Adaptation (19 page)

Her mom fastened her seat belt and made a funny noise that Reese recognized as a sniffle. “Mom? Are you all right?”

She laughed shortly. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m such an embarrassment. I’m supposed to drive you home, not vice versa.”

“It’s fine, Mom. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re a good girl,” she said, patting Reese on the knee.

“Uh, thanks.” Reese glanced over at her mom. She had folded her arms and was looking straight out the windshield, and there was a wet gleam in her eyes.

“We’d better get going. Curfew.”

“Right.” Swallowing her anxiety, Reese punched the power button to start the Prius. At least it didn’t sound like that rental car.

Her mom was as silent as the car during the drive home. Reese clutched the steering wheel with clammy hands, her eyes darting repeatedly from the rearview mirror to the road ahead. No birds. No traffic, even, other than a single set of headlights several blocks behind.

They stayed the same distance behind for some time, until Reese’s heart was pounding in her throat. Finally, when Reese turned onto her block, the headlights veered away. She sighed in relief. The street was deserted. But as she followed her mother up the front steps, she couldn’t escape the feeling that she was being watched.

On Sunday night, Reese met Amber at an Indian
restaurant on Valencia Street. It had about a dozen tables, half of them taken when Reese arrived, and the surfaces were covered with stainless-steel dishes and fragrant foods that she didn’t recognize. The crowd was mostly young and local, and Amber was already seated at a table in the window. She waved at Reese as she entered.

“Hi,” Reese said, sitting across from her. Amber’s pale hair stood out against the wall behind her, which was painted in two wide stripes the colors of turmeric and cinnamon.

Amber stood up to lean across the table and kiss her on the lips. “Hi, yourself.”

Reese blushed, glancing out the corner of her eye at the couple seated at the next table, but they didn’t seem to have noticed. She picked up the menu. “Have you eaten here before?”

They ordered the vegetarian
thali
, an assortment of eight little dishes served on a round tray, accompanied by rice;
paratha
; and a puffy, hollow bread. Reese had eaten Indian food plenty of times before, but her mom stuck to buttery chicken korma and tandoori, so the arrival of their dinners made her eyes widen. There were three kinds of curry, one including dark brown pods that Amber identified as fresh chickpeas. There was a pickled lime that Reese ate in tiny bites, savoring the unfamiliar, mouth-puckering tang. She tore into the puffy bread, deflating it, and dipped it into the spicy soup.

Amber seemed to find her appetite amusing. “I’m glad you like it so much.”

Reese spooned up a mouthful of saffron rice. “It’s amazing.”

Amber’s eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled. “I knew you had good taste.”

“You’re fishing for a compliment, aren’t you?”

Amber’s smile turned mischievous. “I would never do that.”

“Right. Of course not.” Her dry tone made Amber’s eyes light up.

“How about this: I found this place, so you can pick next time. I’m sure you’ll impress me.”

The idea of
next time
caused Reese’s stomach to do a nervous flip. “Um, okay.”

Amber observed her for a moment. “I just freaked you out, didn’t I?”

Reese’s cheeks reddened. Was she that transparent? “I’m not… I’ve never done this before. Dated anyone.” The heat on her face spread to her neck. Now she sounded like a dork.

“Hey, it’s all right.” Amber reached out and stroked a finger down
the back of Reese’s right hand, which was gripping her fork tightly. Reese dropped it onto the plate. “We can do whatever you want. There’s no rush.” Amber leaned forward and laced her fingers through Reese’s. “I’m sorry if I moved too fast,” she said in a low voice. “I…” She trailed off, gazing at Reese with a faint blush on her face. For the first time Reese had noticed, she looked self-conscious. She took a deep breath. “I’ve never felt this way about someone before. The way I feel about you. It’s like—this is going to sound weird, but it’s like we’re in a movie, and every time I’m with you, the camera zooms in for a close-up and we’re the only two people in the frame. Do you know what I mean? You’re my close-up.”

Reese had stopped breathing. Heat rolled through her belly, sweet and slow, and holding Amber’s hands across the table wasn’t enough. She got up, leaning over the empty dishes, and cupped her hands around Amber’s face and kissed her. She tasted of salt and spice, and she let out a soft gasp that made Reese tremble. This time the couple at the next table did notice, but Reese didn’t care.

After that, it was as though a dam had been breached. “Did you always know you were queer?” Reese asked, taking a tiny bite of the syrupy rice pudding dessert.

“Queer, huh?” Amber said. “You can’t use that word everywhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“In some parts of the world it still means, you know,
queer
. Wrong. San Francisco’s kind of the exception to the rule when it comes to queer things. How about you? When did you realize?”

Reese shook her head. “You’re not going to believe me, but seriously, I have never thought about it.”

“Really? You’ve never had a crush on a girl before?”

“No.”

“Wow.” Amber grinned. “Do you have a crush on me?”

Reese laughed. “You’re shameless.”

“I think shame is pretty pointless. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I thought I did, earlier.” Reese smiled at her.

Amber sat back, looking unusually shy. “I guess you did.”

“But you didn’t answer my question either. When did you know?”

Amber shrugged. “I’ve always known. I don’t think it’s useful to limit yourself to one gender.”

“So you like guys too?”

“Not so far. But never say never.”

“Are you out to your parents?”

“Yeah. They don’t care.”

There was something odd in the way Amber said it, but Reese didn’t want to push.

“Do you think your mom would be okay with it?” Amber asked.

