Wherever the Dandelion Falls (63 page)

I tried not to let myself feel like I was shrinking whenever Faye stepped out onto her tiny, chilly balcony to take a call from her mother or father whenever I was in the apartment. I was starting to feel like we were putting off sacrifices that would have to be made eventually. My anxiety grew, hoping her sacrifice wouldn't be me. I loved her too much to think about losing her because of something I couldn't control.

The anxiety wasn't overbearing. It didn't weigh on all our dates and it certainly didn't find us in bed. If anything, bed was our haven. We blocked out the rest of the world until one of us had to get up and rejoin the furious sea outside. But I know that I was always looking for the next sympathetic shore to hop off and bury myself in her once more.

Now Faye settled into the couch next to me and said, "Hey, pretty girl."

I grinned and leaned forward, pecking her on the cheek. "Hey, beautiful girl."

She gave me a bashful smile in return, but then her expression settled and I knew there was something she wanted to talk about.

"I'm planning to tell my parents tonight," she said.

I felt my body stiffen and chill. I wasn't expecting her to say that.

Don't get me wrong: I wanted Faye to be as out and proud as she wanted to be. I really did. But at the same time, I was so, so protective of her.

I didn't want Faye to come out for me. I wanted her to do it for herself. We'd only been together eight months, and while things were better than I ever fantasized they could be, that still wasn't much ground to stand on if
—
god forbid
—
Faye's parents cut her off and she had no one to turn to but me. I wasn't ready to be her only support. I didn't think I'd ever be. It's not healthy to be that isolated.

Thinking back to how I told my parents, it's astonishing that it went as smoothly as it did. My parents are good people, but they have lived in Michigan their whole lives and they're not terribly liberal. I was just young and optimistic and luckily they were receptive. But I didn't think that Faye's parents would be. When she'd first told me she'd outed herself to Isaiah and started going to meetings and had plans to tell her parents she liked girls, I was apprehensive. But that apprehension was nothing compared to what I felt now.

"Don't worry," Faye said, reaching for my hand and squeezing it, trying to soothe whatever expression was betraying my anxiety.

But her assurance wasn't as certain as it could have been. We both knew tonight could change things forever. I wasn't ready for her to take that risk. But it also wasn't my risk to take. All I could do was relay my concerns and hope for the best.

"What if they don't take it well?" I asked. "What if they blame me?"

"They won't blame you," she said, more certain than before. "They taught me from a young age that I was responsible for myself."

I nodded, hoping she was right. I didn't want her to experience any hurt or struggle. I felt my heart speed up and my stomach twist with worry, but I tried not to let it show. She had found so much courage in the last year, I didn't want to undermine it.

I thought about the best way to convey my worries to her without discouraging her. How could I best tell her I wasn't sure we were ready for her to come out? How could I prepare her for the worst without crushing her spirit and robbing her of her bravery? How could I be so selfish to make her journey about me?

But before I had figured out how to even start the discussion, her phone vibrated on the coffee table. She leaned over it, eyes widening as she saw who was calling.

"Speak of the devil," she said, looking up with sudden fear it in her eyes. "I guess I'm telling them now."

My heart pounded.

"Maybe you should wait," I started, desperate to buy time as she reached to pick up the phone.

But Faye shook her head, leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek as she got up and headed toward her balcony. As she slid open the door, she held the phone to her ear, looked at me as though she were about to dive underwater, and mouthed the words
I love you.

The air that flew into the room as the door scraped closed only quickened my chill. Every inch of my skin was alert, making me squirm with discomfort. I wanted to jump up and fling the door open and pry the phone from Faye's hands, throwing it onto the street below, begging her to give us more sacred time together before the spell was broken.

But she was an adult, and this wasn't a choice I got to make for her.

As if he knew I needed some grounding, Schro climbed up onto the couch and settled into my lap, nudging my hand with his soft nose, demanding I pet him.

