Her Lesson in Love

by Heidi Lowe

  I batted his hand away. His touch made my skin crawl half the time.

  "It's a good thing I don't have that problem anymore."

  He laughed again. "Have you found someone new? Is that it? That's why you're finally taking pride in your appearance again. Come to think of it, it started when that sexy little blonde started working at Chester's school."

  My glare deepened. I tried not to show a flicker of recognition when he spoke about Ava.

  "A little competition is always a good thing."

  I snorted a laugh. "Competition. Do you want to know something? That little blonde, no matter how much you insult me or go sniffing around her, will never be interested in you." It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him the reason why, and to take infinite pleasure in also letting him know that I was the one she wanted. But I kept my mouth shut.

  I dropped the vacuum cleaner hose, left it where it was in the middle of the room, and started off.

  "Well, I already told her that our marriage is as good as over, so we'll see how long it takes," he shouted after me.

  I heard, loud and clear, but I didn't stop on my way up the stairs.

  The son of a bitch! He told a complete stranger something like that? How long had she known? Before the kiss?

  Once I got over the initial rage of what he'd done, I was able to see the funny side of it. So there he was trying to show that he was available. But what he'd really done, unbeknown to him, was shown that I, the person she actually wanted, was available! Oh, the irony.

  I left home early, not wishing to be under the same roof as Dominic. But mostly because I wanted to go for a quick drive before collecting the boys, before seeing her again.

  I parked the car, took the deepest breath I'd ever taken, and strode through the school gates like a woman on a mission, head held high. Even though I was shaking like a leaf in a storm, I wasn't about to chicken out.

  "Hey boys," I said to Chester and Jack when they and the rest of their class came out a few minutes later, accompanied by their teacher. She made the briefest eye contact with me, and then went back inside once all the kids were with their parents or guardians.

  Both boys were in high spirits because Jack was coming home with us. For some reason unknown to me my house was the mecca of fun. Dominic, despite his flaws, was actually pretty good entertainment for the kids, when he was around. That might have been it.

  "I need to speak to Miss Petal before we go." I didn't want to leave them in the playground, so I brought them along, told them to wait for me in the corridor where I could still see them.

  Just like before, the classroom door was open. But unlike the last time, I didn't knock. Her back was to me as she wiped the board clean. Her golden hair was slightly messy, and her red cardigan had bits of glitter on it, much like Chester and Jack.

  I closed the door behind me, and she spun round, startled.

  "Danielle...I mean, Mrs. Thomas."

  The correction bugged me. Why were we back to formal speech?

  "Don't do that, Ava. It's not fair." My tone came off more agitated than I'd planned.

  She frowned. "Do what?"

  "This. Everything. I'm not going to do this anymore. I said I didn't want this to get awkward." I slowly made my way toward her, each step causing her to look more and more unnerved. So now she was afraid of me?

  "We don't have to do anything. You're the one insisting on bringing it up. I just want to forget the whole sorry episode." She looked away, distressed.

  This wasn't how I had envisioned our talk going. I hadn't come here to unsettle her.

  Now only the desk stood between us. But not for long.

  "Really? You want to forget about it?" I said, walking around the piece of wood that separated us, until I was standing right in front of her. "So you're ashamed of kissing me? You regret it that much?"

  "That's not what I me–"

  My lips were on hers suddenly, cutting her sentence short.

  Jesus Christ, I was kissing her! Kissing a woman! And...and no kiss had ever felt so right. I'd kissed dozens of men in my life, and none of them had ever felt this natural.

  I held her head in my hands, comfortable in my dominant role. It took a couple of seconds before she opened her mouth and let my tongue in. And then it suddenly became a tango of tongues.

  When a kiss is good, really good, it can feel as though it's lasting an eternity. But this one, unfortunately, had to come to an end. I broke away first, remembering where we were and who was waiting for me outside. Getting caught playing tonsil hockey with my son's teacher wasn't something I wanted.

