Authors: Julie Blair
She pulled into her driveway expecting to see lights on. Sheryl didn’t have a meeting tonight. There was a note on the kitchen counter: “Went to a movie with a friend.” She crumpled it. This had to stop. She needed to get out of the office at a decent hour. They needed to spend time together. Her stomach growled. She should have picked up takeout, but she’d assumed Sheryl had gotten dinner for them. She poured a generous amount of Glenlivet into a tumbler and took a long sip. It landed hard in her stomach.
Her loafers made a hollow tapping sound on the hardwood floor as she walked to the bedroom. She flopped on the bed and lay on her back. Loneliness crept over her like a malevolent shadow as she rubbed her palms over the bedspread. It was satiny and soft, and she liked the deep blue and burgundy. It was the only thing she’d picked out in the room Sheryl had decorated—pale-blue walls, light-colored furniture too modern for Jamie’s tastes. Jamie remembered pulling the bedspread from the shopping bag, tossing it over the bed, and the two of them jumping on top of it and making out.
There used to be lots of moments like that. Would they have them again when her business problems were resolved and Sheryl got her promotion? Could they wait that long? She ran her hand over her abdomen. It was still flat but not as defined as it had been in her youth. Did Sheryl still find her attractive? She fingered the hair at her temples. She’d do something about the gray. She was starting to doze when her eyes snapped open. Sheryl’s car. Vaulting off the bed she hurried to open the door for her.
“Wow, you look terrific.” Jamie followed Sheryl to the kitchen, taking in the tight jeans and apple-green scoop-neck T-shirt. “God, I’m happy to see you.” She wrapped her arms around Sheryl, lifted her off the ground, and kissed her. “How was the movie?”
“Good. A romance. You wouldn’t have liked it.”
“I like romance.” She kissed her way up Sheryl’s neck.
“Tickles.” Sheryl pulled away and filled a glass with ice from the refrigerator door. “I have some good news about the promotion.”
“You got it? Why didn’t you call me?” When Sheryl smiled, Jamie saw the happy woman she’d fallen love with.
“I didn’t get it,” Sheryl said, “but I got ten minutes alone with the superintendent when I went by the district office today, and he said he liked my preliminary plan for revamping the advanced-placement curriculum. And…” A smirk replaced the smile. “He said that just between the two of us he supported how I handled that situation last year.”
Jamie’s stomach dropped. She didn’t like the way those girls had been treated. She didn’t like that Carla’s version differed from Sheryl’s. “Are you sure—”
“He said I’m the kind of person he wants on his team.” Sheryl pulled her shoulders back. “I’m the front-runner for the new position.”
“That’s great, babe.” Shouldn’t she just share this moment of victory with Sheryl?
“Do you know what that means?”
Jamie hoped it meant spending more time together. She looked away from Sheryl’s hungry expression. How had the determination she’d once admired turned into this obsession that made her feel irrelevant? “Do you really want his backing if he doesn’t support who you are?” Sheryl’s mouth tightened. “Isn’t there someone at the district office, maybe someone gay, who could…I don’t know, mentor you or advocate for you?”
“I thought you supported me.”
“I do.” Jamie stepped toward her. “I have a patient, a retired high-school principal, who’s a lesbian. I could talk to her. Maybe she knows someone at the district who—”
Sheryl eyes softened. “Oh, Jamie. Always trying to help. I appreciate it, but honestly, his backing is all that matters. If he wants me on his team, I’m in.”
Jamie closed her eyes when Sheryl kissed her. She wrapped her arms around Sheryl’s waist and held her tight. Isn’t this what mattered? Being connected? Sheryl was right. She deserved to have her dreams fulfilled, and it was her job to support that. She burrowed her face against Sheryl’s neck.
I wish she’d change perfumes.
“I’m so close to having what I want. By the time I’m your age I’ll be as successful as you.” Sheryl stepped away from her and poured Diet Coke into the glass.
“Middle age isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Jamie said, yawning. Had she ever been this tired?
“Are you making progress with your business problem? I don’t want anything to go wrong this time.”
“I won’t let it interfere with your promotion.” Sheryl’s smile softened the hard knot in her stomach.
“Will you take me on a celebration trip after it’s official? Maybe New York? Now there’s a city for shopping.” Sheryl’s eyes sparkled.