“I think so. My best friend is gay. He’s my mom’s best friend’s son, so she’s had a gay kid around for a long time. And besides, we live in San Francisco.” Reese took one last bite of her dessert and glanced at her watch. It was already nine o’clock.

“Ready for part two of our evening?” Amber asked, counting out money for dinner.

“Let me give you some,” Reese said, pulling out her wallet.

Amber shook her head. “Next time, remember? You can take me out for sushi.”

“Oh I can, can I?” Reese laughed. “I thought I was supposed to pick. Where are we going now?”

“Dancing,” Amber said coyly, and slid out of her chair.

“Do we need fake IDs? I don’t have one.”

“They’ll let us in,” Amber said confidently.

They went to a bar on an otherwise quiet corner off Valencia, where a neon sign jutted into the street. Dozens of women clustered on the curb, laughing and smoking and talking. The sound of pounding music burst into the night every time the door opened. As they approached, Reese saw a bouncer checking IDs. “Are you sure about this?” Reese said.

“Don’t worry about it.”

The bouncer was probably only a few years older than they were. She had a buzz cut and a nose ring, and she carried a flashlight in one hand. A tattoo spiraled up her forearm, and Reese wondered if she was really as tough as she looked. “ID,” she said shortly.

Amber smiled at her, and Reese watched as the bouncer blinked once, twice, meeting Amber’s gaze. “You can’t just let us in?” Amber said. The bouncer hesitated. Then Amber reached out and ran a finger over the tattoo on the bouncer’s arm. “What’s that? A snake?”

The woman visibly shivered. “No, it’s personal.”

Amber leaned in just a little bit, so that she was bending over her wrist. “It’s nice.”

The door to the club opened, and three girls burst out onto the street, laughing loudly, and the beat of an old nineties rap song pounded into the air. They brushed past Amber, knocking her against the bouncer, who caught her around the waist and didn’t let her go. Reese felt a flare of jealousy sting her.
This is stupid
, she thought. She was about to reach out for Amber’s hand when the bouncer said, “Fine. Just this once.”

“Thanks,” Amber said, and then she stepped out of the woman’s hands and reached back to pull Reese up the step and into the club.

It was so dark inside, she could barely see. The bar, which ran the length of a long, rectangular room that resembled a hallway more than a dance floor, was strung with Christmas lights, but the ceiling lamps were turned down so low, they were practically useless. There was a throng of women pressing toward the bar, and along the opposite wall was a long bench that looked oddly like a church pew, with more women seated there.

Reese realized they must mostly be lesbians, because there were plenty of them being awfully touchy-feely with one another. There were girls with short, spiky haircuts; there were girls with long curls and darkly made-up eyes. Most wore jeans and tees or tank tops, though a few wore little dresses that exposed bare arms and backs covered in tattoos. Still, Amber stood out, and as women turned to look at her—and then at Reese—Reese felt a strange tremor over her skin, as if she were being touched by dozens of people all at once.

There was a jukebox in the corner, and Amber shouted over the din of the music, “Wait here!” Reese leaned against a pile of kegs near the jukebox as Amber pushed through to the bar, past
the neon sign pointing toward the restroom, slithering between an older woman in a tie and a younger one in a miniskirt.

The weird sensation on her skin changed as she watched the crowd. The creepy feeling of being touched faded, but now it was as if she could hear something just beyond the vibrating bass of the music that shook the room: whispers breathing in her inner ear, raising the hairs on her body. She shook her head and moved away from the jukebox, wondering if there was some kind of distortion effect from it. She bumped into a woman standing nearby, and she had a flash of tense muscles, a clenched gut. A burst of pain lit through her head.

“Hey, watch out, it’s a little cramped here,” the woman said.

“Sorry,” Reese mumbled, and backed away, bumping into the kegs. She hadn’t had a headache for days, but now she could feel it coming: the nerves in her neck tightening until her vision swam. She bent over, hands on her knees as if she had just run a marathon. She saw her feet down below, the dull metal sheen of a keg of beer, the edge of the jukebox, and a pair of black ankle boots that stopped in front of her. Amber crouched down to Reese’s eye level, concern on her face.

“Are you all right?” She was holding a drink in each hand.

Reese straightened up, blood rushing away from her head. “Yeah,” she said breathlessly.

Amber looked at her closely. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, but her body was hot and shaking. Her stomach heaved, and she muttered, “I have to go—” She bolted for the bathroom.

Miraculously there was no one in line, and Reese rushed inside, slamming the door between her and the crowded
club, sliding the bolt home with shaking fingers. She leaned over the toilet, her hair falling forward in a dark sheet. She tried to hold it all to one side, but strands kept sticking to her sweat-dampened neck. She heard knocking on the door behind her, and Amber’s muffled voice called, “Reese? What’s going on?”

“I just need a minute!” Reese gasped.

“Are you sure? Can I come in?”

“Just… give me a minute.”

The bathroom was tiny: barely enough room for the toilet and a sink that jutted out of the turquoise-blue wall. A yellow light glowed in the ceiling, making the little rectangular room seem like it was underwater. As Reese’s breathing began to slow, she noticed that the wall was covered with graffiti. Over the toilet, there were dozens of scrawled phrases.
For a good time, call Joanie. Sheila is a cheater. Don’t be a bitch, T.

The letters blurred before her eyes. The room spun around her. She sank down onto the floor, pulling her knees up and resting her cheek on them. She tried to breathe steadily. She hated throwing up. She really didn’t want to throw up here. Next to her on the wall, half hidden by the edge of the toilet and visible only to those who had to kneel down on the floor, someone had carefully written out a poem.