16. Tess
Tess
I only had a beer and a half last night, but I’ve never woken up feeling sicker.
As soon as I roll over to check the time on my alarm clock, my stomach heaves. I wrap an arm around my abdomen, wracking my brain for any hint of what could have possibly given me food poisoning.
Then I remember.
I’m not sick from the food.
I’m sick from the guilt.
I kissed Jacinthe.
‘Kiss’ is way too demure of a verb for what we did together. ‘Make out’ doesn’t even seem to cover it.
It’s more like we fucked with our mouths.
I can still hear the sounds she made. I can still feel her fingers in my hair. I can still taste her, heat and desperation blooming on my tongue.
I wanted to lap her up. I wanted to eat her, like a thief snatching cherry pie off a windowsill to bury my face in the sugared fruit.
I wanted to gorge myself on something that wasn’t meant for me.
“Fucking hell,” I groan into the dimness of my bedroom.
My stomach twists into another sickening knot. I fight against a wave of head rush as I push myself up to a seat. The floorboards are cold on the soles of my feet when I swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
My curtains are only half drawn. Thin, grey pre-dawn light pours in from outside. I spot my outfit from last night slung over the top of a moving box. I don’t remember getting undressed, but somehow, I’m wearing an old pair of boxers.
My stomach settles enough for me to stand. I make it all the way to the bedroom door without incident, but the nausea comes back full swing when I spot the empty hook on the wall beside the fridge.
My gaze drifts to the broken picture frame on the table.
“Shit,” I mutter.
It really happened. There’s no blaming last night on a dream. There isn’t even any chance of blaming it on alcohol.
I did that stone cold sober, and Jacinthe wasn’t far behind me.
I lunge for the sink, bracing my elbows on the cool metal and letting my head hang down into the basin. My vision swims and I cough a few times, but nothing comes up.
I straighten up and flail for a water glass. I set the tap as cold as it will go and gulp down the freezing liquid. When I’m done, I drag the back of my hand across my lips and raise my eyes to the window.
Mist is still clinging to the paddocks. The forest beyond the fields is a patchwork of red and yellow leaves threaded with the spiky lines of empty branches. Everything is cast with an indigo sheen, like the final coat of night soon to be burnt away by the rising sun.
Jacinthe will be out in the yard any minute now. We always meet there just before dawn.
I plant my hands on my hips, my gaze darting between the window and the coffee machine on the counter.
By now, I’d usually have a pot brewing. Shel’s white noise machine would be buzzing up in the loft, loud enough to keep the drip-drop of the coffee stream from waking her up.
On any other morning, I’d fill my travel mug, add a splash of cream from the mini fridge, and throw on my coat and boots before pulling the door shut extra softly behind me.
The grass outside would still be wet with dew, or maybe crunchy with frost now that the weather has turned. My breath would fog the air in front of me. I’d trudge down the path to the barn, and Jacinthe would already be there unlocking the door.
We’d say hi, take a few sips of our coffees, and get to work on the horses.
Today is not any other day.
Today, I watch the sky turn brighter and brighter. I see the minutes tick by on the microwave clock.
I don’t turn the coffeepot on. I don’t return to my bedroom and get dressed. I just stand there, half naked in my tiny kitchen, and I run through every possible way this morning could go.
I could just stay here. I could skip out on barn chores and hide in the house until Jacinthe leaves for the inn.
I could text her. I could scour the internet for some stupid joke or meme that might have a shot at cutting the tension before I have to see her face to face.
I scoff at myself. Nothing is going to make this okay. Nothing is going to make this morning normal.
This is exactly why last night should never have happened at all.
We didn’t do anything more than kiss, and already, doubts, questions, and guilt are crushing our routine into dust.
If I don’t go out there, I’ll be letting her down. She might have told me I don’t have to help her with the horses, but I can’t forget how exhausted she was when she was left handling them alone. I want to help her. I want to be something she can count on.
Then again, maybe she doesn’t want me out there. Maybe she’s disgusted with me. Maybe she thinks I’m a reckless, selfish mother who can’t control her own horny impulses even if it puts her family’s housing at risk.
Maybe she just wants space. Maybe we should go a few days without seeing each other and let last night burn down into ash, until we can write it off as a stupid midnight slip-up we never have to speak of.
A flash of movement in the yard catches my eye.
Jacinthe.
