Olive Oil and White Bread (35 page)

“Oh my god,” she said softly a few moments later as they lay recovering, Angie placing tender kisses on Jillian's temple. “I think my bones have disappeared.” Angie chuckled against her hair. Jillian turned her head to look into Angie's dark eyes. “I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too.”

They lay together for a long while, dozing. Angie checked her cell phone every so often, both of them figuring no news was good news, wanting to let Alice and Joe get home and settled before dropping by.

“Keith and I have decided on the first of the month.”

Angie's voice sounded loud in the quiet of the bedroom. Jillian turned to see her face. She knew Angie'd been ready to leave Logo Promo for months now, and worried as she was about this new venture, she was also thrilled. Angie and Keith were going to start their own company, just the two of them. He would be the sales whiz, she would take care of the business end of things. They'd been ready to make the move for a long time, and Jillian was starting to worry the change was too daunting for Angie. After all, she'd been at the same company for nearly twenty years. This kind of a move wouldn't be easy for her.

“That's fantastic, honey. Really.” She squeezed the hand she held. “I'm very proud of you.”

“I think we'll be okay,” Angie said, something she'd said over and over again. “I will take as many of my clients with me as I can, but
Jeremy will have his people fight me for them. Keith's people will most likely stay with him. I don't foresee a problem with that.”

Jillian nodded dutifully. She'd heard all of this before, but knew for some reason that Angie needed to talk it all out, process it out loud.

“I probably won't make as much.”

“But you'll be less stressed out,” Jillian highlighted, just as she had the past three or four times they'd had this conversation. “You'll be home more. We'll be able to do more things together. You've wanted to manage for years now. This is your chance. You'll be happier.”

At that last word, Angie looked at her. And smiled widely. “I'm already happier.”

With joyous laughter, Jillian rolled on top of her, kissing her soundly. Pulling back, she looked Angie in the face and asked, “How do you suddenly know exactly the right thing to say?” As Angie searched for an answer, Jillian trailed her warm, wet tongue down Angie's neck, her chest, stopped to lavish attention on each breast before continuing south.

Any words she'd come up with had died on Angie's lips.

2011

Raise Your Glass

Thirty-One

Angie was wired.

It was going on 10 p.m., and she and Jillian were usually pretty close to fast asleep by now, given that they got up at 5:30 in the morning, but right now, sleep was the furthest thing from Angie's mind. She sat up in bed. The lights were off, as Jillian was on her side facing away from Angie, dozing. Tango, their two-year-old terrier mix, was curled up between Jillian's feet, and Angie was once again amazed by how animals gravitated to her. Tango loved Angie—and
loved
Jillian.

The TV was on, the volume low. Angie's laptop was in her lap as she toggled between Facebook, Twitter, and various news sites. Her smartphone was next to her hip, texts coming in regularly from different friends who were doing the same thing she was.

It was June 24. The nighttime summer air was warm and comfortable, the window near the bed wide open to let it in.

On the television, New York state senators took turns giving their opinions on the pros and cons of legalizing gay marriage.

Angie's heart was thumping in her chest. Her adrenaline felt like it was whipping through her veins. She was excited. She was nervous.

Never a person who was politically active, Angie was caught up in this particular debate. She very distinctly remembered watching the debate the last time it was up in the Senate. 2009. The middle of the day. Angie had been at work and tuned it in on her computer just to see how the process worked, not at all expecting the legislation to pass. She watched the impassioned pleas of the supporters, and they touched her. She listened to those against, and her stomach turned as
she felt belittled and insulted. And when the proposal was defeated, she sat in her office and cried, her tears taking her totally by surprise, as did her indignation, her anger, and her hurt.

This time felt different, though uncharacteristic superstition forced her not to be too optimistic.

It was a Friday night. Work had been wonderful—she'd hired a new salesperson in whom she had a boatload of confidence, and overall sales were up nearly fifty percent overall from this time last year. They now had three salespeople including Keith, who was so much happier than he had been that he'd actually turned into a really nice guy. He and his wife, Gina, invited Angie and Jillian over for dinner and drinks at least once a month. How weird it was to go from despising somebody to considering them a close friend. Life was strange.

Today had also been Jillian's last day of school before summer, and her entire week had been brutal. She was both excited and exhausted, thus her gentle snoring coming from the other side of the bed.

Many of Angie's friends were watching the Senate, too, many of them straight, and that warmed her from the inside. Hope kept texting her opinion on each of the senators.

Wow, how does Diaz sleep at night with all that hate inside?

A good question, to be sure.

Facebook was slow in refreshing, as it seemed everybody and their brother was on and posting. The comments were constant, and Angie felt a weird camaraderie with people she'd never met as she scrolled down the page on her laptop, knowing they were all watching with her. She noticed a comment from Shay. Keeping track through Facebook was about all the contact they'd had over the past few years, and Angie felt a familiar pang of sympathy for Jillian.

It had been a mistake telling Shay exactly what the two of them had been going through, and why. She had not taken it well. Not surprisingly, perhaps: She saw Jillian as a cheater, no better than Laura had been to her. And somehow she had never been able to get past it. Apparently, she preferred to give up more than two decades of friendship. On more than one occasion, Angie had wanted to talk to Shay about it—really, if Angie had forgiven Jillian, why couldn't Shay?—but Jillian had made her promise not to. Angie wondered if
Shay's anger stemmed from the fact that Angie and Jillian were still together while Laura had left without a backward glance—and was still with Kerry, the woman she'd left her for.

