Anchored: A Lesbian Romance

by Jen Clarke

  Anchored

  A Lesbian Romance

  Jen Clarke

  Kat Fletcher

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  If You Enjoyed This Book

  Copyright © 2016 by Jen Clarke

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter One

  I stare at the name on top of the chat window. How long has it been? “Fuck,” I say and quickly type a response. Bri! What have you been up to?

  Oh good, she replies, you’re still up. Did you ever visit the Smith Botanical Gardens when you were out here?

  No, what are they like? I don’t care why she was asking me this at two in the morning, I’m just too happy to hear from her.

  There’s a bunch of greenhouses you can go in. I’m going tomorrow.

  Is there still snow on the ground? I knew there was; I’d checked Amherst weather the day before.

  Lots. I can’t wait to go see something green.

  Oh that’s nice, I respond.

  Listen, I know you’re really busy…

  What’s up? I ask.

  I need a place to stay.

  Weird. She was out in Amherst, three hours from me on Cape Cod. I can’t help her find a place. These days, I hardly know anyone in the Valley, except for her.

  On Cape, Bri adds.

  I sit straight up in bed, suddenly completely awake. You’re moving back to Cape? When?

  Not moving.

  I stare at her message for a moment. I should have known Bri wouldn’t come back here. She wasn’t like me. But if she’s not coming back, why is she asking about a place here?

  It’s temporary until my sublet is available. I’d prefer not to stay at my parents’ house. It’s easier talking to them that way.

  I knew Bri’s family wasn’t happy about her not taking classes this semester. I don’t have a lot of room, but you can sleep on the futon. I pause and add, I’m really really looking forward to seeing you. Was the second “really” too much? I stop myself from adding an emoji.

  When was the last time we saw each other? Bri writes back to me.

  I know the answer. Almost two years ago, at Pride. I don’t say that though. Dunno. I’m really looking forward to seeing you. Great. If the two “reallys” didn’t make me sound like an idiot, repeating the whole sentence surely has.

  Great! It’s going to be around the end of the school year.

  I frown, trying to remember when the end of classes is. Late April?

  Yeah, April. I’ll let you know when I have dates? Thanks so much!

  No problem, I type and pause, staring at the screen and wanting to write more. When did we stop chatting regularly? It didn’t used to be this hard. Finally, I just write, I need to sleep now if you don’t mind.

  Have a good night and thank you again.

  Good night. Look forward to seeing you.

  I close my laptop and set it on my nightstand, then lie back on my pillow and close my eyes. I can hear the rain outside, normally a sound guaranteed to send me to sleep. Two years and my crush on Bri is stronger than ever. Is seeing her such a good idea?

  Chapter Two

  “Ellen?” I feel Denise shaking my shoulder. “Wake up. Your phone’s on fire.”

  “It’s my day off,” I say, turning away and pulling the covers up to my chin. I could tell the day was going to be chilly. Good day to sleep in.

  Undaunted, Denise leans over. “Ellen, your phone’s on your nightstand. Just look at it. You’ve gotten a bunch of calls since I got up. Have some coffee.”

  “I don’t have any coffee,” I mumble.

  “I know, that’s why I went to Dunkin’s,” she says.

  Denise waits for me to turn around and sit up. She hands me a large Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, then sits on the foot of my bed. I sip. The coffee is too sweet, but the caffeine is welcome.

  “Thank you,” I say. “How much did we drink?”

  “For a lightweight like you?” says Denise. She laughs. “Too much.”

  I can smell my shower gel and her first cigarette of the morning.

  “How can you even move?” I ask. Not for the first time, I’m in awe of Denise’s ability to pound drinks.

  “I’ve the luck of the Irish,” she says, affecting a brogue. Denise reaches into her purse, pulling out her own phone. As she scrolls down the small screen, she adds, in her normal voice, “We weren’t even up that late. Maybe you’re getting sick.”

  “I’m not getting sick,” I pick up my phone. “I just feel like shit.”

  “Yeah right. Well, if you’re sick, don’t give it to me,” she suggests. “Oh nice,” she says staring at her phone and then looking up at me. “He wants to drop the kids off early.” She turns her attention back to the phone and speaks to it, as if her ex-husband can hear her. “Are they too much for you, honey?” She leans over to put her coffee on the floor, safe between her feet, and I can see her eyes narrow with irritation as she taps a reply to her ex-husband.

  Trying to avoid the drama, I look at my phone and a glance tells me I have four voicemails. Shit. No one leaves me voicemails except for work or my mother.

  I listen to the first and breathe a sigh of relief. “Ellen, I haven’t heard from you for a while! Just wanted to remind you, my party is coming up…”

  My mother works as a clerk in Town Hall. If you need to pay your property taxes or buy a beach sticker, you might talk to her. Every year, she has a pre-Memorial Day party and almost all her co-workers show up. This is their celebration before summer gets busy.

  My Dad’s voice interrupts from the background, “Yeah, I hear it’s going to be the event of the season. They might not let me in.”

  My mother says something to him that I can’t hear on the message, then she adds, “Just let me know if you’re going to make it, but I’d really like you to try…”

  “No pressure,” I mutter.

