Wherever the Dandelion Falls (64 page)

Faye chuckled at my eagerness and led me into the kitchen where she took out a bottle of my favorite white from the fridge and poured me a big glass. I sat at the little breakfast nook table, and when she brought the glass over to me, she bent down to kiss me on the lips once more.

"Enjoy," she said.

I stretched up to give her a surprise second kiss before taking a long sip of the chilled, buttery wine. The anticipation of the relief it would provide me made me even more relaxed.

"Hey, why weren't you at work today?" I asked.

"I worked from home," she said, glancing up as she stirred something on the stove. "I'm going to that conference tomorrow."

"Oh right!" I said. I felt guilty that I'd forgotten Faye was leaving this weekend. "Are you excited for that?"

"Actually, I am," Faye said. "Some of my friends from Columbia will be there, and I haven't seen them in a long time."

I took another sip of wine and nodded. As I swallowed, I realized how much I still had to learn about Faye. I knew the crinkle of her smile and the timbre of her laugh and the way her skin glowed in candlelight, but I didn't know as much of her history as I wanted to.

I was about to ask which friends she'd be seeing and where they worked when Faye lifted a pan off the stove and spatulaed the contents onto a plate. She pinched some kind of garnish out of a prep bowl and sprinkled it on top. She was so focused and efficient in her movement, I didn't want to interrupt her concentration.

Quicker than I expected, she'd plated our meals and was walking toward the living room. She beckoned with her head and I stood, bringing my wine glass with me. She set the plates on the coffee table, though not as we usually sat after our dates; she set them as though she expected us to sit cross-legged on the floor.

As soon as I sat, I realized I liked this setup more than a regular table for us. It felt intimate and a little silly. Faye was so poised and polished, sitting on the floor with her made me feel special, like she didn't feel she had to be so put-together around me. She was letting down her guard, which made me more inclined to do the same.

Faye went back into the kitchen and came back with napkins, utensils, another wineglass, and the rest of the bottle of wine. She sat down and poured herself a generous glass, lifting it to clink with mine.

"To new adventures," she said with a wink.

Feeling the surge of anxiety my newfound unemployment promised, I gave a forced smile and echoed, "To new adventures."

I took a sip, never breaking eye contact with her, then set down my glass and contemplated the plate before me. Steamed green beans, mashed potatoes, and a fancy, fragrant chicken breast all looked equally delicious. I looked up at Faye and saw she was eating her mashed potatoes first, so I took a bite, wiggling my eyebrows in approval. She smiled in return and we ate quietly for a minute.

Feeling relaxed enough to be candid, I said, "I felt embarrassed yesterday when you talked about your parents cutting you off. I didn't know you being gay had anything to do with it. It made me feel like I didn't know you that well."

Faye smiled, but it looked guilty. "I may have exaggerated because I wanted to impress your friends."

"Oh?" I said, relieved I wasn't completely negligent.

"My parents didn't take it well, but the reason we don't talk anymore is because I was pretty harsh with them during the fallout. I was a very angry person back then."

"What do you mean?" I asked. I'd seen Faye lash out a few times, but she had always been remorseful afterwards. Angry wasn't a word I'd use to describe her.

"I blamed my parents for a lot of things that weren't their fault. Even though they can be ignorant and stubborn, they didn't deserve most of the things I said to them."

"Oh," I said. I wasn't sure how to respond to that. It was alarming to see someone so poised and image-conscious admit to being in the wrong.

"Maybe one of these days I'll have the balls to start fixing things with them," she said, glancing down at her plate.

Feeling awkward, I tried be encouraging without being judgmental or pushy. "If you set your mind to it, you can do just about anything."

Faye looked up with a grateful smile before taking another bite. After chewing, she said, "I'm turning twenty-six in a few months. Maybe that'd be a good thing to work on in the second half of my twenties."

I nodded and took another sip of my wine, giving her a polite, encouraging smile.

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head. "Tonight's about you and I'm making it about me."

"No, it's nice," I assured her. "I like hearing about your life. Tell me about the friends you'll be seeing this weekend."

Faye readjusted herself on the carpet before saying, "I haven't seen Marcy or Kate for almost a year now. We ran the student paper together in our final year at Columbia… We were in the newspaper office until sunrise sometimes, and we'd be so tired that we'd be all loopy and strung out on coffee and jelly beans. Then, because we were totally crazy, we'd go for a run on the Esplanade before heading to class. I honestly don't know how we survived on so little sleep."

Faye's face strained with the happy memories of her time in journalism school. It was nice to imagine her being so silly.

"You're fun when you're that silly," I said, smiling.

Faye giggled and took a sip of her wine. Then, studying it, she took another big sip. "If we're not careful, I'll get a little silly tonight." She winked and took a third sip.

Wanting to encourage her, I picked up the bottle of wine and leaned forward to fill her glass almost to the brim. Then I set it down and winked back at her.

Her mouth parted in playful objection. "You better fill up too, missy," she said, nodding toward my almost-empty glass.

Warm with the relief of my first glass and Faye's easy company, I filled my glass and lifted it to clink with hers.

Two hours later, the bottle was empty and we were both sated and tipsy, leaning on our hands as we made goo-goo eyes across the table at each other as we talked. The conversation flowed so naturally, and I almost didn't notice when she started telling me about her exes. She told me about each of them, and why each relationship hadn't worked out, and what insecurities and gifts they'd given her.

