A Palette for Love

by Charlotte Greene

  Tears sprang to my eyes.

  She sighed. “You’ve been a wreck since you met that woman, Chloé. I think even you would admit that.”

  Blinking my tears away, I nodded, my voice caught in my throat.

  “I just don’t see that she’s worth all this upset.”

  I started to protest, but she cut me off. “You’re losing weight, you’re barely sleeping, you’re up at all hours, you’re working like a fiend. Tell me: what are you getting out of this besides exhaustion and heartache?” Her eyes were pained and confused.

  I didn’t answer for a long time. I tried to see my behavior over the last few weeks from her perspective and couldn’t find anything that justified how upset I’d been. While I felt very strongly about Amelia, it was already a difficult relationship, and we’d barely begun. The turmoil I’d felt before we got together had become worse, if anything, now that we were supposedly a couple. Her refusal to talk last night was starting to take on a greater weight in my mind. If we couldn’t even talk about our sex life, how would we ever talk about other important things? Would she always just avoid discussions? Get upset? Try to distract me? These questions had been racing through my mind all night, and though I’d managed to push some of them away while I was painting, I’d simply suppressed them. They gnawed at my insides.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I finally said.

  Aunt Kate just looked at me again, her expression sympathetic but stern. She patted my hands and stood up. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now, honey, but I want you to think about all of this turmoil seriously. I can see that you’re trying to do that now, but I know you. You tend to find distractions to avoid facing serious things like this. Don’t let yourself do that. Think long and hard and make a decision before you drive yourself crazy.”

  She made her way over to the refrigerator and pulled out the eggs. “Now you’re going to eat breakfast before you do anything else. Agreed?”

  I laughed, wiped away some of my tears, and then saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Sunny side up or over easy?”

  *

  We’d just finished breakfast when the telephone rang. Both of us instinctively looked over at the clock, surprised by such an early call. The hour told me who it would be, so, steeling myself, I stood up. Aunt Kate’s grim expression said a thousand wordless things, but she got up and left the room to give me some privacy.

  “Hello, Amelia,” I said when I answered.

  There was a long pause. “I couldn’t wait any longer,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for calling the house phone. I still don’t know your cell number. I had to look this one up from your application.”

  I remained quiet, having decided I was through trying to get her to talk.

  I heard her sigh with resignation. “Listen—I’m sorry about last night. I feel like I’m constantly apologizing to you for things, and that’s not right either. You don’t deserve this.”

  Her voice was clouded with tears, but I still didn’t say anything.

  “You should know. I know you should know. I was, I mean, I’m just afraid to talk to you about it. I thought maybe you would let it drop. Maybe I was hoping you would let it drop…I don’t want you to think less of me.”

  “Any explanation would be better than none at this point,” I said. I was trying to keep the rising anger out of my voice, but it was hard to stay calm.

  She must have heard my anger, as her voice softened even further. “Let’s get together. Right now, if you can. Or later this morning. We’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything.”

  I considered the proposal for a long time. While I was, I recognized, still quite angry with her, it didn’t seem fair to dismiss her attempt to explain things now that she was willing to try.

  “Let’s meet for coffee,” I said.

  “Where?” The relief in her voice was palpable.

  “Do you know CC’s on Royal?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll walk over there. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “I could pick you up.”

  “I want to walk,” I said firmly.

  “Okay.” She sounded resigned and defeated.

  I took my time getting ready and didn’t rush as I walked toward and through the Marigny into the Quarter. Moving quickly, I could reach the coffee shop in half an hour, but I decided to take it slowly and use the time to reflect on my feelings and plan a strategy for talking about them. Further, I took my time in part because I was afraid this would be the end of our relationship. While we’d hardly been dating for a week at this point, I was already mourning the end. Seeing her might mean breaking up with her, and I wanted to be ready for that possibility.

  She was waiting at a table when I got there, and she rose a little when she spotted me. I waved her back down and went to get coffee, taking the opportunity to calm my racing heart. All of the things I’d planned to say seemed childish and stupid, but I knew the gist of what I’d come up with was still worth saying. I finally got my coffee and sat down across from her, as far away as the table would allow.

  She was a wreck. Not only was her hair a snarl of tangles and her clothes wrinkled and misbuttoned, but she also had large, dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes. It was clear that she, like I, hadn’t slept a wink and had also been crying. Still emotional, I kept my mouth closed, waiting to calm down before I said anything. She waited patiently for a long while, and then, to my astonishment, I saw tears welling in her eyes. Not able to help myself, I moved forward and grabbed her hands.

  Evidently relieved, she kissed both of my hands and squeezed them tightly, almost painfully.

  “I’m so sorry, Chloé. I’m such an asshole.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “I’m going to explain everything, but…it’s hard for me. You get that, right?”

  “I’m starting to realize that, yes. Considering that you let me walk out last night instead of telling me about whatever this is, I get that this is hard for you.” I tried to keep the anger and hurt sarcasm out of my voice, but she flinched at my words.

