Chapter 16
THE BUNGALOW
The following night, Aubrey texted me at work. I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing up RuPaw’s latest revenge vomit (She’s mad because I didn’t let her knead Rook’s cape, Hannah had quipped), when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Aubrey Calhoun: Hi … are you off work soon? If so, is there any chance you could come over?
Me: Is everything okay?
The text bubble appeared, disappeared. And then finally:
Aubrey Calhoun: Not really.
My pulse tripped. I clambered to my feet and anxiously approached the counter. “Hannah.”
Hannah looked up from the closing checklist. “What’s up?”
I showed her Aubrey’s text messages. Her brow furrowed with concern, and I could tell she was thinking the same thing I was: that something had happened between Aubrey and her dad after he’d caught her at the bar yesterday.
Had he laid into her? Punished her? Had her plan to escape to college gone off the rails?
“I’m sure she’s fine,” I said, trying to manage my racing brain. “I’ll check on her after we close.”
“No,” Hannah said, giving me a deep look. “I’ll handle closing. Go now. And please let us know if we can help.”
I didn’t need her to tell me twice.
When I pulled into the Calhouns’ driveway fifteen minutes later, a lone figure leapt up from a rocking chair on the porch. She skittered to the driveway like a nervous squirrel, her face white beneath the floodlights. I climbed out of the Cadillac and steeled myself.
“Hey,” I said, “are you—?”
Before I could finish the question, Aubrey was in my arms, clinging to me so tightly that it physically hurt. I could feel her shaking against my rib cage.
“Oh,” I said softly, rubbing her back on instinct. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“I can’t do this,” she said, her voice tight.
“It’s okay,” I repeated, trying to steady her shaking body. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
When she finally pulled away, she looked stricken and off-balance.
Her eyes were vacant and lighter colored than usual.
She was dressed in an old cotton T-shirt and running shorts with her hair twisted up in a messy topknot.
It was the least put together I’d ever seen her, the polished veneer completely forgotten.
“Thanks for coming over,” Aubrey said, not meeting my eyes. She jabbed her bare toes against the concrete driveway.
“Where are your parents?” I asked.
“Mom went to visit Aunt Kathy.” Aubrey’s voice cracked the tiniest sliver, and I understood that her parents had gotten into another bad fight. “Dad is … Who the fuck even knows where Dad is. I disabled the cameras just in case.”
“Let’s sit down and talk, okay?” I said gently, nudging her toward the rocking chairs.
We sat side by side on the stately front porch, and for a moment there was no sound except the insects and birdcalls. I snuck a sideways glance at Aubrey, who was staring out over the treetops, her eyes still vacant.
“My dad had words with me today. About catching me at the Cricket.”
I waited.
When Aubrey turned to me, the pleading in her eyes was so naked that it took my breath away. “How did you do this, Louisa?”
I didn’t know how to answer her, or whether she wanted an answer at all. I simply looked at her, and when she began to cry, I let her.
“I’m sorry,” she said between sobs.
“Please don’t say that.” I leaned over and pulled her head onto my shoulder. “Just let it out. Let it out.”
Aubrey coiled in on herself, but then she let go, crying into my shoulder, her sobs muffled by my T-shirt.
“You’re okay,” I said softly, brushing a hand down her face.
“The past year, I just kept telling myself, Just get to college,” Aubrey cried.
“Just—how do we know we’ll be happy? How do we know this is really worth it?
I know coming out is, like, a leap of faith or whatever, but for just once I want the reassurance of what’s waiting on the other side.
A sneak peek of how happy I could be, who my friends will be, who my girlfriend or wife or whatever-the-fuck will be. ”
I pictured Hannah and Baker, happily in love, surrounded by queer friends, planning their dream wedding. And I remembered what Hannah had said less than an hour ago.
Let us know if we can help.
“Aubrey,” I said, bringing my rocking chair to a halt. “Will you take a drive with me?”
Hannah and Baker turned the porch light on for us.
I squinted at the mailbox number to confirm we were in the right place, then swung the Caddy into their driveway and gazed out at a small, charming bungalow with rocking chairs on the porch.
A sturdy magnolia tree towered over the yard, its branches hung with birdhouses and hummingbird feeders.
As we slipped out of the car, the front door opened and Hannah and Baker appeared, both wearing pajamas, their wan faces glowing in the golden porch light.
