At the Water's Edge (23 page)

“I need to make up for lost time,” she told me when I quizzed her about it a week ago. “I can’t just leave again.” I knew exactly how she felt.

“I have an announcement to make,” I say, once everyone is settled with a satisfying plate of Kay’s pot roast in front of them.

“Oh my god, you’re pregnant,” Nina chirps, because she just can’t help herself. I give her the evil eye while Kay clears her throat solemnly, indicating, to my ignorant sister, that this is an important moment.

“When I go back to Boston, I’m going to resign. I’m going to sell my house, and move back here.” My hand finds Kay’s on the table. “Kay and I are moving in together.”

“I knew you’d be renting that U-Haul.” Nina again. This time, my Dad slaps her around the head playfully.

“That is truly wonderful news.” Mom clasps a hand in front of her mouth. “I’m really happy for the both of you.” I still can’t get used to this sight, but my dad throws an arm around her shoulder and gives her frame a quick squeeze.

“We can do more processing while we eat,” Kay says, “before it gets cold.”

I’m not that hungry. Not out of nerves, but because of pure giddiness. I’m shacking up with Kay Brody. Although, technically, I moved in after Nina arrived. I’ll be living at West Waters. I’ll try to get a transfer to Oregon U, although chances of that are slim. If all else fails, I can teach biology at my old high school—or, perhaps, just run West Waters with Kay.

“You’re not getting any younger,” I told her. “You could use the extra pair of hands.”

“I know exactly where I can use an extra pair of hands,” she replied, before toppling me over on her bed and topping me again.

I think I decided that my time in Boston had ended a few days after my first night with Kay. No matter how many times I went over it in my head, the option of me leaving her behind for a long-distance-relationship and going back to my fractured life in Boston could only be perceived as a huge obstacle for my happiness. And happiness is what I’m all about now. Obtaining joy from simple things, like seeing Kay’s face first thing in the morning: simple, but oh so powerful. Like casting my gaze over the now ice-cold lake and daydreaming about jumping in naked with Kay when the temperature rises. Like lounging on the porch of our cabin with my sister, a fire crackling in the pit, and listening to her bohemian tales of being an extra on movie sets and—although I can’t conjure up images of this, no matter how hard I try—sheep herding, rolling my eyes every time she uses a curse word.

“Now you’ll have to give me father-in-law perks at The Attic, Kay,” Dad jokes.

“Sure, John,” Kay smirks good-naturedly. “Anything to keep you happy.” I look at my dad, and how he so easily interacts with Kay, and I know that if it hadn’t been for him—and for the sacrifices he made—this family would have fallen apart long ago.

I feel Mom’s eyes resting on me, a sensation that once made my skin crawl. I look up into her version of a smiling face. It’s more of a grimace that’s painted on her lips, as though, throughout the years, she has lost the power to smile altogether, but it’s a valiant effort.

“What?” I ask.

Before speaking, she pulls her lips into an even wider almost-smile. “I was just thinking about that time when you were ten years old and you put a pair of bunched up socks in your shorts, going around telling everyone you were a boy now.”

“Oh jeez,” I groan, “not that tired old story again.”

“Please elaborate, Dee.” Amusement glows in Kay’s voice.

“Please don’t.” I shoot Mom a smile nonetheless.

“Oh come on, Ellie.” Of course, Nina has to chime in. “You so wanted to be a boy back then.”

“I just thought it was unfair that boys got to pee standing up and that, a few years later, I had to wear a bikini top when coming to West Waters. That’s all.”

“You were already such a lez back then.” Nina shakes her head. “As if that Julia Roberts poster on your wall didn’t make that clear enough. I’m surprised you even had to come out at all.”

What the hell would you know?
I want to ask.
You weren’t here for any of that.
But I ignore my initial instincts, because, I’ve mellowed toward Nina too. My new-found zen philosophy doesn’t work every day, but it helps to have Kay around. Just by being by my side, she reminds me that not everything is black and white.

“Life is not all or nothing,” she said once, after I’d come back from another emotional visit to my parents, “learn to navigate the in-between areas. There are highs and lows, but there’s so much more in between. Take me, for instance. Right now, I represent a massive high for you, but it won’t always be that way. Life will throw things at us and, instead of letting them drag you all the way down, together, we will make it through.”

