Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit

by Jaye Robin Brown

  “About what?”

  “The importance of apology. Will you ever forgive me for what I did to you this year?”

  “I’m way over it, Dad. You made it right.” He tries to kiss my forehead, but I wriggle free. “There’s something I need to do now. Be home in a bit.”

  The drive up is nerve-racking. It’s a shot in the dark. Even if she was listening, who knows if she’ll even show up? But it’s my only chance to start over. A real start. An honest start.

  I park my car and get out. The gardens are closing soon, but I slip in and head for the same sheltered building where we shared our first kiss. It’s turned chilly and I pull my puffy jacket closer around my body. Empty tree branches clatter and the whole place looks a little less festive than my first visit here. I try not to stare at the clock on my phone too obsessively, but it’s not working.

  Minutes tick by and nothing stirs.

  My brain slips into frantic mode. She’s not coming. She wasn’t listening. This won’t work.

  I hear footsteps on the path and scooch up from where I’m leaning against the Coke bottle mosaic wall.

  “Park’s closing in twenty minutes,” a voice calls. A man’s voice. Not Mary Carlson.

  I try desperately to stuff my doubt away. But I give her a little more time.

  The man’s voice calls out again. “Five minutes.” He rounds the corner and sees me. “You there, you need to head on out.” He glances at my hands and behind me, like he thinks I was digging old Coke bottles out of the mosaic walls or something.

  “Yes, sir.” I pick up the wrapped box I’d set down and slip past him. The oak tree Mary Carlson climbed when she first told me she liked me stands staunch and somber as I pass it. Even the branch that held her looks more like a rigid arm upheld in a stop signal than a cradle. I grab my keys out of my pocket and pull at the sinking gravity of disappointment threatening to swallow me. I thought for sure she would come.

  When I get to my car, I sit, letting the heater warm my hands. This is stupid. I should be at home with my family, preparing for a night of board games and hot chocolate, the first of a new Gordon family tradition.

  As I reach for the gearshift to back out of the lot, my phone buzzes.

  There’s a text.

  From Mary Carlson.

  If you’re at the gardens, I think that’s what you meant, don’t leave. I’m almost there.

  I put the car in park. The box with the wrapped charm bracelet sits on top of my emergency brake. Maybe I’ll be able to give it to her after all.

  Behind me there’s a slight squeal of tires as Mary Carlson takes the curve into the lot too fast. She pulls into the spot on my passenger’s side. My breath ratchets into overdrive. Will this be sweet reunion or something else?

  The answer comes when she slides into my passenger’s seat. Her face is not the beatific smile of some girl in a movie running toward her apologetic lover. It’s hurt. And tracked with evidence of recent tears. Tears I put there.

  “I heard your show,” she says, barely looking at me.

  “Yeah?”

  “I wasn’t going to come. But B.T.B. made me.”

  “Oh.” Cold, hard chunks of concrete settle into my veins. She doesn’t love me.

  “It was brave what you did, Joanna. Outing yourself on the radio like that.” The use of my full name instead of Jo doesn’t escape me, and my soul rends in slow motion. “And I appreciate the apology.” She finally looks at me. “But you lied. You seriously bald-faced lied to me from the very beginning. How could you hide the fact you were already out?” Tears well up in her eyes again and she looks away from me before wiping them off.

  “Mary Carlson, I can explain.”

  “Is that girl really only your friend?”

  “Who? Dana?”

  She takes her glasses off and wipes them on the hem of her shirt, more from nervous energy than a need to clean them.

  I hit speed dial.

  Dana starts talking before I can say a thing. “’Sup, beyotch. You rocked that shit today. Man. My BFF, the queer evangelical superhero. Wait, aren’t you supposed to be having some big romantic rom-com moment with golfer girl? Shit.” She pauses for half a second. “Are you okay? That girl is fucking stupid if she can’t see how awesome you are.”

  “Thanks, D. Still working on it. Um, listen I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait, you called me, I want to hear the deets.”

