A Woman Lost (13 page)

I could feel her eyes on me, and I could tell something was brewing.

Our waitress approached to take our drink order. Sarah ordered a chardonnay and I asked for a Thai tea. It tickled me that a Vietnamese place served Thai tea. I suspected that the owners weren’t even Vietnamese, since I overheard them speaking Korean to each other.

As soon as the waitress departed, Sarah pounced. “Do you feel like we are getting closer?” she asked, all trace of humor gone from her voice. “I mean, these past couple of weeks I’ve felt an even stronger bond with you. Have you noticed?”

Why play that game?
I wondered. Of course, I couldn’t say, ‘Why, no, I haven’t noticed that.’ I’d come off as a bitch. I swear sometimes she phrased things to hear exactly what she wanted to hear.

I had no choice. I cleared my throat and responded, “Now that you mention it, I see what you’re saying.” I nodded my head slowly in confirmation.

Sarah reached across the table for my hand and began to lightly rub her fingers along my arm. “Lately, I feel like we are closer than ever. I mean, you never would have told me the story about the soap. But now, you just tell me these stories openly.” Her voice dropped to a whisper again. “And earlier, in the shower, you have never touched me like that before.”

I racked my brain, trying to remember what she was talking about. Yes, we’d had sex in the shower, but it was just a fuck. At least, that was how I thought of it. Obviously, Sarah felt differently. How was that possible? How could two people do something together and have two completely different experiences? I had told her the soap story because I wanted to change the subject. It was a diversionary tactic, not a “let me tell you a childhood memory story” moment.

I smiled and squeezed her hand, unable to think of anything to say. Staying quiet was the best course of action for this particular pickle, I decided.

“What would you two like to order?” The waitress tapped her pen nervously against her notepad. Was she uncomfortable around lesbians?

“Ah … ” Sarah glanced at the menu. “I think I’ll try the noodle bowl with salmon.”

“And you?” The waitress looked at me, expressionless.

“The noodle bowl with steak and shrimp, please.”

I handed my menu to the woman and turned my attention back to Sarah. Her expression confused me. She was smiling, but there was an air of sadness about it. After a few moments, she said, “So, when will you have time to start looking at houses with me?”

“Um, shouldn’t we talk to a mortgage guy first? No real estate agent is going to take us seriously without proof we can qualify to buy.” I took a sip of my water. “By the way, have you been reading the papers? They all say this is a horrible time to buy a home. The rate of foreclosures is skyrocketing due to variable interest rates. And banks don’t want to give mortgages to new homebuyers. So much for the American dream.” I shook my head and tsked about the sad fact, all the while wondering:
Am I laying it on too thick?
I knew we would actually be a wet dream for a mortgage broker‌—‌two lesbians with trust funds, and both with steady work histories. But I didn’t want to point that out.

“I really haven’t been following the news. Do you think we should wait for the market to improve?” Sarah squinted a little and looked up from her placemat, which had a map of Vietnam on it.

Holy shit … I didn’t expect this.
My spirits started to rise. “Honestly, I don’t know much about the situation. However, I do have one major reservation about buying a house right now … ”

Sarah grabbed her wine and took a swig. It was obvious that words failed her. She nodded, clearly urging me to continue.

“W-we both know I won’t be working at CSU for much longer,” I stammered. “As scary as it seems, I’ll have to start looking for a teaching position at a different university. If we buy a house now, what if we have to turn around in less than a year and sell it.”

I could immediately tell by her expression that she had already thought of a way around this. “Oh, Mom and I talked about that. We think it would be best to find something inexpensive now, and when you find a teaching job at a different university, we can rent out the house. It would be a great start to diversifying our portfolio.”

“Our portfolio … ” I mumbled.
Our portfolio.
The words rolled around in my head like a pinball.
Portfolio … our. Our portfolio.
I had certainly never considered that phrase before. She really wanted to settle down together. Co-mingle our finances. What was next? A child?