She’s wearing a navy polar fleece, with some mud-streaked blue jeans stuffed into the tops of her rubber boots.
I watch the back of her head as she struts down to the barn, her arms swinging in her usual marching gait.
She’s halfway down the slight slope into the barnyard when she pauses and begins to turn.
I shriek and drop to a squat. The last thing I need is for her to catch me spying with my tits out.
I stay hovering with my knees at an angle no thirty-two year-old should have to endure until exhaustion gets the better of me and I haul myself up with the help of the counter, groaning the whole time.
By then, Jacinthe has disappeared into the barn.
My heart pounds, and for a few seconds, I stand frozen like a deer that’s about to become road kill. Then I spring into action, my body making my decision for me before my mind has a chance to catch up.
I can’t hide in the house all morning like some misbehaving teenager.
I’m an adult. I’m a parent.
I’m also a fuck-up, and the only way I’m going to un-fuck myself is by going out there and addressing my fuck-up head-on.
I’ve got to apologize, and I’ve got to assure Jacinthe last night is never going to happen again.
I rush to my bedroom and pull on a thick hoodie and jeans.
My hair is a mess, but a quick swipe with my fingers will have to suffice for styling today.
By the time I jog down to the barn, Jacinthe is finished with the feeding and is getting the horses ready for turn-out.
I find her clipping a lead-rope to Sam’s halter where he stands with his head hanging over his stall door.
She’s far enough down the aisle that she doesn’t hear me appear in the doorway. I pause on the threshold and watch her.
She strokes Sam’s face after clipping the rope on, running a finger down the white stripe on his nose.
I can’t hear the words from here, but I see her lips move as she murmurs something to him.
There’s a softness to her body language I haven’t seen come out anywhere except with the horses.
It’s like all her sharp edges blur and something rigid inside her finally unclenches.
It’s like she lets herself breathe.
My own breath stalls at the sight. I forget all about announcing myself. I forget what I came out here to say. I forget everything except the way Jacinthe’s lips felt pressed against mine.
So soft.
Even when she was shoving me against the wall and kissing me like she wanted to set our bodies on fire with just the friction of our mouths, her lips were so damn soft.
She gave me that. She gave me her softness, and maybe when it comes to Jacinthe, softness is the rarest gift of all.
“Fucking shit de crisse !”
Jacinthe turns without warning, yelping when she catches me staring at her. Sam startles at the noise, pinning his ears back and jerking his head up hard enough that Jacinthe almost loses her grip on the lead rope.
“Whoa, buddy. ?a va .”
Jacinthe talks him down with a low voice until he’s settled again. Then she looks back at me.
“What the hell are you doing there?”
She sounds more surprised than angry, so I risk taking a few steps down the aisle towards her.
“Shit. I’m so sorry I scared you.”
I pause when I’m still a few feet away, shoving my hands in my pockets and hovering in the middle of the aisle. She waves my apology off.
“ ?a va ,” she repeats.
I don’t feel as soothed by her words as Sam. In fact, the longer I stand here, the louder my pulse gets in my ears.
“I wasn’t sure if you were coming down here this morning,” she says.
She reaches up to stroke Sam’s cheek, a couple creases forming between her eyebrows while she stares down at the floor
“Of course I came down.”
There’s a hollowness to my words, the ‘of course’ landing flat and discordant.
There’s no ‘of course’ to any of this. We’ve blown up the course.
“I’m not going to ghost you all morning just because…because we…”
I clench my hands into fists in my pockets, urging myself to get a grip. If I can’t even say it, how the hell are we supposed to move past it?
“Because we kissed.”
Jacinthe goes stock-still for a second before she bobs her head.
“We sure did,” she says, her voice half an octave higher than usual. “That, uh, happened.”
I can see a trace of pink staining her cheeks, and somehow, despite the catastrophe we’re facing, I can’t help wondering what it would feel like to brush my thumbs over the rosy patches. I wonder what it would take to make her blush harder.
“Jacinthe…”
Her head jerks up at the sound of her name, and she meets my eyes with an expression that almost looks pained.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I suck in a sharp breath, like she’s tossed a bucket of ice cold water in my face.
Her gaze drops back to the floor.
“I should not have kissed you like that.”
Like that.
The words seem to hang in the air, an echo of everything that passed between us last night.
Jacinthe shakes her head.