“Hey, freshman,” Hannah said softly, pulling me in for a hug. Then she opened her arms to Aubrey and embraced her like a mother would, tucking Aubrey’s chin over her shoulder and smoothing a hand down her hair. Aubrey went rigid, then gave herself over to it and hugged Hannah back.
“Come on in,” Baker said kindly, leading us over the threshold.
Warmth. That was my immediate feeling stepping into their home.
Soft amber lighting, cozy blankets strewn across the couch, and built-in shelves overflowing with books.
It was like a shimmering sunbeam in which I could curl up, exhale, and rest. I glanced at Aubrey and saw the same expression of wonder mirrored on her face.
There was a loud bark as a shaggy dog rounded the couch and nuzzled into Aubrey’s thigh. Aubrey immediately knelt down and cradled the dog’s head.
“This is Jolene,” Baker said with a smile in her voice, clearly pleased that Aubrey had taken to her immediately. “She loves new people.”
“Hi, sweetheart,” Aubrey whispered, tucking her face into Jolene’s fur.
“Baker made tea,” Hannah said. “Chamomile. Y’all want a cup?”
They led us into the open kitchen and gestured for us to sit at the island counter, a heavy wooden block with age-old grooves and stains.
The screen door was open to the nighttime sounds of the backyard.
I let my eyes dance across the pastel walls, the kitschy artwork of the Gulf Coast, the ceramic cross hanging above the sink.
The bright yellow teapot sat on the stove and a fancy espresso machine took up most of the corner counter.
The refrigerator showcased all the pieces of their shared life: a postcard from Paris; a magnet for the Rustin Animal Hospital; an SEC football schedule with LSU’s games highlighted.
A faded Post-it note, curling from age, was covered in spiky cursive that read Love you—have the best day!
It scared me and enthralled me at the same time, because this was the first true glimpse I had of my future.
It was a challenge that said, One day, you can have this, too.
And sitting there, I realized I did want it: not so much this exact home, but the promise of it.
The idea of creating a safe haven, a soft place to land, with another woman.
I wanted what Uncle George had never allowed himself to want.
Hannah leaned her elbows on the counter and started chatting like we had dropped in for a normal visit, telling us how the house was built in the 1930s, how they were planning to redo the backyard, how the real estate agent had asked if they were sisters when she first met them.
Baker busied herself with steeping the tea bags, fetching the cream from the refrigerator, stirring the honey in a way that seemed routine.
She let Hannah talk in what I had come to realize was their usual arrangement, Hannah filling the silence with words, Baker creating the hum in the background.
They seemed for all the world like they were used to having a couple of anxious teenagers in their kitchen in the middle of the night.
“I’m so sorry for disrupting your night,” Aubrey said eventually.
“Yeah, huge disruption,” Hannah said dryly. “Totally threw us off our rhythm of lying in bed, eating tortilla chips, and watching Criminal Minds.”
“You weren’t sleeping?” I asked.
“Pssshh. We’re so young and vibrant, always partying, never sleeping.”
Baker set our tea mugs in front of us. Tendrils of steam swirled up to cradle my face. “You never have to apologize for needing a safe space, Aubrey.” She turned to me. “You either, Louisa.”
“So tell us,” Hannah said gently. “What’s going on?”
Aubrey crossed one leg over the other and cupped her hands in her lap. She seemed determined to appear put together even in the midst of everything. “Well,” she started, using that clean, proper voice I assumed she used on the alumni interviewer, “I’m … I’m gay.”
Her words landed in the silence. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Hannah nodded vigorously and said, “Same.”
I snorted and shook my head while Baker rolled her eyes, but we could both see that Hannah’s stupid joke had done the trick: Aubrey’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and the hint of a smile crossed her face.
“Have you ever said that before?” Baker asked kindly.
Aubrey glanced at me. “Only to Louisa.”
“How does it feel?” Hannah asked.
“Scary. And also like I’m not doing it right.”
“Is there a right way to do it?”
Aubrey bit her lip. “Sometimes it seems that way. I just, um … I’m having a hard time, like, getting my arms around it.
” She lowered her head. “My dad had words with me after he caught me at the bar yesterday and I just … I wanted to tell him the truth, to stand up and be like, This is who I am, but I—I don’t think I’m brave enough. ”