Chapter Twelve #2
Terry was tough and outdoorsy, a stone butch in Blundstones who was a secret softy without much interest in the arts. Back then, to the teens, she’d been a curiosity; she was an adult they didn’t have permission to ask about. Now Jazz spoke more openly about their life together, and why it ended.
They’d gotten together young, lived as “roommates” until both sets of parents passed, and, Jazz recalled with a laugh, Ellen DeGeneres told the world Yep, I’m gay, which changed everything.
They never legally married, but in their fifties, they’d held a ceremony for friends.
Terry, raised in Arizona, struggled with East Coast winters and longed to return West, to the heat and silence of the desert.
She did, just after she and Jazz split, over a decade ago.
But despite the breakup, they remained close, speaking weekly until Jazz went to live with her during lockdown—and ended up staying through all of it, and then some.
“So, I don’t think of it as a failed relationship,” Jazz said, her elbows propped up on the table. “We were together for forty-five years, and we’ll always be family. That’s not a failure in my book.”
Everyone agreed it wasn’t.
Annie’s eyes slid to Lola, who didn’t meet her gaze. Love could shape you, break you, and save you all at once. Annie ached with how much she wanted all that. With how much she couldn’t say.
“So, no regrets?” Dylan asked, shaking some hot sauce onto their taco.
Jazz exhaled, thoughtful. “I would’ve loved to be a parent. But it wasn’t in the cards. Back then, we were fighting for the most basic rights. Gay marriage was a fantasy, let alone donor sperm or adoption.” She shook her head, both amused and wistful. “Things have changed so much, so fast.”
“A bittersweet victory,” Vicky suggested softly, “to see the generation behind you enjoy the spoils. What’s left of them.”
“It’s complicated,” Jazz allowed. “For everyone. Some things are better for the younger generation, and some are much worse. But I did like hearing all the kids in our play share their identities.” She chuckled.
“I would’ve put my mother in an early grave if I’d announced I was a bisexual socialist vegan. ”
“Same,” Dylan said with a laugh. “The kids these days are dope.”
“I often think how it would’ve been different for us,” Lola said, a little abruptly. She’d been silent until now, listening without sharing. Everyone shifted to face her. “If we’d all been out, back then,” she went on, her gaze alighting on Annie. “If it wasn’t a secret.”
Her words gave Annie full-body chills. That sentence opened a door she’d spent twenty years trying to bolt shut.
If it wasn’t a secret, she and Lola might’ve been high school sweethearts, freed from the pressure and uncertainty of sneaking around, wondering what people would say.
What her gran would think. Pearl had been kindhearted but she was still of her era.
The few times Annie nudged sexuality into a conversation, Pearl became uneasy, reacting as if all gay people were stricken with a terminal disease, deserving of sympathy but only from a distance.
Teenage Annie wanted to safeguard against any danger.
Adult Annie wondered if that’d been the right decision.
It was another world to imagine the freedom the teens in the play didn’t even realize they had. It made Annie feel old, at thirty-six. Old and a little sad.
If she’d been brave enough, back then, to tell the truth—to herself, to Lola—maybe things would’ve been different.
Maybe they still could be.
· · ·
After dinner, Jazz went to bed while the quartet did the dishes.
“You know what’s crazy?” Vicky said, hands in the sudsy sink. “I was at least twenty-five by the time I realized that Jazz had masterminded our friendships like a gay fairy godmother.”
Annie frowned as she dried a glass. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean casting all the queer girls and theys in a one-hundred-mile radius,” Vicky said, like it was obvious.
Annie and Dylan stared back uncomprehendingly.
Vicky looked alarmed. “You thought it was a coincidence we were all gayer than Christmas?”
Yes, that was exactly what Annie had thought. “I was today years old when I figured that out.”
A look of understanding dawned across Dylan’s face. “Wait, so it wasn’t just…”
“Fate?” Vicky barked an amazed laugh and swung to Lola. “Tell me you knew.”
“I’d guessed something like that,” Lola said, “but I wasn’t twenty-five. More like seventeen.”