  She just gawked back at me, eyes wide with shock, lips puffy and wet, lipstick smudged. All my doing, and I felt great about causing it.

  "Now we're even," I said, and started to the door. I stopped with my hand on the knob, looked back. "And I don't regret a second of it."

  I left her there the way she'd left me by the canal – flabbergasted, speechless, unable to comprehend what had just happened, and what it meant.

  "Why are you smiling, Mom?" Chester asked when I rejoined them. Thank God he hadn't seen us.

  "Because it's a good day, honey. And it's been a long time since Mommy's felt this happy."

  I realized that I'd probably confused the situation even more by doing what I'd just done, but I didn't care. I'd taken a walk on the wild side, kissed a woman and loved every moment of it.

  NINE

  So where did we go from here?

  That was the burning question on my mind, and likely on hers. What would the next move be, and who would make it? Although I wanted to believe the ball was in her court, being the married one, the one with a family, and presumably the only one who was new to same-sex relationships, the responsibility fell on me to okay it.

  Whatever it was.

  The weekend was more agonizing than it ever had been. Each spare moment I had, I closed myself in my bedroom, brought her number up on my screen, and battled with the urge to hit call. Like a smitten teenager in high school, who had managed to snag the hottest girl in school's number.

  I even wrote up a pros and cons list for calling. That was how much thought went into my decision. The cons, however, outweighed the pros, and by Sunday evening I still hadn't made it. The following day would be Monday; whatever we had to say could be said then.

  It was just before six in the evening, and we were in the middle of dinner.

  "The potatoes needed more salt," Dominic said, tucking into his meal regardless. There wasn't a meal I prepared that he didn't have something negative to say about. The vegetables were too soft, the meat was too well-done, or too rare, or too whatever. If he wasn't complaining he wasn't happy.

  I cut him a look. "You know how to ensure someone else doesn't ruin your meal? Make it yourself," I said. I had to be careful with how I spoke to him around Chester. Telling him that he was an ungrateful piece of crap who was lucky I still cooked for him probably wasn't suitable for the sensitive ears of our seven-year-old.

  "Don't get so defensive. A little constructive criticism improves us all."

  I wanted to slap the grin off his face. My handsome husband who, since making his jerk act a permanent feature in our marriage, had become the ugliest person I'd ever met. It was funny how that happened.

  My phone's lively ring jingled from the living room. Usually we didn't take calls at dinner, but Dominic's face was especially irritating to me that evening, and I wasn't hungry. I left the room to answer it, ending the charade of our happy family act.

  I froze when I saw the caller I.D.

  "Hello," I said, making my way quietly up the stairs. Her merely calling me, post-kiss, put us in dangerous territory. Because now the call meant something entirely different, something far less innocent.

  "Hi." She sounded uncertain.

  Just hearing her voice set my heart racing. I closed my bedroom door behind me, sat on my bed. "I'm glad you called."

  "Are you?"

  "Yes. One of us had t
o. We need to talk," I said, and bit my lower lip.

  "Talk, you mean like we did on Friday afternoon?" There was amusement in her voice.

  "Well, I did come to talk, but...I guess I seized an opportunity."

  "To kiss me?" She laughed. I relaxed.

  "Just returning the favor."

  "So you haven't run to your priest, prayed for absolution yet?"

  I chuckled. "Not yet. I'm thinking maybe I should try it a couple more times before I do that."

  "With someone in particular, or would anyone do?" That singsong southern accent now took on a smooth, sultry tone that sent a shiver down my spine. All of a sudden this had become real. A real same-sex attraction. Real flirting. Real arousal.

  "I have someone in mind..." I said.

  Maybe she heard the uncertainty in my voice – no, not uncertainty, just nerves – because her tone changed.

  "Look, the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable, Danielle. I know this is a difficult situation."

