Summer Heat (2 page)

The second hit comes from her perfume, which is fruity and nutty and so indisputably feminine it makes my knees go weak. I close my eyes for a split second and accept the unexpected tenderness.

“Did you want that book?” I manage to ask.

“Tomorrow’s fine.” Rose’s fingers caress my scalp and draw me closer. “I promise I won’t mention her anymore,” she whispers in my ear and, suddenly, the painful memory of Jenny seems far away. She releases her hold on me and I notice a few damp drops on her top. “It’s been a while since someone cried on my shoulder.” Despite the fiery red of her lipstick, her smile is gentle and kind and sparks a whole slew of unsuitable mixed emotions in my brain. “Good night.”

I retreat to my empty bedroom. We’re both adults now, but I wish Billy were here. We quibbled endlessly in this bed, not willing to give in to the night just because a parent said we should go to sleep. We lost ourselves in ongoing stories born from exhausted lips. We could always push for one more sentence until one of us fell asleep mid-word and the other, as if waiting for the signal, soon followed.

At least mum can be proud of him. At thirty-three he’s about to make partner at the accountancy firm he works for. He’s happily married to a gorgeous redhead—I experienced unhealthy pangs of sibling rivalry when I first met my sister-in-law—and father to three incredibly misbehaved, freckled boys. You couldn’t dream up a son more perfect. To stand next to him as a recently dumped lesbian during family events is quite the challenge.

I read a few pages in the Stella Duffy book I brought, more to gauge if it’s something I can share with Rose than being in the mood for it, and drift off after a couple of pages. I dream of Jenny and Rose and somehow it’s not entirely unpleasant.

* * *

The next days I spend catching my breath, bathing in bright blue light and flicking through mum’s extensive collection of ‘saved up’ Hello magazines. My eyes wander to Rose’s cleavage occasionally, but more in admiration for its pertness at her age than anything else. Our tender late-night kitchen moment sticks with me though and I tend to turn to it when imagined pictures of a smiling Jenny on Crete assault my brain.

“Today’s the day, lovebirds,” Rose exclaims over brunch on Saturday. “Why don’t Cat and I take ourselves off for the day so you can have the house to yourselves?” For as long as I can remember my parents have celebrated their wedding anniversary in Tuscany and, over the years, they must have been to every romantic spot in the vicinity of the house. “We’ll stay out late.” Rose winks at me and despite appreciating the gesture, the activity she implies my parents engage in, makes me queasy.

“Nonsense,” my dad, ever the romantic soul, says. “This is your house. We wouldn’t dream of expelling you.”

“I’ll be in excellent company.” Rose casts me another look, one a bit more difficult to decipher.

“I stocked the fridge with some nice bottles of champagne.” I say it as if Rose and I have planned this, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. I was expecting another half-drunk dinner tonight, spiced with countless anecdotes from my parents’ married life I heard a million times before. Including the one—my mum’s favourite when she’s had a few—where I put a pair of socks in my underwear and asked her if I could be a boy like Billy now. I perk up at the prospect of spending a day on the road with Rose. “We won’t take no for an answer.”

Mum blushes and mumbles some inaudible words while dad sips from his coffee. It’s endearing, really.
 

“Right.” Dad folds the paper and irons out the creases with a flat hand. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

“I insist.” Rose shoots him a generous smile and locks her eyes on mine. “Ready to go in half an hour, Cat?”

I make a display of kissing my parents goodbye, both to make them feel slightly uncomfortable and because it is, after all, their anniversary—thirty-seven years seems so unfathomable to someone newly single like me.

Rose’s car has an open roof and my short black hair spikes back as we cruise through scenic landscapes worth every feature in glossy travel magazines.

“Our first stop is a winery,” she shouts over the breeze.

“We have an itinerary?” I bunch my eyebrows together.

“Depends if we spit or swallow.” She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “We may be trapped there all afternoon.”

Rose looks beautiful with her chestnut curls spilling out from under her headscarf. They catch the midday sun and shine like freshly polished wood. I chuckle and think life could be worse than being stuck with a gorgeous woman, in a convertible on an Italian country road, on the way to a winery. Perhaps it’s even better than Lesbos.

