Chapter 22 #2
Diane raises both eyebrows. Clara waves it off.
"I didn't think you'd come," she shrugs, "but Elizabeth always bets on you. So now you're here and I'm twenty dollars poorer."
"I can leave right now." Diane's flat response loses its edge when she sits down next to her friend.
"Here you go, sweetheart." Elizabeth hands Diane a glass of homemade lemonade.
"Now be good and tell your friend what's going on.
" She lifts a finger and points it at Diane.
"The truth, Diane Carter, because she's been worried sick about you for weeks.
We both have, but she's driving me absolutely crazy.
" The woman gives her a soft pat on the back and retraces her steps into the kitchen.
Clara sits up, picks up her glass, and takes a long drink.
"I know you like to keep certain things to yourself," she begins, "but we can't keep pretending nothing's wrong. I know you're worried about the lump, but that was only a week ago—you've been like this for much longer."
All at once, the weight in Diane's shoulders pulls her completely under. She couldn't explain exactly why, but right now her mental exhaustion reaches a point that feels almost physical.
She has no one but Clara—and Elizabeth by extension—and she's being completely pathetic, trying to hide what's happening from the person who knows her best.
"I'm in love with Cassidy. Cassidy Collins," she says.
"Okay—so what's wrong? Isn't it working between you two, or what?"
Diane furrows her brow and a twitch flickers in her left eye. What kind of question is that? It's not the reaction she expected—she had braced for surprise, wide eyes, a hand pressed to a chest.
"I know you, Diane. And even though I didn't have it fully confirmed, and I didn't know how deep it went, I've suspected something was happening with her for a long time.
" Clara runs a hand through her short hair as she watches her.
"You stopped growling at her. You started looking at her for too long.
You talked about her more than you should have.
I'll admit I thought it was just something casual between you two every now and then—the real surprise is that you're actually in love. "
Diane props her elbows on her thighs and drops her head, something defeated in the gesture. It's not a posture anyone has seen from her in at least two decades, but right now she feels completely broken.
"I don't know what we had." She clicks her tongue and presses two fingers to the bridge of her nose, squeezing hard—it hurts, and she needs the pain to think straight.
"It was sex, Clara. No expectations, no demands.
And then one day she asks me out. An actual date.
" A bitter laugh escapes her, one that burns in her chest. "Why did she have to go and ruin it like that? We were good. Damn it."
Clara lets the seconds pass. She doesn't want to push her into a corner, so she has to be very careful with her words.
"If you were good," she ventures, "don't you think the natural thing would have been to take the next step?"
The brunette scoffs and drags her hands through her hair, frustrated.
"From the beginning we were both clear that the next step didn't exist for us." She stops and takes a slow breath. "The first time we slept together we couldn't stand each other. We even said it wasn't going to happen again."
"But it did, Diane," the other woman murmurs, "just like the plan to keep it to just a few times fell apart, because familiarity breeds feelings, and I'm guessing you two had plenty of both. How long were you sleeping together?"
Diane bites the inside of her cheek without needing to think about it for long.
"Six months, maybe seven. It ended in December, after we delivered the Alltreck proposal." She shakes her head. "You know what she did? She showed up at my house and told me she wanted a real date with me. She was completely convinced things between us could work."
"And where was she wrong?" Clara asks.
"In every way—can't you see that?" She stands up and pulls off the blue jacket she's wearing. Her whole body suddenly feels like it's burning. "What was she thinking, Clara?" Her voice cracks. "What we had was good. Wanting more was just—it was too much."
Clara gets up from her chair and steps in front of her friend. She places both hands on her shoulders, trying to give her something steady.
"So that day you turned her down, and the two of you haven't seen each other outside of work since?"
Diane shakes her head and has to take a moment to loosen the knot in her chest.
"At the office it's been nothing but cordiality and professionalism.
" There's anger in her voice, as if some selfish part of her expected the girl to come back and ask for a chance, or start treating her badly—to do something that would show her it mattered.
"The few times we've been alone together, it's like nothing ever happened between us. "
"And clearly that bothers you quite a bit," Clara notes, squeezing her shoulders. "And still, you're sure you don't want to give yourself a chance with her?"
Diane can't stand the pressure, so she shifts away and drops back into the chair she'd been sitting in. Clara does the same but gives her space.
"What do you think will happen in five years if we're together?
" Diane asks, an edge in her voice. "When I refuse to hold her hand in public, or lean in close to her at a restaurant, or go on vacation somewhere people might recognize us.
" She shakes her head, making a string of dismissive sounds.
"I'm not going to tank her career or whatever's left of mine. "
Clara tries—she really does—to keep the look of shock from being grotesque or visceral, but she can tell from her friend's expression that she's failed.
"For God's sake, Diane, you're not royalty and you don't represent a political party.
" She opens her hands for emphasis. "You're two women who work for a large consulting firm.
That's it. I don't know what you're afraid of, but I can see you suffering over Cassidy when everything could so easily be different. "
"No, it's not that simple," Diane pushes back, and goes quiet for a moment before continuing.
"Clara, you and I were together for three years.
I loved you like crazy, and I still couldn't manage to share a home with you.
I did the right thing—you got to where you wanted to be at Whitestone, and I kept my position.
If it had gone any other way, we both would have failed.
That's what happens when a woman lets herself be vulnerable by loving another woman in public. "
Clara Fitzgerald has heard some wild things in her life, but this one has stopped her cold.
What she and Diane had ended because Diane chose alcohol over the relationship—though now, thinking about it, maybe she would have chosen anything over actually being with her, given her complete inability to let herself be seen as she really is.
Clara can see it in her eyes: Diane Carter is terrified, flooded with panic at the thought of losing a status she's clawed her way to since she was a confused teenager.
Clara finds it hard to believe she'd rather keep that position—shattered on the inside—than take a single step toward what she actually wants.
And yet she can't bring herself to judge her.
Despite all the years she's spent by her side, there are so many things she doesn't know about her that she doesn't dare try to get inside her head and read exactly what it was that locked her into thinking this way.
"Alright, I understand." She runs a gentle hand along her arm. "I just want you to be okay, all right? It seems like you're struggling to pull yourself out of this, and I would love to see you be yourself again."
Diane can't even remember who she was before Cassidy came into her life. She knows it sounds pathetic, but that girl changed so many things in her that now the past blurs in her mind.
"I'm doing fine," she answers with a firmness that sounds almost convincing. "And if there's anything left of this—it'll pass."
A burst of noise comes from the kitchen, and they both turn to find a group of women who have just arrived.
Clara sighs—she would have liked more time, because she knows Diane is the kind of person who opens up once and never again.
She puts a hand on her arm, gives it an affectionate squeeze, and stands up.
"Come on. Let's see if we can have a little fun."
Diane feels a low hum in her ears, telling her that fun, of all things, is definitely not on the menu tonight.