  “…Everyone remembers you and would love to see you. Ann asked the other day how you were doing at school. I told her you were taking a little break, but were thinking of taking some classes at 4C’s…”

  I wince. 4C’s is what everyone calls Cape Cod Community College, and I’m definitely not taking any classes there. Not that there’s anything wrong with the place, but it would be admitting that I’m staying here. “No Mom, I’m not going to 4C’s,” I say to my phone as if she can hear me.

  “Anyway, I’d like it if you’d come. Also, I want to hear from you!”

  “Ellen! Call your mother!” my dad’s voice booms from the background.

  “Bye honey! I’ll call you later if I don’t hear from you.”

  Brevity isn’t my mother’s strong suit in phone messages.

  “Who was it?” says Denise.

  “My mom, reminding me about her party.”

  “Oh yeah,” says Denise. “I remember that from last year.”

  “Want to go with me again?” I ask.

  “No. It’s weird hanging out with a bunch of people I don’t know who all know each other.”

  “You’d know me,” I say, hopin
g she’ll change her mind.

  She gives me a dubious look. “Last year, no one would talk to me except this one guy, and all he wanted to talk about was shellfish beds. I can’t imagine why he’s single.”

  “You’re going to make me go to Mom’s party by myself.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “Well, she’s your mother,” mumbles Denise, her attention caught by her phone again.

  I turn back to my own phone and listen to the other voicemails. In addition to going on and on, it’s not uncommon for my mother to leave multiple voicemails in a row. She gets excited and thinks she’s forgotten to tell me something.

  “Ellen, I…” At first, I can’t tell who the woman on the message is, and then I realize it’s my boss, Julie. She’s crying. “Ellen, something’s happened at the restaurant, I need you right away. There’s been a…” I can hear her sobbing into the phone for a few seconds before she recovers. “Someone messed up one of the windows, the big one, there’s glass everywhere, just hurry.”

  “Shit,” I say.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Denise.

  “Something at work. Julie’s crying.” Denise and I work at the same restaurant, the Whale’s Tail.

  “Crying?” says Denise. “What’s she got to cry about?”

  “Hold on.” I listen to the other two voicemails, both from Julie. She’s called the cops and she really needs me there. The last voicemail is two words, “Hurry up.”

  “I got to go in,” I say. “Julie said something about a broken window. She’s freaking out.”

  “Of course she is,” says Denise. “A window?”

  “She said the big one,” I say. “It must be one of the ones right next to the road.”

  “I wonder if someone drove into the building?” says Denise. “That curve’s right there. Someone drives too fast…” Denise put her phone down on the bed to make a fist, then pushed it against the palm of her other hand, “Boom.”

  “I wonder how the ship is doing,” I say. The center window next to the road holds a large model sailing ship, made of real wood.

  “That thing is disgusting,” says Denise. “Every sticky kid has to touch it.”

  “Okay, I’m getting up.” I take a deep breath, thinking of all the reasons I don’t want to go into work, then, I peel the covers off and quickly stand up before I can change my mind. I grab my usual clothes from the clean laundry pile. Jeans, hoodie, T-shirt, underwear, and bra. Denise follows me as I grab a Gatorade out of the fridge, something to replace the electrolytes lost to our evening of drinking. “Denise, you want one?”

  She makes a face. “No, I’m all set.”

  As I sip the Gatorade in the shower. I feel better—not so hollow inside, my headache mostly gone. I turn off the water and hear my phone again.

  “Jesus!” I yell at the showerhead. “Give me a chance to get ready!” I wrap my hair in a towel and fumble at my clothes, managing not to drop my underwear on the wet floor. Stepping out of the bathroom, I sit on the couch and watch as Denise gathers last night’s ginger beer empties, giving each a quick rinse under the facet.

  “You don’t mind if I take what’s left of the rum with me, do you?”

  “No, go ahead,” I shudder. The last thing I want to think about is having a Dark and Stormy.

  She grabs a plastic bag from the pile on top of my fridge and puts the rinsed bottles in it, then she begins washing out my sink.

  “You don’t need to do that.” I say, combing my hair.

  “You’re welcome.” She frowns at my sink. “You need more dish liquid.”

  “I know.” I lean over to tie my sneakers. “I need to shop. Thank you again for cleaning up.”

  “It’s a mom thing.” She comes over and eyes me critically. “You want some BB cream for those dark circles? My sister gave me a bunch of samples.”

  “Yes please,” I say.

  We confer over various shades, and Denise helps me dab some on. Then she insists on colored lip balm. She’s a big believer in makeup. I’ve never seen her with a bare face. As she lowers her eyes to dig in her purse, I notice her lashes are flecked with glitter, which I comment on.

  “Good to look your best. You never know who you might meet,” says Denise.

  Denise makes the occasional comment about me meeting someone, especially when we go out. Despite the way she dresses, it’s more likely to be an Irish pub than a club. But, no matter how many people she talks to, she never pushes anyone in my direction. Not for the first time, I wonder what she’s guessed about me.

  “Well, if it happens, it happens,” I say. Of course, it’s pretty unlikely anything will happen if I keep hanging out with Denise at straight bars.

