Homecoming

by Nell Stark

  Rory bumped her as the opening credits began to play. “I’m really glad you came over.”

  “Me, too,” Sarah said. She hesitated before deciding to be honest. About this much, at least. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Oh, I know,” Rory said. “I’m eminently miss-able.”

  “Egomaniac.”

  “Damn skippy.”

  Resolutely, Sarah focused on the movie, rather than on how good Rory smelled and how exhilarating it was to be close to her. Sarah had long since made her peace with the fact that she was attracted to her, but tonight, those feelings were much stronger than usual.

  You’re just a little lonely, she thought. It made perfect sense, really. She had gotten used to having Chelsea around. Once school started up again, everything would go back to normal. Until then, she just had to watch herself and be sure not to do anything to make Rory freak out.

  *

  Sarah should have been having a blast. Most of her friends were in the room—talking, watching TV, or playing games. The chatter was loud and frequently punctuated by laughter. It was New Year’s Eve, for Christ’s sake—the consummate party night. But Sarah was unable to relax into the festive atmosphere. Across the room, Jeff was flirting heavily with Rory. And it bugged her.

  She took a long sip of her beer as she watched the two of them confer over their Trivial Pursuit question. They were sitting next to each other on the floor, and Jeff was resting one hand on Rory’s knee as he leaned in close to examine the wording on the card that she held.

  They look good together, Sarah thought dully. She felt her gut twist at the realization and tilted the can back for another sip, only to discover that it was empty. Dammit.

  She got up from the couch, stalked into the kitchen, and yanked open the refrigerator door. It probably wasn’t a good call to have another drink at this point, but that only made the idea sound more appealing. Why can’t I just be happy for her? Rory had had a crush on Jeff for a long time. If those feelings were finally being reciprocated—and that’s certainly what it looked like—then why wasn’t she excited for her friend?

  You’re not allowed to be jealous of Jeff. You’re with Chelsea, and Rory’s straight, and that’s the end of it. By now, it was abundantly clear that she’d managed to develop a crush on Rory after all, but those feelings had no place in their relationship. I’ll get over it. The real problem was that Jeff was a tease. A player, even. I bet he’s just out for a good time. And Rory’s going to get her heart broken. Sarah couldn’t stand to think about Rory getting hurt like that.

  “Anyone want to help me with the champagne?” Matt bellowed from the living room.

  Sarah checked her watch. Sure enough, midnight was approaching. She grabbed another beer and walked across the hall. “I’ll give you a hand.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” Matt said. He passed over a bottle and went back to working the cork out of the one he’d been holding. “So? You having fun?”

  “Yeah,” Sarah lied.

  “It’s too bad Chelsea couldn’t make it.”

  “Yeah.”

  Chelsea, Sarah knew, would have kept her occupied all night. While normally that might have started to bug her, Sarah wished for the distraction right now. She topped off the last of the plastic champagne flutes and gestured toward the den. “I’ll start handing these out.”

  By the time everyone was holding a drink, only five minutes remained until midnight. Sarah lounged against the wall near the sliding door to the deck, watching everyone gather around the television to listen to Ryan Seacrest count down to the advent of the new year.

  Rory and Jeff stood next to each other on the edge of the small crowd. Suddenly, Sarah knew exactly what would happen when the ball dropped. The champagne toast, of course, and then someone was certain to start an off-key rendition of “Auld Lang Syne.” But before any of that, there would be kissing. And she did not want to see Rory and Jeff kissing.

  Quietly, she reached for the handle of the sliding door and slipped out into the chill night. Her teeth began to chatter almost immediately, and when she sucked in a breath, the air sliced her lungs. But at least out here, she didn’t have to pretend.

  *

  Rory had lost track of Sarah. Earlier, she’d been sitting on the couch, and just a few minutes ago, Rory had seen her handing out some champagne flutes. Now she was nowhere in sight.

  Rory nodded absently as Jeff made some comment about the broadcast from Times Square, and craned her neck as she looked around the room. Where are you? And why have you been avoiding me all night? Rory thought she knew the answer to the second question. Clearly, Sarah thought she was doing her a favor by leaving her alone with Jeff.

