Chapter 12 #2
“That’s cool. I tried learning Mandarin. Didn’t take.”
“I know nothing but English and some dirty, casual Russian. My Spanish classes in high school have not stuck.”
“It’s the true American way. Everyone is monolingual unless they secretly aren’t.”
“Monolingual, immigrants, or overachievers who speak several languages a piece, none of them very well.”
Nala had met a ton of those since moving to Portland.
They always knew Spanish, German, and Japanese.
Always Japanese, as she was reminded when they started up a winding walkway surrounded by bilingual signs.
“Anyway, you like this place? Your favorite in the whole city?”
“That’s open right now, yeah.” Lo’ and behold, Varen pulled out a pass as they approached the front gate.
Tourists mingled in the gravelly entrance.
Schoolchildren complained about wanting to go home.
An artist carted in an easel and set of paints, and a plethora of photographers took turns coming in and out with their heavy equipment.
It was the sort of sight Nala expected to see at one of these places.
She had heard the Japanese Gardens of Portland were world-class but had never gotten around to going.
It cost money to go there and get in, after all.
Varen flashed her pass and announced that Nala was her complimentary guest.
“Come on.” Varen motioned for her date to follow. “Check this place out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nala followed with a lackadaisical smile, but it was Varen who stopped and glimpsed at her with a tired expression. Don’t like me even joking about that, huh? Fine. Nala could mind herself, especially if another paycheck was on the line.
The gardens had no particular route to follow.
Some people went right, some went left, and all wandered around aimlessly.
The occasional sign pointed the way to a landmark, like the Zen garden or teahouse.
For every corner that was devoid of life and as tranquil as one’s blank mind, there was another packed with people taking pictures and pointing out different plants to one another.
Nala didn’t know anything about that. She knew nothing about gardening, art, or even much about East Asian culture.
She says she took Mandarin. Is that similar to Japanese?
She would never ask that out loud, out of fear of embarrassing herself.
For all she knew, it was like asking if there was a difference between Spanish and German.
The two of them walked along a single path, stopping here and there to observe something in silence.
Sometimes Varen would catch her attention regarding a leaf or the way plants were laid out.
Other times, Nala held up their progression so she could squint and read a sign. It was interesting, to say the least.
So what does this woman like about this place?
Varen looked neither bored nor enthralled.
She walked and spoke as she always did, mouth taut and eyes narrowed.
She often looked as if she were about two seconds away from either popping a man’s head off or lying down for a long nap.
Before, Nala assumed she was a stoic, antisocial mess who worked too much and didn’t care about “fun.”
Now, knowing what she did about Varen’s past, she realized that a lot of the fog swarming her frame was that familiar face of grief.
This woman was in as much pain as Nala. Because of Xan Ravenwood?
Nala continued to steal glances at Varen as they stood in front of a pond, watching carp swim in their brilliant orange glory.
Varen’s eyes followed every trail they weaved, her face finally relaxing.
Nala half expected her to say, “I used to come here with Desirée all the time.”
They were in love. Nala didn’t need to be told that.
Varen wouldn’t be vengeful if Desirée was “just” a classmate whose project was completed in her memory.
She may keep an interest in finding out what really happened to her, but she wouldn’t go as far as she has.
She wouldn’t have infiltrated The Aviary, let alone with a woman she just met.
They were really in love. Ravenwood had crossed the wrong woman.
Somehow, Nala had been lucky to meet her.
Varen sat on an empty bench overlooking a wide, man-made lake en route to the teahouse.
It was quieter here, although some people continued to pass by.
Nala lingered by the railing, watching the water ripple and trees sway in the breeze, before quietly sitting next to Varen and trying to see what she saw.
Peace. Reverie. A slice of the world that was built for meditation and reflection. Even Nala, who shivered beneath her hoodie and had to stuff her hands in her front pockets, had to admit that the world was a better place when she sat here.
“It’s a nice spot.” Her voice acted as if it broke the fragile glass surrounding Varen’s space. She turned her head toward her, elbows resting on her bent knees.
“I can see why you like it. No one bothers you here.”
“It’s easy to sort out my thoughts. Business, personal...” Varen shrugged. “I might have come here today anyway, even if you didn’t suggest it.”
“But I didn’t...”
“You asked me to take you to my favorite place, right? Well, now you know. Even my assistant doesn’t know he can find me here.”
Nala gripped the edge of the bench, her fingers burning in the cold breeze that blew by at that moment. “Thanks for bringing me here. What did you want to talk about? Friday?”
It seemed so far away now. This woman was different. This feeling was different. What happened on Friday? Eh. It didn’t matter. So what if Varen had a lapse in lust and reason? Wasn’t like Nala didn’t want it.
“No, not here,” Varen said, interrupting her thoughts. “We should be in private for that discussion. But it’s good to clear my mind, I guess.”
“You didn’t have to do it with me, so I’m thankful, I suppose.”
“No problem.”
They remained at a respectful distance. People passing by, like the young family trying to get opportune photos with their toddlers, and the German couple gruffly discussing the map, would have never guessed they were a couple.
Because we’re not, I guess. It didn’t bother Nala.
She wasn’t looking for love, especially with a woman she was on an undercover mission with.
Still, boundaries had fallen the other night. The woman had touched her. Intimately. She had taken her in such an animalistic way that she couldn’t help but feel connected to her now.
“I’m not mad about Friday,” she muttered. “It was kinda weird, thinking about it, but I won’t pretend I didn’t like it.”
Varen remained silent. Wind rustled in the dormant cherry trees above them.
Nala scooted closer, perhaps searching for some warmth, but with a woman as closed off as Varen, the best she could hope for was some of her hot breath as she talked in her direction.
“I’ve been trying to stay distant because I don’t want to lose sight of my sister. I was in a relationship before she died, you know.”
A curt voice entered her ear. “No, I didn’t.”
Although she didn’t ask, Nala continued.
“Nothing serious, although it lasted a couple of years. We didn’t even live together. Hung out on weekends, talked on the phone sometimes, and, well… did couple stuff.”
Varen was right. Best not to directly talk about sex in public like this.
“He was more like a best friend than a real lover. When my sister died… I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want anything to do with anyone. Some people rally others around them when they’re grieving. Me? I pushed them all away. My mother was the same. We pushed each other away.
She had lost her husband and a child. How could I compare that to losing a sister? It didn’t matter that I was still around. One daughter was alive, but the other was dead. Let alone the golden child who was probably going to cure cancer.”
“I see.”
At least Varen was able to pretend she cared about what Nala had to say.
“So I dumped my boyfriend. Is it weird I’ve never missed him? I mean, sometimes I wish he was around to play video games and forget about life with, but I don’t like… miss his touch or weird stuff like that. He was super average.”
Varen leaned against the bench, hands disappearing into her hoodie pockets.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s not like we’re actually friends. I guess I’ve gone so long without talking about myself to someone that… well, after Friday, we don’t have much left sacred between us.”
“Only emotionally.”