by Kat Fletcher
* * *
It’s late and the air is crisp and it punctuates the relief I feel from having the evening come to some conclusion. I bide my time and wait until we’re far enough away to eliminate any chance of being overheard through a window. “Mom. What exactly is going on?”
“Well, it took most of the Scotch to get her to open up. I guess I’m feeling a little hazy. Sorry.” She doesn’t need to say it. Her voice must have taken a lot of control back at the cottage because now we’re outside, she sounds like someone at the end of a keg party. Not that I get invited to a lot of keggers, but just saying.
“Well. Once she got done with being mad, we had a long talk,” she says in a slurred voice. “Carol’s worried about her daughter and college. I’m not sayin’ that she’s not a little freaked out seeing her daughter with another girl, but who isn’t? But mostly she’s worried about school.”
She stops abruptly, teetering for a moment, before taking my hand. “Oh, I’m so sorry Sarah. I don’t mean anything about being freaked seeing you with her. It is hard, but I think I’m doing okay? And you two are so cute together. But it is hard. Even if we kind of knew, it’s a lot to get used to. I hope I’m doing okay?”
She’s bombed, but there’s a lot of pain in her voice along with the Scotch, and I know she’s trying to be nice, even if she’s stumbling over the words. I stop and give her a hug. “You’re doing fine, Mom. I love you.” I nod at my dad. “You too, Dad.”
She smiles at me and we start walking again. “So we talked about you two and about college and sort of…tried to…” She makes a jerk motion, pushing her hands away from one another. “Sort of separate the college and the gay thing. It’ll get the heat off you. Rach’s on her own about the school thing though.”
“Her mom wants her to go to Harvard or something,” I kick in.
“She probably does, but Rachel fucked up her grades last year. I think Carol’s going to have to live with disappointment.” She pauses again. “Sorry for the mouth. It’s how Carol said it.”
“It sounds like her,” my dad says sagely.
“You’re supposed to help her study,” my mom offers. “Or wait. I shouldn’t have told you that. She’s supposed to ask you, so forget I said anything. But do it, when she asks.”
“Okay,” I agree.
“You can get up to all kinds of things studying. Don’t worry. Your Dad and I used to meet in the library carrels at UMass and…”
“And we’re home,” my father interrupts as we we arrive. I try not to laugh and hold the door open. When I step into the living room, I notice the empty bottle on the coffee table, surrounded by the torn off and shredded label, and give my dad a smirk as I nod toward my mom.
“We can talk about this tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep,” my dad suggests.
Chapter 22
The SUV sits idling in her driveway, but before I can make a decision whether to knock on the door or wait, Rach bounds out of the cottage and gets in. I lean over from the driver’s seat and we kiss hello, then kiss a second time, drawing it out and lingering. I’ve been waiting all night for that. It’s a great feeling to touch her and not worry it might be the last time.
“So where are we headed?”
“Provincetown’s too far,” she answers.
“I’m working on convincing my parents to have the big dinner there.”
“God Sarah, my mother is so not ready for Provincetown. What do you want to do, kill her?”
Her tone is light and it’s great to see that weight lifted when she talks about her mom. I give her a look back, like I’m contemplating her question, and we both start to laugh.
“Okay,” I admit, “probably not a good idea. She’s not bad enough to kill. Maybe a little torture though?”
“You’re terrible. I love it. Food is the right idea. We need food,” Rach suggests.
“Something that’s not deep-fried treats from the briny deep,” I suggest.
“Fair enough. I would like some french fries though. No—onion rings. I want onion rings,” she counters.
“Isn’t that going to put a crimp in, you know, the kissing thing?”
“Only if you let it,” she says.
“Not letting anything stop me from kissing you,” I say and we lean in again.
We don’t plan anything, just drive up Route 6 until we find a little sandwich place. It’s nice and airy with lots of skylights, big windows, and ceiling fans. Best of all, it’s quiet. Might not bode well for their future, but fits our needs right now. We order at the counter and take our little number and stake out a corner booth. “So how was your mom this morning?” I ask.
“Ugh,” she replies, but her tone is light. “It was all school stuff. She wants me to start doing prep as soon as we get home.”
“I know you’re supposed to ask me for help,” I say.
She looks displeased.
“My mom told me,” I explain.
She rolls her eyes.
“It won’t be that bad. It’ll give us time together. Were your grades really bad last year?”
“I didn’t fail anything. That’s something isn’t it?”
I smirk. “Something.”
A girl brings a tray and puts our food on the table. A roast beef sandwich and onion rings for Rachel, a salad with lobster and avocado on top for me, and, of course, two root beers.
“Salad’s for girls,” she jokes.
“I can’t take anymore fried,” I groan.
“Not even one onion ring?” She dangles it in front of my mouth. I open my mouth and reach to take a bite and at first she jerks it away with a laugh before giving in and feeding it to me. It’s delicious, of course, and I dangle a bit of lobster meat for her.