  Across the room, the crowd shifted and Rory caught a glimpse of Sarah hovering near the door to the deck. “Be right back,” she told Jeff, not sticking around to wait for his reply.

  I don’t want him, you idiot, she thought at Sarah as she squeezed between her friends. I want you. But if I told you, things would get weird. And besides…you’re happy with Chelsea.

  Just as she reached the far side of Matt’s den, she saw Sarah slip out onto the deck. Rory paused for a moment, uncertain about whether or not to follow her. Clearly, she wanted to be alone. But the ball’s going to drop any second now, and dammit, I will not let her be in a blue funk tonight.

  Rory threw back her shoulders, grabbed hold of the sliding door handle, and pulled hard. She stepped out into the night and coughed as soon as she breathed in. Fuck, it’s cold out here. As her eyes adjusted, she saw Sarah leaning against the far end of the deck. Shivering.

  “Brooding on New Year’s Eve?” Rory shook her head and extended one hand. “No way, roomie. C’mon.”

  Sarah stayed put. “Hey, I’m fine,” she said, obviously trying to sound cheerful. “Get inside. It’s almost midnight!”

  Rory took a few steps closer. “You don’t fool me. And I’m not going in there without you.”

  Sarah’s eyes glittered in the starlight as she frowned. Rory cocked her head, staring back at her defiantly. Say whatever you want. I’m not leaving. And then a cheer went up from inside the house as the ball dropped in Times Square and the new year began.

  Rory felt the stubborn expression on her face dissolve. She quirked a grin at Sarah and took a few steps forward. “Happy new year, dork,” she said as she pulled Sarah into a hug.

  “Happy new year,” Sarah whispered against Rory’s temple.

  Rory pressed her face against Sarah’s neck. God, she felt so good—lean and warm and strong. Rory knew she should pull away, but Sarah wasn’t moving, either. In fact, her hands were roaming up and down Rory’s back. She wondered if Sarah realized what she was doing. She’s never touched me like this before. Why now?

  Suddenly needing to see her face, Rory leaned back and tilted her head slightly. Sarah was looking down at her with an unfamiliar expression—needy, and a little sad. Longing. Not guilt, not fear, not pity. Rory felt a frisson of shock course under her skin. Holy shit. She wants me, too.

  She should have backed off, but Sarah’s magnetic gaze was enthralling. Slowly, Rory raised her left hand to cup Sarah’s cheek, curling three fingers around Sarah’s jaw and pulling gently. I need this. Need you. Damn the torpedoes. As the gap between them began to narrow, Rory watched Sarah’s eyes flutter shut and her lips part.

  And then the sliding door flew open.

  “What are you guys doing out—whoa!”

  Sarah jerked her head away and immediately released Rory. She took a few steps back, hunching her shoulders. Rory barely managed to restrain herself from reaching out. Instead, she turned toward where Matt stood, silhouetted in the doorway. She couldn’t see his face very well, but had no doubt that his mouth was wide open. Goddammit.

  “Nothing to see here, Matthew,” she said firmly. “Move along.”

  Matt paused for another few seconds before wordlessly closing the door. Rory returned her attention to Sarah, who was now rocking back and forth on
her heels, scrubbing both hands through her hair. She looked sick with guilt.

  Shit shit shit. What have you done? Rory felt an overpowering urge to take Sarah by the shoulders, kiss her hard, and then confess everything. I think I’m falling for you. But what if she didn’t feel the same way? What if their near kiss had been only a momentary lapse?

  A burning pressure pushed against the backs of Rory’s eyes at the thought. I couldn’t stand it. That left only one recourse. Humor had never yet failed her as an escape route. Now it would save her yet again. She forced her lips to curve up in a bright grin, and even managed to arch one eyebrow.

  “Oh, quit looking like a deer caught in the headlights,” she said. “I’m just a hottie, and that’s a fact. Not your fault you can’t resist.”

  And then, because her lips were still tingling in anticipation, Rory took a few steps forward, rose onto her toes, and delivered a light kiss to Sarah’s cheek. The soft skin was hot beneath her mouth. “Now,” Rory said, somehow maintaining her false bravado despite the hollow space that had opened in her chest. “How about some champagne, hmm?”