  “No deets yet, bro. I’ll call you back later.” I hang up before she can talk more and turn to face Mary Carlson. “I want you to know the kiss you saw in that picture was literally the grossest kiss of my life. I’m telling you that for two reasons: one, so you’ll understand Dana really is only a friend. And two, so when she hits on you, if she meets you, you won’t go there. She can be persuasive.”

  The phone buzzes again to prove my point and I turn it off.

  Mary Carlson looks at her glasses in her hands. “I don’t know, Jo.”

  Jo is good. And I don’t know isn’t no.

  A breath. “I need some time. You broke my heart, and then I found out you were lying to me.”

  “I had reasons, not good ones, but reasons. They made sense in my head at the time and it’s why I broke up with you. Not because I wasn’t crazy about you, but because I was. I didn’t want to hold you back while I was being such a schmuck about things.”

  She nods and puts her glasses on like she’s come to a decision. When her hand moves for the door, I panic.

  “Wait,” I say.

  Her hand stills.

  “I got this for you. That day at the mall. It’s what was in my bag. Not a present for my stepmom. So I was lying about that, too, but it was one of good intentions and I still want you to have it. No matter what happens between us.”

  She takes it and speaks so low I almost don’t hear her. “You were crazy about me?”

  My heart jumps. Her eyes are softer, her posture more relaxed.

  “Of course I was. I still am. But I get that you need time. And if you decided I screwed it up too bad to fix it, then I get that, too. But I hope, if nothing else, you’ll be my friend again.”

  She nods, takes a breath, and this time opens the car door. On her way out, she turns and holds up the gift-wrapped box. “Thank you.”

  When the car door shuts and she drives away, I slump into my seat. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to massive disappointment. I suppose I figured she’d show up, it’d be immediate forgiveness, then we’d fall into each other’s arms and kiss all the pain and dishonesty away. But Mary Carlson is bigger than that. She’s not the kind of girl you can trod on and expect her to miraculously heal. And that’s what makes me want to fix this even more. Because she’s worth it.

  Thirty-Nine

  MY DAD, WHO PREFERS HIS worship with a tad less fire and brimstone, figures a Christmas Eve service will be more heavenly clouds than burning hell and agrees to come with us to Foundation because it’s important to the Foleys. I might have refused because . . . hate, but there’s also the chance I’ll see Mary Carlson and I don’t want to miss that. We walk to mid-sanctuary where Elizabeth’s parents, brother, and family have saved us pew space. I don’t see the Baileys yet. Mrs. Foley grimaces as she says “Merry Christmas” to me. Tater grabs my hand as I pass and gives me one of those awesome two-hand squeezy handshakes. So maybe he’s not married to Althea, but between the two of them I figure I have the world’s most perfect grandparents.

  I’m still looking around for the Baileys when I see a four-pack of tall honey blondes walk through the doors. The Bailey parents are hugging and greeting someone and B.T.B. is standing proud in a black suit and a loud tie with, of course, elephants wearing Christmas hats on it. Mary Carlson is hidden by her brother’s bulk but when he shifts slightly, I see her. Her mussy hair is tamed tonight and she’s gotten new glasses, green and round and perfect on her. She’s looking around and I keep my stare focused in her direction. Then, a Christmas Eve miracle. She sees me and smiles. As th
ey move to find a pew, she lifts her hand in a tiny wave, a flash of silver elephant glinting in the church light, and I feel reborn.

  The service is beautiful. Lots of candles and singing. The preacher is in a joy-to-the-world mood, so it’s not even painful to listen to him. My little boy cousins are hilarious, singing loud and off-key and so happy to get to stay for the whole service in the big room. Dad and Elizabeth hold hands and never let go once. She holds the hymnal. He flips the pages.

  When it’s over, families file out, hugging and kissing. George and Gemma are at the service with Gemma’s folks. We say hi, but the whole time I’m scanning the room, hoping to have a chance to talk to Mary Carlson again.

  B.T.B. and his mom give me an opening.

  “Joanna, it’s so good to see you. I just wanted to say again what an amazingly kind thing you’ve done for Barnum. It’s all he talks about.”

  “Oh, it was no problem, Mrs. Bailey. We all love B.T.B. and I’m as excited as he is to visit the sanctuary.”

