A Work in Progress

by L. T. Smith

  “Okay.” I smiled reassuringly and sipped my tea, the cup covering the bottom half of my face. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of what she was telling me. Not because what she was telling me wasn’t a big deal, or that she had kept her pregnancy a secret from both me and her fiancé for over a month, but because I knew there had to be a bloody good reason that she had done it. I tapped the cup against my lips and waited for the smile to take hold before placing the teacup back on its saucer.

  Gill sighed, seeming to deflate slightly.

  “Go on. You told him about your dad because you were pregnant, and?”

  She shrugged, then sighed again. I waited. The hall clock ticked, a sound I’d never usually hear when Gill was in my home.

  She leaned forwards to pick up her cup, but didn’t. She just plonked back into the armchair and sighed again. “Brynn, I…” She stopped, her expression pained, her eyes pleading.

  At that moment it all slotted into place. I slipped off my chair and knelt in front of her. Gill leaned forwards, her face tilted down to mine. Her brown eyes were dark, the colour swirling and changing; light sparked, moisture gathered, the pupils flexed madly. I caught her hands and held them, reassuring her with my touch.

  Gill shook her head, a lone tear escaping from beneath her eyelid to plonk onto the ridge of her cheekbone. Lifting both our hands, Gill swiped across her cheek, the movement capturing the tear and shifting the moisture onto my hand, the coolness palpable against the heat of my skin.

  “Not all men are like your father, Gill. Tom is kind and gentle and loves you.” I kissed her knuckles in a way a friend would kiss another friend’s hand. I didn’t break eye contact. “He’ll be a great father.”

  Another tear leaked out, her eyes appearing almost black by this stage. She slowly shook her head as a sob broke free, her body quivering. Gill tried to speak, but only a rasping noise emerged.

  The hackles on the back of my neck rose. “What is it, love? Has he said something, done something?” In my gut, I knew that Tom did not seem the type to be cruel to Gill, but I had learned the hard way that people can be deceiving.

  “That’s not it,” she choked out.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s not Tom.”

  I was totally confused. “If it’s not Tom... Fuck no! He’s not back, is he?” I half stood, the flash of anger overwhelming as I thought of Gill’s father being on the scene again.

  Gill tightened her grip and tugged me back down. “No. Not him. He’s gone for good. There’s nothing around here for him anymore.”

  She broke eye contact, staring at the wall for a moment before turning back to me. Her look was intense. “What if I…?”

  She swallowed hard, her face scrunching. I waited for her to continue.

  “What if I end up like them?”

  “Them? What do you mean ‘end up like them’?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realised what she meant. Gill was scared that she wouldn’t be a good parent. Her mother had ignored what had happened to her, pretending to think that Gill was going through a phase. She’d never admitted otherwise, although we all knew she must have at least had an inkling. As soon as Gill was old enough, she left home and rarely contacted her mother. Her father, well, God only knew what went on in that sick bastard’s head.

  “You are nothing like them. Got it? Nothing. You are a wonderful, beautiful, caring, and loving woman!” My voice gentled. “And you will be a fantastic mum.”

  Gill’s face crumpled, the tears flowing freely by this time. She kept shaking her head and opening her mouth to speak, but emotion overwhelmed her and words came out as a sob or a gasp or a sound of pain, almost like a wounded animal.

  I released her hands and wrapped my arms around her, and her body fell limply against me. I held her tight, trying to protect her, swaddle her, create a cocoon of whatever reassurances she needed.

  Time passed, as time tends to do, and eventually Gill’s sobs morphed into harrumphs of emotion until finally she lay spent in my embrace. Even after she ceased crying, I continued to hold her. I left it up to her to decide when she wanted to relinquish the contact, as I believed she needed to feel she was in control.

  Gill rubbed her cheek against my shoulder, and I could feel the tears seeping through the cloth to my skin. She sniffed and I stiffened.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t blow my nose on you.” Gill lifted her head and turned her face towards me, her eyes puffy yet glistening beautifully. The watery smile with which she gifted me was nothing short of dazzling, and I smiled in return.