Jillian's pain at the loss of her friend was subtle, but obvious to Angie. Angie wanted to help alleviate it, but Jillian wouldn't allow it. Maybe it was one of the ways she chose to punish herself for having strayed. Angie left it alone.

Somebody's “OMG” on Facebook made her glance up at the TV. A Republican from Buffalo was talking, and Angie grabbed the remote and increased the volume so she could hear. As she listened, an “Oh my god” of her own slipped out. Jillian stirred next to her. Tango lifted his head.

“What's the matter?” Jillian asked, her voice rough with sleep. A smile touched her eyes as she took in Angie surrounded by her electronics. “You are so cute, you know that?”

“Babe, this might actually pass.”

“Really?” Jillian glanced at the TV, not an easy feat from her flat position. “Who's that?” She pawed at the nightstand for her glasses—the newest accessory of her forties—and slipped them on.

Angie grinned at her. “Those things are so damn sexy.”

Jillian's blush was visible even by only the television light, and she pushed playfully at Angie. “Seriously. Who is that?”

“That's Mark Grisanti. He's a Republican from Buffalo. He went into this against, but that's not what he's saying now.”

They listened in astonishment as Senator Grisanti said that as a Catholic he was against redefining marriage, but that as a lawyer, he could not justify denying gay couples the rights to which they were entitled.

“Holy shit,” Angie muttered, floored that somebody had actually followed the
you can't use your religion to make a law
rule. Grisanti had gone into this debate as a firm “no,” but instead had voted “yes.” The balance had shifted. The senators knew it, the gentle hum of the room picking up a notch. “This might actually pass,” she said again.

With a nod, Jillian removed her glasses, rested her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes. She was beat, Angie knew, studying her face for a moment. Jillian hated being in her forties. Despised it.
But though her smooth skin did show some slight aging—crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, smile lines like parentheses surrounding her mouth—her face was every bit as beautiful as the day Angie had first seen her on that softball field so many years ago. Her blonde hair wasn't as shiny as it used to be, a bit of gray infiltrated here and there. The shape of her body had altered slightly; she hadn't put on weight, but things had shifted. She now had some extra belly that drove her absolutely insane. But Angie loved it. “It just means that our plans to grow old together are still in place,” she told her over and over. Jillian continued to complain, but the ghost of a grin every time Angie used that line meant that it was worth it. Not a day went by now that Angie didn't tell Jillian she was beautiful or attractive or downright sexy. She'd learned that, petty as it might seem to some, Jillian was a person who needed that reassurance from the person who loved her most. It messed with her head if she was uncertain of her attraction. Rather than fight it or try to explain to her how silly her worry was, Angie had learned to accept it and do what it took to make Jillian happy.

It wasn't all that much to ask for, really. It was a ridiculously easy fix that Angie wished she'd started a long time ago.

They'd been together for twenty-two years.

Twenty-two years
.

Angie could hardly believe it when she stopped to think about it. They'd faced bumps. Hell, they'd faced near-mountains—and scaled them. They'd loved. They'd lost. They'd fought. They'd hurt each other deeply. They'd pulled each other up from the depths of despair. And still, when all was said and done, there was nobody in the world Angie would rather have by her side, and there was no other thought in her head that was clearer than that one. Jillian was her destiny, and she was Jillian's. Their futures were inexorably entangled. They were
supposed
to be together. Jillian had said it back then in Starbucks when they did their best to bridge a rift that had seemed like a chasm, almost too big to fix—and she'd been right. They were supposed to be together. Always.

Was it corny?

Yeah, a little bit.

Did Angie believe it?

Yes.

With every fiber of her being, yes.

Her phone beeped. A text from Hope.

Here we go. Fingers crossed
.

The senators were voting.

Another beep. This one from her sister, Maria.
I can't watch!

Angie smiled, lost count of the votes, held her breath as goose bumps broke out across her skin. “This is it, babe,” she said quietly, unsure if Jillian heard her.

The final count: 33 for, 29 against.

It had passed.

Angie blinked in disbelief.

It had passed. The Senate erupted in cheers and applause, as did the crowds outside the room. Deputy Governor Bob Duffy grinned widely. The Democratic senators hugged. The people outside the room screamed in joy. The newscasters could barely be heard over the celebration.

“It passed.” Angie stared at the television, and unexpected tears filled her eyes. She said it again, louder. “It passed.” She turned to Jillian, gave her a little shake. “Jill. Holy shit! It fucking
passed
!”

Jillian's eyes stayed closed, but her lips curled up in a smile. Tango stood up and looked from one of them to the other. Angie grabbed his furry face and planted kisses all over it, much to his annoyance.

Facebook exploded. Angie's smartphone began beeping nonstop, but before she responded to any of it, she threw back the covers and jumped off the bed. Tango followed, wondering what fun game they were playing. That got Jillian's attention enough to make her open her eyes and turn her head on the pillow.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Angie dropped to her knees in her underwear and T-shirt. “Jillian Marie Clark, will you marry me?”

A beat passed. Jillian contemplated the ceiling. “Wow. Hmm. I don't know. This is all kind of sudden.” Angie hit her in the face with a pillow, and Jillian burst into laughter.

Tango jumped back onto the bed, walked right up and stood on Jillian's chest. Jillian held his face and looked into his sweet brown
eyes. When she spoke, it was a quiet whisper, as if it was just the two of them in the room sharing a secret that Angie couldn't hear. “Mommy has asked me to marry her. What should I say? What should I say?” Another beat. Jillian turned to Angie and grinned. “Tango thinks I should say yes.”

“Smart dog. And what do you think?” Angie asked, still on her knees.