“I’m not in the mood to go out and meet Heather’s new girlfriend, Barb. I’m not going to act happy just because you want me to. I miss her. She was the best thing that happened to me in years and I fucking miss her. I can’t help it. I should never have gone ahead with your plan.”
Joyce placed a glass of white wine on the breakfast bar in front of Barbara and waited for her reaction. Barbara had stopped by on her way to the restaurant where she was to meet Heather and her new conquest. She’d asked Joyce to join them, but it was out of the question. She was already in her pajamas and ready to wallow in misery.
A week had passed since she’d seen Amanda at the clinic and Joyce still couldn’t get the visit out of her mind. She couldn’t help but wonder if she should have tried harder. Amanda’s cold detachment had paralyzed her and she’d been unable to beg for forgiveness the way she’d prepared to do. Part of her was resigned to the fact that she’d lost Amanda, but another part, the part that missed her so much it ached, wasn’t convinced.
“Ridiculous,” Barbara responded before she took a large gulp of her wine.
“What?”
“This whole thing is completely ridiculous. I mean listen to yourself. So you had a crush on a girl young enough to be your daughter. And she probably had a thing for you too. But so what? It’s not like it could’ve worked out anyway, is it? I mean, can you imagine?”
“Fuck you, Barb.”
“Oh, that’s mature. Well done, Joy.”
“Fuck you. I mean it. I can’t deal with you right now. Go meet your daughter now so I can cuddle with my dog, will you?”
“Are you kicking me out?”
“Yes, I am.”
Barbara held her gaze for a few seconds before she started laughing. “How much wine have you had already?”
“Too much.” Joyce had opened the bottle and started to drink before Barbara’s arrival, hoping to relax. She’d emptied the bottle in Barbara’s clean glass.
“All right, you’re off the hook because I understand wine can make us say things we don’t mean, but I’ll get out of here before you get any nastier.”
“At last,” Joyce said bluntly, slightly frustrated when Barbara laughed harder.
She followed her sister to the door and they shared air kisses. “Now go on and cuddle with your sack of germs. No more wine for you, okay?”
“Whatever.”
Barbara smiled at her and sounded almost motherly when she added, “You will get over it, I promise. And you’ll see it was better this way.”
Barbara left and closed the door behind her. “Fuck you,” Joyce said again. She picked up Dingo and brought him upstairs with her. “You’re sleeping with me tonight. I love your germs.”
She climbed upstairs and got into bed with Dingo, who didn’t argue with her, quickly settling between her arm and the side of her body as she plunged her fingers into his red fur.
Joyce went over Barbara’s words and soon her mind was filled with the same series of questions she’d asked herself a thousand times since she’d found out Amanda might be interested in her. Was the way things ended truly preferable to attempting a relationship with the younger woman? Why was their age difference so important to her?
On one hand, did she think a relationship with Amanda would be inappropriate because of her own convictions or because she knew Evelyn and Barbara wouldn’t approve? On the other hand, if she did develop a relationship with Amanda, would it be simply to go against Evelyn’s and Barbara’s rules of conduct?
Of course, there was no way to find out unless she tried, and she’d missed that opportunity, hadn’t she? “Damn it, little brat, I screwed everything up, didn’t I?”
Joyce stared into Dingo’s eyes until he succumbed to sleep. She kept petting him, the movement of her hand and the softness of his fur soothing her. She was about to doze off when a thought flashed through her wine-clouded mind. Amanda had kept Dingo’s portrait in the end, hadn’t she? If she truly had wanted nothing to do with Joyce, she wouldn’t have accepted the gift. After all, it wasn’t only an image of Dingo. It was a picture Joyce had painted. There was hope, she thought as her eyelids got heavier. There was an opening, and she’d be a fool not to try to stick her foot in it before it closed again.
She reached out to the bedside table with her free hand and grabbed her cell phone. She typed up her message to Amanda before she could change her mind again. Or before she sobered up.
“Need to explain. Please. Tomorrow?”
She stared at the phone until its display screen got dark, then she dropped it to her stomach. She was still waiting for a reply when sleep claimed her.
Amanda was resting in bed when she heard the notification of an incoming text message. She’d been staring at the painting on her dark wood, six-drawer dresser. She hadn’t decided where or if she’d hang the portrait of Dingo yet, but she spent time admiring it every night. It wasn’t as painful as she’d expected at first.
While the thoughts of Joyce that flashed through her mind during the day were still gloomy and painful, the painting brought up different, more comforting ones. When she looked at it she allowed herself to remember the Joyce she’d seen as a birthday present from the universe. She focused on Joyce’s joie de vivre, her determination, her laughter. She drew a mental picture of her thick silver hair, her dark gray, laughing eyes, and her inviting, often playful smile.
She reached out to grab her phone from the bedside table and was surprised when she saw Joyce’s name on the display screen. Joyce hadn’t sent her another text message since she’d left the clinic after her last visit. Amanda thought she’d given up, which strangely both relieved her and saddened her. She read Joyce’s message a few times and sighed with frustration.
Doug’s voice got louder and louder in her mind, telling her she’d be an idiot to respond. That she needed to stay away from Joyce and her mind games. She should delete the message right away and block Joyce’s number once and for all.
Her own voice, however, as small and hesitant as it was, couldn’t be ignored. She wanted to hear Joyce’s explanation. She wanted to find out if there was any way to reconcile the woman she remembered every time she looked at the portrait of Dingo with the woman who’d lured her to her house for her niece. There had to be a middle ground between the perfection she’d seen in Joyce and the pure evil Doug saw in her.
Amanda sat on her bed and typed her answer with trembling thumbs. “Meet me in front of my building, nine a.m. We’ll take a walk.”