  Leaning forwards, I placed a soft kiss on her forehead, my lips resting there for a moment before I drew back and brushed a lock of hair from her brow.

  “I love you, Brynn.”

  My heart constricted in a painfully pleasant way.

  “You’ve always been my constant, the one person in my life I trust completely.”

  I swallowed before responding, “And now you have Tom too.”

  Gill nodded, her smile widening, her arms squeezing me tightly. “Yes, now I have Tom too.” She lurched forwards and kissed my cheek, gave me another squeeze, and let me go.

  I pushed back onto my haunches and stood up, my joints creaking. As I was about to return to my seat, Gill grabbed my hand, her fingers insistent. A small tug made me look down into her face again. Brown eyes seemed calmer, more at peace. The agony of the minutes before was fading and the flawless glow was returning. My heart embraced the tranquility of her and found its own peace.

  Then the realisation hit me, ratifying my love for her as protective, supportive, and affectionate, the love of one friend for another. I’d always taken care of Gill, true, but she’d always taken care of me too. We were close, closer than close, and had always looked out for each other. We knew each other’s hopes, dreams, fears, and secrets; could call each other out on bullshit, make each other laugh until we peed our pants; pop each other’s spots; act stupid and yet not feel stupid around each other. So many things brought us together and made our relationship stronger.

  What had happened to Gill when she was a teenager was horrific, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that we would still be as close, even if Terrence Parker hadn’t been the evil man he was. Maybe the lines of “friend love” and “romantic love” had been blurred because of that horrific event when we were thirteen and my feelings for Gill seemed more than one friend loving her best friend. Who knew? Maybe my protectiveness went a little too far when she was dating boys, and I misconstrued that jealousy and my deepening love and “attraction” for her as something more, as me wanting something more instead of me worrying about her safety.

  Yes, my body did definitely react to Gill. Yes, sexual attraction could be a factor, but it was not all of the time. Actually, it was quite infrequent and usually more pronounced when I overthought what was going on. The panic of the situation exacerbated everything, and I ended up convincing myself that Gill would know how much I loved her. And I did. I loved Gillian Parker unconditionally, exactly the same way she loved me. Because that was what friends did.

  “Pour me another cuppa, Brynn. That one must be cold by now.” She released my fingers, our gazes shifting at the same moment.

  I leaned over the coffee table and lifted the lid to the pot to check how much tea was left.

  “And over a brew you can tell me more about you and Gina Donaldson,” Gill added with a smirk.

  That was another thing about best friends. You could never try to lie to them; they could see right through you.

  “And this time, no changing the subject.”

  Caught red-handed. And I loved it.

  * * *

  “So, it’s a promise. You’re going to call Gina Donaldson and ask to meet for a drink later today.”

  “If I do, it’ll be after you’re gone. I don’t fancy having you pulling faces at me all the time I’m on the phone.” That was something we both did in our own immature way.

  “Whatever.�
� Gill waggled her fingers at me dismissively and rose to leave. She enveloped me in a hug. “Call me as soon as you get back from your date.”

  I harrumphed before responding, “She may already be busy tonight, you know.”

  Gill laughed and hugged me again. “I guarantee she will be free for you. Trust me on this one.”

  “I—”

  “Trust me.”

  A small laugh rang in my ear before she drew away, and this time she made it to the door. I watched as she carefully went down my steps, then she stopped and turned back.

  “Meant to say, both Tom and I wondered if you would be godmother.”

  My jaw slackened, then tried to form around a yes.

  “And also,”—Gill stepped back towards me—“maid of honour?”

  “Fuck!”

  “Not exactly what I was expecting as an answer, but I’ll take that as a yes to both.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Gill cocked her head and squinted at me. “Yes, you do. I’m relying on you. So is the little one.” She patted her stomach. “We’ll talk arrangements when you call me after your date.”

