Chapter 7 #2
To her credit, Sadie didn’t crow victory.
Instead, she announced, “Have you ever noticed that just thinking about eating something specific can make your mouth—I don’t know”—she made inexplicable gestures with her hands—“jolt? Little sparks. They’re like gastronomic ghosts of whatever you’re remembering.
I’m getting memory shocks from a Burger Bliss bacon-and-avocado cheeseburger. ”
“You’re not ordering that, are you?” Anne turned right at the stoplight.
“I know, I know, you’ve got the constitution of a frat boy, but high cholesterol has a habit of creeping up on you, and blood pressure starts to spike around our age.
” She conveniently avoided acknowledging that Sadie was four years younger than Anne.
“We’re in the time of life where you’ve got to start taking care of yourself or there’ll be consequences. ”
“Au contraire. We’re in the time of life when my best friend should know better than to start policing my food choices,” Sadie told her. “You’ve never done that before, Anne, and it’s really not time to develop a new practice. Unless you’d like me to start returning the favor.”
Her tone was kind but firm, with an unusual edge to it. Anne felt a twinge of guilt. Had she accidentally poked a sore spot made by Brenda’s cruel reference to Sadie’s body? Anne had only been alluding to health, not anything else.
But it was true that they didn’t typically discuss food or the stark differences between their approaches to eating: Sadie, with an enthusiastic zest that mirrored everything else she did, and Anne, with careful, measured control.
“There’s nothing at all to say about what I eat.” Anne curled her fingers around the steering wheel and slid her hands up and down. “Every bit of food I put into my body is healthy and in perfectly appropriate amounts for a woman my size.”
“Exactly. Sanctioned, measured, and portioned within an eighth of a calorie. But we don’t ever talk about that.” Sadie pulled her feet off the dashboard as they turned into the Burger Bliss parking lot. “Unless you want us to start, that is.”
Sudden horror crawled up Anne’s arms. She’d been observed, and without noticing it. “You’re making me sound like I have a problem.”
She pulled into a parking spot, then looked at Sadie, who had her eyebrows raised. She didn’t have to speak out loud; that look did it for her. You said it, I didn’t.
There was nothing wrong with her. Anne ate just like every other woman she’d known before Sadie entered her life: three meals a day with light portions and wholesome nutrients, everything organic and healthy.
And on those rare occasions when a snack was called for, she’d indulge in three or four of the no-shell pistachios she kept wrapped up in her purse.
After all, you only got one body, and it was your responsibility to give it the cleanest possible fuel. How was that a problem?
“Do you want to have this conversation?” Sadie asked quietly. “We can. Not in retaliation. A real talk.”
Anne did not want to have any sort of conversation on this particular subject. No conversation was necessary. She didn’t have a problem.
And she’d goddamn well prove it to make her point.
“I’m getting a fucking cheeseburger,” she announced and then unbuckled her seatbelt as Sadie’s jaw dropped.
Inside, Burger Bliss was a fluorescent-and-neon nightmare.
The sad miniature ficus trees on top of the trash bins did precisely jack shit to make the place any less formulaic or depressing.
The only positive Anne could see was that the place was nearly empty.
At least they’d have some privacy while she forced down her grease vessel.
While Sadie went to order for them at the front counter, Anne grabbed an out-of-the-way booth in the back corner. The fabric of her cotton joggers stuck to the plastic seat, and she pulled one leg up with disgust. When was the last time anyone had cleaned this place?
At least making her point to Sadie seemed uncomplicated compared to—everything else. Anne would eat a cheeseburger right in front of Sadie, and then Sadie would have to admit she’d been wrong. Plain and simple.
She looked up in surprise when, after only a few minutes, Sadie returned with a tray containing two wrapped burgers, two sodas, and an order of fries. Anne had been counting on more time to brace herself.
“Already? Did they actually make the food to order, or is it just hanging out in the kitchen all day waiting to murder some innocent taste buds?”
“You can summarize a seawater quality report, you can pull a perfect simile out of thin air, and you can plan a flawless fundraiser with one manicured hand tied behind your back, but you can’t figure out that ‘fast food’ means fast food.
What a shame.” Sadie sat down across from Anne, sliding the tray in front of them.
“Ugh.” Anne poked at the wrapped burger with one finger. A sudden spike of anxiety sliced through her, hot and queasy. “It looks menacing. Like it can’t wait to clog my arteries.”
Sadie’s brow furrowed. “Look, I won’t push for you to do this. If it bothers you that much to even think about eating it, maybe—”
“Bothers me?” Never mind that Sadie was right. Like hell Anne would ever admit it out loud. “It’s a pile of processed chemicals. I’m not afraid of a pile of processed chemicals.”
