by Harper Bliss
“I’m so glad you called,” Martha said. She was obviously more skilled at this. Or perhaps more of a natural—which was why, subconsciously, Amber had liked her so much when they’d first met.
“I gather we’ll be seeing each other tomorrow at Micky’s dinner party. But I wanted to ask if you would like to have dinner alone with me some time this weekend?” Amber asked.
“I would love that,” Martha replied.
It was really that easy. Amber only realized how furiously her heart had been beating now that its thunderous thud was quieting down a little. She took a deep breath, and said, “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”
They settled on a date and time and a couple of minutes later Amber stood with her phone in her hands, the same way as before she’d called, but she felt like a different woman entirely.
Chapter Six
“So tell me,” Martha said. “What on earth took you so long?” She didn’t care that she blurted out the big question when Amber had barely sat down. She wanted to know.
Amber gave a shy chuckle. “Before I say anything, I need to know what Micky told you about me.”
“Just that you were worth waiting for. So I did. And if you hadn’t called me after you got back from India, I would have called you myself. Or perhaps taken one of your yoga classes.” She paused. “Hm, no, calling would have been my preferred option.”
A smile formed on Amber’s lips. “You really should come to one of my classes.”
Martha cocked her head as she quirked her mouth up into a crooked grin. “Perhaps you could give me a private lesson some time.”
The smile that appeared on Amber’s lips now stretched all the way to her ears.
“Just for the record, I’m not the type to play hard to get,” Amber said after they had ordered. “The whole thing with you and Micky made me uncomfortable at first and I knew I had this trip to India coming up. I didn’t want to rush into anything.”
“Wise, I guess. Though frustrating for some. Especially the extension.” Martha poured herself more wine and examined Amber’s glass. “You don’t rush into finishing drinks either, I see.”
“I used to,” Amber said. “I used to be quite the opposite of how I am now.”
“I’m very much intrigued.” Martha took her replenished glass and leaned back, hoping to finally learn a bit more about the mysterious Amber Gilroy.
“You should see a picture of me fifteen years ago. You wouldn’t recognize me.” Amber wasn’t offering up any big secrets just yet.
“Let me guess,” Martha said, “that was before you discovered yoga.”
Amber nodded, took another small sip, then said, “I feel we’re spending a disproportionate amount of time talking about me. Tell me about you.”
Martha broke out into a giggle. “Micky also told me you’re very good at changing the subject when the conversation focuses on you too much.”
“I’m just interested, that’s all.” Amber gazed into Martha’s eyes for a few seconds.
“Me too,” Martha said. Suddenly, this didn’t feel like a first date at all anymore. To Martha, it seemed as though they’d skipped right into the third or fourth date, when intentions had clearly risen to the surface and the silences that fell were filled with anticipation.
Martha saw Amber compose herself.
“My mother died when I was twenty-nine and my father not long after I turned thirty,” Amber said. “Their deaths had a big impact on me. When one parent dies of a stroke and the other of a heart attack it makes you acutely aware of your own health. I knew I had to do something because, apparently, my genetics would never work in my favor.”
“Not to mention the emotional effects of losing your parents at such a young age and in such quick succession,” Martha said, hoping she put adequate emotion in her voice.
“It was hard.” Amber’s voice wavered a fraction. “Life is hard for everyone at some point.”
“Tell me about it.” Martha huffed out some air. “But... what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. To say it with the kind of horrible cliché that should be avoided on first dates.”
“It should make us stronger.” Amber still looked serious.
Perhaps it had been too early for Martha to crack a joke. Amber had just told her about the death of her parents—and Martha had wanted to know.
“I’m really curious about one thing,” Martha said, trying a different tack. “From what I know, throughout Micky’s journey, you’ve been such a great friend to her, not only listening and giving advice, but also pushing her to take a step forward when needed.”
“I also pushed her to forget about Robin and give you a chance,” Amber quipped.
“That was before you met me so that’s all in the past.” Martha smiled. She had put most of that evening’s events out of her head as soon as she’d left Micky’s house—apart from meeting Amber. That memory she had cherished, and allowed to grow into hope, though she’d had to exercise a good amount of patience. “I’m just curious to know what you think about my journey. My situation was very similar to Micky’s, though not exactly the same, of course. I could have been braver sooner. Should have been, perhaps.”
“You’re asking my opinion about how you’ve handled your life already? On our first date? Before the food has even arrived?” Amber was finally up for a chuckle.
“I just wonder what I must look like to someone like you. Someone who seems to have everything pretty much figured out, and has done for a long time.”
“Trust me, Martha, I have far less figured out than I would want to. Sure, I can stand on my head or sit still thinking about nothing for at least two hours on end, but that hardly makes me more adept at life. Everyone is different and we all have our cross to bear.” Amber squared her shoulders. “The only reason I pushed Micky is because I’ve known her for almost forty years. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. I believed it was about time she did something about her happiness.”
Martha loved how passionate Amber was about her friend. Then the food arrived. Martha had many questions left. Including a tricky one about Caitlin James, but she had to swallow them for now.