  Then she was gone, and I was left standing in the doorway like a muppet, my expression one of shock and happiness with a bit of numbness thrown into the mix. Gill had always been able to take me off guard, but this time she had done so in style.

  Chapter 14

  Gina picked up after the second ring, her voice calmer than I knew mine would be. “Hello, Brynn.”

  “Erm…” See. Three letters seemed all that I could manage.

  “I was considering whether to call you first and embarrass you with your taste in music. Lionel, right?”

  That made me laugh, breaking the tension I’d been experiencing from the moment I’d begun dialling her number. My finger had deliberated over her contact name, and I had to give myself a miniature pep talk to actually move it to press down and activate the call.

  “Says the woman who believes Hanson is a perfectly acceptable ringtone.”

  Her laugh was light and so womanly, I felt the butterflies begin their mating dance inside my stomach, but instead of this freaking me out, it made me want to hear her laugh again.

  “I told you that it’s a joke ringtone.”

  “Too right it’s a joke ringtone. I mean, Hanson?”

  She laughed again and I melted.

  “Tell you what. If you let me take you out for dinner, I’ll explain what the joke is. Deal?”

  Wasn’t I the one calling to ask her out? Had I been scuppered on the asking? And I was only going to offer a drink, although having a meal with Gina Donaldson would mean we would get a drink too, I supposed. And why was I bloody fixated on eats and drinks? And would I be even able to swallow a bite or a drop? Did it matter?

  “Deal.”

  The word surprised me. Why? I have no idea. I usually took longer to deliberate, maybe because usually I would play the woman along a little. Not very nice, but it was a ploy that took my mind off what I was doing, as l usually didn’t want to do it.

  But not this time. This time my mind knew exactly what it wanted me to do. This knowledge made the butterflies ramp up the speed of their dance. The sensation was not unpleasant.

  The rest of the conversation was taken up with making arrangements about where to eat and how to get there. Gina insisted on picking me up at seven, and part of me liked that she wanted us to travel together instead of meeting at the restaurant. It seemed more of date somehow. I know that sounds stupid, but it did.

  The call ended with Gina thanking me for agreeing to meet with her, iterating, “This is a date, isn’t it, Brynn?”

  I laughed like a twelve-year-old girl after her first sip of cider, sniggering out a yes and wanting to curl up with embarrassment at the same time.

  As soon as I hung up the phone, I texted Gill the details. Almost immediately she replied with, “Make sure you kiss her, okay? None of that cool and distant shite you do. Love you. X”

  I began to respond to her text to argue my case, but realised she was right. That was my usual formula. First date, act cool and collected. Second date, cool and collected, maybe a kiss on the cheek if she was lucky, or unlucky, depending on one’s perspective.

  I deleted my response and tapped in, “Consider her kissed,” followed by an emoji kissing out a love heart.

  Gill responded with a thumbs up and a kiss, and I nodded like a person who honestly believed she had it in the bag.

  At six forty-five I was ready and waiting in the hallway. I’d been ready and waiting in the hallway since six o-five, and my bladder was on high alert. My sense of “having it in the bag” seemed to have gone by-the-by, especially since now I was awash in a sea of nausea, regret, excitement, and trepidation. My cockiness at considering anything “done” had floated into oblivion twenty minutes earlier, and I was on the verge of cancelling.

  That’s when my phone beeped to notify me of an incoming message.

  “Don’t even think about backing out.”

  Amazing how best friends can read each other’s minds, even when they’re not even in the same room.

  My phone beeped again.

  “And yes. I know what you’re like. Make sure you have dessert. Lol!”

  I was still wondering why Gill had loled after telling me to have dessert when the doorbell sounded. I shot a quick glance at my watch. It couldn’t be Gina; it was only six forty-nine, and we had agreed on seven. Sometimes I surprised myself at how much of a dipshit I could be. An anally retentive dipshit at that.

