Winter Jacket: Finding Home (28 page)

I swiftly took the few steps to the kitchen and grabbed a roll of paper towels from the countertop and a spray bottle of cleaning solvent from beneath the kitchen sink. When I returned to the living room, Jessica was on her hands and knees, picking up pieces of broken wine glass and putting them on the coffee table.

“Let me do that,” I implored. “Jessica.” I said her name with more volume. “Stop. You’re going to cut yourself.”

She didn’t acknowledge me. Her head was downcast and her eyes remained locked on the floor as she picked up the largest glass pieces.

Rather than continue to protest her help, I knelt beside her and busied myself with the task of cleaning up red wine from a white rug as best as I could.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, still refusing to make eye contact. “I’m normally not so clumsy.” She tucked a lock of highlighted brunette hair behind one ear, and I saw the vulnerability and uncertainty in her eyes. Her battle armor had weakened, shifted, and had left her exposed.

“It’s okay,” I allowed. “It was only a matter of time before I regretted having a white rug in here.”

As I blotted at a stubborn spot on the cream-colored rug, I was acutely aware of Jessica’s presence beside me. She didn’t have the cleaning supplies I had and I hadn’t offered her any, yet she continued to pick at the glass shards that remained.

As I focused on my task, a hand fell to my hip and a warm nose slid along the side of my own. My eyes crossed as I followed the trajectory of the nose until I felt the soft brush of something against my top lip. It took a second too long for me to realize that the brush had been caused by Jessica’s mouth.

“Dean Merlot!” I scrambled backwards, but there was no place for me to escape to. My shoulder blades struck against the couch with nearly the force to leave me breathless.

“It’s still just Jessica.” She sat back on her heels. Her face looked unreasonably calm. “In addition to the information about you writing for a television show in Los Angeles, I also heard you and your girlfriend broke up,” she explained in a soft voice. “Was that information wrong?”

“I’m not … I didn’t …” My mouth moved, forming words that never came out.

Jessica stood in one fluid motion. My eyes followed her figure as it came to tower over me. “I should be going; I’ve probably overstayed my welcome.” She brushed at the front of her dress pants. “Thank you for your hospitality, Professor Graft.” Whatever vulnerability or softness I had spied earlier was gone. “My apologies again for the damage to your rug. Feel free to send me the bill if you have it professionally cleaned.”

She left the remnants of our shared wine bottle on the coffee table. Having come over with nothing else, she strode swiftly for the front door, high-heeled boots clicking on the wooden floor.

I remained on my backside, mutely gaping and stunned as she left through the front door, leaving me to deal with the fallout.

+ + +

“Dean Merlot kissed me.”

I heard the long yawn on the phone. “Good morning to you, too, dear.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“I’d almost forgotten what your voice sounded like,” she remarked. “But I know you’re a fancy TV writer now. Can’t be bothered to call your mother.”

I laughed; I couldn’t help it. She was far too predictable. “I know it’s been a while,” I said in apology. “I got busy.”

“But now you’re not busy, and someone named Dean is kissing you.”

“No. Not named Dean. The Dean of Faculty at my college.”

“Wait.” The sleep seemed to shake off of her voice. “You don’t mean that horrible woman who harassed you out of the state?”

“That would be the one,” I said with a sigh.

“I’m still confused; I haven’t had my coffee yet. Did that woman follow you to California? And why is she kissing you?”

“I don’t have the answer to the second question, but I’m not in California anymore. I’m back in Minnesota.”

“I really 
am
 behind.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed. “We both know you’re a horrible daughter, but it’s not as though I’m winning mother of the year awards. So you’re home, back to teaching, and a horrible woman kissed you. Is there anything else I’ve missed?”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “Hunter and I broke up.”

“What?!”

I held the phone away from my ear and winced.

“What did you do?” she demanded.

I should have been offended that she assumed I had been responsible for the break-up, but I was. If I hadn’t made the overnight decision to move to California, we would probably still be living in domestic bliss.

“The distance was just too hard on us.”

“But you’re back now,” she rightfully pointed out. “Can’t you fix it?”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “I’m gonna try, Mom.”

+ + +

It rained on my first day back at school, but I didn’t consider that a sign that I’d made the wrong decision. Coming back to campus was harder than I thought it would be, however. I never expected to be haunted by every willowy blonde I spotted as I crossed the campus grounds. Each time I caught a glimpse of that familiar shade of hair as I went along with my day gave me heart palpitations. I knew she’d graduated. I knew I’d find her at the hospital, not on campus. But that didn’t stop me from imagining I saw her in every similarly silhouetted girl.

Returning to the front of the classroom made all the false sightings worth it though. It felt good to be back. The weather sucked, but watching the bustle around me as students rushed from one class to the next made me smile. I had missed it all—even the gross feeling of dirty hands covered in chalk dust after a long day of discussion. It wouldn’t be long before the luster of being back in the classroom wore off—students would soon be complaining about paper grades and the length of reading assignments—but for now I was thrilled to be back at the front of a classroom.

I found myself in need of company at the end of my first day back on campus. There were few people in my life that I considered close friends, and even fewer of those people lived in the town where I lived. I had several work colleagues with whom I was friendly, but I realized I routinely kept people at a distance, even Emily, my mentor and work colleague with whom I was the closest.

