The Longing

by Bridget Essex

  “Yeah, I can cook,” said Sydney, dazed but following.

  Sassy remained on the floor, lolling comfortably on her back, so relaxed that the sound of adorable cat snores began to fill the apartment.

  The ingredients for the gravy were already neatly arranged on the counter, so Sydney set to work. She poured oil into a skillet and turned on the heat, aware—constantly—of Caroline's position in the kitchen. She felt her presence like a warmth, like sun rays on her back, and was so distracted that she found it hard to pay attention to what she was doing—but she tried her best.

  Sydney wanted to ask Caroline what she thought of her. She wanted to know what Caroline thought of the kiss—without giving any thought to Mrs. Williams' bigoted opinions. She wanted to find out how Caroline was feeling about the hate crime that had been committed against her earlier in the day.

  But she was quiet as she stirred the flour into the oil.

  And her quietness seemed to prompt Caroline to fill the silence.

  “You’ve probably never been to a forty-five-year-old’s birthday party, have you?” she chuckled ruefully, drawing lettuce out of the crisper drawer in her fridge. Caroline sounded odd, self-conscious, and she picked at the top of the lettuce leaves as she stood in the center of the kitchen, wearing a soft frown.

  Sydney shrugged, wanting to ease Caroline’s discomfort. “Is that the age you’re turning?” she asked quietly.

  Caroline nodded, still avoiding Sydney’s gaze.

  “Well, age is just a number,” said Sydney, with a shake of her head. “I’ve always believed that.”

  “You’re young. It’s easy for you to believe that.”

  “And you’re only forty-five. That’s young, too.”

  “Not compared to you.” Caroline looked agitated now. “How old are you again?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Nineteen.” Caroline laughed softly and then sighed, her eyes half-closed. “Oh, to be nineteen again.”

  Sydney tended to the gravy and waited.

  “I’d just… I think I’d do a lot of things differently if I were nineteen again.” Caroline placed the lettuce on the counter, her back facing Sydney, her shoulders raised high, as if she were tense. “If you’re only nineteen—my goodness, I must be your parents’ age. How old are they?”

  Sydney nearly doubled over: She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach—hard. There was always the risk, of course, that her family, or her past, would come up in conversation. Thom had learned to avoid these topics, more or less, because he had realized they were upsetting to her.

  Caroline, however, didn’t know.

  Sydney turned the burner down as she stared at the roux forming in the skillet.

  “I don’t have any parents,” she told Caroline, her voice pitched low.

  Suddenly, Caroline turned around, and when Sydney glanced at her, she found Caroline gazing at her with wide, worried eyes. “Wait, what? What do you mean?”

  Sydney swallowed. “I… I just don’t have any parents. That's all.”

  “Sydney...” Caroline seemed to be at a loss for words. Her face was soft with concern—and sympathy. “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  At Caroline's words, Sydney's heart—formerly racing—fully stopped.

  No one knew.

  No one knew but Sydney and the police officers.

  And the people in the Redeemer House.

  And her parents.

  And Laurie.

  Sydney clicked off the burner, gritted her teeth, and then slowly turned around to face Caroline.

  This moment mattered.

  Its edges glittered with possibility—just like knocking on Caroline’s door. Just like choosing to give Caroline the necklace. Just like the moment the power went out.

  Sydney looked at Caroline.

  If she told her the story, there would be repercussions. Caroline might be disgusted by what Sydney had been through. Caroline might think it was too much to absorb—too personal, too horrible. She might think that Sydney had too much baggage. Was too different, too strange.

  She might be overwhelmed, and scared away.

  But Caroline was important to Sydney.

  And, in truth, Sydney had never wanted to tell anyone about her past before.

  In this moment, she wanted to tell Caroline.

  So she gathered up her courage and followed her heart.

  “My parents were both pastors of a church. Still are, I guess,” said Sydney, voice—and body—shaking. Her heart thundered inside of her, the floor seemed so far away, and there were black dots blurring the edges of her vision.