Chapter Seven
They fell into a brief period of silence while they tucked into the food. Amber complimented Martha on her choice of restaurant, which catered to both vegan and non-vegan customers, and, while they ate, sneaked covert glances at how she approached the meal. Her spine was straight, her elbows bent at ninety degrees, as her fork, filled with tiny amounts of food, skillfully bridged the distance between plate and mouth. Amber had always thought you could tell so much by how someone ate. From the perfection of Martha’s table manners, Amber deduced hundreds of formal dinners, dozens of times telling her children not to put their elbows on the table, to fold a napkin just so.
The life Martha had lived. Married to a man for decades. Three grown children. Two grandchildren. It felt as though Martha’s entire life was visible in the way she sat there. They were so different. The only way they could ever bridge the gap between their personalities and what they had become after so many years of life, was the same way Martha brought food to her mouth: in small, measured steps. Careful not to spill. Not to want too much at a time. Amber had done exactly that in the past. Wanted too much too soon—because she couldn’t help herself. Perhaps that made her too cautious when it came to matters of the heart, but this was the only way it could be now.
While they waited for Martha’s dessert—Amber wasn’t much of a dessert eater, not even on a first date when she’d drunk more than her customary one and a half glasses of wine—Martha spoke of her two-year-old grandson and how his arrival had given her a whole new perspective on life.
“You can’t help comparing, you know? Jason, my eldest, is thirty, but I just can’t help myself. The protectiveness I feel towards my grandkids... Just when my own children are all old enough to stand on their own two feet, a couple of other little ones come along, and you see them, and you know there’s
nothing you wouldn’t do to guarantee their happiness.” She cocked her head, the way, Amber had already learned, she did when she was about to ask a deeper question. Amber could easily predict this one. “How about you, Amber? Did you ever want children?”
“There certainly was a time when I did.” The wine wasn’t missing its effect and Amber spoke more freely than usual. “But let’s just say I squandered my most fertile years.”
“Squandered how?” Martha wasn’t the kind of woman to let a comment like that slide. It was what Amber liked about her, although right now, it made her a little uncomfortable. They were having a nice date. There was a definite tinge of promise in the air. Amber didn’t want to talk about the past—about that time when she’d made so many bad decisions, despite having already taken so many steps to change her life since then.
“A relationship that lasted too long and ended badly. The subsequent fall-out. And all the years in between during which I never truly considered raising a child on my own. And I have Christopher and Olivia.”
Martha drew her lips into a lopsided pout, then said, “Well, you certainly deserve an award for vagueness.” She leaned over the table. “I consider myself a pretty intelligent woman, Amber. Hell, I’d better be seeing as an important part of my job is to transfer knowledge to our nation’s youth, but if I’m meant to unlock the mysteries of Amber Gilroy from the meager information you’ve just given me, I will admit defeat here and now.”
Amber chuckled. “I don’t mean to be all mysterious but, er, there are a number of things I don’t like talking about on a first date.”
Martha held up her hands. “I get it. I hardly feel like talking about my ex-husband. And I know all about squandering opportunities.”
“I like you, Martha. A lot. Our first date hasn’t even ended yet and I’m already looking forward to the second. But I’m going to have to take certain things slowly. In the past, I’ve made the mistake of not doing so and I ended up paying for it.” And there it was. An image of Holly flitted through Amber’s brain. Quick. Gone in a flash. But for a split second, it was there.
A waiter came by with the dessert Martha had ordered: avocado chocolate mousse.
So much sugar just before bed, Amber thought, then immediately scolded herself for doing so.
Martha let her tongue slide over her lips as she looked at her plate. “You’re going to have to help me with this. There’s no way I can eat this by myself.” Martha heaped some of the mousse on her spoon and held it in front of Amber’s mouth. “What do you say, Amber? Are you living dangerously tonight?”
Already, Amber found it difficult to resist that smile. The small taunt in her words. The glimmer in Martha’s eyes when she looked at her. She luxuriated in the tensing of her muscles as her glance lingered. Martha’s eyes had a peculiar color: not quite blue and not quite gray.
She opened her mouth and let Martha feed her a spoonful of the mousse. It tasted heavenly for a few seconds, then it slid down, and Amber hoped she would be able to sleep. Her body wasn’t used to such sugar ingestion, especially so late at night.
Later, alone in bed, Amber focused hard on trying to recall the feel of the soft press of Martha’s lips on her right cheek. She couldn’t sleep, despite having taught three classes earlier that day and having gone on a date. Both her body and her brain should be exhausted. But the date had been a treat. So full of promise for more. So relaxed, yet injected with enough anticipatory energy of things to come, of the unknown, of talking to someone she really wanted to know.
Amber wondered whether, if she had asked, and if she’d let her own lips slide closer to Martha’s when they’d kissed good night, Martha would have come home with her. Amber was well aware how even her best friend regarded her. Amber would never sleep with someone on the first date. That wasn’t her style—not anymore.