  "It is, but not because of you." I wanted her to know that, despite how inopportune this all seemed, she wasn't to blame. Feelings didn't give a damn about marriages and families and gender. If someone had told me that prior to meeting Ava, I wouldn't have believed a word. Now, I got it.

  "But it is. I never should have kissed you. You're married. I don't want to be a home-wrecker."

  "There would need to be a home to wreck," I mumbled to myself. "I don't know if you should be throwing words like that out there. We're friends, and we had a moment. A couple of moments. Maybe we should just let the chips fall as and where they may."

  "What does that mean?"

  What did it mean? "I like talking to you, spending time with you. We should do that. Nothing immoral about that, is there?"

  "No, I think that would be nice."

  I could just imagine her smile, and wished I could have seen it. I never got tired of seeing it.

  "Good. So that's settled."

  We spoke like true friends for another fifteen minutes, never bringing up the kiss or anything associated with it. Neither of us dared admit the obvious elephant in the room: that there was nothing moral or innocent about what we wanted to do to each other.

  When I pulled my door open, Dominic was waiting outside, pretending that he hadn't just been listening. I wondered how long he'd been out there, and how much he'd heard.

  "Is there a problem?" I asked.

  "No. Why?"

  "What are you doing outside my room?"

  "It's my house, Danielle, I can go wherever I want."

  I rolled my eyes and stepped past him to go down the stairs. "Grow up."

  "Who was so important to talk to that you missed dinner with your family?"

  "That's none of your concern."

  "You're my wife. Don't you think I have a right to know what you do?"

  I laughed, out of shock more than anything else. "Wow, really? This is not the nineteenth century, Dominic. And I'm your wife in name only."

  "If you're seeing another man, Dani, I swear to God..."

  He glowered at me, more angry than I'd seen him in a long time. His voice was raised too.

  I stared at him, mouth agape – all I could do at the obvious double standards. This jerk had been screwing every woman that walked past him, rubbing it in my face to boot, and yet he had the audacity to condemn me for possibly doing it.

  I returned to my son in the kitchen, keeping shtum about the fact that I wasn't seeing another man. Another woman, however... And if I had anything to do with it, we would be doing a lot more than simply seeing each other.

  TEN

  It had been so long since I'd dated, that I'd forgotten all about that exciting new relationship buzz you feel at the start.

  Anticipating texts. Calling to say goodnight so that her voice was the last thing you heard before retiring to bed. The dates to places you'd visited many times, but that were made novel and special simply because she was with you. I'd forgotten it all.

  The problem with this, however, was the fact that we seemed to be doing all of it as friends. It was as though she'd taken my words literally, that platonic friendship was all I wanted. Because we didn't kiss again over the following weeks. We didn't even hold hands. Plenty of opportunities arose for it – strolls through the park, a boat ride along the river, sitting in a darkened movie theater right at the back, where no one could see us. And every time I thought she was about to lean in and kiss me, she turned away, moved on to something else.

  My biggest fear had been realized: we'd become best friends!

  Six weeks passed like this, and the closest I came to intimacy with her was the goodbye hugs and pecks on the cheek. And something inexplicable started happening to me after every one of our rendezvouses: I was growing more and more frustrated. Frustrated with myself for not being forward, taking the lead and instigating another kiss. Frustrated with her for being so damn beautiful, and tempting, and inadvertently teasing me.

  I didn't recognize myself when I got into one of my moods. This crippling desire to be with another person was new to me. It no longer fazed me that she was a woman, that she was younger, that there were a hundred things that made her unsuitable for me.

  It was the last day of the semester, and I'd gone to pick Chester up. When the bell sounded, she escorted her class out of the building as usual, and said her hellos to the parents. It didn't take long for her to join me, her smile always so huge and inviting. A little while ago I'd thought that it grew a little wider just for me, but lately I wasn't so sure. Lately I'd been questioning her true intentions, and if they'd changed now that she'd gotten to know me better.

  "Hi there," she said, her eyes twinkling somewhat mischievously. Oh, why did she have to be so irresistible? It only exacerbated my frustration at being stuck in the friend zone. What a miserable place to be.