  She tried her best to speak clearly, calmly.

  “They found out I was gay when they caught me kissing a girl after choir practice.” Sydney was startled by her words, by the sound of them, set free, spoken aloud. But she shook her head and went on: “So they took me to a conversion camp for gay kids. The people there tried to cure me of my gayness, tried to make me straight. They abused me. Badly.”

  Caroline stood as still as a statue, made no response, though she was clearly listening.

  Sydney rested her hands on the counter behind her, leaning back in an effort to remain upright. “They...used electroshock therapy on me. They beat me. And my parents allowed it. They thought it would help me become straight, I guess. They told the people at the camp, at the house, to do anything they thought necessary to me, as long as I came back to them straight.”

  Sydney fought the urge to sink to the floor. “But a kid at the house, my friend, killed himself, and then there was a police raid. The house got shut down. My parents wanted to just send me to another conversion camp, but the police wouldn’t let them because they considered it child endangerment. So…” She tried several times to swallow the lump in her throat before succeeding. “I never saw them again. I don’t have parents, because they don’t want me. And,” she said, lifting her chin, though her voice was still shaking, “I don’t want them, either.”

  Caroline’s mouth was open, but no sound was coming out. She stood silent for a moment more, as if she were processing what Sydney had told her, but then she was stepping forward, her high heels clicking on the tiles.

  She folded Sydney in an embrace so all consuming that, for the first time in Sydney’s life, she felt truly held.

  And she had to hold back tears.

  With deliberate movements, she reached up and pressed her palms against Caroline’s shoulder blades—disbelievingly—hugging her back.

  “Oh, my God, honey,” Caroline breathed into Sydney’s ear.

  And that’s when Sydney felt the heat against her face, felt something sliding down her cheek.

  Caroline was crying.

  “I can’t… I can’t imagine…” Caroline was saying, and then she tightened her embrace. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and she said it again, her voice breaking: “I’m so sorry.”

  Sydney breathed out slowly and rested her cheek against Caroline’s shoulder.

  She hadn't been held after Laurie. After Samuel killed himself. After the police came.

  The officers had been careful around her. “The cult kids,” they whispered as they walked past, making a wide berth around her and the other kids who'd been taken from the Redeemer House.

  Sydney knew, given the way that she had been looked at during that nightmarish time, that the officers were uncomfortable with what she’d been through. Even the most compassionate cops were uneasy around her.

  Her parents, of course, hadn’t even come to get her.

  Aside from some quick, casual hugs from Thom, Sydney hadn't been embraced, truly embraced, since the night with Laurie.

  So as Sydney stood there, with Caroline melting against her, offering her warmth and physicality for comfort, Sydney felt...everything. The sensation was vast—enormous. She hadn’t realized how badly she had needed to be touched like this, hadn’t known how desperately she needed to experience this tenderness, until Caroline held her tigh
tly in her arms.

  Her head was empty; her heart was full.

  There was nothing but warmth. Softness.

  Caroline.

  As time stretched on, Sydney became aware of all of the places where Caroline’s curves fit against her own.

  They fit together so well.

  Sydney steeled herself, drew in a deep breath.

  Now.

  She should tell Caroline now how she felt about her, while Caroline was here, holding her.

  But she had no time to work up her courage, no time to dare to speak the first words, because just as she was about to start, Caroline pulled back, away from her, holding Sydney at arm’s length as she searched her face.

  “How did you survive it?” Caroline asked quietly.

  Sydney hadn’t been expecting this question: She had never been asked it before. She watched Caroline, taking in the deep empathy and kindness in her blue gaze.

  Sydney's voice was hoarse when she whispered, “I just didn’t want the assholes to win.”

  Caroline’s expression transformed from one of sympathy to one of surprise—and then she let out a short laugh. Her smile was soft, beautiful, and when she drew Sydney close for another embrace, Sydney's heart throbbed, blood rushing through every part of her body.

  “You keep surprising me, Sydney,” Caroline whispered into her ear. “Maybe—”

  There was a knock at the door, interrupting Caroline's words.

