Nesting

by Renee Mackenzie

  “See? We all want the same thing—for you and Kenny to have a baby. I trust you two to do your part. You trust me to do mine.” Peering into the mirror, Macy swiped dark red lipstick across her lips.

  Dori lowered her voice. “I’m just all jumbled up inside, even though I know all this legal stuff is just a formality.”

  “We’ll jump through whatever hoops it takes. And we’ll get through this. Don’t worry.”

  “My boss is coming. I better go.”

  “Relax, Dori. It’ll be all right.”

  †

  Michael’s calendar was stuck to the side of his refrigerator with freebie pharmaceutical magnets pushing the latest drugs for high cholesterol and impotency. His tiny print told him who to see, when, and where. He was the most organized person Macy had ever met.

  Macy took a deep breath. This wasn’t about closure or having a grand epiphany. There was no ah-ha moment, no sense of long-awaited calm. There was only her admitting she didn’t know what she was doing.

  “What’s wrong?” Michael asked.

  Macy hoped that enough time had passed since the cookout that Michael wouldn’t think Cam’s stunt had anything to do with her decision. She got angry at Cam all over again when she thought about her getting falling-down drunk and professing her love for Macy in front of Michael and everyone else. Then she reminded herself how angst and alcohol could combine to make people do stupid things. She knew that firsthand, in the form of past adventures with strangers.

  Michael waved a hand in front of her face. “Macy, hey, where’s your head?”

  “Sorry.”

  He put his hand on her back and steered her out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Just say what’s on your mind.”

  Macy felt the tears building. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately and—” She hesitated and tried to organize her thoughts. “I’m so confused. I just can’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  The tears started down her face, and she couldn’t answer him.

  “You want out of the surrogacy? It’s not too late. Just stop taking the hormones. Dorianne and Kenny will understand.”

  “No, that’s not it.” She couldn’t look at him, didn’t want to see his face if she finally did get the words out.

  “Look at me,” Michael said.

  Macy shook her head.

  “Come on, you always do that. You always turn away from me when you should look at me the most.”

  She did that with everyone. It was easier than letting them see the eyes her mother had disliked so much when she was growing up—the same eyes Macy loved on Jeremiah, but had such a hard time accepting on herself.

  Emma had, however, brought her one step closer to appreciating her eyes. Hematite. Just having someone care enough to write a poem about them had done wonders for her.

  The idea that she was thinking about that, instead of telling Michael about it, drove home how ill-fitted they were to one another. Macy wanted to be with someone she could tell things like that to, or not be with anyone at all.

  She looked at Michael. “If you had to write a poem about any part of me, what part would you choose?”

  “I’m not a poet.”

  “Pretend.”

  “Your heart.”

  When he said it, Macy wasn’t convinced that he was looking that far inside her chest. “Okay, but if you were to write a poem about my eyes, what would you title it?”

  He looked at her face, and she had to force herself not to look away. Then he said, “Black.”

  “Black as…?”

  “Macy, just tell me what’s going on.”

  “Humor me, Michael. Black as what?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Night?”

  She knew what she was doing was wrong. It epitomized everything not right about them being together. He was not like Emma, and all the stupid word games in the world wouldn’t change him. He would never write a poem about her eyes and call it Hematite. He would never be Emma, or any other woman, and either Macy accepted that or she moved on.

  “Michael, I think we should stop seeing each other.”

  “What?” His eyes went wide, and his face drained of color. “Where in the world did that come from? Macy, our relationship is going great. Except for this surrogate thing, it couldn’t be better.”

  “Now the truth comes out.”

  “Okay, I admit I hate this pregnancy idea, but I love you and I can deal with it.” He reached for her hand. “This is just the hormones talking. You’ll feel more like yourself in no time.”

  Macy didn’t say anything, just stared at the nondescript beige wall.

  “What’s this all about?” Michael asked.

  She took her hand from him. “My doubts started before the hormones. I think I need to be single for a while.”

  “You need to be single?”

  She knew she owed him the truth; she just couldn’t look at him when she said it. “And I think I’m attracted to women.”

  “Oh God.”

  Macy did look at him then. He was smiling, but his grin was way too big.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Isn’t this classic? And I can’t get pissed at you, can I, with one of my best friends being a lesbian?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “This is bullshit. I can’t believe you’d be this lame, to make up something like this because you haven’t the guts to be honest with me.”

  “I’m trying to be honest with you, Michael. I’m sorry. I hoped if I ignored the feelings they’d go away, but they haven’t.”

  “I know damned well this isn’t about that. At least give me the consideration of being honest with me.”

  “I am.”

  “Is this about Cam?”

  “This has nothing to do with Cam. It’s about a woman I knew before I met you. But more than that, it’s about being honest with myself.”

  “And all of a sudden you can’t be with a man anymore?”

  “I just need to concentrate on the surrogacy and getting my feelings sorted out.”

  “But you know you don’t want me?”

  “I’m so sorry, Michael.”

  “You need to leave. Please, just go.”

