Chapter 2

For the remainder of the day, I tried to keep myself busy. It was a typical dull Sunday for me. I cleaned up around the house, tried to work in the garden, but still, I was bored to tears. Rachel had gone out with Kate somewhere, leaving me to my own devices. By 3pm, I was about at my wit's end. I couldn't take the silence and isolation any longer. I walked into the kitchen to the phone and flipped through the university directory looking for Gayle Martin.

And then I found it.

I picked up the phone and was about to dial, but stopped. What was I doing? I hardly even know her. We only talked for, perhaps, a total of an hour and ten minutes. And now I was calling her, as if we were dear old chums? I quickly hung up the phone. No, I thought. Even I would think it a bit strange for someone I had only just met to do that. And then depression set in. I slowly trudged out to the living room and fell back onto the couch.

"I need to get outa here," I mumbled, running my hands through my hair.

A few hours later, after doing the laundry and folding it, attempting to clean Rachel's room, but immediately stopping upon finding a sex toy under her bed, aside from the usual clutter, she finally arrived home.

She was helping me fix dinner in the kitchen, when she nearly knocked my socks off.

"Guess who we saw at the mall?" she asked, while slicing a cucumber.

I was rinsing a head of lettuce in the sink.

"Who's that?" I replied.

"What's-her-name."

I chuckled.

"And who would that be?"

Rachel tossed a small slice of cucumber into her mouth, replying, "That, uh, Gayle chick. Gayle Martin."

My heart instantly started racing, and all the blood in my body sank to my feet.

"Oh yeah?" I replied, trying to maintain some control and not seem overtly, even strangely, enthusiastic about this revelation.

I turned off the water and shook the lettuce in the sink, and then placed it in a bowl and began peeling it.

"And what'd she have to say?" I asked with a nervous grin.

Rachel picked up the cutting board and scraped the cucumber slices into a bowl.

"Notta whole lot," she replied.

My sudden glee quickly evaporated.

Rachel set the empty board in the sink and turned on the water to rinse it off.

"Oh... Almost forgot," she said. "She asked what you were doing Thursday night."

I had just picked up the bowl of lettuce and was about to turn toward the kitchen table, when she said that. I gulped and glanced at Rachel, who thankfully wasn't looking, as I'm sure I was white as a ghost.

"Yeah?" I squeaked.

Rachel pulled the board out of the sink and began wiping it off with a dishtowel.

"Yeah, said she's having some friends over at her place and wanted to know if you'd wanna come over too, I guess. I dunno... I wasn't really paying attention and she talks kinda fast, anyway."

Now I could feel my face turning red - red with anger. I wanted to toss the lettuce across the room and throttle my own flesh and blood. Instead, I forced myself to remain calm.

"Did she, uh... saying anything else? Any information? Like when and where?"

Rachel wiped her hands with the towel and turned to me. She seemed to be racking her brain, trying to remember, while I became more impatient.

"Umm... Oh, yeah," she finally said, and reached into her back pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper. "She wrote it down."

Rachel handed it to me, and there, scrawled on it in someone else's handwriting, obviously not Rachel's, was a name, phone number, address, and time. Below this were the words, "Dress casual". Next to that was a smiley face.

The blood that had boiled to my face now flooded back down to my feet.

"Gonna go?"

"Hm?"

I looked up and Rachel was staring at me. She poked her finger at the paper in my hand.

"Gonna go?" she asked.

"Oh... Um... Yeah, well, uh... Sure. Sure, I don't think I have anything going on that night, so, uh... yeah, you know, why not? Sure."

Rachel smirked.

"Yeah," she replied sarcastically. "You gotta real busy schedule, huh?" Then she turned and walked into the living room. "A real social butterfly," she said. "That's you."

For the remainder of the night, I felt giddy. I hadn't felt this good in a long time. For some reason this little, otherwise insignificant, invitation made me feel more alive than ever before. So much time had passed, since I last felt such joy in my heart, and I was happily becoming reacquainted with something I thought I'd never again experience.

Today was Sunday and the get-together, or whatever it was, wouldn't be until the following Thursday - four agonizingly long days. All evening, I fought the urge to call her. Over and over, I played out in my mind what I'd say, what my reason would be for calling. To thank her? To let her know I had accepted her offer? Or maybe she felt sorry for me. Maybe she and Rachel had been talking that afternoon and somehow my name came up in the conversation.

"Where's your mom?"

"Sitting at home sulking. She's really in bad shape. Boy, I feel sorry for her, don't you?"

Was this a pity invitation? No. No, it couldn't be. Besides, I doubt Rachel would talk about me like that. I think she understood what I was going through. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I reasoned out how that conversation probably went.

"Where's your mom?"