  Caroline drew away abruptly, leaving Sydney standing alone in the kitchen with an odd expression on her face. She turned back to the gravy in the skillet, knowing that her cheeks were red, burning.

  Suddenly, irrationally, she wondered if Caroline had left a lipstick print on her cheek when she kissed her earlier.

  She almost hoped that she had.

  She could hardly breathe as she picked up the spoon with numb fingers. Her lungs and chest ached.

  She had just spoken about her past for the first time, and she felt overstimulated, brittle, and completely unprepared to make small talk with a gathering of strangers.

  Laughter and soft voices: Caroline was greeting the person at the door. Sydney kept stirring until Caroline clipped into the kitchen, another woman by her side.

  Sydney moved the skillet off of the stove as Caroline, smiling, gestured toward her new guest. “Sydney, this is Amy. Amy, Sydney. Amy is one of my students, and I thought you two would get along well.”

  Amy was young, pretty, with short, close-cropped brown hair. She wore a soft yellow dress that grazed her bare knees, and she offered Sydney a friendly, genuine smile.

  Sydney smiled back as Caroline stepped away from the two of them, returning to the head of lettuce on the counter. “You know, I think you're going to find you have a lot in common,” said Caroline, though her voice sounded strangely stiff, wooden.

  Sydney’s brows furrowed as she glanced at Amy, and then started to stir the roux again.

  Anxiety crawled beneath her skin as another knock came at the door. Sydney knew this was a party, of course, and at parties, there were always people, but get-togethers like this weren't something she had ever enjoyed.

  She liked being with Caroline, and her little cat, in a quiet apartment.

  Amy was now leaning against the counter beside the stove, a can of Coke in her hand as she studied Sydney. “So…how are you?” Amy asked.

  Her voice was soft, warm, and she seemed like a nice person. Probably the kind of person that Sydney would enjoy being friends with.

  Sydney bit her lip, cleared her throat.

  “I’m good,” she offered. She didn’t like pleasantries. The “getting to know you” stage of a relationship was so awkward for Sydney, because she didn’t care about surface details. She cared about what made a person tick, what made them laugh and cry, how they viewed the workings of the universe.

  Still, Sydney was nothing if not polite, so she talked a little with Amy. And Amy was very nice. But as more and more women arrived, as the gravy thickened in Sydney’s skillet, as she poured it into the white gravy boat that Caroline had set beside the stove, Sydney realized that her mind was far away, barely aware of the shallow conversation she was having with the girl in the yellow dress.

  All that Sydney was—her body, her brain, her blood, her heart—was centered on Caroline. To her eyes, the apartment was muted, out of focus, and only Caroline stood sharply presented, bright and real amid the dim, meaningless chaos. Despite the arrival of many guests, Sydney always knew where Caroline was.

  Nothing and no one else in the space mattered.

  Only her.

  Sydney wandered out of the kitchen eventually, but only because Caroline came to fetch her. She wanted to introduce Sydney to the others, she said, and guided her gently into the living room, where a small group of women stood around the back of the sofa, taking turns scratching Sassy’s belly. For her part, the small cat was in ecstasies, rubbing her forehead hard against anyone who offered a hand to her.

  Sydney was introduced to the group, and because she was terrible with names, she didn’t remember a single one of them. Two of the women were Caroline’s old students, from when she taught about twenty years ago, and the others were her friends.

  Caroline indicated two women standing together by the window. “This is Eleanor and Annie,” said Caroline, with a warm smile. “They’re married, and I’ve known them for such a long time. Ellie and Annie, this is Sydney, my student.”

  At this introduction, Sydney stood up straighter, suddenly interested. These women were a married lesbian couple. Sydney had never met a gay person who was married before.

  A warm feeling blossomed in her belly. Eleanor's hand was resting at the small of Annie’s back, and they looked so easy together. So comfortable and content. Sydney tried her best not to stare at them, but she couldn’t help herself. They were just...lovely to witness. They leaned their heads together as they pet Sassy.