  †

  Macy didn’t want to pull her car out of Michael’s driveway and right into Sharon’s, so she drove around for thirty minutes before taking Sharon up on her earlier offer of a visit. As Macy pulled up, she was very conscious that Michael’s car wasn’t next door. But Michael’s whereabouts were no longer her business.

  Sharon let Macy in and offered her some wine.

  “Thanks, but no. I already quit drinking in preparation for the pregnancy.” What she didn’t say was that she’d already quit a lot of things in preparation.

  She followed Sharon into the kitchen.

  “You look beat,” Sharon said.

  “I am.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” Her head was starting to throb, an almost daily occurrence since she’d started taking hormones. But headaches and hot flashes were a small price to pay.

  Sharon pulled the refrigerator door open, and the note Macy had read right after Jess died swung toward her: Milk, bread, Pop-Tarts, I love you!

  “Michael called about fifteen minutes ago. He told me about you two breaking up.” She held up a bottle of water. Macy nodded and Sharon handed it to her.

  Macy’s eyes returned to the note, and she stared at it until the refrigerator door closed. “Did he say anything else?”

  “I didn’t push for details. I figured he’d tell me if he wanted me to know.” She poured her wine and set the bottle on the immaculate white counter.

  “Or that I’d tell you.” Macy smiled.

  She laughed. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Macy leaned against the counter and watched the play of light off the coffeepot. She was convinced that Jess had picked out all the red accents and equally sure Sharon would keep them around indefinitely. She took a closer lo
ok at Sharon. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I still can’t sleep in my own bed.” She sighed. “Maybe I’m not fine. Maybe I’m almost fine.” Her mouth shifted, an exhausted, unconvincing attempt at a smile.

  At least Sharon had been brave enough to be with someone one-hundred percent. At least she wasn’t a coward. Then it went into perspective. This woman was grieving the loss of her lover, and Macy was jealous. The heat of shame warmed her face.

  Sharon said, “I don’t want to talk about me.”

  Macy resisted the urge to reach for her, to take her hand. Instead, she said, “So, let’s go ahead and talk about Michael.”

  “Okay.” Sharon perked up a little, making Macy laugh. She led the way into the living room.

  “I just decided it was time to be honest, both with him and with myself.” Macy sat on the blue leather sofa and let its suppleness cradle her.

  Sharon sat at the other end and placed her wine on a sandstone coaster she slid across the coffee table toward her.

  “You told him about…” Sharon’s voice trailed off, an invitation for Macy to finish for her.

  “I told him I needed to do this surrogacy alone. Well, not alone—obviously there’s Dori and Kenny, and now you. Have I thanked you lately for all you’re doing to help us?”

  “You have. And I’m happy for the distraction. But what about Michael?”

  “I told him I need to be single right now.” She drank some water before going on and tried to get her words organized. “I’d been thinking. Obviously I wouldn’t have sex with Michael while I was trying to get pregnant with Dori and Kenny’s baby.”

  Sharon nodded.

  “Then I figured it’d be weird to have sex with Michael while I was pregnant with a child that wasn’t ours.” Macy shrugged. “All I knew was that the prospect of not having sex with him for a prolonged time didn’t bother me in the least.”

  “How much of this did you tell Michael?”

  “Only the part about needing to be single.” She sighed. “But then there was the part about being attracted to women, too.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.” Macy blew out a breath. “You think maybe I should have kept that part to myself?”

  “No, it’s good that you were honest.” She sipped her wine. “Did he freak?”

  “He didn’t believe me. He accused me of making it up as an easy way out of our relationship.”

  Sharon gave an exaggerated grimace.

  Macy thought about how, as she was telling Michael it was about a woman she’d known before him, she’d realized it wasn’t about Emma specifically. Macy was attracted to women, but she’d also been using that moment with Emma as a crutch.

  “So, here we are,” Macy said.

  “What now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sharon chuckled. “Do I fix you up with my single lesbian friends?”

  “No, nothing like that. Hmm, do you have single lesbian friends?”

  “Actually, no, I don’t. What about Emma?”

  “I’ve known for a while that wasn’t going anywhere. I guess I’ve been using thoughts of her to help me walk away from Michael. You probably think I’m the most screwed-up person ever.”

  Sharon shook her head. “No. I think it’s good that you’ve got such insight into your motives. Some people never know why they do the things that they do.” She got up and went to the kitchen for a refill.

  When Sharon returned with her wine, she sat on the floor with her back against an overstuffed chair, facing Macy. The rug under Sharon mapped out the living area with earthy tones in jagged lines and geometric shapes.

  Macy studied the muted colors and looked up and caught Sharon giving her a funny look. She realized she was fanning herself. “Hot flash.”

  Despite the fact that Sharon was still sleeping on the sofa, she seemed more like the woman Macy had first met, before she lost Jess. There was something less distracted about her, less like she was waiting for Jess to come back from running some errand. Macy wondered if having this surrogacy research to engage her really was helping. She couldn’t help thinking that Sharon looked good when she was engaged.

  Macy was still hoping that Sharon and Cam would spend some time together. Cam wanted more than anything to develop a relationship with Sharon. Both of them having loved Jess, and both being lesbians, they at least had a foundation to build on.