  "Hey," I said a little weakly.

  She always smelled like candy, super-sweet and totally bad for my health. And I wanted every inch of her!

  "So have you decided whether or not you're going away for the holidays?" she said.

  I shook my head. "Maybe for a few days in the second week. I have a couple of friends who live in Toronto. I was thinking of taking Chester there. They have a little boy his age."

  "Sounds like fun. I've never been to Toronto. Canadians hate me, for some reason." She chuckled.

  "I can't imagine why anyone would hate you," I said. "When do you leave for Bolivia?"

  "Mid-week. I wish you were coming."

  She'd proposed it a couple of weeks ago, during one of our many non-romantic dates. It was as if she'd forgotten that I had commitments, had a kid to look after. I would have followed her to the moon if I wasn't tied down. And even though I loved my son more than anything, the ceaseless burden of being a mother did sometimes way down on me.

  "We could take Chester with us, you know. He would love it out there. It would also give him a chance to learn some Spanish."

  The three of us, a happy family, out there in rural Bolivia. I would stay at home while she went to teach English to the school kids. The image put a smile on my face, but reality wiped it away promptly thereafter.

  "I couldn't, you know that."

  "Yeah, I do." She looked genuinely disappointed. "It's going to be hard not seeing you for almost two weeks."

  I laughed. "You'll forget about me the minute your plane lands. Maybe even sooner." But I would be thinking about her every second of every day, eagerly awaiting her return, praying that she didn't enjoy it too much out there and never come back.

  "That's not true." Her eyes were sincere when she said it. If she would have kissed me right there, right then, in front of everyone, I wouldn't have minded. Why hadn't she tried again? Could everyone see the way we were looking at each other? I often wondered if anyone could see what lay between us simply by observing the way we stared at each other.

  "So listen, you remember I told you about the book club I joined, and you said you w
anted to come along? Monday is my turn to host."

  Book clubs had never been my thing, not least of all because I'd never met anyone interesting who belonged to one. Until Ava. She was odd in her hobbies. Like, for instance, her adoration for manga. She'd even attended a couple of Comic Cons. "I'm a nerd at heart," she'd once said. A beautiful nerd. I imagine I wasn't the only one who found her a bit of an enigma.

  "Monday? At your place?" I asked. It would mark my first visit inside her house.

  "Yes. 7PM. Do you still want to come?"

  "Sure, why not?" I wasn't coming for the others, and not even for the books. I was coming for her. And if I wouldn't see her for ten days, I had to get as much time in with her as I could before she left.

  I regretted the blouse as soon as I stepped into the car, but it was too late to turn back and change. The tag itched like hell, and I was afraid to tear it off in case the shirt ripped.

  A bottle of Burgundy lay on the passenger seat. I wanted to get there early so we had some time alone. But when she opened the door, and the lively chatter spilled out, I knew my plan had been foiled.

  "Hey, come on in. Almost everyone's here." She kissed me on the cheek, took the bottle from me, and ushered me in, missing my disappointment completely.

  She introduced me around the room of eight strangers. They sat in her living room, clutching coffee or wine in one hand, the book of the week in the other. With the exception of two young men, whose age I put at early twenties, the people in the room had an overwhelming similarity: over forties, glasses, and presumably an account at the same outdated clothing store in town. They were exactly as I'd pictured them. And within five minutes of sitting down, dispensing with niceties and smalltalk, it became clear to me why the two young men had come here. In that we shared a common goal: Ava.

  "Did you get a chance to read the book, Danielle?" she asked.

  "Half of it. I couldn't finish the rest." It was a thriller about a man who hitchhiked across Europe, and the discrimination he faced because of his race.

  And so the evening kicked off. I stayed quiet through most of it, trying to keep myself awake, or trying to ignore the blatant flirting the two boys were doing with Ava. Outrageous to the point of being nauseating.