I realized Ethan was right. Here we were talking about buying a house together, yet we hadn’t even discussed our future. I was becoming one of those people I hated: the ones who get involved with someone and then have a nasty separation after a few years because they didn’t talk about what they both wanted out of life. One of the two always seemed so surprised that the other didn’t want everything they wanted‌—‌the house, the kids, the picket fence, etcetera.

I had always lectured Ethan for not communicating that, and here I was‌—‌a steel trap. How could I do this to her? How could I do this to me?
Nothing good will come of this,
I thought, and looked up into her eyes. They twinkled with happiness.

I smiled back. I did love the way she looked at me with those eyes. No one had ever looked at me like that before.

* * *

Over the next few days, Sarah and I didn’t talk much about the house situation. I spent most of my waking hours at the office, working on my dissertation. That was when I received my first email from Maddie. Late one night, my computer dinged, letting me know I had received a new email. At first, I thought it was either a student sending a last-minute request for an extension on a paper due the next day, or a professor burning the midnight oil.

To my surprise, it was from Maddie. It read:
Hey, I found your email address online. Hope you don’t mind that I’m writing you. We haven’t talked in forever. Are you free tomorrow night for dinner? I have a late afternoon appointment with that family. Maybe I’ll have some new stories for you.

I stared at the computer. One line in particular piqued my curiosity: “We haven’t talked in forever.” Earlier that evening, I had stopped working and pondered when Maddie and I had last spoken. I was starting to miss her. I wondered if it could be possible she felt the same way?

It took me a few minutes to craft the perfect response:
Hey, stranger. It has been way too long since I saw you. Dinner tomorrow sounds great. What time?

I hit the send button before I could over-think it. Email was one of the best inventions ever for someone who hated to talk on the phone. It was perfect. I was always much braver via email. I could tell people exactly what I thought and not have to see how they took the news. It worked well with my students and colleagues, and that was what I usually reserved it for. I didn’t even have the Internet on at home. I had never bothered, since I had it at work.

A few minutes later, my computer dinged again. I glanced up from my book. Sure enough, it was Maddie again. I opened the email immediately.

Does 6 p.m. work for you? Let’s meet at our usual place. Why are you still at the office?

Our usual place, huh? That had a nice ring to it. I quickly dashed off another email:

Six at Coops is perfect. I’m just wrapping up at the office. Why are you up so late?

Her response came faster this time.

10 p.m. isn’t that late for me. I’m a night owl. Are you working or avoiding home?

No matter what she said or wrote, Maddie always had a way to make me smile. I responded:
I guess you could say that. Sarah and I have been having a lot of deep discussions about the future and things. I need a break from all of that. So, can I assume the same about you? Are you on the Internet to avoid things at home?

I instantly regretted sending it. What was I thinking? I hadn’t even included a happy face.
Lizzie, get a hold of yourself,
I told myself
. What happened to the serious intellectual who didn’t have time for such trifling things?
That was the problem with email: words could be taken the wrong way.

My computer dinged again. Cautiously, I opened her email, as if the process might affect her response. I knew right away that I was okay.

It read:
Very funny, wise guy … or should I say ‘touché.’ But you are wrong, I’m not ignoring Peter, since he isn’t even home yet … wait, does that make you right? Am I ignoring the fact that Peter isn’t home? God damn you, Lizzie! Why do you have to make me think? It makes my head hurt.

Again, the happy face at the end of the email. This time, I wasn’t going to blow it. I made a happy face first, and then inserted my text before it, so I wouldn’t forget.

I wrote:
Hey, I’ll trade you. I know Sarah is home waiting for me so we can discuss where we see the relationship going. How am I supposed to see where the relationship is going? I’m not clairvoyant. I don’t even know what I am doing tomorrow, so how do I know where I’ll be next year?

Her response made me smile again:

Um … excuse me, but I thought we established we were having dinner tomorrow night. So, you do know what you are doing tomorrow! Does that mean you are also lying about where you will be next year? I have to wonder. Besides, I thought you people knew your history so you would have a better idea of where you were heading
…

No happy face this time, only the dot dot dot of ellipsis instead. What did that mean? Fuck. I needed to be more email savvy to interpret this shit.