  She decided to meddle. “Cam told me she talked to you the other day.”

  “Yeah.” Sharon gave a sheepish grin. “I know I was rough on her. There’s just something about her that rubs me the wrong way.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Smugness? No, it’s more like she acts entitled.”

  Macy decided to risk overstepping boundaries. She figured sometimes you had to take risks in friendships. “Can I make an observation?”

  Sharon smiled and nodded slowly.

  “Is it possible that your dislike for her is about lashing out? That maybe you’re taking your anger over losing Jess out on Cam?”

  “You sound like my shrink.”

  “You have a shrink?”

  She smiled. “No. But after hearing that, maybe I should.”

  “Cam’s a good kid,” Macy said.

  “Even after she got drunk and made a pass at you?”

  “Okay, maybe not her finest hour.”

  “I know Jess wanted to mend things with Cam, but I can’t do that for them, at least not at this moment.”

  Macy picked at the label on her water bottle.

  “I don’t mean to come off as heartless or cold,” Sharon said.

  “Trust me, no one thinks you’re either.” Macy was the cold one in the room, the one who didn’t know how to have an adult relationship. “I’ve never been in love.”

  “You’ve loved but have never been in love?” Sharon asked.

  “Maybe not even that.” Macy slid off the sofa onto her own section of rug and pulled her knees up to her chest.

  “What about Emma?”

  Macy shrugged. “I always loved her as a friend. Then our kiss and her leaving happened so fast, I think it became more about loving the idea of her.”

  “Don’t get caught in that trap. That’ll just hinder finding a real love when you’re ready for it.”

  “You think I’m just not ready?”

  “If you were, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking about it. You’d be off loving someone, and I’d be here alone, getting very drunk.” She raised her glass in a toast.

  Macy stretched her legs out on the rug, across a circle and a square—terra cotta on mustard, laced with cornflower blue—until her toe touched Sharon. She nudged Sharon’s foot. “I’m glad I’m here with you, even if it means having a conversation about how unready I am for love.”

  Sharon nudged her back. “When you’re ready, there will be someone perfect for you, who’s also ready, and you’ll be so glad everything led you to that moment and that person.”

  “Is that the wine making you so eloquent?”

  “No, it’s wisdom making me eloquent. It is the wine adding that slight slur, however.” She drained her glass. “Eloquent is a great word. Maybe even my new favorite word.”

  “My new favorite word is whirligig.”

  “Ah-ha.” Then like a whirligig, Sharon’s attention shifted, and she studied the stem of her wineglass, then the point on the rug just to the left of where Macy’s leg bisected a yellow circle.

  Macy started feeling anxious to get home to her J-man. Jack’s threat about taking their son constantly threaded in and out of her mind. He hadn’t moved forward with fighting for Jeremiah, though, and Macy felt pretty confident he wouldn’t do anything, not with his dad on her side. But she wouldn’t know for sure until things were in motion. “I should get home to Jeremiah.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” Sharon flipped on the floodlight, illuminating the driveway, Macy’s car, and the strip of her side yard that abu
tted Michael’s.

  Macy turned to her to say goodnight and thought she’d just give Sharon a little hug or squeeze her hand. She froze, though, when she saw the intense way Sharon was staring at her yard.

  “I’ve been thinking about planting grass in that landscaping area,” Sharon said. “It’s nice when it’s kept up with flowers, but I haven’t had the time.”

  Macy nodded.

  “I hate mowing around it—it disrupts the perfect rectangular order of things. Jess used to say it reminded her of a woman, the way it curves.”

  “I can see that,” Macy said.

  “I missed a spot,” Sharon whispered, leaning her head toward the left. “When Jess was our official grass cutter, I’d redirect her towards any area she missed.”

  She stared into the yard, perhaps trying to conjure up an image of her lover, or maybe fighting it off, Macy wasn’t sure which.

  “When the cancer came, I took over the mowing.” Sharon laughed. “I got so defensive the first time Jess pointed out a place I’d missed. I thought she was telling me my lawn care was lacking, or maybe my care of her was.”

  Macy wanted to say something brilliantly compassionate but couldn’t think of anything. So she just listened.

  “Once when she pointed out a thin ridge of uncut grass that sliced through the yard, I thought maybe it made her think of the angry red scars crisscrossing her body. Or maybe it was just me thinking about them.”

  Sharon looked at Macy. “When Jess died, there was no one left to point out my sloppy spots.” Tears coursed down her face. “And then Cam was here—cutting Michael’s grass next door in the same perfect pattern that Jess did. With the same blondish hair, same darker eyebrows and lashes, and the same care. I hate how she cuts Michael’s grass right before I get around to ours—I mean mine—making me look inadequate, saying to Jess, ‘Look, look how much better blood-relatives are.’”

  “Cam doesn’t…” But Macy knew nothing she could say would help, so instead of finishing her sentence, she stepped toward her. Sharon moved into her arms. Macy held on, feeling the heat of Sharon’s tears on her shoulder. Then Macy’s temperature rose, and she pulled away, ashamed of her body’s involuntary reaction.