At the Water's Edge (13 page)

“I guess the reason why I haven’t been coming home as much as you’d like,” I start, gazing over the water, the possibility of having to meet my mother’s eyes keeping my neck stiff and immobile, “is because… there’s no joy. There’s no love in that house.” I feel my mother stir next to me, but she manages to hold her tongue. “If there is, it’s a very twisted, very conditional, very stifling kind.” I try to block out the voices in my head and continue. “I came back now because, under Dr. Hakim’s guidance, I’ve concluded that to accept myself, I need to accept where I came from. I need to make some sort of peace. I need to feel that there’s something more between us than a very, very loose family tie.” My thumb and ring finger tap against each other in a nervous fashion.

“I mean, I know you and Dad love me, and I love you too. You’re my parents, my family. But something has gone so wrong between us, I can’t even put it into words. And, the worst thing is, before, uh, what I did, I had come to accept it was just one of those things. Sometimes children fall out with their parents. When the past has been too toxic, when too much has been said or done, or perhaps, in our case, silently implied.

“But the way you and Dad treated each other has left its mark on me. And, by no means am I here to fix your marriage, I’m here to fix myself. To ask a few difficult questions and to get some answers.” The words roll out of me, leaving me breathless. I’m not even sure of all the things I just said, mostly because I can’t believe I said them.

“Ask away.” In those two words, I hear how broken my mother is. I don’t need to look at her to see her slumped posture and troubled gaze.

“I asked you the same question many years ago, and you brushed it off as though it was just a silly child’s thought.” I turn to look at her. “If he made you so unhappy, why did you stay?”

“Oh, Ella. I can see why, to you and your sister, it might have seemed like the wrong decision, but you don’t know what your father has done for me.” Tears streak her cheeks. “You and I, we are much more alike than you know.”

“You’re my mother. Of course we have a lot in common.”

“I’ve never resorted to what you—” She hesitates. “I’ve been in your situation. I know how you feel, Ella, more than you’ll ever know. I know what that darkness does to you.”

It doesn’t really come as a shock, but to hear her say the words still surprises me. When Dr. Hakim asked me if depression ran in my family, I was never able to give him a straight answer.

“A year after Nina was born, I spent four months in Stewart Center in Portland. It was the hardest thing I ever did, leaving my baby to get better. It helped, but it’s been a struggle ever since.” She eyes her empty wine glass longingly, but I don’t get up. “Your father was by my side through everything. How hypocritical would it have been to leave him because of that affair? We had so many other considerations. You girls. My illness.” In desperation, she throws her hands in the air. “Was it the right decision in the end? I believe that for your father and me it was. You haven’t been around for a while, Ella. We’re good now.”

“But…” I’m not sure if I have the right to ask after what my mother just admitted to. “What about the endless fighting? The constant disparaging tone you used with him? The complete lack of respect?” I try to keep my voice steady, try not to show the anger I always carry with me quietly.

My mother sucks in a deep breath, her shoulders sagging again. “I guess that, back then, it was my way of coping. For me, anything was better than the gaping black hole that awaited me if I gave in.” She takes a break to sniffle into a tissue. “You girls were too young to understand. I don’t expect you to understand now, or ever.”

“Jesus, Mom. I do understand.” In moments of complete, blinding anger, I’ve resented my parents for having children in the first place, but I can hardly hold my own existence against them—despite trying to erase it.

“You and I, Ella,” her voice croaks, “we’re sensitive in a way your father and Nina will never fully comprehend.”

“If you knew,” I start to choke up, “what I inherited from you.” It sounds so silly to say it like that. “Why didn’t you reach out and offer help?”

“I did. So many times. You blew me off at the merest hint of intimacy between us. And I know that’s on me and I’ll carry that guilt with me forever.” She looks away briefly. “I know what you think of me and it hurts me every single day.”

I want to tell her it’s not true. I’m squirming in my seat trying to come up with ways to deny that I’ve felt wronged by my own mother for more than half of my life, but nothing comes out. No more words make it past the knot in my throat.

We both stare at the lake, but, in that moment, its beauty is lost on me. The damage between my mother and me was done a long time ago. And perhaps knowledge is power, but, in this instant, it feels more like a heavy, crushing burden on my soul.