Jamie’s hopes rose. “Sure.” They’d get back to how they used to be. Soon. She pulled Sheryl into a hug. Their bodies still fit well together. “And in the meantime we need to talk about where to go for our anniversary.”
“That’s next year.”
“I guess technically that kiss was just after the stroke of midnight.” Jamie stroked Sheryl’s back. “Ten years. Now that’s something to celebrate. How about Hawaii for two weeks over your Christmas break?” Sheryl stepped out of her arms.
“Two weeks is a long time.”
“Haven’t you been complaining that I work too much? Come on, babe. Sun, beaches, just the two of us—”
“The timing’s not good. I don’t want to be gone and miss an opportunity that could seal the promotion for me.”
Jamie watched Sheryl walk away, her optimism sliding away with each step. What could she say to get Sheryl to put their relationship first? Worry settled in the pit of her stomach as she followed Sheryl to the bedroom.
Jamie smiled at the laughter coming from the break room. Sara and Don were teasing Betty about abandoning them for silly things like vacations. This is how her office used to be. Poking her head in the doorway, she asked, “Has anyone seen Carla?”
“She had errands to do,” Betty said, her words garbled by the bite of sandwich in her mouth.
“Join us,” Sara said.
“I was going to—”
“Come on.” Sara pulled out the chair next to her. “We’ll loan you a sandwich.”
“How can I refuse an offer like that?” Jamie sat down between Sara and Betty. “So, last chance to change your mind,” she said to Betty.
“I love you, Jamie, but not as much as my marriage.” She handed Jamie a sandwich. “No iced tea. You’ll have to settle for coffee.”
“Speaking of which,” Don said, “who upgraded our coffee? This is great.” He set a cup in front of Jamie and sat across from her.
“You can thank Carla for that,” Jamie said.
“And I guess we can thank her for the beautiful bouquet on the front counter,” Sara said. “Just about every patient has commented on it.”
“She brought the flowers in from her own garden,” Betty said.
Half an hour later Jamie pushed back from the table, full from the sandwich and revived by the conversation.
*
Carla came back late from lunch. She’d made up a nonexistent errand as an excuse to get out of the office. Away from Jamie. She ignored the patients in the reception area. She usually made it a point to talk to them, but she just couldn’t today. She reached for the Kleenex in her sweater pocket as she ducked into her office. It was the sweater she’d put over Jamie last night, neatly folded on her desk this morning.
This wasn’t going to work. She’d planned to tell Jamie first thing this morning, but Betty kept hugging her and telling her how glad she was that Jamie was in such good hands. Monday. She’d tell her Monday and offer to stay until she found someone else. The phone rang, and she blew her nose before picking it up.
“Carla, it’s Pearl. We spoke the other day about your insurance billing problem.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I have good news for you. I’m going to get you those EOBs.”
“How long?”
“A couple of weeks.”
Carla clenched the receiver. “That’s great.” She forced cheerfulness into her voice. Yesterday she would have been thrilled. After last night all she wanted was to be far away from Jamie and her problems.
*
Jamie let the hot water sluice over her back as she bent her head forward to rinse the shampoo from her hair. She indulged in a few more minutes of the gloriously hot water, moving her shoulders around to loosen the knots in her traps. Maybe Sheryl would come home before her meeting. She tried to remember the last time they’d showered together.
“Are you almost done? I need to freshen my makeup and the mirror’s all fogged.”
Jamie opened the shower door. “I was just thinking about you. I’ll be out in a minute. Unless you want to join me?”
“No.” Sheryl pulled makeup jars from the drawers.
Jamie shut the door and turned the faucet to cold, bracing herself for the shock. She was shivering when she stepped onto the bath mat and wrapped a towel around her. Sheryl put a dab of one of her hair products on her palms and stroked it through her hair. “You look good with short hair.” She did, but Jamie missed the shoulder-length waves she loved to sift through.
“Thanks.”
Jamie dried off as she watched Sheryl apply blush to cheeks that already looked rosy. For all the job stress, Sheryl always looked fresh. She hung the towel on the bar and wrapped her arms around Sheryl’s waist. Sheryl outlined a lid with eyeliner. It was a mystery to Jamie how she drew such a perfect line. “I love watching you put on makeup.” She rubbed Sheryl’s belly in a slow circle and then undid the button under her fingers.
“You’ll make me smudge.”