I considered contacting Hunter despite not knowing her work schedule, but I decided to put off the call for another night in favor of going to Peggy’s, the lone lesbian haunt in town. If Hunter didn’t have to work I knew there was a chance we might run into each other at the gay bar. I threw caution to the wind, however, put on my favorite pair of skinny jeans and fitted plaid shirt, and went to the bar by myself.

Something folksy with a female lead vocalist played on the jukebox. I smiled at the familiar short-haired blonde behind the bar as I settled onto a vacant stool.

“Well, well,” Leah smiled deeply. “Look who the cat dragged in. Are you back for good, or is this only a visit to tease us?”

“I’m back,” I acknowledged.

She grabbed a pint glass and filled it with a local craft IPA on tap before setting it in front of me. “On the house. We don’t get too many celebrities in here.”

“Why don’t you pour one of those for yourself so I don’t have to drink alone?” I suggested.

“Yeah, okay.” She pulled a second glass from beneath the bar and filled it with an amber beer on tap.

I raised my pint. “Prost.”

She smiled and clicked her glass against mine. I had a flashback of Sonja’s overly aggressive cheers that had shattered both of our glasses.

“Kind of quiet tonight, isn’t it?” I observed.

Peggy’s was nearly empty despite school being back in session. The first weekend after winter break would bring in the patrons. That night—a Monday night—few people sat at the bar or the tables scattered around the floor space.

“Yeah, but I kind of like the calm before the storm; it’ll pick up this weekend. How was Hollywood? Or are you tired of answering that question?”

I took a sip of the bitter, hoppy beer. “Hot weather. Lots of people. Not my scene,” I vaguely revealed. “What’s new around here?”

Leah shook her head. “Not much. Same old faces; same old songs on the jukebox. But I don’t mind.”

I was tempted to ask her if she’d seen much of Hunter over the past few months. Besides online dating, Peggy’s was practically the only local source for finding other queer women. But if Leah wasn’t going to bring her up, neither was I.

“Don’t look now,” Leah murmured under her breath, “but your ex just walked in with her flavor of the week.”

My stomach dropped, and with it, nearly my pint glass.

I slowly spun on my barstool, mentally readying myself for the worse case scenario. I’d known when I’d decided to go to Peggy’s that night that there was a possibility of running into Hunter.

“Better not let Peggy see you drinking all her profits, Leah,” a familiar voice teased.

“Cady,” I breathed. I’d never been so happy to see my ex-girlfriend.

“Elle, hi.” Cady had a deer in headlights look on her face. “I didn’t recognize you for a second. You’re tan as hell.”

I looked down at my bare arm as if to confirm her observation. “Yeah, I just got back from California.”

I turned my attention to the curly-haired woman who stood beside her. “Hi, I’m Elle.”

Cady shook herself. “Oh, sorry. This is Marissa.”

The girl wiggled her fingers at me. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

Cady turned her head, scanning the sparsely populated bar. “Where’s your pupil tonight?” She turned to Marissa. “Elle’s a professor at the university. She’s been dating a former student, how long has it been?” she asked, returning her attention to me.

I squirmed uncomfortably on the barstool. “Oh, um, a little over a year.”

“Wow. That’s got to be some kind of record,” Cady admired with surprisingly no malice in her tone.

“It might be.”

Cady had been my longest relationship before Hunter. We’d had fun, but it wasn’t love—not for me at least. The words I’d so readily given up for Hunter had never come for Cady no matter how endearing, kind, and patient she’d been. To use my mother’s metaphor, I’d always been the flower—selfish, preening, holding my own needs above everyone else’s. Perhaps all I’d been through with Hunter had been karma for all the rotten things I’d put my previous girlfriends through.

“It was good to see you, Elle.”

“Nice to meet you,” Marissa called out as Cady tugged her to a different part of the bar.

“Have you seen her since you got back?” I heard Leah ask.

“Who?” I continued to stare after Cady and her female friend.

“Hunter,” Leah clarified.

I spun back around, my focus entirely on the woman behind the bar.  “How did you know? Did Hunter say something?”

“No. I guessed.” Leah smiled sheepishly. “She showed up here one night a while back looking more nervous than ever. I’ve been keeping bar long enough to recognize that look—first timers and newly single women.”

I had no words of response, and I didn’t press Leah for more details about what she’d observed. The damage had been done. It would have been naive of me to think Hunter was staying home and biding her time until I came back, but having verbal confrontation still felt like a sucker punch below the belt.

I didn’t stay much longer at Peggy’s that night. I thanked Leah for the beer and left a generous tip on the bar before collecting myself and my belongings to leave.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Guess where I am?”

“It had better be the emergency room or jail. Do you know what time it is in on the West Coast?”

“I’m at Del Sol. But you’re not here to play Top, Bottom, or Switch with me,” I complained.

“I’m going back to bed.”

“You’re not fun.”

“It’s 6:00 a.m. No one is fun at that hour.”

“How about we play remotely?” I proposed. “I can take a picture of the next person to come through the door and then you tell me their life story.”

“Geez, Bookie. Desperate much?”

“Weren’t you the one who promised me that if I quit my job and moved to California that we would get to play Top, Bottom, Switch all the time?” I lightly protested. “We didn’t play it once while I was out there.”