“What are you making for Kay tonight?” Mom breaks the silence.

“Roasted chicken with asparagus and bacon vinaigrette.”

“Do you need a hand?”

I don’t know what to say. Of all the surprising things my mother has said since she arrived at the cabin, this suggestion amazes me the most. “Sure.” I shuffle to the edge of my seat. “How about another glass of wine?”

“I would love that.”

I know it’s not much, but the light pang of relief running through me is, at least, something.

“It’s my understanding she’s quite fond of you,” Mom says when I return with the bottle of wine.

I’ve been out to my parents for twenty years and I’ve never brought a girlfriend home, never even gave the possibility a second thought. I can’t help but go on the defense. “I know you don’t like her, but—”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say, Ella. I couldn’t be more thrilled for you if it worked out. I mean it.”

“Yes, well, it’s complicated.”

For the time it takes us to finish that second glass of wine, my mother seems like a different person. Perhaps she feels temporarily freed from the crosses she bears in life. Or perhaps she’s over the moon to have something that resembles a normal conversation with her daughter.

“I agree that love and relationships can be complicated, but, as your father would say, ‘don’t destroy it by overthinking it’.” This strikes me as an exact phrase from Kay’s big book of wisdom. It also shows me that the way I’ve thought about my parents’ marriage all these years might have been a tad too superficial.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

By the time Kay arrives I’m still so frazzled that her soft knock on the door startles me, but her presence, nonetheless, has an instant calming effects on my nerves—like that first dip in the lake after dark.

“I waited an hour after I saw your mother’s car leave the lot. Not that I was counting down the minutes.” She holds up a bottle of champagne.

“Are we celebrating something?” I lean my hip against the kitchen counter and look Kay over. She’s wearing extra tight linen shorts and a halter top that accentuates her shoulders in a way that makes my mouth water.

“Our first date.” She steps closer. “I was expecting smoke in your kitchen and the irresistible smell of burning meat. Color me surprised.” While she hands me the bottle, she gazes deep into my eyes.

“My mom helped me cook.” I fight the urge to lean into her, to feel her support.

“How are you?” Gently, she places a hand on my shoulder. “Are you in the mood for this?”

“I’m exhausted from slaving over this chicken.” I point at the oven.

“How about I pour us a glass of that?” She nods at the bottle. “And we sit for a few minutes before we eat.”

“Okay.” The afternoon’s tension slides off me with Kay’s arrival, leaving my muscles limp, and my brain a numb mass.

I wait on the porch, in the same chair I sat in when my mother was here. After Kay has sat down and we’ve lifted our glasses, toasting what we insist on calling our ‘first date’, I glance at her, so relieved to sit opposite someone whose face relaxes me and whose presence doesn’t undo me.

“She practically gave us her blessing.” The bubbles burst on my tongue as I sip and scan Kay’s face for a reaction.

“Well, that kind of takes all the fun out of it.” A huge smile breaks on her face. “Seriously, though. Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. I’ve done enough of that sort of talking for one day. “No. We made progress, I guess. Actually had a conversation. She shed some light on things that were never very clear to me, but now, I just want to be with you. Enjoy your company.”

“Sounds good to me.” The tenderness in Kay’s smile all but floors me.

“I also really, really want to kiss you again.” In the depths of my gut, I already know where this night is headed—how I
want
it to end.

“Now that we have your mother’s blessing, I guess that can be arranged.” Kay puts her glass on the table, leans back in her chair, pins her dark, sparkling eyes on me, and beckons me over with two fingers. “Come here.”

My legs are grateful they only have to take two steps to reach Kay’s chair. I plant my knees astride her thighs and sink down, peering at her from above.

Kay traces a finger across my cheekbone, down to my lips, before clasping her hands behind my neck and pulling me close. When we kiss, everything falls away. It’s just her and me. The lake behind us. The electricity between us. I haven’t had a moment like this in years. A moment during which all thought stops, every thought process frozen, the merest inkling of a negative assumption killed instantly by the soft sensation of her lips, the gentle but distinct pull of her hands. The throbbing between my legs.