  They looked so happy.

  So in love.

  That’s what Sydney wanted, she realized, as she gazed at them. The longing filled her so fiercely that she was stricken a little breathless.

  She lost her breath fully when Caroline threaded her arm through Sydney’s again, whisking her away to meet another group of ladies. Sydney could feel Caroline’s warmth against her side, and she remembered the way that Caroline had held her, embraced her. She remembered how she had been poised to confess her feelings...

  And she wished that she could be alone with Caroline again.

  Suddenly, Caroline let go of her arm, because there was yet another knock at the door. “Why don't you all make your way into the dining room?” Caroline called, her voice rising above the chatter. There was an edge to her tone. “Dinner’s ready. We were only expecting one more, and I think this is her.”

  One more.

  Sydney watched Caroline approach her front door.

  Watched Caroline open it.

  Sydney stared at the woman in the doorway, and her heart sank through the floor.

  She knew, knew in her bones, that this woman was nothing like her.

  She could never measure up to Theresa.

  Not in a million years.

  Chapter 15

  Theresa and Sydney weren’t competitors, of course. For one thing, Caroline and Theresa had ended their relationship. And for another, Sydney didn't know if Caroline would ever be interested in having a relationship with her.

  But it was hard to look at the woman on the threshold and not feel distinctly lesser. Sydney watched her carefully, feeling her hopes—small enough to begin with—break apart, disintegrate.

  Sydney was nothing like Theresa.

  Not even close.

  Theresa stood with her feet positioned squarely beneath her hips, her shiny, pointy-toed shoes peeking out from the hems of her long black slacks. Her hair was an almost iridescent black, curled and styled expertly, lying softly against her shoulders. She wore the living hell out of a tailored suit jacket, buttoned over a
ruffled white shirt.

  She was stunning.

  But there was more to her than elegance, more to her than the beauty of her face.

  There was power.

  This was the type of woman who got what she wanted.

  Theresa stepped into the apartment, her dark eyes glittering in the low light, and she grasped Caroline’s elbows lightly as they made air kisses at one another. Neither woman looked happy, but Theresa hid her emotions better than Caroline.

  “Are you sure I’m allowed to enter?” Theresa's voice was a rich velvet. Many of the party guests, Sydney noticed, were taking covert glances at Caroline and Theresa, and a few were even whispering, leaning their heads together as they stole glances of the two women.

  “Please come in, Theresa. I wouldn’t have invited you if you weren't welcome,” Caroline murmured, but she wore a pained expression as she closed the door.

  For her part, Theresa slid the phone she’d been holding into the back pocket of her slacks and sank back onto her heels, folding her arms before her. “You’ve done wonders with this place,” she said, though it didn’t sound like a compliment. She glanced around thoughtfully. “I like where you've put the piano.”

  “Thanks.” Caroline's tone was a little icy, and her lips were drawn into a soft frown.

  She moved past Theresa and made her way into the kitchen. Theresa followed her, taking up a wineglass and pouring herself some of the Merlot that sat in an opened bottle on the counter. She held the stem languidly in her hand as she surveyed the party-goers with a practiced coolness.

  Sydney watched these interactions and felt as awkward and ungainly as a newborn foal, when she wanted to feel bold, powerful—or, at the very least, sure of herself.

  She knew she cared about Caroline. She knew she was falling in love with her. Those were irrefutable facts, and important ones; they were the reason she was at this party, despite her longtime dislike of parties.

  She just had to remember where her heart was.

  And her heart was there, in the kitchen. Slicing a loaf of bread with a sharp knife, focused on the task, never lifting her gaze to Theresa. Caroline’s jaw was set, and she was obviously uncomfortable. She had told Sydney why she’d invited Theresa, but her ex's presence was taking a toll. Caroline never did anything without grace, a characteristic that Sydney had come to believe was synonymous with her being. But she was slicing bread messily, brutally, her motions suggesting something akin to anger.