  “Well, it was exceedingly generous. I hope we’ll be seeing you around the house again?” There’s a bigger question in her voice, and before I can second-guess if I really heard it or not, she cups her hand on my shoulder. “It would make my daughter very happy, and my children’s happiness is more important to me than anyone’s opinions or anything else in the world.” She squeezes. “Do you understand?”

  “Um, yes, ma’am.” Dear heavenly Mother, did I just get permission from Mrs. Bailey to date her daughter? Please let this be true. Amen. Joanna.

  “Good.” She lets go.

  Mary Carlson appears from behind them. “Hi.” She wears the same almost smile as from before the service and has her hands on the bracelet, rolling it in a circle around her wrist.

  People flow around us on their way to the vestibule and outside to waiting cars. Mary Carlson’s mom gets swept away by a friend, but not before winking at me. “B.T.B.,” she calls from the crowd. “Come with me, sweetheart. Give Mary Carlson and Joanna some time to say hello.”

  B.T.B. leans in and whispers, “Mama didn’t like Deirdre either.” He walks away.

  The sanctuary has emptied and the altar boys are starting to put out the hundreds of candles nestled in the greenery.

  I hold out my hand. “Hello, my name is Joanna Gordon. My friends back in Atlanta call me Jo. My last name used to be Guglielmi and it will be again and that’s where you can stalk me if you want to.”

  She slowly raises her arm and touches her fingertips to mine. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I’ve heard conflicting things about you.”

  “I’ve had a conflicted year. Agreed to an unkeepable promise. Met a girl. Fell in love. Broke the girl’s heart. Lied to the girl. Realized I couldn’t live without her. Broke my promise. But then it was too late. I lost the girl.”

  “You fell in love?”

  The last candle gets snuffed and the altar boys disappear.

  “Yes.”

  She looks down, but not before I see the smile and the blush creeping onto her cheeks. “I got you something,” she says and pulls out a tiny white box.

  “You didn’t have to,” I say.

  “I wanted to.” She crosses her arms and watches as I open it, rocking slightly on her heels.

  It’s from the jewelry store where I bought her gift. I pull open the lid and pull out the cotton. Nestled inside is a silver ring with the same elephant as on her bracelet.

  “I’ve never seen you wear a bracelet,” she says in explanation.

  I take it out of the box and slip it on my finger. “We match.”

  “Yeah.” She’s still rocking.

  “I love it.”

  The lights get turned out over the altar. All except for the one hanging above the portrait of Jesus surrounded by children. He smiles at us.

  “Your mom . . .” My sentence hangs.

  “I told her about you and me last night. I was crying when I opened your present.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “She said she’d listened to Barnum on the radio and already knew. She told me forgiveness was a virtue and stubbornness would block the road to happiness.”

  “I’m so sorry for everything, Mary Carlson.”

  She takes my ringed hand in her braceleted one. “I know and I forgive you even if I think you were stupid.” We stand for a few seconds swinging our hands, stupid grins on both of our faces. Mary Carlson breaks first. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”

  “What.”

  She pushes her hand against mine in jest and I grab her and hold her in my arms. Then, in front of smiling Jesus and one shocked altar boy who stumbled back in unaware, I kiss her.

  When I break away, I laugh. “Your lip gloss.”

  “Peaches,” she says.

  “My favorite,” I murmur and kiss her again.

  Epilogue

  SUNLIGHT FILTERS IN BETWEEN THE sand-colored curtains. I roll over and stick my nose in the crook of Mary Carlson’s neck and bring my bare leg over hers. My hand travels over her tanned stomach.

  “Hmmmmph.” She rolls over, nestling into me like a stacked spoon. “Sleepy. Too many margaritas.”

  I play with the charm bracelet on her wrist. There are five now. The original elephant. A heart for Valentine’s. A golf bag with clubs for her massive scholarship. A rolled diploma for graduation. And now a goddess, like my necklace, to symbolize this trip. P-Town. The mecca for queer girls everywhere. My prize for good behavior from my dad.