When we break for air and linger in the heavenly silence for a moment, the smell of burnt chicken reaches my nose.

“Oh, shit.” I push myself off Kay and run to the kitchen.

“Careful,” I hear her say from right behind me.

I grab the oven mitts from the counter and yank the tray out of the oven. The skin on top is charred to a black crisp, but most of it seems all right. Relieved, I turn off the oven and face her.

“Domestic goddess at your service.” I burst out into a silly giggle. “The bird is ready.”

“Don’t worry, I like my chicken nice and crispy.” Kay peers at the stove behind me. “Do you have anything else cooking?”

“No, the accompaniments are chilling in the fridge.”

“Good.” Kay nods and grabs my hand before pushing my back against the refrigerator. Her knee presses between my legs and her lips are hungry on mine. Looks like the chicken and I are not the only ones overheating.

I let my hands wander across her back, my fingers finding their way underneath the hem of her tank top, meeting skin. Kay’s lips leave mine. She kisses my chin, starts on my neck, and I’m ready. I couldn’t care less about the chicken, or the champagne, or Dr. Hakim, or all the faults in my personality. My mind is quiet, too saturated with lust and desire to start a debate on the appropriateness of this.

“Sorry.” Kay pants, her eyes glazing over. “Lost control there for a minute.”

Already, I miss her mouth on mine, her hands in my neck, her knee between my thighs. I shake my head, bite my lip. “I want you.”

“God, I want you too.” Her voice is a strangled whisper. “But let’s eat first.” She plants her palm on the door of the fridge next to my head. “You’ve gone to all this trouble.” The back of her other hand caresses my jaw. “Besides, this frenzy is not exactly what I had in mind.”

I understand what she means, but this frenzy is exactly what I need. Yet, I nod, yielding. In any event, it’s probably not a bad idea to have a meal first.

“Are you all right?” Kay glares at me, the intensity in her eyes enough to make my knees buckle a bit. Since Thalia, I haven’t been with anyone—not even with myself.

* * *

After Kay has pronounced my lemon-infused chicken a resounding, if surprising, success and we’ve loaded the plates into the dishwasher, I bring out the whiskey. I bought the brand Kay has made a habit of pouring me and the glint of approval in her glance probably satisfies me more than it should.

“You seem different tonight,” she says, peering pensively over the lake. Night has all but fallen, the only remnant of the day a grayish sheen on the surface of the water, before it turns black again.

“Maybe I
am
different.” I follow her gaze over the lake. “That’s why I came here, after all.” But I don’t want to talk about myself anymore. I want to know about her.

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” Kay turns toward me, beating me to asking her a question. “You keep saying that your romantic relationships tend to turn sour, that, after a while, you chase your girlfriends away… as a contender for that title”—a slight tilt of her lips—“I’m quite curious as to what exactly goes wrong.”

I look deep into her eyes.
A contender for that title?
My skin breaks out in goose bumps. “I’ll try to answer your question.” My throat has gone dry. “But after that, you have to promise me it will be all about you.”

Kay chuckles, but only briefly. “I solemnly swear to tell you a bedtime story about my youth.” Her features fall into a serious expression. “I’m not asking to give you a hard time, Ella. I’m asking because I have no interest in being someone you fall for for all the wrong reasons.” A new intensity glints in her eyes. “I’m not fooling around here.”

I nod my understanding. Possibly, I’ve been too wrapped up in my own feelings to acknowledge that Kay has them, too. I inhale deeply—as if every breath I take at West Waters will clear my lungs of city debris—to win some time. “I guess, on the surface, despite being a science geek, I’m fairly easy to, uh, go for.” I send her a shy smile. “And I have just enough game to lure someone into a first date, charm them and—if we like each other—set things in motion. When I fall in love, I tend to fall hard and fast.” I have to clear my throat, because the case in point is too obvious. Saying the words out loud, it hits me that, ever since I arrived at West Waters, I’ve fallen into the same old trap—despite my trepidations and what I thought was careful monitoring of my emotions and motivations.

“Don’t go there, Ella.” Kay’s voice startles me.
Can she read my mind?
“Just tell me what happened with Thalia.”