  *

  Sarah heard Rory speaking, but it was hard to focus on what she was saying. My God. I almost kissed her. If Matt hadn’t barged in on them, she would probably still be kissing her. Absently, Sarah raised one hand to the place that Rory’s lips had touched. It burned.

  But then Rory’s words—and her familiar, bantering tone—sank into Sarah’s addled brain. Not your fault you can’t resist. Not your fault you can’t resist.

  She was just going to laugh it off? Just like that? Sarah suddenly wanted to scream. How? How could Rory possibly be acting as though everything were normal?

  “Um,” she managed. “Yeah. Champagne.”

  “C’mon,” Rory said, reaching for her hand and tugging. Sarah watched their fingers entwine and felt a jolt all along her arm as their palms met, but Rory didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Let’s get back in there before we turn into popsicles.”

  Sarah followed obediently. She felt shell-shocked. What does this mean? she asked, accepting a plastic champagne flute from someone and automatically raising it in a toast.

  It doesn’t mean anything, her rational brain offered. You’re buzzed and you miss Chelsea. It’s no more complicated than that. Sure, she had some feelings for Rory. But how could she not? Rory was the closest friend she had. It was perfectly natural to develop a harmless little crush on her. As long as she kept those feelings under wraps so they couldn’t hurt Rory or Chelsea, there was no problem. Right?

  “Yeah,” she muttered as the crowd began to sing. When Rory slung one arm around her shoulders as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Sarah polished off her drink, trying desperately to relax. Right.

  Chapter Eleven

  Late January

  Independence Auditorium buzzed like a swarming hive. The venue could seat over two hundred people, and Sarah had no doubt that there would be standing room only tonight. She raised her eyes to the stage, where several faculty members sat behind a long table. This panel on the proposed amendment to Rhode Island’s constitution had been funded by the women’s studies department, but the GLBT student center had done most of the legwork. Scratch that, Sarah thought, smiling faintly. I did most of the legwork.

  She squinted, double-checking that everything was in order. All four of the panelists were chatting amiably at the moment, but Sarah had no doubt that once the presentations were over, the meeting would become a heated debate. She focused on the two professors who were arguing the Vote No side—Professor Torrey from women’s studies and a male professor from URI’s law school. Speaking in favor of the amendment were another law professor and a sociologist. I hope we win, Sarah thought, despite knowing that it was naïve to expect a clear intellectual victory or defeat here tonight.

  Having reassured herself that all was ready, Sarah allowed her attention to shift to Rory, who was manning the video equipment. A small pocket of space in the very center of the hall had been allocated for filming. Sarah watched as Rory fiddled with the height of the tripod, then put her eye to the viewfinder to test her adjustment. The sight of Rory working always intrigued her. She was single-minded when filming—an artist absorbed in her medium.

  Not for the first time, their almost-kiss over New Year’s replayed in Sarah’s memory. She’d had many days alone in her dorm room to ponder, overanalyze, and worry about that moment, before Rory had returned for the spring semester. She had even prepared a little apologetic speech. But when Rory had opened the door two weeks ago, she had acted as though nothing had changed, tossing her bag on the floor and immediately enveloping Sarah in a bear hug. Like Matt’s party never happened.

  Most people, Sarah knew, would have been thankful for the opportunity to just let the whole thing go. But Sarah wasn’t most people. The memory plagued her. How could Rory walk around acting like everything was normal between them? Why didn’t she want to talk about it—to figure out what it meant?

  Sarah pressed the heels of her palms against her forehead. And why the hell can’t I stop thinking about it? Her brain ached and her stomach hurt. A clean slate, that’s what I want. No memories. Tabula rasa.

  “You okay, baby?” Chelsea asked, hovering at her elbow.

  Sarah’s stomach churned guiltily, but she managed to smile. “Fine. Just a little tired.” She looked down at her watch. It was nearly seven o’clock. “Think we should sit?”

  “I’ll sit. You need to start this event, remember?”

