Emma & Rachel (Part 4)

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I woke up to the smell of bacon and the music of Bach. If it weren’t for the painting on the wall, I wouldn’t have thought I was in my own living room.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Emma called from the breakfast nook. She had on an apron I forgot I own, and the same clothes from yesterday.

“Hey you,” I smiled, hugging her. “All this for me?” I pointed at the food on the counter. “Gee, Em, you didn’t have to,” but I was already attacking the scrambled eggs. She pat me on the shoulder and continued tinkering with the juicer.

I felt refreshed; no bad dreams waking me up, heart pounding and bathed in sweat, in the middle of the night. I looked out the window; somehow the day seemed brighter. And we didn’t even make love last night. Emma just held me tenderly and, I imagine, lovingly until my sobs died down and I fell asleep.

“Here you go,” Emma set down a glass of fresh orange juice in front of me and reached for the bacon. We sat quietly, passing salt and pepper and bread without speaking, ears cocked to Mass in B minor.

“We have almost the same CD collection,” she said, looking at me for the first time that morning. “Except mine are already in my iPod. Want me to do the same for you, old lady?” I love the way she threw back her head when she laughed.

I cleared the table while Emma freshened up. She came out of my bedroom wearing one of my old t-shirts, smelling like fresh linen and citrus fruits, my favorite perfume.

“You can keep that shirt. Looks good on you,” I said as I walked her to her car. Emma gave me a thumbs-up and kissed me on the mouth. I was too shocked to even close my eyes. She pulled back, taking in hers my hands, which have involuntarily latched on to her waist. Emma put my palms on her cheeks and got into the battered Toyota.

I was still standing at the curb even after she has rounded the bend and I couldn’t see her. I touched my lips and savored the pepperminty taste that lingered on my tongue. I should have kissed her back. I should have made love to her last night. I should have accepted the gift that was Emma the very first time it was handed to me by the cosmos…

…..00OO00…..

I didn’t hear from Emma the next day. Or the day after that. I was meaning to drop by the bar three days later, but my boss was breathing down my neck about an urgent project, which took two more very long days to finish.

“Hey, Em,” I said into the phone, feeling giddy. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.” That was a lame-ass line because I knew I could’ve called her instead.

“Hey yourself. I didn’t want to bother you at work. Figured you’d call me when you can…or wanted to.” There was something different about her voice. She sounded less upbeat, perhaps even a little sad.

“Yeah…it’s been crazy at the office,” was all I could muster. “Listen, you think I could swing by the bar later? Pick you up and maybe dinner at that new fancy-schmancy French bistro we drove by last week?”

There was a long pause that made me check the phone, thinking she had already hung up. I held my breath. “Sure. Why not? Around eight?”

“Great. I’ll drive. See you then.”

…..00OO00…..

Emma texted as I was pulling up in front of the bar, saying she’d be out in a few minutes. I fed the Bach CD into the player, the same one she played the morning we last saw each other. I checked myself in the rearview mirror and wiped off a little more of the eye makeup. I didn’t want to look too dolled-up even if it took me almost two hours to get dressed. Six outfits later, I settled on a crisp white long-sleeved shirt, black skin-tight jeans, and knee-high leather boots. My reflection from the hall mirror screamed ‘soft butch’ so I went back and applied some makeup, which made me look lipstick lesbian. I shook my head; I haven’t given a thought about my appearance in a while. Because it’s been a while since you went on a date, Rachel, the annoying little voice in my head whispered.

The bar’s side doors opened, and a tall, dark-haired, electric guitar-slinging woman came out, followed by Emma. They were laughing, talking, holding hands as they walked to the far side of the parking lot. The woman stopped beside a pickup that matched the color of her instrument. I instantly disliked her. She opened the driver’s side and, almost reverently, put the guitar on the passenger seat then turned to Emma. Almost seamlessly and as if in slow motion, she pulled my girl into an embrace and kissed her on the lips. Emma’s back deliciously arched, her body pressed tightly against the woman’s, hair tumbling down behind her. I slammed my fist on the steering wheel and the horn let out a shrill cry, which startled Emma and her friend.

“Sorry!” I yelled out to them, inwardly kicking myself. They laughed and waved at me. The despicable woman finally got into her truck and Emma walked towards me. I switched off the CD player.

“Hi, Rach! Sorry I’m a bit late,” she said, sliding into the seat beside me. My face was burning; I hoped she didn’t notice. Her face was flushed as well. That must’ve been a pretty hot kiss, sneered the annoying little voice in my head.

I backed up to let the musician woman through; she honked and blinked her lights before speeding off. I wanted to rear-end her shiny bumper.

Emma was busy texting so I kept quiet throughout the short drive to the bistro. I handed my keys to the valet and walked off to the front doors.

“Rachel, wait up!” It was the first time I noticed that Emma was wearing a red dress that hugged her in all the right places, and stilettos that set of her gorgeous legs. I stopped. “What’s wrong? You’re being a little weird, you know,” she said, taking my arm. I waited until the maître d had seated us and the waiter had taken our order.

“Who’s that girl, Em?”

She looked around the room, perhaps thinking I was pointing at someone there. She looked at me and the confusion in her eyes turned into a smile. “Oh, you mean Tanya?”

“If that’s the girl you were sucking faces with at the parking lot then, yes, I meant Tanya.” I emptied my wine goblet in one gulp.

“She’s an old friend. She’ plays at the bar whenever she could get away from her work at the hospital. Tanya’s an ophthalmologist, and she sings, too.”

“And you kiss all the women musicians who play at your bar? Like some kind of bonus?” I wanted to stop myself from talking shit, but I couldn’t.

She kept quiet. The waiter brought our salads and she forked the greens into her mouth. I poured myself another glass of Shiraz. Emma’s voice was steely when she spoke. “Tanya is my ex, but we’ve been dating on and off for some time now, since she and her partner broke up.”

“Since when exactly, Emma?”

“Since the day I finally realized you didn’t want me for anything but a friend, Rachel.” [To be continued.]

– go to Part 5 –   ◙   – back to  Part 1 –

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