“That detective was a bit of a let-down.” Rose sniffs her glass of wine ceremoniously, as if she really knows what she’s doing. “Not in terms of the story, but because of how you spoke of it. I was expecting a bit more action and I’m not talking about police action.”

I’m grateful for the bucket as I propel my gulp of wine into it, before having the chance to taste anything. “I thought I’d start you off on something easy to digest.”

“I’m forty-eight. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty-nine, so please forgive my caution.” 

“Hm.” She slurps her wine and drills her eyes into mine. “Not sure if I should take that as a compliment.” She follows up with a wide smile. “What do you think?” She holds up her glass. “To buy or not to buy?”

“Buy. And let’s have a proper drink now, please. I’m ready for some serious swallowing.”

She exchanges a few quick words in Italian with the host and the melodic snappiness in her voice gives me goosebumps. He brings us new glasses and fills them with a generous amount of light-yellow liquid.

“A toast.” She angles her glass towards me. “To Helen and John.” The rim of her glass lightly brushes mine, producing a high-pitched clinging sound. “And the magnificent children they’ve produced.”

I don’t know if it’s the wine or the heat or the surprising compliment, but my cheeks flush and I resort to a shy smile.

“You’ll be off the streets in no time.” Rose rests her hand less than an inch away from mine and I’m beginning to wonder if she’s mainly been focusing on swallowing. “Such a catch.”

“Looks like I’ll be driving later then.”

“I’m just pleasantly tipsy. Let’s order some cold cuts and bread.” Her glance lingers on me and I get the distinct impression there’s more than innocent flattery going on. I’m hardly put off by it, but I do have my reservations.

After the snacks arrive we fall into an easy conversation about some of my parents’ and Rose’s mutual friends and how all their offspring are performing. It’s sort of beating around the bush because all the while Rose holds a glimmer in her eyes, something smouldering that unnerves but also arouses me. By the time we leave the winery, both of us sober but one of us more confused than the other, I have an inkling of how I want the day to end, but our shared history and the nature of our relationship keep my thoughts from going all the way.

She stops the car at a deserted patch of woods in a lush green valley off the main road. 

“Grab this.” She leans over her seat and snaps up a blanket from the back. Just the sight of it fires up all kinds of alarms in my system. From the boot she produces a cool box with a bottle of the rosé we’ve been drinking all week. “Sorry, no cups,” she shrugs, as if this whole situation is normal.

I follow her to a secluded spot behind five ancient trees. She spreads out the blanket over the wild grass and sits down cross-legged.

“In all the times I’ve come here I’ve only bumped into one other person. He looked about ninety and that was five years ago. Bless him.” She gestures for me to sit next to her. “This is where Michael proposed to me. We’d only been seeing each other six months, but he said that he knew and he had wasted enough time.” She looks out over the green splendour in front of us. “It was my first time here and it was love at first sight. Just like with Michael.” Her voice trembles the way it does when people speak of lost loved ones. “I said yes.”

“I’m honoured that you brought me here.” I take the bottle from her and bring it to my lips. “You know I was extremely fond of him.”

Her hands rest on mine for several seconds when she takes the bottle back. We both stare at them in silence. Rose raises her head first and when I look up to meet her gaze she lets go of the bottle and cups my cheek with her right hand.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” Her fingers travel to my ear and outline its contour, slowly and sensually, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if this is the wine speaking, or grief, or misplaced affection and I want to care but I also really want to kiss her.

“Have you ever kissed—” I begin.

“Does it matter?” She stops me mid-question and I see the desire in her eyes. Maybe it’s the place and the memories it holds for her or maybe it’s her mid-life crisis. I wonder if I’m supposed to be the moral compass here. The one who shuts this down. “I want you. I think that’s obvious.”

“It’s not that I’m not interested.” The anticipation in her eyes deflates and the moment disappears. Her hand drops from my face, leaving a sizzling reminder of what could have been.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have.” She gulps from the wine and stares out into the distance. “Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to describe it.” She shoots me a sheepish grin before covering her face dramatically behind her hands.