  “I love you,” I whisper into Mary Carlson’s hair and slide my hand over her hip, letting my fingers trace circles and waves and swirls onto her skin. “Let’s stay here forever.”

  “We have to fix elephant fences in a few weeks.”

  I move my hand down her thigh. “We do. But then we could come back.”

  “Our friends would miss us. We shouldn’t deny them their token cute lesbian couple.”

  I scoot closer to her warm morning body, her smell a combination of sleep and suntan lotion. “We are cute, aren’t we?” I push against her, trying to get her to pay attention to me.

  “Stop, we can’t be rude,” she whispers.

  “You’re worried about Dana?” I laugh and nibble on her shoulder. “You seem to have forgotten that when we last saw her she was drinking vodka out of some Boston girl’s navel.”

  “We’re alone?” Mary Carlson flips over and looks at Dana’s empty bed.

  “All alone.”

  Her hand slides down between my legs and I gasp as she finds the perfect spot to touch me. She’s still a tiger. I flip onto my back and she follows me, pressing herself length to length, skin to skin. Things heated up around spring break, but this trip is a whole new level of . . .

  “Oh, whatever that is you’re doing, don’t you dare stop.” She rocks against me and I pull her as close as she’ll go. Her hair, its usual muss, brushes my face and her eyes are closed now and we are lost in this sea of sweet nothingness . . . everythingness.

  And then, my phone buzzes.

  I gasp. Mary Carlson doesn’t stop what she’s doing but my concentration is broken because it’s my dad’s emergency ringtone. He promised to call me from the house phone only if the baby was near.

  “Baby,” I whisper.

  “Hmmm,” she says. “Come on, baby.”

  “No.” I sit up from under her and grab her face. “Baby.”

  “Baby!” She pushes up on her hands, her eyes round with acknowledgment and excitement.

  I grab the phone.

  “Dad?”

  “You better get on a plane. Your brother or sister will probably be here tomorrow. Elizabeth’s started to dilate.”

  “Be there as quick as we can.”

  Three days later, I’m curled up with Mary Carlson on the couch at home. Gemma and George are gathered around Elizabeth, who’s sitting with the newest addition to our family, little Max, in her arms. B.T.B. is grinning like a fool and holding an elephant stuffie he’s brought for my ba
by brother. My dad can’t settle, pacing from kitchen to chair to baby to kitchen. Tater’s laughing at him and patting Mary Carlson’s hand like we’re already married or something. Althea’s beaming from the kitchen, where she’s put Mrs. Foley to work making lunch. Dana’s called about twenty times from Provincetown, and though I’m pretty sure she’s happy she stayed to finish out our condo rental, I can tell a part of her wishes she was celebrating my brother.

  Elizabeth holds Max up. “Will you hold him for me a minute, Jo?”

  I’m there in a flash. When Max is settled in my arms, my heart bubbles over. I brush his soft forehead and touch each of his tiny fingers. Mary Carlson smiles at us in a way that hits me on a soul level. This moment will be forever locked in my mind as one of the rightest moments of my life.

  I can’t know what the future holds for any of us. But what I do know is I’ll never again let my own fear hurt someone I love.

  Because love like this, it’s the only thing that really matters.

  Author’s Note

  Faith is important to a lot of the world and for far too many queer youth, growing up with religion can be a painful experience. I wanted this novel to be something a young queer person of faith could hold on to as a bright spot while they navigate the waters of finding themselves. Maybe this story is too optimistic or maybe it’s exactly where we are in an exciting time of change, but as Althea says to Jo, didn’t God make you in his image? Aren’t you worthy of that love?

  You will know when you feel safe. (Your gut is a powerful self-protector!) You will know the right time to tell your faith community. You will know if you can’t. You may need a new faith community. You may leave religion altogether. But if a faith community is important to you, then you should be able to have it. And if you are an ally reading this book, stand up for your queer friends and don’t make room for hate in your belief systems.

  As you walk away from this novel, there’s one thing I’d like you to take with you (other than a huge ship for Jo and Mary Carlson), and that’s the knowledge that there are many people in the world who think you are perfect just the way you are.