We spend the afternoon driving aimlessly around Eastham and Wellfleet. Rach manages the music and we stop here and there for a walk in the woods at the National Seashore or to visit a shop, or, well, whatever. There’s no real point to it other than being together and that’s more than enough for both of us.
It’s almost four and we’re pretty tired by the time her phone rings. It’s plugged into the SUV’s sound system and she clicks to answer and her mom’s voice comes over the car speakers.
“Hi, I wanted to remind you we’re going out for dinner with the Fishers.”
“Don’t worry Mom, I remember.”
“Are you and Sarah having fun?”
“Lots,” she replies. I reach my hand over and start to walk my fingers across her thighs. She slaps my hand.
“I’m glad. Well, I guess we’ll see you soon?”
“Sure, we’ll head back.”
“Did you talk to her about school?” her mom asks, her voice turning a little serious and honestly concerned. It strikes me because it shows she does care and, twisted as her reaction was, she thought she had Rachel’s best interest at heart.
“We talked.”
“Okay. Well. You probably have another half hour. Have fun.”
“We will.”
* * *
After dropping Rachel at their cottage, I head home to get ready for dinner. After thinking about it, I pick out the same outfit I wore for our first awkward dinner. Maybe remind her of how far we’ve come? Or maybe it’s to remind me. I play around with my hair for a bit, trying to remember how Rach gathered it into that side pony when we walked to get ice cream. I don’t seem to have her talent for lesbian hair style and go back to my usual slightly-curled-hanging-on-the-shoulders thing.
The Gills arrive a little later and we stand around the living room, figuring out where to go. Well, the parents get to decide. We’re just kind of extras in the cast.
I walk over to Rachel and edge toward her for a kiss, but then withdraw and glance at her mother. Do I kiss her? Hold her hand? Not touch her at all? I look over and find the same confusion her Rach’s eyes. Eventually we settle for a quick peck and hand holding. It seems to be acceptable to her mom, if not entirely approved.
The parents decide on a little Italian place a little
down the road. We sit out on the back deck, overlooking the ocean. The food is great: wonderful seafood with garlicky sauces. Rachel gets clams, of course. Even she seems to be done with the fried and they’re in some kind of wine sauce. I sit next to her, but everyone’s on best behavior, making small talk about the vacation, and we cool any public displays of affection. Nobody mentions Ms. Gill’s freak-out or that Rachel and I are now girlfriends, but somehow, instead of being awkward, it’s kind of relaxing after all the drama.
I also learn that shrimp really don’t go all that well with root beer. Rachel assures me the clams do, but I don’t believe her.
* * *
Rach and her family all go home after dinner. It leaves me more than a little annoyed. Why can’t we hang for our last evening on Cape? Worse, she’s barely answering my messages. Eventually I settle in bed, switching between messaging her and binge-watching Faking It to catch up on my lesbian media, which Rach assures me is somehow really important. I have a funny suspicion she just likes the show and wants someone to talk about it with.
It’s late when my phone buzzes, making me realize I’d almost fallen asleep. Are your parents asleep? she messages.
Yeah, about an hour ago.
Sneak out. Meet me on the beach.
Sarah Fisher is absolutely not the girl who sneaks out, but I guess she’s the girl who sneaks out on Cape Cod because quietly as I can, I pull on clothes and head for the door. I carefully take the fourth stair two stairs at a time because it squeaks and I don’t want my parents to hear. That’s when I realize how silly this all is. It’s not like I don’t get up late at night and grab a snack or whatever and my parents never wake up. Why would they tonight?
I step outside the cottage and gently let the door close. When the lock clicks, I freak and realize I don’t have a key. I give the handle a turn, suddenly convinced I’ll have to wake up my parents to get back in. It’s not locked, but I sort of knew it wouldn’t be. I’m just being nervous.
I gaze up into the sky. The evening is cold and some clouds have rolled in, irregularly blocking the moonlight. As I head for the stairs to the beach, I contemplate whether I should go back and get a hoodie or something, but I’m too chicken to test my luck a second time.
When I get to the stairs, I can see a blue glow down on the beach. When I get to the bottom, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. No wonder Rach wasn’t answering my messages. She has the Sport-Brella set up and there’s a little circle of battery powered tea light candles around it. She’s sitting in front, a blanket over her shoulders, and a huge smile on her face.
“Couldn’t let our last night go to waste,” she says. Her voice is flirty, but casual, like she sneaks out to the beach for a midnight rendezvous every day. It’s cool-girl Rach mixed with affectionate Rach and I hurl myself at her, tumbling onto the sand and hugging her through the blanket.
“This is amazing,” I manage to say between kisses.
“So are you. I don’t think I tell you that enough,” she says.
I press my lips against hers and dart my tongue into her soft mouth. Heat wells up in my body, joining the euphoric emotion in my heart. “I love you,” I gasp.