  “I guess I deserve that,” she said, then sighed. She let go of my hands, wiping hers on her thighs nervously. She took a deep breath, released it, and then sat for a moment, looking at me.

  “Okay,” she said. “The short explanation is this: I don’t like to be touched.” She paused, shoulders slumped.

  “So I gathered.” I was annoyed. “What’s the long explanation?”

  “I don’t exactly know why. In the past, I didn’t mind it. I was never completely crazy about it, but I could go through with it. Over time, I liked it less and less, until finally, about two years ago, I just couldn’t do it anymore. More than dislike, really, I started to hate it. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable to be touched in almost any way.”

  I was confused. “But you don’t mind having sex? I mean, touching other women?”

  “I love touching other women. I love touching you. I just…don’t want you to touch me.”

  “Did something happen to you? Is that why you feel this way?”

  She hesitated. “No. There’s no one thing. It just—it makes my skin crawl, almost like I’m being tickled. It’s not painful, it’s not pleasurable…it’s just not pleasant to me at all.” She paused, as if she were going to say something more, but she didn’t.

  “So you don’t like any part of you touched? Or is it just some places?”

  She writhed in her chair, obviously very uncomfortable with the question. “That’s not exactly it. I don’t mind being touched some places—my back, some parts of my legs, for example, but I also don’t really like it, either. I can put up with touching better there, I guess.”

  “So basically you’ll put up with being touched in some places, but not others.”

  She writhed uncomfortably again. “Basically.”

  “So all I can expect from you is for you to put up with me wanting to touch you.”

  She sighed and then rubbed her f
ace. “You’re making this about you, Chloé, when I’ve already told you it’s about me. I’m the one who’s fucked up here.”

  “And I keep saying that it is about me. You’re basically asking me to ignore the fact that you’re not interested in letting me be your lover. That’s about me no matter how you spin it.”

  She remained quiet, looking over at the courtyard at the other tables. “Would it help to tell you that I hate that I’m this way? That I wish I could be normal?”

  After a moment, I agreed. “It does help, but it doesn’t really solve anything, either.” I paused, looking into her eyes. They were welling with tears again, and some of my resolve began to wane.

  “When was the last time you tried?” I asked her, more gently.

  “I’ve been trying since we got together. I’ve felt like trying for you.”

  “What if we did things slowly?” I suggested. “Maybe I could, say, touch somewhere you don’t mind as much and then somewhere you do?”

  She sighed again and shrugged uncomfortably. “I’d be willing to try. I just don’t want to get your hopes up, either. I might not be able to change, Chloé, and I need you to be okay with that.”

  Now that the problem was out in the open, I could consider it logically. Leaning back in my chair, I felt a crazy need for another cigarette and cursed myself for my morning’s weakness. The cigarettes were, I knew, just a symptom of my anxiety, and if I didn’t face what was happening, I wouldn’t be able to make the right decision. Amelia sat there, her face mirroring the same anxiety I was feeling, and I finally realized that she was as nervous about all this as I was.

  “Has this been a problem for you in the past?” I took her hand. “I mean, has this interfered with your relationships before?”

  She shrugged. “Yes and no. Before this, my girlfriends have tried to touch me, to get intimate with me, but they haven’t tried for long. None of them have asked me about it, if that’s what you mean.”

  I raised my eyebrows, appalled. “So you’ve never told anyone about this before?”

  “No.” She shook her head firmly. “Never.”

  The sincerity of her answer made me realize that she was taking a major risk coming forward with this truth about herself, and the last remains of my anger drained away. Sitting there across from me, she looked vulnerable, miserable, and resigned to the worst. While the explanation she’d given for why she was this way didn’t really measure up to the problem, I wasn’t sure she even understood the problem herself. Now that she’d been honest with me—as honest as she was able to be at this point—I would be betraying her if I turned my back on her. She was, after all, willing to try, and considering everything, that was very likely a monumental sacrifice for her. I took both of her hands, and my act made her start crying again.

  I kissed them both, then stood up and moved my chair closer to hers.

  “I can try if you can,” I said, embracing her.

  She squeezed me back, and we stayed that way for a long time before moving apart again. I saw an older tourist couple openly staring at us and stared back at them until they looked away again, obviously embarrassed to be caught.

  “We’ll take things slowly, okay?” I said.

  “Okay.” She wiped her eyes. Even tear-soaked and exhausted, she was beautiful, and I kissed her, long and deep. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  I stood up, glancing over at the older couple, who were watching us again, open-mouthed, and helped Amelia stand up. “Let’s go back to my place. I have to start getting ready if I’m going to look even halfway human.”

  “Get ready?” Amelia asked, seeming confused.

  “We have to go to your parents’ party soon, don’t we?”

  The relief and joy on her face almost helped me forget about all the anguish I’d experienced during the last twenty-four hours. Almost.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I opened the front door with trepidation, but luckily Aunt Kate was gone when we got back to my place. She left a note to tell me that she and Jim were taking a walk in City Park and having lunch up there, and that I was welcome to join them. The quaintness of a handwritten note charmed me. Aunt Kate had owned a cell phone for years, and I’d recently convinced her to buy a smart phone, but she still didn’t like to text. Half the time, she left the phone plugged into the wall in the kitchen. I showed Amelia the note.