I inch a little closer and curve my arm around her shoulder. “It’s perfectly all right.” I search for some wise words but this situation is too baffling and I have no idea how to make things better. “I just—I don’t know—”

She faces me again, tears staining her cheeks. “I’ve been foolish, but it’s been so long since I felt something like this.” She shakes her head. “You must think I’ve lost my mind.” At last, she can smile again, albeit it very sparsely.

“How about a date?”

“What?”

“We’ve been pussyfooting around it all day, with all the innuendo and such. Let’s make it less awkward by making it official.” I treat her to the warmest, most confident smile I can muster. “I’m asking you out on a date. Tonight.”

She nods her head slightly, letting my words register. “And that will make it less awkward?” She mirrors my smile and the light in her eyes is back.

“Sorry to be so lesbian about it, but I need to process first.”

“At least you are one.” She squeezes my hand, which is still dangling from her shoulder. “There goes my fantasy of some woman love out in the open.”

“We can always come back.” I curl one end of my mouth up. “Depending on how the date goes.”

“My dating skills may be a bit rusty.”

“Judging by the current state of my love life, mine aren’t exactly top-notch either.”

* * *

The date is tense because we can’t find the words. We spend our time blushing under candlelight while stealing furtive glances at each other’s pizza. I barely touch mine because this whole afternoon has made my stomach terribly upset.

“I’ll have to come back here someday. The food looks divine.” I shuffle a cheese-crusted piece of eggplant around on my plate.

“I’ll ask them to wrap it.” Rose clears her throat before she continues. “I realise I crossed a line, but—” 

Rose Perkins, always the picture of togetherness and eloquence, is crumbling in front of me. I want to step in, say something, but the words die on my tongue. It’s not that it’s entirely unfeasible, but long before she became part of my family’s life, her late husband was Billy’s godfather and I addressed him as uncle until I deemed myself too cool for it. 

She slugs the rest of her wine back and leans over the table.
 

“Here’s the deal.” For the first time since arriving at this picturesque restaurant with its grandstanding waiters and hedged-off garden, she looks me in the eye. “I never expected this,” she whispers. “But ever since you arrived, the first thing I do in the morning is position my deck chair so I have a view of your window. I count down the minutes until you step out. Then my day begins.” She shakes her head. “I can’t explain it. It’s just how it is.”

Heat flashes through me and my entire body breaks out in a sweat. I wish I had a pool to jump in to rinse this madness off me. I want her too, I know that much, but it’s more complicated than that. “You’re a very beautiful woman,” I start and already it feels inadequate, as if I’m selling her short—or blowing her off. “I’m flattered, of course.” I search for her eyes and find disappointment. “There are just certain sentiments I—” Fearing I may sound like my dad, I correct myself. “I’m a little fragile at the moment and, as much as I would like to reciprocate, part of me believes it’s wrong.” And when did I become such a moralist, I wonder. 

“I completely understand.” She plucks her napkin from her lap and tosses it on the table. “I’m sorry to have put you in this position.” Her head tilts towards her watch. “It’s a little early to go back to the house.”

“Any lesbian bars around here?” I try to break the tension. “Just in case you’d like to explore these new feelings you’re experiencing further.”

“I haven’t a clue.” Her smile is forced, the lines bracketing her mouth rigid. “I know somewhere else we can go though.”

As we exit the restaurant she grabs my wrist and pulls me close. “Let me know if you change your mind.” Her lips are on my ear. “I meant every word I said.”

Her heels clack on the cobblestoned pavement. We leave the car at the bistro and she guides me through a score of dimly lit alleys.

“La bella Rosa,” a barrel-chested guy shouts as we walk into the bar. His shirt strains around his belly and wisps of dark hair peek through the collar. “Please-ah, I reserved the best seat for you.” He makes a spectacle of pulling Rose’s chair back and wiping it clean before allowing her to sit. “Two Limoncello coming right up.”

“Very authentic,” I smirk. “You seem well-loved in this town.”

“Not everyone is impervious to my charms.”

“Trust me, your charms are not the issue.”

She cocks her eyebrows up. “I’m very limber for my age, so it can’t be that either.”