"Uh... Last I saw her, she was at home vacuuming the rug. Why?"

That was more like the Rachel I knew.

So, I didn't call Gayle. I wanted to. I wanted to very badly, but I didn't. I resisted the temptation. No, I thought, I'd call her tomorrow evening. Still, that would be a torturous twenty-four hours.

That night, as I crawled into bed, I leaned over to set my alarm on the nightstand. The phone was sitting next to it. I glanced at the clock once more, the fleeting thought of calling her coursing through my mind, but quickly turned away and pulled the covers up over my shoulders.

"Definitely not at this time of night," I mumbled.

Sure enough, the next day was pure Hell for me. I was nearly tempted to call her around noon, but thought better of it. That would probably be worse than calling her as soon as I got the invitation. So I waited. Every now and then, I'd glance at the clock in the back of my classroom, seeing how much longer I'd have to wait and suffer. The hands moved slowly, excruciatingly slowly. And even though it felt like the day would never end, with each passing hour, every minute that slipped by, I knew I was that much closer to home, the phone, and my new friend.

It wasn't until 4:30pm that I finally cast off the shackles and jumped in the car and sped home. By 5pm, I was standing in the kitchen debating whether or not to call. I looked over at the clock, my new tormentor, and bit my lower lip. Shaking my head, I forced myself to walk away.

"Too soon," I muttered. "Might not be home."

What about calling her at six?

I shook my head again. No. That might be too soon, as well. She might be out jogging or running or exercising or whatever it is she does.

All right, how about seven? Surely she must be done by then.

I sat on the edge of the couch and thought about it. Seven o'clock. No, let's make it seven-thirty, just to be on the safe side.

Ok, but what're you going to do until then?

Make dinner.

And that's how I busied myself for the next hour. By 6pm, Rachel was home, but said she had a late lunch and wasn't hungry. Although it would have been nice to know this before I prepared enough food for two people, still, it killed an hour. Half an hour later, I had finished dinner, chatted with Rachel for a few minutes about her day, and was ready to clean up. When seven o'clock rolled around, I decided that was long enough. I was going to call Gayle.

I walked over to the phone and pulled from my pocket the slip of paper she had given to Rachel, and, as I dialed the number, my fingers trembled slightly. Then I held the phone to my ear and waited nervously.

It rang once. Then twice. Then three times. I closed my eyes.

"C'mon," I mumbled.

"Hello?"

My eyes flew open and I smiled.

"Uh, yeah... is this Gayle?"

"Speaking."

"Hi, this is, uh, Jessica... Jess... I dunno if you remem-"

"Oh, yeah," she chuckled, cutting me off. "Right. Yeah, I remember. Of course. Jess, sure. How could I forget? So did you get the, uh... note I gave to Rachel? I didn't know, if you..."

"Yeah. Uh huh. Yep. I got it," I replied happily, holding up the slip of paper to no one in particular.

I felt nervous. My toes and fingers felt numb and my throat was dry.

"Oh, ok. Great," she replied. "So, um, it's just a little dinner party. Nothing fancy. I was just thinking, uh, hey, why not send you an invite, too, ya know?"

I was staring down at the note in my hand, staring at the smiley face she'd drawn, which caused me to smile in kind.

"Yeah," I said. "I'd like that. Thanks. Thank you. That was, uh... very thoughtful of you."

There was a muffled noise on Gayle's side of the phone, as if she were moving around.

"So, ok. Well, um... Lemme think there... It starts about... Oh, I dunno, six-ish or so. But, I mean, you can show up any time you'd like."

"Would six-thirty be ok?" I asked.

At the front of my mind, I was thinking I'd have to make dinner for my daughter, but the truth is she could make it herself. I simply didn't want to be the first person there. I've always felt a bit awkward about that, particularly when I don't know anyone. I'd rather walk in on a crowd, than have one walk in on me.

"Yeah, sure," she said. "Just so I know when to be standing at the door to meet you."

We both chuckled nervously, and then I was at a loss for what to say next. And, the strange thing is, I also got the impression Gayle felt the same way.

There was a second or two of silence.

"So, um... casual then, right?" I asked, desperately fishing for something to fill the uncomfortable void.

"Yeah," she replied. "But don't get all dolled up for me."

We both chuckled again, and then I thought perhaps it best to make a graceful exit, while I still could.

"Well, all right then," I said, tapping my fingers nervously on the kitchen counter. "I guess I'll see you at six-thirty."

"Great. Great," she replied. "Can't wait to see you again."

It was the strangest thing, but I actually giggled, when she said that, eliciting the same from her.

"Ok, then, um... Well, bye. And thank you again."

"All righty," she replied with what I could almost envision as a smile. "See you then. Six-thirty."