  “So we have the place to ourselves?” she asked, grinning slyly. She took a step closer and pulled me into her arms. The faint smell of citrus from her lotion was in my nose, and I nestled into her, inhaling deeply.

  “Yeeeess, but that doesn’t mean we can take advantage of it. We have places to go, people to see.”

  She nuzzled her face into my neck, sending shooting currents of electricity throughout me. My reservations began to wane, and I made myself back up and away from her, even walking a couple of steps away.

  She laughed. “Can I at least watch you change?”

  “Of course, but only if that’s all you do. No touching!” I shook a finger at her, keeping my face stern.

  She held up her hands in defeat. “Okay. No touching.”

  We walked back into the living room and into my bedroom, which, I was embarrassed to note, was a disaster area. I’d been in such a hurry the last few days I hadn’t had time to straighten up. Clothes and half-empty suitcases were scattered everywhere, most of the surfaces covered with either underwear or dirty clothes. My bed was unmade, and boxes of shoes were spilling out of the closet.

  “Well, this is embarrassing,” I said.

  “It’s cute.” She walked over to the bed, sat down, and looked at me as if waiting for something.

  “I know what you’re trying to do, missy, and I’ll have none of that,” I said, mock disapproval in my voice.

  “Whatever do you mean?” She tried to look innocent.

  “You can sit there, but you have to stay there.” I surveyed the room. “So what do you think I should wear? How fancy will this be?”

  “Not at all. It’s a garden party, so a sundress or slacks and a nice shirt should be fine.”

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “A sundress.” She looked around the room at the various piles of clothes and pointed to one. “That lilac dress would work.”

  I pulled it out, holding it up to me. It was terribly wrinkled and I made a face. “It needs to be ironed.”

  “Do you have an ironing board?”

  “Yes, in the laundry room behind the kitchen. There’s a little closet in the wall just for it. It’s an old house, and I guess they used to come standard. The iron’s in there too.”

  She levered herself to her feet and walked over to take the dress from me. “I’ll go iron this while you take a shower.”

  I handed her the dress and we stood there a long time, inches apart. The longer we looked at each other, the blacker her eyes seemed to grow. She was breathing heavily, and, seeing her excitement, I felt my heart rate pick up. She took a tentative step closer, and when I didn’t protest, she moved even closer until we stood chest to chest, only the dress separating us. I was breathing quickly now, and, staring into her eyes, I realized the rest of my resolve had suddenly vanished. As if sensing my permission, Amelia dropped the dress and pulled me into her arms, kissing me deeply. I kissed her back even harder, as if I could kiss away the pain of the last few days. Her hands slipped under my shirt, and finding no resistance, she slipped it off over my head. My breathing was labored, and my desire was a wild, burning ache between my legs. She grabbed my hand and led me over to the bed, clearing off the dirty clothes and blankets before forcing me down onto it. I lay back, closing my eyes for a moment, then helped her slide off my pants and underwear.

  She stood there in front of the bed, eyes blazing as she looked down at me. I sat up and drew her closer, hugging her around the middle and then unbuttoned her shirt. Her eyes grew hard for a moment, and she stiffened as my hands grazed her breasts, but she let me finish, and I slid it off h
er shoulders and threw it on the ground. We both undid her skirt, and she stepped out of it and her shoes before climbing onto the bed with me.

  She leant on one hand next to me, tracing her fingers up and down my body and massaging my breasts. This went on for what seemed like eons. She was clearly teasing me, refusing to go further. My breathing was ragged and hitching, and I squirmed under her fingers.

  “Amelia,” I begged her, grabbing her hand. I tried to push it between my legs and she tugged it away, laughing.

  “Not so fast,” she whispered. She glanced around the room before scooting off my bed, then walked over to a pile of clothes. She picked out a pair of stockings, holding them up to show what she’d found. She came closer and I held my hands above my head. My tiny bed had a wooden headboard, and I prayed it would be strong enough for what it was about to endure. She tied my hands, seeming satisfied with my obedience, then glanced around the room again. She spotted what she wanted and returned a moment later with a scarf. This she tied around my eyes. She let me sit there, blindfolded, for a long, indescribably sensual moment. Desire welled up inside me, my skin growing hot, my sex getting wet. Then, finally, as if she’d been waiting until I couldn’t stand it anymore, I felt her fingers again, lightly tracing up and down my calf. She kept them there for a long time, and I began to get impatient again as I grew more and more agitated with desire. I attempted to grab her arm with my legs, and she moved away.

  “If you keep doing that, I’ll have to tie up your legs, too,” she said.

  “Is that a promise?” I flushed with embarrassment at my own daring.

  Amelia was on the bed in seconds, as if my boldness had broken her resolve. She kissed me, almost painfully, then settled her lips on my neck, biting and sucking hard. Her hands were on my breasts, squeezing painfully and twisting my nipples. I heard a strange, high-pitched sound and realized it was coming out of my own mouth.