Yet, there were things Micky didn’t know. Not many, but important bits of Amber’s life that she didn’t feel like sharing. Perhaps out of a sense of shame, or perhaps just to keep a certain image of herself alive. Amber, the wholesome. Amber, the friend you can always count on. Amber, who never falls apart—not anymore.
And there it was again, a flash out of nowhere. Holly. This time the image lingered—or Amber held on to it. She stood in typical stance. Head tilted, chin pointing down, glancing up at Amber from under heavily-painted lashes. Amber couldn’t help herself. She compared Holly’s features to Martha’s. Whereas so much about Martha was light, Holly’s eyes were dark brown, her hair, always long and loose, always colored deep red or raven black or whatever the hue of the week was. However, Amber couldn’t shake off a sense of similarity between them. Perhaps it wasn’t one visible on the outside.
Amber pushed the thought from her mind. Because Martha was not Holly. And Amber certainly wasn’t the same Amber she’d been back then.
She went back to focusing on the patch of skin Martha had so gently kissed, traced the tip of her finger over it, and nodded to herself, in silent affirmation, that yes, this could be good.
Chapter Eight
“You’re looking very chipper this evening,” Stella said. “No sign of the Monday blues at all.”
Martha’s daughter only lived a few blocks from her house, in an apartment she shared with two fellow students, and she often popped home for a meal.
Martha shrugged. She didn’t really know what to say to Stella. She had certainly come around since Martha had first told her children she would be taking her romantic life in a different direction after the divorce, but Martha didn’t know how much she could comfortably confide in her daughter.
“How was your weekend, darling?” she asked, trying to deflect the attention away from herself.
“Mom, come on. I called you last night. You know what I did over the weekend. Were you not listening?”
“I know what you did, I’m just asking whether you enjoyed it.” Martha turned towards the fridge from which she grabbed a pack of fresh pasta she’d bought earlier. “You’re on cheese grating duty, by the way.”
Stella shook her head. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“A mother’s right, I believe.” Martha unearthed a frozen portion of bolognese sauce from the freezer. She was not the kind to come home from a full day at the university and start cooking from scratch. How would Amber feel about that? She certainly wouldn’t be able to eat any of the meal components Martha was putting together tonight.
“Now you’ve just confirmed it.” Stella cocked her head. “Is it a woman? I mean, it can really only be a woman making you look like this on an ordinary Monday night.”
Martha busied herself with filling a pot with water, turning away from her daughter’s scrutinizing gaze again. She wanted to tell her. Stella obviously wanted to know.
She put the pot on the stove and turned to face her daughter. “I went on a date.”
Stella rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell me? As if it wasn’t written all over your face and I couldn’t guess.”
Good question, Martha thought. Would she have told Stella spontaneously if she’d gone on a date with a man? She probably would have. “I don’t know, darling. I’m not sure how comfortable you are with me sharing that kind of information with you.”
“You not sharing was exactly what caused problems between us in the first place.” Stella could really amaze Martha with her frankness sometimes. “I was never very hung up on the fact that you’re now interested in women, more on the fact that you didn’t bother telling me.”
“For a long time, there wasn’t that much to tell.”
Stella waved her hand. “Water under the bridge, Mom. Now tell me about this woman.”
“Just a sec.” Martha deposited the container with sauce in the microwave and switched it on. She took a moment to spool the highlights of the date over an imaginary projector in her mind. The first highlight had actually happened before, when Amber had finally called her and asked her out. “Her name is Amber. She’s a yoga instructor
. We had dinner and I had a really nice time.”
“Duh,” Stella said. “I figured as much.” She reached for her phone, which was always kept no more than an arm’s length away. “What’s her last name?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to google her. If she’s a yoga instructor, she must be easy to find.”
Now it was Martha’s turn to roll her eyes. “Gilroy,” she said, despite not being sure how she felt about her daughter googling her potential love interest. Actually, scrap the ‘potential’. Because Martha had had a nice time with Amber, which could so easily not have been the case after the months of built-up anticipation. There was something in the air between them.
“Whoa,” Stella said. “Is this her?” She showed Martha her phone.
Martha’s stomach did a little flip-flop as she looked at Amber’s profile picture on the website of the yoga studio where she worked. A picture Martha was familiar with, since she had, months ago, googled Amber herself. She nodded.
“Not what I was expecting at all,” Stella said while still scrolling on her phone.
“What were you expecting?” Martha’s curiosity was piqued.
“I don’t know.” Stella put her phone down. “Maybe someone more like Sheryl. I mean, Professor Johnson.” She pursed her lips together. “This woman looks so wholesome and...” Stella looked as though she’d caught herself before saying something she might regret. But Martha wanted to know.
“What?”
“Well, young, I guess.”
“She’s forty-five.”
Stella’s eyes grew wide. “No way.”
“It must be all that yoga,” Martha said, refusing to feel old—which was basically what Stella had hinted at.
“Nine years younger, huh. I guess it’s more acceptable than Dad and Carrie.” Stella shot her a rueful smile.
Martha couldn’t help but feel as though she had scored a valuable point against her ex-husband.