“I love you too,” she says, pulling back.
She has a smile on her face that I know means there’s something I’m not quite figuring out, and I study everything, trying to figure it out.
“Want to go for a quick swim?” she asks, again with the I-have-a-secret look.
“Don’t be cray, it’s freezing. Plus, no suit.”
“Who needs a suit?” she says and parts the blanket, giving me a quick flash of skin. “It’s midnight. Perfect time for skinny dipping.”
“Seriously?”
She cocks her head to the side. Of course she’s serious.
I dart my eyes around, but there’s nobody on the beach. No excuses, just me being shy. I bite my lip and pull the tank over my head, then stand up and kick my jeans off. She lets the blanket slide off and I take her hand and we run to the water, splashing in. If I thought the air was freezing, oh my God, the water. And I do not care, not one bit.
We swim out, darting around each other, swapping kisses and quick gropes, then finally stop and tread water together.
“Isn’t this how that old movie Jaws started?” I quip.
“Yeah, but it’s not the shark who’s going to eat you up.”
Chapter 23
Sumner High School. September 2, First Day of School
I stop at my locker. I’ve taped a small mirror to the inside door and check my hair before heading to lunch. I toss the short punky bob back and forth. It’s holding up perfectly, every hair still straight—a testimony to whatever horrible chemicals the stylist used to get the curl out.
I’ve been getting looks all day, but when I step into the cafeteria with my lunch, it’s intense—like I can feel every eye in the room following me. I glance over and Sierra is smirking at me, clearly approving of the attention I’m getting. When I realized how much attention I was going to get, I wondered if Sierra would resent it, but so far she’s just delighted.
She’s sitting with a group of other kids at the unofficial Rainbow Alliance table. Justin’s there as well, but he’s not even looking at me. He and a junior are talking very intensely. I try to remember. I think his name is Tim. He’s my only competition for most changed over the summer vacation. He had a growth spurt that added almost six inches to his height and went on a workout regime to boot. The result is a one-year transformation from short, skinny, carrot top to hunky strawberry blond. I’d bet money that he and Justin are going to be an item, but I don’t think I could find anyone to bet against it.
I walk over and sit down.
“Hey Sarah,” Nicole says. She’s the infinitely enthusiastic president of the group who’d started messaging me as soon as the coming out news started to fly around social media. My fears that she was flirting with me were needless. Turns out she’s straight, but she has two dads. I’m not sure how Sumner’s gossipy world didn’t impart that info to me. Seems like the kind of tasty thing everyone would want to spread around.
I start unpacking my lunch, chatting with everyone, and wishing for the ten thousandth time today that our school didn’t have a zero tolerance cell phone policy. I really want to know how Rach is doing on her first day.
That’s when she walks in. We both wore the same outfit, kind of as a joke, and kind of not. Dark blue skinny jeans, boots, and matching black drapey tops. She strides over, oozing confidence. I can try, but somehow I don’t think I’ll ever pull off quite the same strut.
Justin finally wakes from his new vocation of looking deeply into Tim’s eyes. “I can’t believe she managed to switch schools with only three weeks before the term.”
“You haven’t met her mom,” I note. “When she found out we had better MCAS scores, no force on heaven or earth could have stopped her.”
When Rachel gets to the table, I stand to welcome her and we exchange a brief, student-handbook approved kiss. My tummy is doing flip flops. Half of that is a chronic condition when I’m near her. The other half is nerves. I’ve gone over this in my head for the last week, but kissing another girl in front of the whole school—or at least the half that has this lunch period—that’s something else.
Nicole helped with that too. Not the actual kissing Rach, or I’d kill her. We were worried about how the administration would react, and she’d done all the research about whether the school could stop anyone from any public displays of affection. We know right where the line is. Her new big project for the year is pushing the dress code, which is apparently very sexist and needs to go.
Despite the rules, two girls kissing is not what our little high school is used to and a couple of the guys in back start clapping and hooting. I blush and Rach and I smile at each other. Coach Jones stalks over from his position in the corner of the lunch room and hauls the two dudes out into the hall for some not particularly gentle correction.
“Serv
es them right,” Nicole says smugly.
“Everyone, this is Rachel, my girlfriend,” I say.
Sierra’s “Great to have you here” is echoed all around.
“Even if you’re here just for the academics,” I say giving her a little jab. “You are here just for the academic environment? Right?”
“Definitely,” she replies.
About the Author
Kat Fletcher lives in a far too small cottage on Cape Cod with her wife, their daughter, and three rather inert cats. In addition to reading and writing romance of various types, her interests include cooking, photography, geeky pursuits of all kinds, and riding her Vespa.
Please visit me online
@kfletcherwrites
kfletcherwrites
www.katfletcher.com
Also by Kat Fletcher
Seven Minutes In Heaven