I wrote back:
Very funny. Are you insulting my skills?

Maddie’s response was teasing:
You’ll never know
.

I decided to wing it:
Yes, Maddie, you are correct. I do know what I am doing tomorrow, and therefore, I do know what I am doing next year. I have decided to create a portal enabling me to travel throughout different time periods. Just think of it‌—‌time travel for a historian. No one will be able to question my theories because I will see how things happened firsthand.

Maddie didn’t respond for at least ten minutes, during which time I tried reading my book, but it was hopeless. I kept looking up at the computer. Maybe I had missed the ding, or maybe I silenced it accidentally.

Then I heard it. I pounced on the mouse and opened up the email.

LOL … time travel for a historian. You are such a dork sometimes. I love it. Can I travel with you? I would love to see the world throughout history. Oh dang, I hear Peter downstairs. Off to greet the busy worker bee. See you tomorrow.

I did know that LOL meant “Laugh Out Loud.” Did she really think I was funny? And why did she call me a dork? I decided to write her back, knowing she wouldn’t respond right away but might respond before tomorrow night. I wished her sweet dreams and told her I couldn’t wait to catch up with her tomorrow. After I sent the email, I shut down my computer and called it a night.

Chapter Seventeen

The next morning, I popped out of bed before the birds had a chance to announce the arrival of a new day. Even though I hadn’t slept well, I was full of energy and ready to get rolling.

“Wow … you look great. Why are you all dressed up?” Sarah wrapped her arms around me and kissed the back of my neck.

“The history chair is sitting in on my class today. I figured I better try to look like a professor. What’s on your agenda today?” I ran my fingers through my hair.

Of course, the history chair was not sitting in on my class. But I didn’t want to tell her I was having dinner with Maddie; I couldn’t. I hadn’t been home the last few nights; I couldn’t say I was taking the night off to hang out with my brother’s fiancée. It didn’t seem right.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. We should go to dinner tonight to celebrate.”

“Um … I can’t. Didn’t I tell you we have a late meeting today? Gosh, I tell you there is so much drama in the history department. These meetings take forever. So many professors are long-winded.” I paused for a moment. “Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night, baby? Or maybe we can meet today for lunch.” I hoped I didn’t sound desperate.

“Really, you would take me to lunch? You’ve never done that before. That sounds great … but shoot … we are on assembly schedule today, so all of the periods are shortened. Let’s do dinner tomorrow night. How about some place romantic.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with.” I kissed her on the cheek and left for the office.

When I logged onto my computer, I checked my email immediately. No emails from Maddie. I didn’t open the emails from my students, preferring to surf the net to find a romantic restaurant for tomorrow night‌—‌until I heard my computer ding.

As quickly as I could, I opened my email. Sure enough, it was Maddie.

You are so sweet. I hope you had sweet dreams as well … geez, how many times can I write sweet in one email? I’m going to hit the road. See you tonight, sweet Lizzie.

Her email elicited a smile.

* * *

I floated through the rest of the day, anticipating dinner with Maddie. Not once did I think how wrong it was for me to have butterflies. The closer the hour came, the more fluttering I felt in the pit of my stomach.

Finally, it was time for me to leave my office and head to Coopersmith’s. I arrived thirty minutes early and decided to camp out at the bar. Briefly, I considered ordering a stiff drink, but there was no way in hell I could call Sarah to come and pick me up, so I settled for the house ginger ale. I was living on the edge.

“Holy moly, you guys are two peas in the pod. Peter showed up early for every date for the first six months.” Maddie set her purse down on the bar next to me and took a swig of my ginger ale. “Except, he would be drinking bourbon or something.” She held up one finger to get the bartender’s attention and ordered a merlot.

“How was your day?” I asked, noticing she looked gorgeous in a black pantsuit with a shiny silver belt that looped around and hung down like jewelry.