“God, you’re cheesy,” I replied, before kissing her for a very long time.

“And you’ve become so mouthy. Must be all that hanging around with Nina.”

Having Nina around has helped. Just to sit next to someone who understands things about me without having to explain them, without talking—although Nina does plenty of that.

I look around the table, at the inconspicuous, relaxed faces of my family members, and it hits me that, at last, I have to try very hard to remember why I came back here in the first place. The lingering despair—that ever-present tightening in my chest—has made way for something else. Dr. Hakim would urge me to try to put it into words, but he’s not here, so I don’t need to try to articulate that simmering feeling of possibility, the gratitude for the long moments of peace and quiet in my mind I can now enjoy, the waking up without immense dread for a new day, the realization that life, after all, can be largely okay.

I love you.
I don’t say it out loud—The Goodmans will never be a family of I-love-yous—but thinking it is more than enough.

* * *

“A sock, huh?” Kay asks while we’re getting ready for bed.

“Don’t you start.”

“I feel your pain, honey. Socks are so inadequate.” She sits on the edge of the bed and motions for me to perch next to her. “Come here.”

Kay never has to tell me twice, so I hurry to her side. Once I’m seated, she leans toward the bedside table and takes out a box.

“Going away gift,” she says, as she hands it to me.

“Oh.” I pull my lips into a pout. “But I didn’t get you anything.”

“You’re coming back, Ella. That’s the only present I’ll ever need.” She nods at the box. “Go on. Open it.”

I tear at the wrapping paper and unearth a plastic box with a see-through front. My eyes widen when my brain registers what’s inside: a quite sizable pink dildo, flanked by a black strap-on harness.

Amazed, I look at Kay. “What the hell am I going to do with that in Boston?”

“Read the card.” Her eyes have gone wildly dark again, like they do before we fuck. I find a white envelope taped to the back of the box. I open it and the front of the card shows a sad-faced cartoon figure with tears in its eyes, saying, “So sad you’re going away.”

My heart breaks a little at the sight of it, and I start dreading the moment Kay will drop me at the airport tomorrow—the moment we’ll have to say goodbye, at least for a few months.

I open the card and read what she wrote: ‘I think I’ll go with you.’ A folded sheet of A4 paper is nestled inside the card and when I unfold it I see it’s a plane ticket to Boston with Kay’s name on it.

“For real?” Misty-eyed, I look at her.

“Of course.” She scoots closer. “I want to be with you when you walk back into your house. I don’t want you to do that alone.”

I’m so flabbergasted, it takes a few seconds for the meaning of her words to sink in.

“I love you,” I say. Out loud, this time.

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Caroline, for always reading first, and being my rock.

Maria, for giving me a new set of lenses to see myself through (and being the sort of beta-reader any writer dreams of).

Cheyenne, for helping me shape all my emotions into relatable, grammatically correct sentences.

My sister, for the endless chuckles (even when I don’t feel like laughing).

My parents, for not needing me to say I’m sorry.

Thank you.

Dear Reader,

Even though
At the Water’s Edge
is fiction, writing this book has been a very emotional journey for me. I have literally cried my way through it, expelling many a demon in the process. It only took me fifteen years. I can’t thank you enough for reading this story that holds so much importance to me.

The subject matter of
At the Water’s Edge
is no joke and if reading it has affected you in any way and/or left you needing to talk, you can find information about suicide prevention centers across the world at this link:
https://www.iasp.info/resources/Crisis_Centres/

I won’t end this note with an empty phrase like ‘You are not alone’, but, if you’re looking for an example of someone who has made it through to the other end of depression—with lots of ups and downs—that person is addressing you right now. It’s not impossible.

Love,

Harper

About the author

Harper Bliss is the author of the
High Rise series
, the
French Kissing serial
and several other lesbian erotica and romance titles. She is the co-founder of
Ladylit Publishing
, an independent press focusing on lesbian fiction. Harper lives in Hong Kong with her wife and, regrettably, zero pets.

Harper loves hearing from readers and if you’d like to drop her a note you can do so via
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