And because she was so open and candid, I found myself doing the same. I told her about Damon and Vance and Maggie and every insignificant person in between. We had the whole ex conversation and it didn't feel scary or intense or too much. Everything was on the table and I had never felt more connected to her.

The only thing we didn't talk about was sex.

A sudden lull happened and I realized that it was almost midnight and Faye had a conference to go to in the morning.

I sighed and stood, picking up our dishes and taking them into the kitchen. When I came back into the living room, Faye was brushing a few crumbs off the table onto the floor.

"Thanks for cooking for me and distracting me from my horrible choices," I said, starting to mumble.

Faye stood up and walked toward me and linked her hands together behind my back. "Any time," she said.

I leaned forward to kiss her. "I wish my house wasn't so far away..."

Faye pressed her forehead to mine for a minute, eyes closed. She kissed me again, slower.

"Stay," she murmured against my lips. She pulled back enough to look me deep in the eyes. "Sleep here with me. Just sleeping, I promise. I can even sleep on the couch if that would make you more comfortable. I just..." A sheepish smile passed over her face and she looked down. "I want to have breakfast with you." Her eyes lifted back to mine and I swear they sparkled. "I've never done that."

I didn't even think twice before saying that it would be silly for her to sleep on the couch in her own house. I trusted her and I didn't want her to be so far away from me for so many hours when she was about to leave town. I wanted to know what she felt like in sleep.

We got ready for bed with innocent, hushed excitement. She loaned me a shirt from her high school cheerleading days, and the way it draped over my shoulders and breasts and stomach with such softness assured me that I'd made the right choice.

But the softness of that shirt was nothing compared to her body draped against mine in her big, welcoming bed. Her sheets were smooth and smelled of her perfume and skin. She moulded herself behind me, wrist hanging over the narrow of my waist, hand placed gently on my stomach. It felt grounding and right, like I was meant to sleep like this with her every night. And though I couldn't help myself from rolling over to give her long, slow, toothpaste-flavored kisses, I eventually rolled back into that so-right spot and sighed a happy, tired sigh. She kissed the nape of my neck three times with her kiss-raw lips, and a few minutes later, I felt her go slack against me, breath deep and steady and warm. The last thing I remember was the smile that spread through my chest as I was drawn into sleep with her.

Faye rushed toward me, overjoyed. As she settled on the couch and cupped my face in excitement, I felt something creep up inside me, something much different from the cold, hard dread I'd felt the whole time she'd been on the phone. I didn't know what it was until Faye said, "Did you hear what I said? They want to meet you!"

Every fiber of her being vibrated with happiness, yet I didn't absorb any of her joy. If anything, I shielded myself against it. Coming out to her parents was a sign that we were getting more serious about our relationship. We were taking steps forward.

I wasn't exactly sure what forward was, though. I didn't know what that would mean in terms of her family, and in what I had to tell my own, and what I would have to do about my job. Because, despite wishing those things weren't problems, they were.

I found it hard to swallow, much less respond to Faye's jubilant question. I gave a shaky nod and was relieved when she wrapped me in her arms, squeezing as she rocked back and forth. She hummed in content, seeming to float out of her seat as I sank with dread.

I felt so guilty. I should have be overjoyed for her. And yet some ugly part of me was making this all about me and what sacrifices it meant I would have to make. I was so paralyzed with dread, I could barely croak out, "Now?"

She giggled and pulled back, beaming as she tucked her hair behind her ears. "No, silly, they're in San Antonio. But they're planning to come visit sometime this summer."

I swallowed and gave what I hoped was an encouraging nod. Summer was still a ways away.

But since I'd left school, I'd realized that time was more elastic than I thought it would be. The sweaty hours inside the Private Pleasures Booth or Box seemed like months or minutes, and sometimes I felt like I went to bed in March and woke up in September. I'd started stripping as a temporary job to pay off loans and have fun while I was young. Yet here I was a year and a half later, still at it, with no plans to leave anytime soon.

Sometimes time's elasticity made me hold things more dear. The past eight months with Faye had flown by. I didn't feel confined or regretful or anxious about where we were.

Until now, that is.

Now she wanted me to meet her family, which I realized was a bigger step than I wanted to take. No matter how proud I was to be with her, I didn't know if I was ready to reciprocate the gesture. Introducing her to my family made our relationship feel so definite, like a final vetting process. My family knew I was in a relationship with a woman, but bringing Faye around felt like the final step before a marriage proposal. And given that we could legally be married in California now, that thought was terrifying.

I'm only twenty-six. I'm not ready to be married. Marriage feels so absolute and so certain. Besides, who would want to marry me now? I thought back to when I'd told Kimi about my job and how she'd said in so many words that no one would want to marry me if they knew I'd been a stripper.

And as much as I'd wanted to tell her she was wrong, I wasn't so naive as to think that it wasn't a little bit true. I knew most people had misperceptions about what I did. Most people think I'm some depraved junkie with daddy issues who just never got her life together. And I suppose there are some strippers like that, but I don't know many. The strippers I know are fierce and beautiful and intelligent, and would make the best bridesmaids and godmothers and consultants on every matter related to marriage or otherwise. But the attitude that they're not good people is everywhere, and it had started seeping into me, no matter how much I resisted it.