Experienced

Chapter Sixteen

Ruth was just returning to the table when Bette’s phone started to ring in the pocket of her jeans. They had been to a late cinema screening, and the gin and tonic heading toward her was her second, so it was now very late. Late enough that Bette’s heart began to race, imagining all the potential disasters on the other end of the line. No one called late at night.

As Ruth sat down beside her at their tiny table, already launching into another rant about the ridiculousness of the plot they’d been subjected to onscreen, Bette pulled out the phone and looked at the lit screen.

It was Mei.

It had been more than a month now since Mei had last texted, since the messages Bette had ignored after the day in the office. The closer they got to the end of the break, the clearer the jumbled collection of emotions felt, the important ones having made their way to the surface. She missed Mei, missed being her partner, missed what they had. She felt a rush of anxious anticipation when she thought about the coming weeks, about seeing Mei properly again. She was ready, theoretically. Ready for them to go back to how things had been. But Mei’s name on her phone made her heart jump and her hand shake. She hadn’t prepared herself. She wasn’t ready for it tonight. But here it was.

“Bette,” Ruth said, abandoning her rant, her eyes on the screen too. “Are you—I mean…”

“I—I’m going to get—” Bette said, and watched Ruth bite on her lips, as if trying to stop herself from saying something. Bette tried not to think about it.

“Mei?” she answered.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Mei said, her voice thick. “I wasn’t sure—I thought maybe I’d just—I convinced myself you wouldn’t—”

“I’m here,” Bette reassured her, even as she wondered what she meant by it. “What do you need?”

Ruth was looking at her, and it was impossible not to meet her eyes. But she could hear Mei take a couple of deep breaths on the other end of the line. The sound was heartbreaking, horrible to listen to. The distance between them, over the phone, felt infinite.

“Could you come meet me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t—I need you, Bette.”

She could tell instantly that Ruth had heard it, had at least caught the gist of it. Bette watched as Ruth twisted her hands in her lap, her eyes now fixed across the bar. She thought of how shuttered up Ruth had become when Bette had brought Mei up over dinner, all those weeks ago. It was not ideal, obviously, to be having this conversation in front of her. But, ideal or not, it was happening.

“Where are you?” Bette asked.

“Hospital. In the waiting room. The ER. It’s—it’s my dad. They were visiting and—”

Bette’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest. She thought back to Mei’s parents at lunch, ordering a second bottle of wine and insisting on dessert. Her father was compact and serious, a deceptively powerful man, firm edges where her mother was soft. The idea of him in a hospital, in the ER, was unfathomable.

“I’ll be twenty minutes. Fifteen. Text me which hospital? I just need to get a cab. Just—are you going to be all right until then? Have you got someone with you?” Ruth was fiddling with her straw, folding the top of it over, wrecking the paper. She would understand, Bette thought. Of course she would.

“I’ll be all right. I’m not alone, Mum’s here. I just really need you.”

“I’ll make it in twelve,” Bette promised, trying to ignore the way her heart had jumped when Mei said “need.” “Mei’s at the hospital. It’s her dad. I’m really sorry but I—I have to…”

“Of course. Go,” Ruth said. “Talk later this week?”

Bette hugged her, one eye already on Uber over her shoulder.

It was maybe fifteen minutes later that Bette arrived outside the hospital. In fact, she knew precisely how many minutes it had been (seventeen), because she had been aware of every single one of them, each second piercing her spine as she sat in the back seat of the cab. Her phone buzzed relentlessly with messages as she clambered out onto the footpath.

Mei:I’m really sorry

Mei:I’m so glad you were awake

Mei:I can’t believe you’re coming

Mei:Text if you can’t find us

A sign in front of her pointed toward the ER and she headed down the hallway, trying not to peer into any rooms as she passed. She looked instead at her phone, at a second string of messages from Mei.

Mei:My mum doesn’t know about this

Mei:about what happened with us, sorry

Mei:She thinks it’s all like it was, so could you not tell her?