I sat on the couch, petting him distractedly, dreading the future that was starting now. I wished I could hear what Faye was saying, but the drone of the heater and the pipes and the wind outside drowned out her voice. I could hear her inflections and tone, but not her words.

I stared through the glass smudged with fingerprints and dried rain at her back. She was wearing her terry cloth robe, which I hoped staved off the worst of the chill. She leaned over the railing and looked down at the street, hair curtaining her face so I couldn't see her expression.

I watched her back shift as she worried the belt of her robe between her fingers, switching the phone from one ear to another. I heard her voice shift from pleasant greetings to genuine concern with her parents' well-being. They were catching up, as I was used to hearing when she talked to them.

And then her voice grew so low I couldn't hear it anymore. She was perfectly still, and I squinted, wondering if she was trembling with fear or regret or cold. I wanted to hear what was happening so bad.

She stood motionless aside from her hair wavering with the breeze for what felt like hours. I would have thought her a statue had she not reached up to touch her eye. At first I thought she was wiping away a tear and worried I needed to prepare for the worst. But the movement was a definite scratch, and I exhaled, realizing I was holding my breath.

The minutes wore on. I looked at the clock, wondering what time she'd stepped outside. It felt like hours.

After I started watching the time, it was ten minutes before Faye made any movement. I heard her voice for the first time in minutes, and her tone was defensive and anxious. I felt myself surge. Why hadn't I gone out there to stop her? Why hadn't I protected her?

But then her voice grew quiet again, and she lifted her hand to her eyes, wiping away what I knew it were tears this time. Her back was shivering, and her shoulders were hunching against more than just the cold.

All I could do was sit on the couch with Schro, helpless while the woman I loved felt her world start to unravel. I felt a lump rise in my throat and a tide of dread start to rise, preparing to crash on the upcoming months of my life. No matter how fast I ran, no matter what I did, something was going to break, and I didn't want it to be her or me or us.

But then Faye lowered the phone from her ear, hanging up. She held it out in front of her for a minute, staring at it as she held it over the street below.

I needed to know what had happened so I could prepare.

After a minute she turned around and I saw her face, streaked with tears. But her expression wasn't the desperate, shocked sadness I expected.

No, her face held relieved joy. She gave me a watery smile.

The door scraped open and she stepped back in. She said in a quivering, disbelieving voice, "They want to meet you.”

I had just settled down on the couch next to Faye when her phone rang. I cringed, hoping it wasn't Claire who would ruin our night in. But of course it was. Everything that can go wrong between us will.

As Faye answered the phone, her voice was gentle and soft like it usually was after we had sex. I didn't like her using that voice with someone else. Even though when we first met she assured me she wasn't attracted to Claire, I felt like any sharing of her came at a detriment to our relationship.

We were so isolated, I was one step from locking her in a tower. I knew it was fucked up, but it was how I felt.

Faye listened to Claire for a moment before she said, "I'm hanging out with my friend Riley, but you're welcome to join us. We're gonna have some dinner and wine and watch a movie. Nothing special."

Why was hanging out with me "nothing special"? I thought our way of saying
I love you
was to say
you're special
. Now I didn't know how we said
I love you
. Maybe we didn't. Maybe she didn't love me.

Claire spoke for a moment, and I got the sense she was objecting to the invitation as much as I was. Why was Faye inviting someone to our first normal night in weeks?

"I know, but you need a distraction," Faye said into the phone. Pause. "Of course you're welcome here."

Faye looked up at me with an expression that dared me to object. I gave an unconvincing nod, and Faye looked away.

"Riley says you're totally welcome."

Knowing I had no choice but to play the role of considerate stranger, I sighed and went to the kitchen to get a third wineglass. As I took it from the cabinet, I felt a spark of anger. I wanted to be around Faye alone when she was this calm. I loved this side of her so much, and I didn't know when I'd see it again.

Maybe Faye didn't know how important it was to me to get some mellow time together. So I walked back into the living room and said delicately, "I was hoping we'd get to spend some quality time just the two of us tonight."