“When you were on tour with To Kill a Mockingbird,” Vicky deduced. “After you left Rhodes.”
Lola’s gaze stutter-stepped over Annie, before bouncing off. “Yeah. Back then.” She scraped leftovers into the compost. “So, do you miss work, Vicky?”
“Like a phantom limb,” Vicky replied wistfully, scrubbing a plate. “But the sabbatical’s growing on me.”
Dylan flipped a dish towel over one shoulder and faced Vicky. “Y’know, I mentioned this so-called sabbatical of yours to a lawyer friend and he said a partner in a law firm of your size taking an entire month off was basically unheard of.”
Annie expected Vicky to tell Dylan they didn’t know shit. But instead, Vicky narrowed her eyes and began to blush.
Annie stood up straighter. Was Dylan right? This wasn’t a sabbatical?
“You don’t have to tell us,” Dylan said, taking a few steps toward Vicky. “But if you want to tell us, because secrets will drive you cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, you know you can trust us.”
Vicky blew out a breath. She grabbed the dish towel from Dylan’s shoulder to wipe her hands clean. “Okay, whatever. Just don’t tell anyone.”
“Of course,” Annie said, as Lola and Dylan nodded in agreement.
“It’s not a big deal,” Vicky said, “and it’s my own stupid fault. Ugh, this is going to sound so dramatic.”
An odd feeling of past and present commingled in the yellow-tiled kitchen. The four of them huddled around, whispering secrets. But they weren’t gossiping teenagers elevating the everyday into breaking news. They were adults. Annie braced herself for the worst.
“Right before I got Jazz’s message,” Vicky said, “there was an…incident. I was in court, representing the wife of this sleazy billionaire tech guy—they’re always the worst—making my closing arguments in front of the judge and jury, and all of a sudden, I had…a…” Vicky cringed, trailing off.
“You had a…past life experience,” Lola volunteered.
“Realization you hate the law and want to be a small-town actor,” Annie tried.
“Baby?” Dylan guessed.
Vicky gave them a scornful look. “Yep, that’s it. I had a baby, in a courtroom, and now I’m up here, rehearsing for a play all month. Mother of the Year.”
“Okay, okay.” Dylan made a go on motion, twirling their fingers.
“All right, don’t overreact,” Vicky said, “but I sort of had a minor…well, not that minor…heart attack.”
The trio’s mouths fell open. Annie went ice-cold. “What?” she squeaked.
“You had a heart attack?” Lola’s eyes were the size of boulders. “But you’re only thirty-seven!”
All of the color drained from Dylan’s face. They looked like they’d not just seen a ghost, but become one. “Vee,” they choked out. “Fuck.”
“I know, I know!” Vicky spoke quickly. “I’d always gone hard, but this year was especially bad.
I was sleeping four hours a night, living on Taco Bell and espresso.
My stress levels were through the fricking roof.
I’d felt some chest pains and stuff, but just ignored it all, kept powering through.
Then all of a sudden, I pass out in court and wake up in a hospital bed in Mount Sinai.
The next day. I’d been asleep for twenty-four hours. ”
“Holy shit.” Dylan clutched Vicky’s arm.
“Yeah, I know,” Vicky said, looking chagrined. “My doctor put me on blood pressure meds and said take the summer off—no stress, at all, eat better, start sleeping—or I’d be back in the hospital, in a freaking body bag. So technically I am on sabbatical because if I wasn’t, I’d be, like, dead.”
For a long moment, no one said anything.
Annie felt numb. Stricken. What if Vicky hadn’t woken up in that hospital bed?
What if Jazz’s message wasn’t about a revival, but an invitation to a funeral?
She wanted to go back in time and sit Vicky down.
Tell her to sleep. Eat. Breathe. Tell her she was loved.
That she didn’t have to earn her right to rest.
Next to her, Lola shifted closer, putting a hand on Annie’s shoulder. Annie clamped her own hand over it, holding it tight.
Dylan grasped Vicky’s arm, their eyes dark with something between concern and longing. “Jesus, Vicky. I can’t believe you came so close to…” They broke off, shaking their head. “I could’ve—we could’ve lost you.”