Mei:I just don’t want to have to explain tonight

Mei:I’m sorry to ask

Bette couldn’t imagine striking up a conversation about their break in front of her mother, in a hospital waiting room. But it was helpful to know where she stood. She was Mei’s girlfriend again, at least for the night. She tried not to feel pleased about it. She failed not to feel pleased about it.

It was long after visiting hours had ended, and Bette worried for a moment that, visibly injury-free, she might not be allowed through. But in the ER, it was clear, time ceased to exist. A young woman was bouncing a grizzling toddler on her knees, two booze-jolly guys were holding a blood-soaked towel to the forehead of a third, a couple with indeterminate injuries or illnesses sat with fingers knotted together, a child with a hacking cough was being read to by their father.

And then there was Mei. Her face was puffy and swollen, and there were tears fresh on her cheeks. Bette stepped forward and embraced her before she could dwell on how long it had been. Mei smelled familiar and comforting and Bette wanted to kiss her. It couldn’t have been a less appropriate time for it. She pressed her lips to the top of her shoulder instead, rocking Mei back and forth.

“I’m so sorry,” Bette said, realizing suddenly that she didn’t know the context, that she had no idea what she was trying to reassure Mei about.

“We still don’t—I—” Mei replied, her voice quavering. She swallowed twice in quick succession, clearly trying to calm down. “He fell. He was on the ladder in the dark, trying to fix the light. The one above the back door?”

Bette nodded. She could picture the light exactly; it was above a concrete step. The thought of falling onto it was horrifying; she felt sick, her stomach burning.

“We said it could wait but he just…” she trailed off.

“He doesn’t like to wait,” her mother said from her chair. Bette stepped back, letting go of Mei, and put a hand out for Mrs. Hinota to grasp. She stood, her gray hair hanging limply, her skin so pale it looked almost translucent. Her grip on Bette’s hand was impressive nonetheless.

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Hinota. I wish it wasn’t—well—” Bette said, gesturing helplessly around them. “How long has he been—?”

“They took him back an hour ago for scans, and to set his shoulder too. We should have been able to go through with him but…” Mei trailed off. “They’re supposed to come and find us at some point. Take us through.”

Bette nodded. “Can I do anything? Do you want tea? Or something?”

She had no idea whether what she was offering was possible, but surely there was a vending machine somewhere. There always was in films.

Mei shook her head. “Not sure I could handle anything. But thank you. No—just—can you sit?”

She backed up toward her mother’s seat, tugging Bette along with her. And then they sat, Mei between Bette and her mother, the three of them falling into silence.

“Mei said you’ve been busy with your work,” Mrs. Hinota said eventually, as her hands clasped and unclasped in her lap.

Bette hummed in confirmation, happy to go along with it, to nod blithely in agreement to anything Mei might have told her parents.

She wanted to feel useful, wanted to have walked in and made things better. But it felt obvious now that there was no way to make this situation better. That sitting beside Mei, pushing a shoulder against hers, was perhaps the best she could do. Mei had pulled her phone out, and Bette couldn’t help glancing down at the screen. She was scrolling down a list of search results: head injuries after head injuries after head injuries. Bette hesitated and then reached over, taking her phone out of her hand.

Without it, Mei fussed and fiddled. She kicked her legs as though she were a child on a swing set, her trainers grazing the floor beneath her seat with each back-and-forth. Her mother rested a hand on her knee to calm her, and Bette watched her take a few big, deliberate breaths, her chin trembling as she did.

Bette opened her mouth to ask a question. But the content flew out of her mind immediately when she heard “Hinota?” from between a set of doors across the room.

Mei was on her feet before Bette could even process what was happening. Once standing on shaking legs, she reached out behind her, and Bette laced her fingers through Mei’s. Mrs. Hinota was standing too and took a step forward toward the approaching doctor, as if it might make the news reach her more quickly. The doctor’s scrubs were rumpled but clean, and Bette had watched enough Casualty during university to be oddly reassured by the expression on her face.

“Mrs. Hinota?” she said, directing her speech toward Mei’s mother. “You can see your husband now.”

Bette felt Mei’s exhalation through her hand, felt the entirety of her tense and anxious body let out a breath.