Faye immediately went on the defensive. "We spend plenty of time alone together."

"I know," I said, trying not to get defensive back. "But it's been pretty crazy lately, and I was looking forward to just being chill."

Faye gave me a judgmental frown. "Claire's freaking out about calling off the wedding. I have to take care of her. I thought you'd be happy I'm introducing you two."

I backtracked. Faye had a point; it was promising that she was willing to bring her two worlds a little closer together, even if she wouldn't say explicitly that she and I were a thing. Maybe Claire knew her well enough to guess. Maybe Faye was hedging towards coming out. The possibility bloomed brighter than I'd expected.

"Sorry. You're right, you should help your friend out."

Faye gave an indignant nod and turned back to flipping through Justine's DVDs. My hope propelled me forward to place a juicy kiss on her cheek. I did appreciate her introducing me to her friend. I hoped it was the beginning of a new chapter for us.

When Claire arrived twenty minutes later, she was a wreck. I didn't recognize her from a few months earlier the night I'd met Faye, but she was in pretty bad shape. Her makeup was streaked and smudged and her hair was unkempt and her eyes were pink.

"Aw, babe," Faye said, hugging Claire in the doorway.

I was surprised by Faye's gentleness and caring for someone besides me. In my mind, aside from me, Faye mostly kept to herself and didn't get too close to people. But seeing her arms around Claire and the concern on her face, I fell more in love with her. She had a big heart, and she cared for people deeply. She was just private and selective about it.

Faye broke from their hug, giving Claire one last squeeze on the shoulder before turning to me. "This is my friend, Riley," Faye said. "She'll take good care of you. Or mix you strong drinks until you forget what's-his-name."

I tried to smile at Claire and ignore the fact that Faye had called me her friend.

Claire sniffled and tried to smile at me. "Hi, Riley," she said. "Nice to meet you."

"Come on in," I offered, gesturing into the living room.

I couldn't help but want to help this poor, bedraggled creature. I'd gone through a rough breakup years before, and I remember it felt like dying. But it's a little weird when you just meet someone. I didn't know if she'd want to talk about it or be distracted or make smalltalk. So I offered her a glass of wine, which she accepted, and let Faye take the lead.

Faye ushered Claire to the couch and offered to let her choose the movie. Claire flipped through Justine's DVD binder halfheartedly, still sniffling, before looking up at Faye, eyes starting to water. "This was the movie we saw on our first date," she said, words starting to squeak as she tapped a page in the binder. "I miss him so much!"

I poured Claire a glass of wine and tried to find all the compassion I could as Faye comforted Claire.

I don't think my presence was helpful, though. Whenever Claire surged into a new fit of crying, Faye would glance up at me with an apologetic grimace and explain whatever Claire was crying about before focusing back on Claire, assuring her that this anguish was temporary. I learned that Claire and her ex-fiancé had been dating for a year, and I was secretly a little relieved that they'd called off the wedding. Who gets married after knowing each other less than a year? That's just crazy.

But then again, if Faye asked me to marry her, I'd say yes in a heartbeat.

I also learned the Claire worked with her ex-fiancé, so her professional life was just as miserable as her personal life now. She blubbered that she wanted to quit, but Faye rubbed her back and shook her head.

"You worked hard for that job, Claire. Don't give it up just because it sucks right now. If it wasn't hard, it wouldn't be worth it."

Claire sniffled and nodded, admitting Faye was right and that she wasn't actually thinking of quitting, but she wished she didn't have to see her ex for a few days. Either that or she wanted him back. I gave Claire little pouts and tried to think of some advice. But I didn't have any advice. I'd never broken up with someone before. Only been dumped. Claire sounded like she'd been dumped, so I gave whatever lame advice I had.

"Maybe you should find a new hobby," I suggested. "Fill up your time."

Claire took a breath and wiped her face, nodding. "I meant to get in shape this year, but I didn't because I was always with him," she said, starting to squeak again.

