Chapter Nine #2
The silence stretched on for several moments, the classical music emanating from Jenna’s Bluetooth speaker on top of the fridge the only sound.
Vivaldi, she thought. She didn’t push. She understood the need sometimes for silence, the need to simply be.
Sawyer was clearly hurt by whatever had just happened on the porch, and Jenna could admit to her own curiosity, but she also understood privacy, so she didn’t ask.
She cooked and sipped and waited. Ground beef went into the pot once the onions had softened.
She stirred it around until there was only a little pink left, then added a can of crushed tomatoes.
She stirred some more, the kitchen beginning to smell delicious, and that’s when Sawyer finally spoke.
“That was Amanda. My ex.”
Jenna nodded to show she’d heard, but said nothing more, waiting for Sawyer to speak at her own pace.
“I saw her for five years.”
“Long time.” She pulled cumin, chili powder, and onion powder out of her spice cupboard. She glanced at Sawyer, backtracking to the odd choice of words. “Saw her?”
“She was with her wife, Cindy, the whole time.”
When Jenna turned her gaze to Sawyer, the blue eyes flashed, as if daring her to judge.
“In my defense, she said she was going to leave. She said they were unhappy, sleeping in separate rooms, and that she was just waiting for the right time to tell her she was leaving her.” Sawyer shifted her gaze to Arnold by her feet, and she bent down to stroke his brown-and-white head.
Again, Jenna didn’t speak, she just waited. She had the feeling Sawyer needed to get this all out but that it was also painful, and she needed to do it slowly, at her own pace.
A moment passed before she spoke again. “I believed her, like an idiot, and it went on like that for five years. Me believing. Me waiting. Her not leaving.”
“Ouch,” Jenna said.
Sawyer snorted a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah. Such a classic, dumb thing, right? Believing that.” She took a sip of her wine, then returned to petting Arnold.
Jenna added a small can of green chilis to the pot, along with another can of crushed tomatoes, and stirred some more. She was opening the cans of beans when Sawyer spoke again.
“I’d finally had enough. Of the promises.
Of the waiting. Took me five years—five fucking years of my life—but I finally realized she was never going to leave Cindy, that she couldn’t, that she didn’t know how, and she never would.
I could never grasp the hold Cindy had on her, but whatever it was, it was stronger than any connection Amanda and I had.
And the waiting had become brutal. I didn’t like that I was with somebody who was still with somebody else.
I was never first. I was never the priority.
When I’d complain about that, she’d talk down to me, make it sound like I was being petty and whiny and selfish.
I started to feel really shitty about myself because she made me feel like I had no value, like I didn’t matter to her, like I was a bad person for getting involved in the first place. You know?”
When Jenna looked at her, there was such pain in Sawyer’s blue eyes, it made her own breath catch in her throat. She nodded.
“So, after many failed attempts and threats to break it off, I finally found my spine and did. I broke it off, and I meant it.”
“That had to be hard,” Jenna said.
“Hardest thing I’ve ever done.” She took another sip of wine. “I was destroyed. Devastated. And it’s weird how, in a situation like this, part of you hopes the other person is, too, because that would show that you did actually mean something to them. You know?”
Jenna nodded and Sawyer went on. “No such luck for me. Amanda moved on with somebody else in about two months.”
Jenna grimaced. “Oh, ouch,” she said again.
“Yeah. Christine, this chick from her office. I met her once at a bar, and I knew right away that there was something between them. It was obvious. So, when I found out, I was hurt but not surprised. If I could’ve said one thing to Christine, it would’ve been ‘Good luck, babe. She’ll never leave Cindy. ’ ”
Jenna added the drained beans to the chili and stirred them in, riveted by the story Sawyer was telling her, heart aching for her.
“And then…” This time, Sawyer’s eyes welled up as she glanced off into the middle distance.
“She shows up today—I didn’t give her my new address, by the way; she hunted me down—she shows up today to tell me she’s left Cindy.
She’s moved out. Actually moved out.” Her eyes widened and she shook her head as if she couldn’t believe the words she’d just uttered.
She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.
“So I guess it wasn’t that she didn’t want to leave Cindy.
She just didn’t want to leave her to be with me. ”
“Oh, Sawyer.” Jenna didn’t want to sound full of pity, because she didn’t think that’s what Sawyer wanted from this discussion, but she couldn’t help it. What an awful fucking thing.
