Chapter 11 #3
Impulsively, not fully aware she was going to say it, Bryn blurted out, “Do you remember me from school? I mean— I mean do you remember when my, uh, friend told the whole refectory that I-had-a-crush-on-you?” She focused on her practical going-out shoes, and the weeds coming up through the pavers, glad they were still walking so she didn’t have to look at Amelia.
“If she was your friend, you needed better friends.” After a pause, and more softly, Amelia added, “I remember.”
“Girlfriend. Technically.” Oh gods. Now that she’d opened this door, Bryn had no idea what she wanted from what was behind it. She’d needed to know if that memory still lingered for Amelia as well, if both of them were still seeing Bryn as that mortified girl.
“Oh, Bryn, your girlfriend?” Amelia reached for her hand, grabbing it, squeezing, letting it swing for a brief moment, before pulling her own hand away. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, but I have always felt bad about that. I should have … said something. Defended you.”
This was officially the worst. Bryn regretted saying anything. The last thing she wanted was Amelia’s pity. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t even laugh.”
“It wasn’t funny. At all. And I could have at least said that.
” Their steps slowed; it didn’t seem like Amelia wanted to get to the cottage quickly either.
“The thing is, I didn’t understand how popular I was at the time.
Which sounds ridiculous, but I don’t think I really figured out what popularity was until I was teaching and saw it from the outside.
I could have told them to quit it, and they would have.
I didn’t know that back then, and I’m really sorry, Bryn. You deserved so much better.”
“It’s fine.” This conversation needed to be over now or she was going to—
“I liked you,” Amelia said softly. “It’s why I froze. Even if I’d wanted to say something, I was so completely flabbergasted. I didn’t realize you knew who I was.”
Bryn turned at her door, her eyes lingering on Amelia’s lips for a moment before she managed to drag them higher, momentarily distracted from her bewildered surprise. “Amelia. You’re Amelia Hexford. You’re gorgeous and talented and brilliant. Everyone knew who you were.”
Amelia bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I mean—” For a long second, Bryn stood there awkwardly, watching the other woman’s face for any sign that she wasn’t being wholly truthful.
But Amelia looked earnest and regretful and somehow a little ashamed.
It was the last one, so recognizable, that made Bryn reach out, taking both of Amelia’s hands.
“I thought you were embarrassed that a nobody like me had a crush on you, because you were so … so you, and I was nothing.”
“You were not nothing! You were the cleverest witch at school. You were so good at thinking all the way around things in class, you’d ask these questions and the professors would just light up, which I appreciate way more now that I’m a teacher than I did back then.
” She smiled a bit ruefully. “That was your girlfriend, though? Bryn, that’s so …
so … shitty.” The word sounded vaguely odd in Amelia’s usually cultured voice.
Bryn fought a smile. “It was shitty.” She shook her head, because that didn’t even cover it.
“It was honestly mortifying and I had actual nightmares about it.” Before Amelia could interject, Bryn went on, “But here we are now. And— Well, I’m glad we talked about it.
Because it was just kind of haunting me. ”
“I’m glad we talked about it too.” Amelia squeezed her hands. “And I’m sorry it happened, and that I didn’t do anything at the time. Maybe that’s another thing to add to my endless list of curriculum ideas: emotional intelligence. How to respond to awful situations.”
“Not a bad idea.” Abruptly, Bryn realized they were still holding hands, and looking at each other in the bright glow of the late afternoon, surrounded by blooming wildflowers, with a few bees droning as soundtrack.
“So I’m allowed in the grotto, then? I’m not going to get hauled up in front of the discipline board if I’m caught? ”
“Certainly not.” Amelia raised an eyebrow. “Of course, if you want additional insurance against perceived rule-breaking, I could come with you? Just to ensure you don’t have to … worry. About anything.”
“That would definitely improve my experience,” Bryn said, nodding slowly, schooling her face to be bland and not some variation on the same pink as her Hello Kitty pajamas. “I’ll let you know when I’m free.”
“I look forward to it.”
Suddenly, in the fading light, Bryn couldn’t stand it anymore.
Impulse had always been a thunderclap for her, a thing that even when she knew it was coming, still surprised her when she gave into it.
She’d wanted to kiss Amelia Hexford since she had been thirteen years old. And now, a decade later, she did.
It was quick, too quick, their lips hardly touching—a static charge that only hinted at the fireworks in store—before she pulled away and said, “Sorry, oh gods, sorry.” She grappled behind her for the doorknob.
“Don’t be,” Amelia said, but she also took a step back.
“I’m so sorry.” Bryn, face burning, lips tingling from that way-too-brief touch, nearly stumbled backwards into her cottage. “I won’t do it again!” she called before shutting the door and banging her forehead into it a few times. Not too hard, but hard enough so she felt it.
Outside, she almost swore she heard Amelia say, “But I want you to …” except when she looked out the peephole, Amelia was gone.
That was your imagination, she told herself.
Your naughty, naughty imagination, which is making stuff up, because she did not say that, because this is Amelia Hexford we’re talking about, the Amelia Hexford, and maybe she did see your most humiliating moment, but at least you’ve got it all out in the open now.
It did, genuinely, feel like a relief. That image, which had loomed so large for so long, had been reduced.
Not to nothing (probably never to nothing), but it had been altered by context and perspective to life-size once more.
It had been shitty, yes; and Bryn had survived it, not been conquered by it.
And also, oh gods, had she just kissed Amelia Hexford? Why had she done that? No, she knew why, it was the how she couldn’t reconcile.
But it had felt like a date in a movie, like Amelia was walking her to her door, and they were talking about the grotto and swimming in the dark with fairy lights, holding hands, and she’d just done it. She hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t considered her actions, just done it.
She pressed her palms to her face and waited for the blush to subside. Then she texted: I deeply apologize for my inappropriate behavior, because she was so sorry she’d screwed that up; she’d put Amelia in a bad position and hadn’t even asked permission.
But the reply, which had come back immediately, said, No apology necessary. Today was fun. See you at breakfast. xx
Xx. Amelia Hexford, whom she’d just kissed, had sent her kiss kiss in text form.
It could just be how she ended texts to … people. Teachers. Bryn tried to imagine Amelia sending kiss kiss to Mr Wicks and almost giggled out loud.
It wasn’t a rejection.
Bryn had just kissed Amelia Hexford. Once she’d stopped blushing, and staring at those two Xs on her phone screen, she decided that this was an impulse she was glad she’d given into.