  “Wait for the right one,” says Denise. “I should have been that smart. Instead I got married.” She laughs and pushes more makeup samples on me. “Here, keep these.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Take a flyer too, then I can tell my sister I gave samples and a flyer to someone,” Denise rolls her eyes. “That’ll make her happy. Just don’t tell her it was you. Text me when you get in to work and give me the scoop. I don’t need a surprise when I go in for my shift.”

  “Don’t worry, I will,” I say. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m even going in. I don’t know what Julie expects me to do.”

  “Hold her hand,” says Denise dryly. “Tell her it will be all right. Calm her the fuck down.”

  “I was just hoping for just one day off,” I say. “Tomorrow I work. Then I work some more…”

  “Welcome to the season,” says Denise. She pulls out a compact to check her face one last time.

  “… And then it’s my mother’s party and then I work some more. And then, I have to get ready for Bri’s visit.” I savor the last sentence as I say it. Bri is coming for a visit. It is the one thing I’m looking forward to in the next few weeks.

  “This is your friend from college? That’ll be fun, you’ll get to catch up.”

  “Yes, that’s her,” I say and pause, not sure what else to mention. I’m sure college was never on Denise’s horizons. Plus, I want to tell her how I feel about Bri, but I can’t. “I’m not sure how long she’ll be staying. Probably not very long.”

  Denise glances up from her compact. “She didn’t say?”

  “She wasn’t real definite.”

  Denise makes a noise that sounds like, “Hmm,” but only adds, “Well, I know you’ll have a good time.” She shrugs into her jacket, picks up her purse, the bag of empties, and the bottle of rum, then heads for the door. “Bye!” she calls out as I hear the door slam shut.

  Just then my phone beeps, reminding me I never checked my latest message. This one’s a text. Probably from Julie. She’s been known to get one of the waitresses to text me when she can’t get me on voicemail.

  Hi Ellen,

  I’m really sorry, but would it be a lot of trouble if I showed up earlier than I was supposed to? I hate to say it, but I’m afraid it has to be today. Please let me know! This would be a big big favor and I would so appreciate it. I can couch surf at my parents’ if it’s really too much trouble, but I really don’t want to have to.

  Bri’s message concludes with a sad emoji.

  Chapter Three

  Backing my mother’s old Corolla out of the driveway, I think about the first time I met Bri.

  UMass was a big place. Every time I walked into one of the large lecture halls, I was determined people not see how nervous I was. That day, I was so determined, I didn’t even notice her until I sat down. Then I stared. The girl sitting next to me was tall, just one set of long lines after another. That doesn’t sound attractive, but she was so graceful and easy, like nothing could be more natural than curving your legs around your backpack on the floor.

  Her hair was about shoulder-length then—not as short as later—sandy, with lighter streaks of blonde. Her nose was peeling from sunburn, probably from the campus tour they insisted on giving the first day. Her eyes were striking, even behind
her glasses. Large and green. Or were they blue? While I unpacked my laptop and textbook, I tried to figure out what color they were, sneaking looks in her direction, too shy to talk.

  Bri had none of my shyness. She noticed me looking at her and I wanted to squirm away, but she smiled and said, “Hi! I’m Bri! Were you here the first class? I did some switching around so I missed it. Do you have the syllabus? Where are you living?” She nodded when I mentioned my dorm, and told me her own. I promptly forgot it. I was too busy staring at the way her fingers rested on the page of my syllabus. “Do you have the books already?”

  I held out the book to show her and managed to gasp a little about the required reading and how far I’d gotten.

  “You are so helpful! Hey, that’s your last name?” She poked out a long finger and traced my name where I’d written it and said aloud, “Ellen Ellis. That’s a common name where I’m from. Are you from Cape?”

  “Yes,” I said, feeling light-headed. I looked her full in the face. Her eyes were definitely green.

  “No! Where’d you go to school?”

  “D-Y,” I said.

  “I went to Sandwich,” she nodded sagely. People from different school districts might live in neighboring towns, but never met each other. “I’ve been to some CIGSYA events, but it’s hard to get to Hyannis.”

  “It’s hard for me too,” I managed to say. Was this girl a lesbian? CIGSYA is the Cape & Islands Gay Straight Youth Alliance, but there’s not a lot for teenagers to do on Cape and lots of straight kids went too. Or at least they said they were straight. I’d always wondered.

  “Oh, did you go to CIGSYA events too?” she asked, her voice sounding excited.

  “No, I didn’t,” I said. The words came out rapidly, curter than I intended. They hung in the air and I wondered if she thought I was a homophobe.

  The professor spoke, asking for everyone’s attention. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not. I looked straight ahead, except when I glanced to my side and looked at Bri. Had she taken offense? She sat easily in her seat, her arm almost touching mine. Her sleeve rode up from her wrist and even in the dim light, I could see her bare arm was pale. At one point she tapped the armrest. I watched as she asked the boy on her other side if he had a pen. Hers wasn’t working. Why didn’t she ask me? Did she think I didn’t like her? She settled back in her seat. I shrank in mine, not wanting her to think I was watching her.