“You guys, I’m fine,” Vicky insisted. “I’m already feeling way better.
I’m not working like that anymore so I’m getting a semi-normal amount of sleep and trying to eat healthy, obviously.
I’m seeing a good cardiologist—I have an appointment with her next week, actually.
Stop looking at me like I’m dead!” She shooed them all back.
Dylan let go of Vicky’s arm reluctantly. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
“I didn’t want to make things weird,” Vicky said. “I was embarrassed. But telling you guys actually feels really good.”
Annie could see it—the weight lifting off Vicky’s shoulders the moment she stopped hiding. A little lightness in her expression that hadn’t been there before.
“The scary part is over,” Vicky went on. “Now I just want to do the play and have a fun month with you all. Okay?”
“Okay,” Annie and Lola agreed.
“Okay,” Dylan said, sounding less sure.
“Okay, Rogers?” Vicky prompted them, poking Dylan in the ribs. “Can you be normal or is that beyond your very limited skill set?”
“Fuck off,” Dylan said with a wobbly grin. “No more limited than the cool part of your wardrobe.”
“Oh, burn,” Vicky said with a relieved giggle.
Lola and Dylan returned to cleaning up. Annie went to Vicky, pulling her into a long hug. “I am not okay with almost losing you,” she whispered. “I love you, Vee.”
For a moment, Vicky went rigid. Then she softened, meeting Annie’s eyes with a sheepish, grateful smile. “Thanks,” she mumbled, hugging Annie back.
· · ·
Later, Lola walked Annie to the front porch. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Annie nodded. “Gonna be great. Or mediocre. Or truly terrible but ruh-roh, we’ve already committed.”
Lola chuckled, and the sound winged its way up, through the tree branches. She really did have such a pretty laugh. If only Annie could tell her that.
If only she could tell her a lot of things.
“Night.” Annie instinctively opened her arms, second-guessed herself, then decided to go for it, which, regrettably, ended in patting Lola’s back like a benevolent uncle.
“And the award for the world’s most awkward hug goes to…
us! We did it. Huge thanks to my poor spatial awareness and the Academy of Making Things Weird. ”
Lola laughed again, eyes bright, and Annie was struck by how much she wanted to keep doing that. Keep making Lola Wilson laugh.
Lola’s smile was soft and a little dreamy. It was late and they’d both drunk their fair share of wine, but nonetheless something about her gaze felt newly intimate. “Still the funniest girl I’ve ever met.”
Annie flushed with the compliment. “C’mon. I’m sure you’ve met, like, actual comedians.”
“And they don’t have anything on Annie Elizabeth Lightfoot.”
Something about the way Lola said her name—low, a little teasing, almost sexy—made Annie’s skin prickle. “Well, you still win Best Hair.”
Lola rolled her eyes.
That wasn’t a good compliment. Lola was so much more than her looks. “And Best Attitude,” Annie added. “Hardest Worker. Biggest Heart.”
This won a nod of appreciation. “Well, thanks.”
They smiled at each other, and for the first time since Lola Wilson returned, it didn’t feel weird or forced. It felt warm and good. They didn’t look away.
God, Annie wanted more. To touch Lola’s hand. Step close enough to smell her skin, her hair.
A ping of electricity zipped between them. Annie inhaled, but it was already gone.
She edged back. “Better go before I turn into a pumpkin. Orange is not my color.”
Finally breaking their gaze, she turned and trotted down the stairs.
“What other factors?”
Lola’s question caught her mid-step. Annie spun around, staring up at her.
Lola had heard the conversation in the kitchen.
“What other factors were there?” Lola repeated with quiet insistence. “In our breakup?”
Annie’s mouth opened, but no sound came. Her pulse fluttered like a moth pinned under glass. “I—uh—have to go.”
She could feel Lola’s eyes on her back—steady, unblinking.
Annie had no idea what Lola suspected. Only that the wall Annie had built around herself—around the past—was starting to crack. And that the urge to tear it all down was getting stronger.