“He’s suffered a serious concussion, has three broken ribs, and we’ve had to set his shoulder. The scan took longer than anticipated; we’re sorry you’ve been waiting without an update. We’re going to keep him at least overnight for observation. We’ll reassess tomorrow, but it’s likely you’ll be able to take him home then. If you would like to be with him tonight, we can organize for one of you to stay?”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Hinota replied, glancing at Mei. “I will stay.”

“Thank you,” Mei said, her voice tender and strained. “Thank you for—thank you.”

The doctor nodded, her movements tight and efficient; she had no expendable energy to spare. “I can take you to him now, if you like?”

Mei squeezed her fingers more tightly, and Bette realized their hands were still linked. She looked up at Mei; she couldn’t remember making the decision to stay in her seat while everyone else stood, but it had felt like the correct decision. She wasn’t family. She shouldn’t be part of this.

“I’ll wait here,” she said, hoping to save Mei the awkwardness of asking her to remain behind. “Take your time, seriously. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mei nodded distractedly and hurried off after her mother, leaving Bette alone in the waiting room. It felt wrong to be there, a witness to the horrible nights of the people around her, no reason to still be sitting among them. But just as she made the decision to text Mei that she would see her outside, she looked down into her lap to find Mei’s phone staring back up at her accusingly. There was no option but to stay.

She’d been sitting for a couple of minutes, scrolling listlessly through Instagram, when Mei’s phone buzzed in her lap. She resisted the temptation to look.

Bette returned instead to Instagram and watched a video of a woman applying zombie makeup. Twice. It was a weirdly attractive zombie.

Mei’s phone buzzed again.

It was past midnight, and Bette wanted to know who was messaging her. The phone lay face down in her lap, and her fingers itched to pick it up. She thought of Ash asking what Mei was allowed to do in all these months; whether she was allowed to hook up too.

And then the phone buzzed again.

It struck Bette that it might be Mei, actually, on Mrs. Hinota’s phone. Mei, who couldn’t get in touch with Bette directly because Bette was holding her phone. Mei, texting herself, assuming that Bette would see it. She wouldn’t know Bette’s number by heart—who knew anyone’s number by heart? It was almost certainly Mei. She should check it.

She flipped it over and swiped a finger across the lock screen. The phone begged for a fingerprint or a pin, and Bette had neither. The WhatsApp icon sat there, right in the middle, but there was no way of seeing the message. It was unusually late for a message, but Mei had a sister in Tokyo. It was her, surely. Mei would be back eventually, and Bette should probably just ignore the phone until then.

It was half an hour, many more makeup reels, and a good amount of time Googling “unlock phone in emergency” before Mei returned. Bette had prepared herself for longer, but had been starting to feel antsy; she’d left for the cinema with a phone low on battery, and it was now hovering dangerously close to zero.

“He’s okay?” she asked, feeling stupid even as the words left her mouth. He clearly wasn’t. He was spending the night in the hospital.

“He will be,” Mei said, her voice calmer and steadier than when she had left. She moved toward the exit and out into the ambulance bay. “He looks—but yeah. Yeah, he will be.”

The steadiness of her voice changed things. This was no longer the Mei who had reached for her when she walked into the waiting room, who had threaded her fingers through Bette’s. The brief reunion had an end point, and it was imminent. Maybe Bette had already missed it. She walked a step behind Mei, resigned to it.

The night was cool, the lights of the hospital bright against the inky sky. Mei was silent as they walked out of the hospital grounds, but once they were out on the street Mei turned toward her, looking up and meeting Bette’s eyes.

“I have a favor to ask. My car is in the car park but I don’t want to drive alone. I have to collect some things from my parents’ house so they can stay for a couple of days. Could you drive it? Drive me?”

“To Cheltenham? Now?” Bette said, the questions rushing out of her before she could stop them.

“I know, it’s a lot. I just—I need you.”

She couldn’t ignore the leap in her chest this time, the word settling warm within her. Bette nodded.

The drive out of Bristol was quiet. Mei was turned toward the window, her forehead resting on the glass. There was a moment when Bette thought she might have fallen asleep, but she mostly shuffled in the seat, readjusting her sweater, straightening her trousers, exerting control over tiny, inconsequential things.