“That’s my girl,” Sadie said softly. “Then give it to yourself.”
Given how hot they’d suddenly gotten, Anne’s cheeks probably resembled brake lights. It was foolish, incredibly foolish—she was a grown woman past menopause, not a girl!—but just the thought of being Sadie’s girl made her feel so—
Unable to make eye contact with Sadie, Anne unwrapped the burger. Of course she didn’t have a fork and knife, meaning she couldn’t do this in a dignified manner. Well, nothing about her life at the moment was dignified. Why should this particular meat-filled instance be any different?
She picked up the burger, aware of Sadie’s intent focus on her, and made a spur-of-the-moment decision. Anne Lowell didn’t do half measures. No dainty nibbling. If she had to do this, then she would cannonball into the deep end.
She shoved way too much of the burger into her mouth and bit down.
A sharp, shocking burst of salt flooded Anne’s mouth, cheese and meat and ketchup kicking her tongue as she began to chew.
Her eyes widened. Flavor. Real flavor. She’d almost completely forgotten what that tasted like.
No faded pastels, just bright, deep primary colors.
A stadium roar inside her. Exclamation points.
How long had it been since she’d eaten anything like this?
Astonished, she groaned.
Sadie’s intent expression shifted suddenly, that stunned look she’d had at Anne’s house returning. Her lower lip disappeared briefly under her front teeth.
“God,” Anne managed before she swallowed. “Oh my God, that’s good. You were right. This is incredible.”
“I’ve never felt closer to you than I do right this second.” The words should’ve been light, but Sadie’s tone was off, almost hesitant. “You’ve got some of it on your face.”
Anne looked around her tray for napkins. “I should get—”
“Let me,” Sadie said. “Please.”
And then she reached across the table and touched her two extended fingers to the side of Anne’s mouth.
Anne momentarily stopped breathing.
Slowly, Sadie grazed her fingers against whatever smeared condiment was on Anne’s face. It couldn’t be much, not enough to make this necessary, since Anne couldn’t feel anything except Sadie.
Time didn’t slow down, exactly, even though Anne felt suspended in some dreamscape. It was just that Sadie didn’t need to take nearly that long to touch her, to make Anne’s cheek feel like the center of the world. But Sadie was. And no possible reason existed for it, except—except—
Then the excruciating brush of light pressure on her face finally lifted, and Sadie’s sauce-stained fingers were suspended right in front of Anne’s face. Like an offering.
Sadie wasn’t pulling back. Why wasn’t she pulling back?
For the rest of her life, Anne was never sure who moved first, whether it was Anne who’d parted her mouth just a bit or Sadie who’d touched her two fingers to Anne’s lower lip, or maybe it had happened at the same time, the two of them falling together into the moment when Sadie’s fingers slipped inside Anne’s mouth, just barely.
Those fingers shocked the tip of Anne’s tongue, tentatively grazing the edge of it.
Sadie made a small noise.
Reeling, Anne had to close her eyes, just for a second. Impulsively, her tongue licked out at the pads of Sadie’s fingers.
Sadie sucked in quick air, then abruptly retracted her hand. Her face was flushed. A visible swallow rolled through her throat.
Faintly, in the distant background, Anne could hear orders up and cash registers ringing, a few customers chatting on the other side of the room. The signs of a normal world. It could be another planet.
They sat without talking. Some god-awful pop song played faintly in the background. Hadn’t there been some point Anne had wanted to prove earlier, in another existence? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what it was.
Finally, Anne couldn’t stop herself from breaking the silence. “What are you thinking?”
“Earlier, when we were at your house, you said not to tell you what I was thinking. Are you positive you want to hear it now?”
“That’s different. What I meant then was that it was too overwhelming to know you were thinking about me in—that way.” Anne refused to be too specific. “Romantically.”
“You’re a remarkably intelligent woman,” Sadie told her.
“So if you’d just take a few seconds to really reflect, I think you’d realize all on your own that I am thinking about you that way.
Romantically. If that’s how we’re putting it.
” She moistened her lips, not seeming to notice, and a hypnotized Anne watched the bubblegum pink of Sadie’s tongue move, then hide again.
“I don’t think it’s a smart idea to be more specific while we’re in public. ”
Anne gripped the seat of the booth, one hand on each side, and felt the hard plastic press into her palms. Dizziness swamped her.
This was just the second time she’d ever been truly aroused, and it was happening in the grimy booth of a San Bernardino Burger Bliss with a woman who owned a gingham and leopard print dress.
“Again? You’re thinking about me like that again? Like earlier?”
“Oh, sunshine,” Sadie said, and there was so much love in her voice that Anne almost couldn’t stand to listen. “Not ‘again.’ Don’t you understand? I haven’t stopped.”