I slowly hung up the phone, still nervous, but giddy all the same. As I turned around, Rachel walked into the kitchen.

"Who was that?" she asked.

I quickly glanced back at the phone, gesturing to it, saying, "Oh, uh... That was Gayle. I just, uh... you know, called to thank her for the invitation."

Rachel nodded, and then opened a cupboard and pulled out a glass.

"You goin', then?" she asked.

I leaned against the counter, replying, "Um, yeah. No reason not to, ya know? Not like I'm some great social butterfly with a full schedule, huh?"

Rachel poured herself some ice tea and took a sip, giving me a thumb's up, as she walked back out to the living room.

That evening, I went through all of my clothes, trying to figure out what to wear. She said casual, so that's what I wanted, but not too casual. I hardly knew her, and I certainly wouldn't know anyone there, so I thought it best to go with a nice casual.

I sifted through everything in my closet, finally settling on jeans and a decent blouse. Now all I had to do was wait three days — three very long days.

When Thursday finally rolled around, I was a nervous wreck for most of the day, and my heart wasn't in my lessons. I tried to remain focused, but it was becoming more and more difficult with each passing hour. By 2pm, I was nearly at the end of my rope in keeping up any semblance of sanity.

After being perfectly alone for the last few years, here was a chance to find company and comfort. In a few short hours, I had the chance to recapture some of what I had lost, to reenter the world of the living and be a part of life again. Things were starting to look up, if only in the form of a new friend. But even that tiny sliver of light was enough to warm my heart and soul.

On Thursday afternoon, once school was out, I rushed home and quickly got dinner started for Rachel, so by the time she arrived, all she'd have to do is finish it. Then up to my bedroom, I dashed, pulling off my drab school clothes and dressed for the dinner party. While I was in the bathroom primping and styling my hair, Rachel came home. I was leaning toward the mirror, applying lipstick, when she stepped into the doorway behind me.

"Gettin' ready for you big date?" she said with a smirk.

I pulled the lipstick away and pressed my lips together.

"Funny," I muttered.

Rachel turned and walked into her bedroom. I could still see her reflection in the mirror, moving around in her room.

"You know she's a dyke, don't ya?" she called.

I was applying eye shadow, when she said that, and slowly stood up, staring at myself in the mirror. I hadn't even thought of that. A few seconds later, Rachel was standing in the door behind me again.

"Look nice," she said.

I closed my makeup kit and placed it back on the wire shelf above the sink.

"Thanks," I mumbled, slipping past her and into my room.

As I sat on the bed slowly tying my shoes and thinking about what Rachel had said, she walked in and leaned against my dresser.

"You knew that, didn't you?"

I put more effort into working my shoelaces and looked up at her.

"Knew what?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"That's she's a dyke."

I looked down, shaking my head, and dropped my foot to the floor, lifting the next.

"Wish you wouldn't use that word," I replied with a huff.

"Why not?" she chuckled. "I'm a dyke. Kate's a dyke. Gayle's a dyke. What's the big deal?"

I glanced at her and she grinned.

"It's an ugly word," I replied. "That's why. And, yeah, I kinda figured she wasn't exactly straight."

That, of course, was a lie. But it wasn't as if I had assumed she was heterosexual, either. The fact is it never even crossed my mind. But now that it was there, now that the seed had been planted, that same unassuming mind began running rampant with questions, though one in particular was the focus: why did she invite me? Was she simply being friendly or did she have some other ulterior motive? Then I began thinking about what that ulterior motive could be.

Was Gayle attracted to me?

I was standing in my closet, looking for a light jacket to wear, and let my gaze fall to my husband's side. Nothing there had been touched since his death. Everything was as he left it, the day he went to the hospital to have a benign brain tumor removed. In and out in a few days was how it was supposed to go. Instead, within hours of his surgery, he had climbed out of bed to go to the bathroom, against the orders of his nurse, and made it back just in time to hit the call button, alerting the nurse's station that he needed assistance. When she got to his room, he was lying on the floor dead. A blood vessel in his brain had ruptured.

Rachel and I had walked down to the hospital cafeteria to get the three of us something to eat. He wanted pizza and a Dr. Pepper. We had left him sitting up in bed, talking and lively, watching television. The surgeon had been in to check on him, saying he could probably go home in two or three days.

For several months leading up to that day, I had been worried sick he was going to die, that his tumor was worse than what the doctors had said. They all assured me it was benign and that removing it was a routine procedure. And when he was sitting up in bed, laughing and talking, I was finally able to sigh in relief. I had thought my worries were over.

I quickly snatched a jacket from a hanger and clicked off the light in the closet, walking out and shutting the door behind me. Rachel had gone downstairs, and I could hear the television on in the living room.