaning against the side of the building, finishing off a cigarette.
“Didn’t know you smoked,” Emily says.
Jenna tells her, “There’s probably a lot you don’t know about me. Why’re you here, anyway? Most people who leave South Market never bother coming back.”
“Mike’s getting married.”
Jenna nods. “That’s right. So that’s this weekend, huh? Who’s the lucky girl?”
“I don’t know her. They met at Bible study, or something like that.” Emily thumbs her keyfob. Her car’s headlights turn on, pinning Jenna to the Waffle House window by her shadow. “You want to sit and talk for a bit?”
“Sure.” Jenna drops her cigarette onto the sidewalk and rubs it out with the heel of her sneaker, then steps around the car to the passenger side. “Nice ride.”
Emily slides behind the wheel and starts the car to turn on the air conditioning. At the same time, Jenna drops into the passenger seat, and for a moment, it feels like old times again, the Dynamic Duo gearing up to cruise down Temple until the streetlights went on blinkers and they had to make it home before their curfews. It feels so right sitting here beside Jenna, the years between them falling away. Emily closes her eyes against a sudden rush of emotion that swells inside her. It isn’t a feeling, it’s a belief, she isn’t merely thinking back now, no—she is sixteen again, invincible, her best friend at her side and the whole world ahead of them. This time she won’t move on so easily, she promises herself. This time she won’t let Jenna go.
A warm hand settles onto hers where it rests on the gear shaft. Emily turns to find Jenna looking at her. Tears shine unshed in her light brown eyes. “This takes me back,” she murmurs. “How long has it been?”
Emily places her other hand over Jenna’s. “Too long. God, I’ve missed you. I miss us.”
“Me, too.” Jenna drops her gaze, suddenly shy. “Can I ask you something?”
With a grin, Emily squeezes her friend’s hand. “Is this about me liking girls?”
Jenna’s eyes widen and she looks up again, impressed. “How did you—?”
Emily shrugs. “This is a small town, I know word gets around. My mother won’t let me forget everybody knows. The way she carries on, you’d think complete strangers come up to her in the grocery store to talk about it, or something.”
“Well, I do get asked sometimes,” Jenna admits.
Emily gives her a sideways look. “Asked what?”
“If we…” Jenna seesaws her hand in the air. “You know. We used to be so close. I guess some people think…”
“We were kids,” Emily says. “I mean, Jesus. We were friends, that’s it.”
Turning in her seat, Jenna faces Emily fully. “Did you ever like me that way, though?”
“I—Jenna.” Flustered, Emily tries to pull her hand back but finds it trapped between both of Jenna’s. Suddenly her face feels hot, and it has nothing to do with the setting sunlight slanting through the car’s windows. “I didn’t know it myself back then. I mean, shit. I couldn’t even say the word lesbian until my second year of college without thinking I needed to wash my mouth out with soap.”
To Emily’s surprise, Jenna’s smile fades, and disappointment washes over her face. “So you never…”
“We both liked what’s his face, remember?” Emily jokes, hoping to lighten the mood between them. “That football guy.”
Jenna wrinkles her nose. “Bryce Howard? Ugh, you should see him now. Fat and gross. He eats here every Sunday. I’m telling you, he’s headed for a heart attack.”
They share a laugh. Emily’s all too aware of Jenna’s hands still holding hers, though, and she doesn’t know where they might go from here. She glances at the clock on the dashboard; she really should be heading over to her parents’ soon. Still, this is nice, the two of them together again. Maybe they can hang out sometime
over the weekend. Maybe Jenna can come as Emily’s guest to the wedding.
When Emily turns back to ask, she finds Jenna has moved in closer. “So,” her friend says, “seeing anyone?”
“No. You?”
“No.” Biting the inside of her lower lip, Jenna drops her gaze to Emily’s mouth. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Emily shrugs, not sure what to expect. “Okay.”
Jenna searches Emily’s face for a long moment, as if gauging whether or not to trust her. Then, leaning in, she brushes her cheek against Emily’s as she whispers in Emily’s ear, “Maybe you didn’t know back in high school, but I did.”
Pulling back, Emily said, “I didn’t, I swear. I came out in college.”
“I mean me.”