“And you know what the worst part is? I think she wanted me to be happy for her.” Sawyer’s sarcastic laugh rang through the kitchen.
“I’m so sorry. That had to be hard.”
“We’re so different, she and I. We always have been.
She can turn her emotions on and off like that.
” She snapped her fingers. “As soon as we broke up, she flipped a switch and we went from lovers to friends for her. Just like that. Well, I’m not wired that way, and like I said, I was crushed.
My poor therapist has gotten so many earfuls.
” This time, her soft laugh was genuine.
“Sounds like Amanda could use some therapy,” Jenna said.
Sawyer snorted. “I always thought so, but she was totally against it. When hell freezes over. That’s when Amanda Gentry would go to therapy. Well, guess what?”
Jenna stared at her. “Has hell frozen over?”
“Apparently.”
“Wow.”
“Right? Jesus.”
Jenna refilled their wine glasses, then put a lid partway on the pot and turned the heat down to a simmer.
Taking the chair opposite Sawyer, she sat and held her stemless wine glass between both hands, her forearms on the table.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” she said softly. “I wish I could help.”
Sawyer met her gaze across the table and smiled gently. “You are.”
Jenna smiled back and they stayed that way for a long moment. “So. How about we move to the living room and get more comfortable? The chili needs about twenty more minutes and then we can eat.”
Sawyer’s expression was uncertain. “Are you sure? I don’t mean to impinge on your Sunday evening.”
“You’re not impinging. You’re joining me. I was going to eat some chili and maybe watch a movie, and now you’re here to keep me company. Simple as that.”
Sawyer pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled, and Jenna was pretty sure she could see relief there on her smooth, expressive face. It was definitely there in those eyes. “Okay.”
“Go make yourself comfy. And fair warning: Cats will appear out of nowhere and want to lie on you. I have no control over that. I apologize in advance.”
Sawyer laughed as she stood and headed down the hall. “I will not complain about something furry that wants to snuggle with me.”
Jenna watched her retreat, wine in her hand, her blanket still wrapped around her shoulders.
It was both amusing and sweet, and seeing Sawyer so casually in her space stirred something within her, something she wasn’t sure she wanted to acknowledge.
Something she wasn’t sure she should acknowledge. Not just yet.
She smiled into the chili as she gave it another stir.
There was a humming.
No. A vibration.
Soft. Quiet. But there.
She could feel it in her skin, low and comforting.
Sawyer swam up from the depths of sleep, where she’d been tucked up safe and warm and comfortable. Until the vibration. Slowly taking stock of her limbs, she found it odd she couldn’t move her right leg. Or her right arm, now that she tried.
She opened her eyes to see large green ones staring down at her from the back of the couch. The couch that wasn’t hers. The cat was purring softly.
It took her a moment, but her memory caught up. Jenna’s place. She was at Jenna’s place. On Jenna’s couch with Jenna’s cat staring down at her from the back of it—was he judging her?—and under her grandmother’s blanket as well as—
Oh my God.
Brown hair with highlights of rusty red lay just beneath her chin, smelling like the comfort and sweetness of autumn—cinnamon and cloves and nutmeg, and what kind of shampoo smelled like that?
She inhaled anyway, deeply, taking it in, letting it fill her lungs with a feeling of warmth, as she tried not to panic over the realization that Jenna was draped over her fully, tucked up against her, sleeping soundly, her long breaths deep and even.
Racking her brain to remember the hours before, she recalled them watching a scary movie—a surprising choice for somebody who immerses herself in romance, she’d pointed out—and they’d sat close in order to grab onto each other during the jump scares, which they did, then ended up laughing each time.
Sawyer hadn’t been quite ready to leave yet, despite her own yawning, and Jenna had said she was enjoying herself, too.
Then she’d suggested another movie, a drama this time.
Jenna had clicked the fireplace on, which was still burning, turned off the lights, and inched a bit closer so they could share Sawyer’s blanket.
That was all Sawyer remembered. She must’ve fallen asleep right after that. Jenna must have, as well, though the TV was off.
Interesting fact, that.
Because instead of turning off the TV and waking Sawyer up to send her home, Jenna must have turned off the TV and snuggled in.
Sawyer wasn’t mad about it.