It was almost impossible, not saying anything. Bette wanted to respect whatever Mei needed, and silence seemed to be it. But she chewed at her cheek, swallowing back all she wanted to say. It wasn’t the time for it.

But as they drove further and further up the M5, the silence in the car began to border on ridiculous. On comical, as they approached the turn off for Cheltenham. She had to say something. Anything at all. And then Mei turned to Bette and cleared her throat.

“You look really well. Are you well?”

“I look really well? I look…really…well,” Bette repeated slowly, as if she needed to consider each word on its own merits.

“God, I don’t know. This is hard! I called you in the middle of the night. We’re in a weird place. I had forgotten how long this drive actually is.”

Bette couldn’t help it. She laughed. Long and hard. The tree-lined streets were nearly empty, it was approaching 1:30 in the morning, she and Mei were on a break, and she was realizing that apart from “Cheltenham” she had no idea where she was going. They’d never been to Mei’s family’s house when they were together.

“Thank fuck you said it. The whole journey has been this horrible weird silence vacuum and obviously I didn’t want to say anything because you can’t say ‘I miss you and it’s so good to see you and to hold your hand’ to the woman whose father is in the ER because tonight isn’t about me. But Mei, look, I really miss you. And I know I didn’t reply to your messages that day you came to the office but, honestly, I didn’t know what to say. And I need you to know that I miss you, and I’m so glad this break is almost done, and that I still—even though tonight…”

“Bette, I have to…”

“No, sorry. Let’s not. Tonight’s not about me, or about us. Let’s just—let’s get your dad’s pajamas or whatever we’re here to do. And we can talk tomorrow.”

She chanced a glance to her left, where Mei was clearly wrestling with not saying anything.

“I mean it, seriously,” she reiterated. “I’m not going anywhere, and we can talk another time. Tonight is about your mum and dad.”

“Okay,” Mei said, her voice thick. “Thanks. It means a lot.”

“Of course,” Bette replied, sitting comfortably in fourth gear and reaching over to take Mei’s hand.

It eased something between them. Mei directed her through the outer parts of Cheltenham, and eventually into a driveway Bette couldn’t help raising her eyebrows at.

“Wow,” she said, looking up at the trailing flowers and vines hanging from the Regency property.

“I know,” Mei replied, clearly primed for this response from new visitors. “I should have—I know.”

“This is—this…” Bette started. She wanted to say that the house she’d grown up in would fit maybe four times in Mei’s. That it was closer in size to her church. But when she looked over at Mei, she was still buckled in and her eyes were glassy. She reached over and held her hand. “Okay. What do you need?”

“Nothing. Just…come with me?”

“Of course.”

Inside, the house was somehow even more overwhelming. Bette felt strange in it, too small in the cavernous hall. She was used to moving through a front door quickly; both at home and in the house she’d grown up in, hovering in the doorway held everyone else up. Here Mei stepped around her, kicked off her shoes and headed for the polished staircase. Bette toed off her trainers and, desperate to be useful, called out after Mei.

“Tea?”

Mei turned, looking tired and so grateful, and Bette loved her.

“Yes. Yes please. Tea would be brilliant.”

It was one thing to offer tea, Bette thought, and quite another to be able to follow through. She utilized the only logic she could: head toward the back. There was a closed door she didn’t touch, and one through which she could see an uncomfortable-looking sofa and an honest-to-god piano. And then, mercifully, there was a door that had a tiled floor behind it, and a kettle obvious on the counter. Everything would surely fall into place from there. It was reassuring that even in an unfamiliar kitchen there was some innate logic to the location of the mugs, of tea bags, of milk (the milk, to be fair, had been a pretty sure bet).