Emily frowns. “I don’t…”
That’s as far as she gets before Jenna grabs the front of her shirt and pulls her closer. She smells faintly of cigarette smoke and maple syrup, a homey scent that makes Emily think of lazy mornings spent lounging in bed. Then her mouth covers Emily’s, her lips softer than Emily ever imagined they could be.
And who’s she kidding? Of course she’s pictured this moment in her head, this kiss, in a dozen different ways. Even when she didn’t know she liked other girls, she always liked Jenna.
Part of her feels as if she’s never been kissed before. Jenna’s lips on hers, Jenna’s breath on her cheek, every little sensation is precious and new, and Emily doesn’t want to ruin it. This, this is what she’s been looking for all this time. What she left South Market hoping to find.
She clasps Jenna’s hand in hers. This time she won’t be so quick to let go.
* * * *
ABOUT J.T. MARIE
A graduate of George Mason University, J.T. Marie writes lesbian romance. For more information, visit jtmarie.com.
Music at Midnight by Matthew J. Metzger
“I’ll only cause a scene.”
It’s Jayden’s final attempt, and the scowl on Darren’s face—the one that’s ridiculously kissable, especially when he’s wearing his glasses—says it’s going to be no more successful than the first fifty tries.
“Darren, seriously, I don’t want to cause a scene at your sister’s wedding.”
“Then don’t, I’ll do it,” Darren says flippantly, and gets out of the van before Jayden can stop him. And damn it, but Jayden hates driving Darren’s van. And there’s no way out except to steal it; he can’t exactly thumb a lift from a posh countryside manor house in the middle of nowhere. And the nearest bus is probably eighty miles away.
Fuck.
Jayden steels himself, and gets out.
And, sure enough, the minute he looks up, and sees the bride and her other brother coming down the steps, Jayden’s stomach clenches up tight, and he feels cold.
“Daz!”
Michelle, of course, doesn’t notice the scowl on Scott’s face, or the way Jayden’s stilled. She just throws herself at her self-professed favourite, and smacks Darren back into the side of the van with the force of her hug. Jayden still finds it strange to look at her. She’s twenty-two and engaged, somebody’s wife as of tomorrow morning, and yet he still thinks of her as Darren’s scowl-faced, mop-headed six-year-old sister who deliberately moved her chair away from Jayden the first time they met.
She looks like Darren now, though she didn’t until she was nearly sixteen. Same angular face, same freckled skin. Her hair is the same wild nest of curls, a cloud of darkness around her head, though it’s softer and thinner than Darren’s wire mesh. She’s all limbs, and the tangled-up hug looks more like twins than a brother and sister separated by a decade.
Then she rears back and smacks him, and Jayden laughs.
“Ow! What the fuck, Misha?” Darren whines, and she smacks him again.
“Michelle! And you never sent an RSVP!”
“I texted you!”
“You’re supposed to send the proper RSVP back! We’re collecting people’s replies!”
“Then save the text!”
“Oh my God, you’re such a pleb!”
“Better than a potato, Mish-Mash.”
Jayden wants to keep laughing. Normally, he would. They’re close, but Darren takes his older brother duties seriously and winds Michelle up every chance he gets. And usually, Jayden enjoys it, and takes notes to aggravate his own sister. But today, despite the heat of the evening sun, all he can feel is Scott’s cold stare.
And as Darren and Michelle bicker, Jayden brings his gaze up to meet Scott’s again.
Michelle is nearly ten years younger than Darren. But Scott is older, and so Scott remembers what Michelle was really too young to be told. Michelle knows Darren’s ill, but it’s Scott that really understands it. It’s Scott that’s seen it, Scott that’s come to hospitals and talked to doctors and seen Darren in the aftermath of a bad episode. It’s Scott who’s really felt the fear of losing his brother, and it’s Scott who’s felt the indecision of how to help someone whose illness is all in their head, and can’t simply be fixed by stitches and surgery.
And it’s Scott who hates Jayden for it.
Jayden swallows, and holds that icy gaze.
They used to get along, him and Scott. Then Jayden went to university, and Darren started working. Their relationship creaked under the pressure—and so did Darren’s mind. And then one night, he’d called and called and called, and Jayden hadn’t answered the phone…until the final call, the next morning, from Darren’s housemate. Saying he was in hospital. Saying he’d taken an overdose. Saying he’d tried to—
(Jayden still can’t say the s-word.)
And Scott blames Jayden.
