Authors: Fiona Zedde
"It wasn't quite that funny, people," Sinclair muttered.
"Right." Victor laughed softly as he maneuvered the car
toward their destination with one hand.
Still, Sinclair smiled at the memory. Her mother had been
just as dismayed, especially since the bright yellow juice had
hit the ground and splashed up on her new slacks. But Beverly
had laughed, too, swinging the crying Sinclair up in her arms
and held the new juice bag while her daughter suckled happily from the straw. Sinclair remembered the feeling of being
carried by her mother, remembered the smell of jasmine and
oil sheen in Beverly's hair.
"I'm going to miss you," Sinclair said.
"Does that mean you won't make it another twenty years
before you come to visit us again?"
Sinclair shook her head and swallowed her mouthful of
light banana syrup mixed with fresh water and grated ice. "I
won't let it be that long before I taste Nikki's cooking again."
"In the meantime, you better eat something. You can't
come back to this country looking like a refugee."
"Trust me, I won't let that happen again either."
At the airport, there were strained goodbyes. Xavier
started to cry and a sniffling Nikki tried to comfort him with
the promise of more sweets on the way home. Victor
shrugged and pulled his daughter into a crushing hug. "Get
there safe."
"And call us when you land," Nikki said juggling her son
in her arms to hug Sinclair one last time.
Sinclair felt tears of her own well up. "I will."
A red-hatted porter trotted over to help her with her two
large suitcases. "What airline, miss?" When she told him, he
slung the bags on his trolley. "This way."
Sinclair turned to hug Nikki and Xavier again, then waved
at them as she trailed behind the porter. A frantic half hour
later she was checked in and waiting at the boarding gate
with the hundreds of other passengers who would share the
same plane with her. Sinclair checked her purse to make sure
that all her paperwork was in order before taking out a book
to read. But she couldn't focus. Her eyes ricocheted off the
printed page to watch what was going on around her.
Everywhere she looked people seemed excited about getting to the city. Some faces sagged with the world weariness
of the well traveled, others held the dreamy afterglow of a
blissful honeymoon, while others seemed simply anxious for
the plane to come and take them back home. Sinclair quietly
acknowledged that she was none of these. Just as quietly,
questions began to form. Why? Why was she going back to
the city? Were any of the excuses she'd given herself really
valid? Her oversized apartment? Her vapid job at Volk? All
the friends she'd made while living in the city? Right. And
what was she leaving behind?
Sinclair remembered the first time Regina touched her and
the waves of sensation she felt. It was like diving underwater,
those first few moments of disorientation, of wonder. She felt
those things just by looking at Hunter. A couple walked into
her line of vision, a slim young man and his more voluptuously built woman. He looked at her intently as she spoke.
It wasn't until they passed that Sinclair noticed he held her
hand in his and that his thumb moved lightly over her knuckles. The woman carried her own bag.
Sinclair watched them then felt an inexplicable sense of
loss when they disappeared around the corner. He loves her,
she thought. A moment later she reopened the novel her father
had given her from his collection. Something British, he'd said,
but she might like it anyway. The words in the first paragraph swam before her eyes. He loves her. Sinclair looked up, surprise settling on her face. She stood and grabbed her carry-on
bag and her purse. Before she knew it she was dashing through
the airport, her loose hair bouncing around her head. The
blast of warm air when she stepped outside the airport doors
made her pause. What was she doing? Sinclair saw the line of
taxis waiting, and her fingers spasmed around the strap of
her purse.
"Where are you heading?"
She turned automatically to answer, but her breath caught
in her throat. "Um ... back."
"Can I give you a ride?" Hunter's smile was pure sin. Her
unfastened hair stirred in the balmy afternoon breeze, brushing
the shoulders of the man-tailored shirt she wore unbuttoned
over a white tank top and black jeans. She looked freshly
scrubbed, as if she was going courting.
A smile slowly shaped Sinclair's mouth. "Yes. Yes you
can." She followed Hunter to the jeep and threw her bag in
the back before climbing into the passenger seat. They sat
staring at the line of cars ahead, feeling the soft caress of the
afternoon breeze. Hunter fiddled with her keys but made no
motion to start the truck.
"So," Sinclair said softly. "What are you doing here?"
Hunter looked startled, as if she'd been prepared to wait in
the silence forever. "I wanted to tell you something that I forgot to the other day." She cleared her throat. "You matter to
me. It's not about the sex or the other things we do together.
All those things are good-shit, they're fantastic." Hunter
shifted in her seat but didn't look away. "I want you to understand that I care for you. Deeply. You're the first. If you say
that I have to move to your big city so that we can be together then I'd do it. For you I'd do it. No bullshit."
"I thought you weren't going to bring this up again?"
Sinclair teased, allowing her smile to slowly show itself.
"I lied. Sorry. Am I being a total asshole here?" She seemed
to notice Sinclair's smile for the first time. "This is good?"
Sinclair looked into the smiling face of her lover, knowing
her cheeks were creased just as deeply with the signs of her
happiness. "I love you," she said.
"This is good." Hunter laughed softly. "I guess we can
sort out the rest of it later?" She nodded, answering her own
question. She started the jeep and began to slip back into the
slowmoving stream of traffic. Her hand drifted to Sinclair's
thigh. Their fingers linked.
Sinclair leaned back into her seat, feeling the wind's teasing fingers through her hair. On the horizon she could see
light sprinkles of rain, but beyond that the sun waited. She
took in a deep breath, feeling for the first time in her life, satisfied.
"This is good."