She saw it as she was returning the milk to the fridge. There, between a Ruby Wedding invitation and a couple of John Lewis vouchers held in place by a magnetic mouse, was a photo of her and Mei. They were in the French restaurant in Bristol, the only time she’d met both Mei’s parents. The face that looked back at her from the photo was so happy—breezy and summery in the green and white shirt she remembered tucking into a denim skirt. And Mei. Mei looked so good. Eyes bright, skin soft against that linen dress. The one Bette had pushed up later that night, when she’d pushed Mei out on the table at home and eaten her out. Here, the red lipstick she’d ruin later was still perfect on Mei’s mouth, even after the meal. Mei’s arm was in front of hers as they sat close in the booth. She could remember Mei’s hand between her knees under the table, could remember worrying that it was too intimate for Mr. Hinota’s phone. But he’d brought it home, and had it printed, and had pinned it to the fridge. The rest of the house didn’t have a “things pinned to the fridge” energy. It was too curated, too fancy, looked too much as if it belonged in a magazine. But here, in such a tangible family space, Bette had found herself. It made her heart clench in her chest. It was everywhere she wanted to be: on the fridge, beside Mei, grinning goofily at her dad’s phone.

There was a creak from somewhere above her and she shook herself, squeezing out the tea bags and carrying the mugs through into the hall. Mei was on her way down the stairs, a soft leather holdall in her hand.

They didn’t speak as she handed Mei a mug, as they both blew on and gulped down the far too hot tea in the hall. There seemed to be a silent agreement that they were too tired to consider sitting down to drink the tea, that there was a real chance they’d fall asleep where the mugs landed. Instead, as soon as they were close to drained, Bette took them back into the kitchen, rinsed them both out and left them draining on the rack.

“Should we head back?” Bette asked, her voice as gentle as she could make it. She took the bag from Mei’s hand, made her way toward the door and tried not to draw attention to the fact that she could hear Mei’s stifled sniffles.

It was the choked sob that was finally too much for her to ignore, too much to politely pretend she couldn’t hear. She turned round, dropped the overnight bag and pulled Mei toward her. The sobs became more pronounced then, less careful, less controlled, and it was only once Mei’s face was pressed against Bette’s collarbone that she let herself properly cry. Bette held her, stroking her back, lips buried in the hair at the top of her head.

Eventually Mei’s sobs calmed, and she reached up to wipe her face.

“Sorry, I’m gross.”

“Don’t apologize. You want a tissue?”

Mei shook her head, pulling her sweater up over her face and wiping her tears away with it. Once her face was clean she settled back against Bette, curling her arms up under her chin, allowing herself to be held, burrowing her way into Bette’s body.

“I was holding the ladder,” she said, barely above a whisper. “He slipped. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t help.”

Bette’s mouth hung open, uselessly.

“The sound, Bette. His head, when he landed,” her voice wavered again, and she choked in a breath. “I can still hear it.”

“But he’s okay,” Bette said, pulling her closer. “He’s going to be okay.”

She felt Mei nod into her chest, her arms trapped between them. They breathed together, and Bette worked to keep hers deep and even, hoping Mei would follow suit. Eventually, she felt Mei’s tense form loosen against her. And then, just as she was easing her hold so that they could head back to the car, Mei tipped her head back and placed a soft kiss at the underside of Bette’s jaw. Bette’s heart stuttered.

“Mei?”

“I just,” she said into Bette’s shoulder. “I just want it to feel like things used to.”

It was exactly how Bette had been feeling for months. How was she supposed to refuse now, when Mei was offering her exactly what she’d wanted? The line drawn between them was one Mei had sketched out and then reinforced in bed that morning in thick ink. She had resented and hated the line. But crossing it seemed like risky behavior, especially on a night when Mei was all vulnerability, a thousand raw nerves poking through her skin. Bette didn’t want it this way, she realized. Mei had been adamant, and nothing had truly changed. Bette wanted to celebrate the moment they got back together, not feel conflicted about it.

“I don’t think—” Bette said, feeling responsible for doing the right thing, the thing that neither of them would regret tomorrow. “I don’t want you to—I don’t know, I mean, I feel like we shouldn’t—”

“No, I’m sorry, you’re right,” Mei said, her voice resigned, and Bette didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. She settled on an overwhelming combination of both. “Let’s go home.”

“Home,” Bette agreed. It wouldn’t be long now. After all, she was on the fridge, she thought, feeling warm embers flare in her belly. Sitting there, on the fridge, confidently, waiting for the break to be over.