Not wanting her to completely dissolve, I offered a compliment.

"You look great," I said, referring to her body. Her face and hair were a mess, but I could tell she had a nice body under her sweater and yoga pants. Not that I was checking out Faye's friend. Girls just notice those things, you know?

Claire sniffled and said, "Thank you." She dabbed at her eyes with a scrunched cuff of her sweater and looked at Faye for guidance.

"Maybe take up running," Faye said, jumping on my suggestion that Claire get a hobby. "Riley swears by it."

I nodded in agreement, remembering how good it had felt to run the other morning. "Fresh air does you a world of good."

Claire sniffled a moment longer and said, "I don't have any nice workout clothes. Only leotards and dance shoes."

"That wouldn't be so weird in this city," Faye joked, and Claire choked out a laugh at the image of her running in a leotard and ballet slippers. I giggled with her, glad to see a hint of a smile on her face.

Then I remembered that I had some nice workout clothes that were too small for me. My sister had sent me some of her favorite brand for Christmas, not realizing that I wasn't as petite as she was anymore. Figuring I had no better use for them that to try to stop the flow of tears in a heartbroken girl, I said, "I have some nice jogging pants that are just your size if you want them."

Claire shook her head. "I can't take your clothes," she mumbled.

"They don't fit me. All they're doing is taking up closet space."

Faye smiled at me and patted Claire's knee. "Try them on."

Claire sighed, not wanting to put any more effort in the weird politeness game that people played sometimes.

I stood, grateful to have something to do other than sit and listen to a stranger cry while Faye gave her undivided attention. I went into my bedroom and opened the closet, trying to remember where I'd last seen the jogging pants Kimi gave me. I didn't see them anywhere, so I started looking under piles and in the duffle bags that I always tried to keep organized but somehow never did. As I began my search, I heard Faye start to talk in the living room.

"Being single isn't so bad," she said. "It can be fun, actually."

Claire must have looked skeptical, because Faye kept talking. "Remember in college when we were both between guys? We had so much fun."

Claire sighed, then said, "We did."

"We can do that again now," Faye said, sounding cheerier than I'd heard her in days. "We can go slut it up at every club in the city, if you want."

My heart sank at the reminder of how closeted Faye was, and further still at the realization that Faye would be spending less time with me in the coming months while she hung out with Claire. But perhaps the biggest shot to my heart was hearing her say that being single was fun.

As someone who was technically single but emotionally very not single, I couldn't have agreed less with Faye's statement that being single was fun. Being single was not at all fun. I disliked being "single" intensely.

Faye continued with her soft reassurances that drove a knife through my heart. "Don't worry. One of these days we'll both find someone."

Claire let out a sigh of resignation. "I don't know why you're still single, Faye," she mumbled.

"Just haven't met the right person," Faye said dismissively.

With that dagger to the heart, I sunk to my knees, huddled in the doorway of my closet, never more glad that the door blocked the view from the living room.

I took a long hot bath before taking the bus to Faye's house. The steam cleared my mind of some of the anguish and anxiety that had clouded me since quitting my job that afternoon.

When I arrived at her house, I was surprised to see her living room illuminated with candles, soft, soothing music playing in the background. The house was unusually warm and the windows were steamed from whatever she was doing in the kitchen. She was wearing an apron and a strand of hair hung next to her face, giving the impression she'd been working feverishly in the kitchen for hours.

"Hey, baby," she cooed, pecking me on the cheek. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," I said. But as I said it, I felt a surge of anxiety. This was an awfully romantic setup.

But as she kissed me tenderly on the cheek again and I smelled the savory aroma of whatever she was cooking in her hair and on her skin, the anxiety faded. I loved spending time with her. She was rejuvenating in a way that no other person in the world was to me.

"Can I help with anything?" I offered, gesturing toward the kitchen.

"No," she smiled. "Do you want a glass of wine?"

"Yes," I said, almost desperately. I had been so worked up this afternoon, I was still coming down.