  “Oh yeah.” Sarah had almost forgotten that she was responsible for introducing the panelists.

  Chelsea stood on her tiptoes, threaded her arms around Sarah’s neck, and kissed her. “You look so good tonight. Don’t be nervous.”

  Sarah kissed Chelsea back automatically. But even as she responded, she couldn’t stop from wondering how it would be different with Rory. Would Rory’s lips be firm or soft? How would she taste? Would she demand the lead from Sarah, or melt into her, or…

  Chelsea pulled away and laughed softly. “Maybe we should save the make-out session for later, when we’re not surrounded by strangers?”

  Sarah felt her face turn red. She knew that Chelsea would assume she was embarrassed by their public display of affection, but that didn’t bother her in the slightest. Thinking about your roommate while kissing your girlfriend. How much more messed up can you get?

  “I’d better go,” she said, indicating the podium. Hopefully, the speeches and debate would be thoroughly engaging, so much so that she’d be distracted from thoughts of Rory. Hopefully. But she doubted it. “See you soon.”

  *

  Rory watched Sarah ascend to the stage and take her place behind the podium. She tried to focus on adjusting the camera angle, breathing deeply and unclenching the tiny muscles of her jaw that had cramped up when she’d seen Sarah kissing Chelsea. This is an important event to get on film, she reminded herself. Don’t fuck it up. But God, it was hard to think with jealousy raging through her blood like that virus from 28 Days Later.

  She had returned to campus determined to ignore what had happened—or rather, almost happened—on New Year’s Eve. It was just a fluke, she thought for the thousandth time. Sarah had wanted to kiss her. She was certain of that much. But she had also been in one of her pensive moods, and buzzed besides. That moment was about Chelsea, not about me.

  As always, though, her internal devil’s advocate refused to stay silent. What if she was wrong about Sarah? What if Sarah wasn’t happy with Chelsea? Rory had watched them closely since school had started again. Chelsea was as clingy as always, and Sarah as solicitous. Nothing seemed to have changed between them. But what if Sarah’s been discontent all along?

  Rory grimaced at the irony. She had shoved Sarah into that relationship, and now it was coming back to bite her. The fact was that Sarah was dating one of the most desired women on campus. Nobody ever broke up with Chelsea; she broke up with them. And if she hurts Sarah, I swea
r to God I’ll—

  For a moment, Rory stared sightlessly through her camera’s viewfinder. She was in the impossible position of both wanting and not wanting Chelsea to end that relationship. Now that is fucked up.

  “Good evening, everyone,” Sarah said from the podium. “And welcome. We’re going to get started.”

  Her voice was loud and clear. Compelling. She was compelling, dammit—crisply handsome in her starched pink oxford shirt and gray slacks. Rory’s fingertips itched with the need to slide through Sarah’s short, dark hair—to massage her scalp as their lips clashed, tongues battling and teeth scraping together. It would be the kind of kiss that poets immortalized in verse and rock stars in song. The kind of kiss that would change her life forever. The kind of kiss that—

  Oh my freaking God, Rory thought, suddenly disgusted. I’m mooning over her like a twelve-year-old girl over Orlando Bloom. She scowled at the viewfinder as she focused in on Sarah’s face. These feelings were nothing new. Unrequited love was all-too-familiar territory. She had to suck it up and deal, just like always. I’m a pro at this.

  And Sarah was a pro at public speaking. She looked sharp, relaxed, confident. Hot. She had this cleft in her chin—a tiny indentation that was, quite simply, adorable. Her face was perfect—finely chiseled like a Greek sculpture. What would it feel like to cup that face in her palms, to slide one thumb over those lips? Sarah’s tongue would dart out and taste her skin, and she would shiver at the warmth and wetness, and—

  The applause startled Rory, so much so that she almost knocked over the tripod. Shit! She recovered quickly, zooming out and panning away from the podium, toward the panelists. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sarah take her seat next to Chelsea, who reached for her hand. The jealousy rose again, coiling inside her like a solar flare. Would Sarah’s palm be clammy? Would she rub her thumb over Rory’s knuckles? Would she rest their joined hands on her thigh?