Bittersweet Homecoming (29 page)

The timing worked out well; Emily had a condo in downtown Duluth that wouldn’t sell, and I needed a place to stay after I let my lease run out in Los Angeles. Duluth is a midsized city, the second most populous in the state behind the Twin Cities. It’s only a two-hour drive from the city to Grand Marais, which is manageable, especially knowing whom I’m driving to see. My writing schedule lets me visit for extended long-weekends and the Minneapolis airport is only two hours from Duluth if I need to fly out to Los Angeles for a reading or to workshop a new play. It’s been a compromise, but it works for now.

“Thanks again for re-wiring my front porch light, Em,” Charlotte says. “It’s too bad I’m dating the Henry sister who can quote Chaucer but knows nothing about electrical work.”

“I could have fixed it,” I protest.
Not without electrocuting myself,
I keep to myself. “But I didn’t want to kill Amelia’s firefly light.”

The girl in question stampedes up the bleachers with two friends tagging behind. She started first grade a few weeks ago and everything seems to be going well. She loves her teacher and the school, which is coincidentally the same building where Emily, Charlotte, and I also went to elementary school. Mother and daughter came up with a compromise about the clothes Amelia wears to school. Like casual Friday at a business, Charlotte lets Abigail choose her own crazy outfit for Fridays, which means that for tonight’s home football game she’s dressed herself in overalls, a red jacket, and her green rain boots. She looks a little like Christmas come early or maybe Paddington Bear.

“I like your shoes, Amelia,” my sister compliments.

Amelia’s face brightens. “Thanks, Mrs. Harvester!”

“You’ve really got to make her stop calling me that,” Emily complains under her breath. “It makes me feel like a dinosaur.”

“Amelia would probably like you better if you
were
a dinosaur,” I respond.

“Mommy, can I have money for a licorice rope?”

I jump in before Charlotte has time to respond. “I’ve got it.” I dig into my jacket pocket and find some change. I drop a handful of silver coins it into her cupped hands like she’s hit the jackpot on a slot machine. “Don’t spend it all in one place, kid.”

Her tiny fists curl around the change. “Thanks, Abby!” she grins.

Without having to look in her direction, I can tell Charlotte is probably glaring at me.

“You spoil her.”

“I’d rather spoil you,” I counter, “but you’re stubbornly independent, just like your daughter.”

“Hey, Abby,” Amelia chirps, trying to garner my attention.

“What is it, kiddo?” I snap my eyes to her round, smiling face.

“Did you know that there are over two thousand kinds of fireflies? And they’re not really flies at all; they’re beetles.”

“I did know that,” I say, leaning forward. “And did
you
know that some fireflies light up at the same time? They’re called synchronous fireflies.”

“Did you know that some female fireflies pretend to be another kind of firefly so they can eat the boy fireflies?”

Beside me, Emily nearly spits out her boozy hot chocolate. On my other side, I can feel Charlotte shaking with laughter.

“That wasn’t in the book I got her,” I mumble to my girlfriend.

“You really did create a monster,” she replies with a good-humored chuckle.

Amelia bounds away to her friends waiting for her at the bottom of the bleachers.

Charlotte leans her head against my shoulder and my arm reflexively goes around her waist to pull her closer into my side. We’re the same height and build, but I love it when she cuddles into me. She’s stubborn and proud and self-reliant, which makes me appreciate these soft moments even more.

Charlotte hasn’t shied away from the inevitable whispers or the gawkers. But then again, she’s always been stronger and braver than I could ever be. She’s had to be like that because of Amelia. She also eventually convinced me to publish the children’s play I’d written for her and Amelia. I’d balked at the idea for a while, but between Charlotte and Claire’s joint cajoling, I finally gave in. The promise of royalties didn’t hurt either.

“You guys are so cute, it makes me want to puke,” Emily speaks up. “Seriously. Stop being adorable.”

I know she considers herself responsible for this reconciliation, and for once, I agree with my sister. Without her subterfuge and the family store’s re-opening, we probably would have been too scared and too stubborn to talk to the other person.

I stick out my tongue at Emily, but I don’t pull away from Charlotte. I never could have expected to be this comfortable with a girlfriend out in public in my tiny, remote hometown. I’d always thought I’d never be able to be myself, to be Out in this town where I grew up, but Charlotte pushes me outside of my comfort zone every day. It brings my friend Julie’s words to mind: I should have trusted these people who had been part of my life for so long to love me no matter what. But I had been invisible for so long, I’d been afraid that people would start to notice me for all the wrong reasons.

Looking around the stands of the high school football stadium, seeing so many familiar faces from my past and my present, and surrounded by the people I love most in this world, I realize that maybe I had it wrong all along. Maybe you can go home again.

I press my lips to the top of Charlotte’s head. Her body’s warm and she smells like sunscreen even though our beach days are over until next summer. She slips her hand into my jacket pocket where my other hand currently resides. Our fingers seek out the other’s, tangling naturally as if we’ve been doing this our entire lives. All of my previous relationships were only dress rehearsals preparing me for this role—the most important and significant of my life.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eliza Lentzski is the author of lesbian fiction, romance, and erotica including
Winter Jacket 3: Finding Home
,
Fragmented
,
Don’t Call Me Hero
,
Winter Jacket 2: New Beginnings
,
Apophis: A Love Story for the End of the World
,
Winter Jacket
,
Second Chances
,
Date Night
,
Diary of a Human
,
Love, Lust, & Other Mistakes
, and the forthcoming sequel to
Don’t Call Me Hero
(Winter 2015). She also publishes urban fantasy and paranormal romance under the penname E.L. Blaisdell. Although a historian by day, Eliza is passionate about fiction. She calls the Midwest her home along with her partner and their cat and turtle.

Follow her on Twitter, @ElizaLentzski, and Like her on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/elizalentzski) for updates and exclusive previews of future original releases.

http://www.elizalentzski.com