“I’d like to do more than that.” Jamie slid her hand inside the silk blouse. Sheryl’s skin was soft and warm. Jamie’s pulse quickened. “Ten years and I’m still attracted to you,” she whispered in Sheryl’s ear.
“I don’t have time, Jamie.”
“Not even for a kiss?”
“I’m running late.” Sheryl twisted a lipstick tube and puckered her lips as she applied the dark-red lipstick.
“Just a kiss.” The edge of pleading in Jamie’s voice matched the panic that reared up from the back of her mind. She was owned by the notion that there was a magic moment when they would reconnect, that the right gesture or the right thing she said would undo their growing separation. What was that right thing? What if this were the moment?
Sheryl turned, and Jamie slid her arms around her shoulders and kissed her. Hadn’t it been a kiss that shifted them from friends to lovers on that long-ago New Year’s Eve? Sheryl’s lips were cool from the lipstick. Jamie tried to draw her into the kiss, like opening a door and hoping Sheryl would walk through it. When she ran her fingers through Sheryl’s hair she stiffened. She could hear the unspoken words, “Don’t mess my hair.” She covered Sheryl’s hands that were braced on the vanity. Not that long ago Sheryl would have lifted herself onto the vanity and wrapped her legs around her. Desperate to ignite a spark between them, Jamie slid her tongue into Sheryl’s mouth. It was warm and tasted of the cinnamon gum she chewed. “Mmm,” Jamie said in her throat. She waited for Sheryl to deepen the kiss.
“I’ve gotta go.” She turned back to the mirror, reapplied lipstick, then sprayed perfume toward her throat.
Jamie stepped back from the stinging scent, another missed opportunity drenching her with disappointment. “Why don’t you come by after your meeting? We’re having dinner at Maggiano’s. They have a nice bar. We could have a drink, talk.” Maybe that would be the moment they looked in each other’s eyes and time stopped and…Sheryl kissed her cheek, and was gone, only the bite of her perfume left.
Jamie stared at the jars and tubes of makeup spread across the counter. She picked up a round tub and read the label. Face cream. She’d always loved Sheryl’s femininity. Opening it, she rubbed some into her cheek, cool and slippery on her skin.
Jamie pulled dove-gray linen pants from a hanger and chose a dark-blue sweater, not her usual business attire. Her staff teased her about her preppy style of dress—pleated pants and Oxford shirts. She’d heard a practice-management guru comment once that doctors should wear long sleeves so their patients couldn’t see their tan arms and assume they were leading lives of luxury and leisure at their expense. Jamie had laughed, but it made her think about the image she wanted to portray. She never wore a white clinic coat like her father because it hindered her mobility when adjusting and she didn’t have a stethoscope draped around her neck that signified “doctor.” Wearing tailored pants and long-sleeved shirts that looked professional in a slightly masculine style was her way of establishing a “doctor” look.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she adjusted the V-neck sweater over her shoulders. She fingered the pendant she never took off, a diamond set in a gold star, a gift from her mom on her eighteenth birthday just months before she died. “You’ll always be my star,” the card read.
Am I still your star, Mom?
Tears stung her eyes. Her mom had been gone longer than she’d been a chiropractor. All the talks that last summer about dreams and following your heart. She’d known she wouldn’t be around. Jamie shook off the sadness. Tonight was about Betty.
*
Jamie rested her forearms on the rounded edge of the bar and wrapped her fingers around the tumbler of Glenlivet, listening to nearby conversations—the dramas of boyfriend problems, a forgotten anniversary, money wasted on a bad concert.
Dinner was great fun, and Jamie had made a point of being upbeat because she knew her staff was worried about her. Betty had cried over Jamie’s parting gift—a gold charm bracelet with charms she’d chosen to remind Betty of her days in the clinic. Sara and Don had joined her at the bar for one drink, but she’d been on her own for the last hour. She felt guilty for being relieved Carla hadn’t come. She didn’t want to meet her husband.
She’d known Sheryl wouldn’t show up. How many meetings would it take for her to get that promotion? She found morose satisfaction in sitting here, playing the jilted lover. It was melodramatic and Jamie was never melodramatic. She was the strive to be better, stay after practice to throw just a few more pitches type; the work hard six days a week for twenty years type; the never leave dirty dishes in the sink type. Responsible and hardworking all her life, but what had it gotten her? She left the last of the Scotch she’d been nursing. She was the responsible type who didn’t drive drunk; the loyal type who went home to a partner who seemed more distant each day.