  The sight of Gina standing on the doorstep took my breath away. She was even more beautiful than I remembered. That was unusual, as most of the time disappointment was the primary emotion on my first dates. And that statement makes me sound shallow and up myself, but that was not the reason for my disappointment. This, I believe, stemmed from me comparing every woman I met with Gillian Parker. Until that moment. Even the previous evening, other than their eyes, I hadn’t compared Gina to Gill. That was definitely a first.

  “Sorry I’m a little early.” Gina’s voice didn’t sound the same as it had earlier. It sounded shaky, not as confident. “Shall I wait in the car?”

  She turned as if to walk away, but I caught her arm. As my fingers touched her, there was a connection of sorts, a perfect sensation zinging from me to her, from her to me. I was momentarily stunned but didn’t pull my hand away.

  Gina looked down at my fingers, and initially I thought she was wondering why I kept holding on to her when I didn’t need to. Either that or I had made her feel uncomfortable by holding on.

  “Did you feel...? Never mind.” There was an element of incredulity in Gina’s voice that made her initial question even more important, especially when mixed with her dismissal.

  I didn’t ask her to repeat or finish her question. I knew what she was going to ask.

  “The spark? Yes, I felt it too.” I squeezed her arm, and more sensations rippled through me. “You seem to have that effect on me. Right from our first meeting.”

  Her mouth opened and her expression showed an element of surprise. I thought I’d said too much, read too much into what had happened between us that first night, but then her face relaxed, her relief evident.

  Gina faced me, my hand still on her arm, the heat of her seeping into me. “Yes. Even at our first meeting.” Her voice was soft, her drawled S sounds rippling up my spine.

  She stepped closer until her body was inches away, her eyes locking on to mine. My hand slipped up her arm and over her shoulder to rest at the base of her neck. Her breath touched my face, soft, alluring, and I wanted to catch it inside my mouth. I never kissed on first dates, not even after the date had taken place, never mind kissing before actually going out.

  The moment was charged with expectation, with promise and want, and was apparently oblivious to first-date etiquette. Still, I couldn’t seem to take the single step I needed to secure her lips with mine. Fear was a factor, yes. Fear th
at I would kiss her wrongly, kiss her inadequately, kiss her stupidly. But mainly fear that when I kissed her, all the attraction I felt for her would evaporate, fizzle, and fade into nothingness and I would be left wanting all over again. My expectations of a first kiss had never been met, never satiated. Maybe it was because all the first kisses I had ever experienced had not been with the person I’d wanted them to be with. That’s what I had always told myself. The excuse “because it isn’t Gill” had always assuaged my disappointment, always supported Jenny’s theory that the love I was searching for could only ever be found in the novels that I created, that it didn’t exist in the real world, that it was a dream, an ideal.

  The heat of her neck warmed the tips of my fingers, my palm, my wrist. I lifted my other hand and placed it on the base of her neck, the butterflies still yammering for attention, but now they appeared to be taking flight throughout my body. A slight tremor passed through my arms, then my legs, and I knew it was the fear rising again.

  What if it was all imaginary? What if Jenny was right after all? Could it be that all those years I had created a fantasy, supported a myth? Love existed, of course it did. But did it exist the way I had believed it could if Gill could have been mine? Would our first kiss have blown me away as I had always believed it would?

  The poem I had created that morning popped into my head—such a bond shown, such want and longing and longevity. Total connection, total love and abandon. But at the end of it all, they were just words, just letters and phonemes and syllables.

  Gina tilted her face to mine, her lips parted, glistening as if she had just moistened them. I wondered what they tasted like, the softness of them, the way they would move against mine. My need to kiss her grew, the need beginning to overpower the fear. A distant voice in my mind questioned why she didn’t kiss me, but I dismissed it.

  Her face came closer. Whether it was her or me that moved, I didn’t know, but she was closer, so much so that it seemed as if with just an intake of breath my lips were against hers. A brushing. A sampling. A desperate desire to deepen the contact.