Sometimes, Jayden still feels guilty. He lies awake some nights, tracing Darren’s tattoos and counting every heartbeat under his skin. He feels his stomach twist when he comes home to find the piano lid down, and Darren in bed too early to be normal. He sends texts out of nowhere, little ILU and xxx messages of no importance, out of some guilty, vain hope it will keep the illness at bay.
And sometimes, when Scott fixes him with that cold look, Jayden feels angry instead. Because Darren tried to kill himself in a flat, miles from his family, not just his boyfriend. Where was Scott that night? Why didn’t Darren try to ring Scott in the first place? If Jayden’s to blame for being distant in every sense of the word, then Scott has a fair share in the fault.
So when Scott says, “Darren. Thought you’d be flying solo this weekend,” Jayden grinds his teeth, and slips his fingers through Darren’s to seal the gaps.
“Ball and chain,” Darren deadpans, not a trace of humour touching his face. “Can’t go around unsupervised, you should know that by now.”
It’s a poke at the pair of them—Scott for his hostility, Jayden for his overprotectiveness—but Jayden doesn’t take the hint to leave well enough alone, and rolls his eyes. “Of course you can’t,” he says tartly. “You might get stupid ideas.”
“Had any lately?”
Jayden pauses, blinking. It’s unusually direct of Scott. He usually just scowls and says very little, trying to just pinch Darren away and talk to him in private. He’s friendly with Darren, and they’re as close as Darren ever really gets to people outside his very tiny inner circle. It’s just with Jayden. But to ask, out here on the steps the evening before Michelle’s wedding…
Jayden feels a little colder, and slides his arm around Darren’s waist.
“Any stupid ideas?” Darren asks, then tips his head back like he’s thinking about it. “Probably driving here in the van, the clutch is going to go any day now. Should’ve brought the car, but it gives me backache and like hell I’m trusting Jayden’s driving. Ow! Dick. Before that…probably going to Tim’s leaving do at work. That was a really bad idea. I still don’t know how I got home.”
“You know what I mean.”
They all do, bar perhaps Michelle, who looks mildly confused. But Jayden’s stomach is heavy and cold, and Darren’s face is tightening in steady increments. He’s going to ex
plode. All over his little sister’s wedding, and there’ll be a massive row, and Darren will be spiky and unpleasant for days—
Jayden pulls, hauling Darren towards the steps, and says he wants to check Darren’s booked a decent room because, “I’m not sleeping in the back of your clapped-out van.”
He avoids Scott’s eyes, but he can feel them on the back of his neck.
* * * *
Jayden turns over in the night, and Darren’s gone.
He’s attuned to it, but it’s been so long since it was a bad thing that Jayden simply blinks at the empty space in front of him, then pushes himself up slowly. The ensuite door is open, and the bathroom beyond dark. Darren’s left the room entirely.
But there’s a note on the side table, presumably so Jayden doesn’t lose his shit. Darren’s handwriting is awful even for…well, Darren’s handwriting, so presumably he’d either left the light off, or not bothered with his glasses. But it’s only one word. Bar.
Jayden yawns, checks the clock, and gets up. Better safe than sorry. Darren’s never gotten emotional at weddings, but he’s a tendency to get a little tense around his family, and last they heard, nobody knew if Darren’s parents were intending to come. If his mother’s around, Darren’s certainly going to be antsy.
Jayden satisfies himself with jeans and a jumper before shuffling off downstairs. He takes the lift, leaning sleepily against the wall and wondering why Darren can’t do his wanderings during the day, or at least before midnight. He taps his fingers against his sides, wondering a little nervously if Darren’s been stupid enough to drink, but when the lift spits him out into the lobby, Darren’s dark hair is immediately obvious in the lounge area beyond the reception.
Bent low over a table, covered in bits of paper, and his curls padded down over his ear by headphones. Glasses are falling off the end of his nose, and he’s writing.
Jayden smiles, and sneaks up to hug him and kiss his jaw from behind. Darren jumps, startled, and Jayden slides the headphones off to kiss his ear. “Composing?”
“Mm.” The paper is covered in tiny notes. Darren has a haphazard way of writing music. Half of it is sketchy sheet music, little quavers dancing on wobbly lines, and half of it is an almost childish form of letters. AABACA catches Jayden’s eye, and he shifts through the papers like he could possibly understand them.
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