L.T. Smith
For as long as I can remember, I have been in love with my best friend. It took me nearly sixteen years to realise that little fact about my life, and still it came as a shock. I just thought that’s how friends felt about each other. In retrospect, wanting to be with her all of the time, wanting to cuddle her, kiss her cheek, hold her hand seemed a little too familiar for even the closest of friends. It was definitely a case of not seeing the wood for the trees, and then having the startling realisation that there was only one tree I wanted.
Mary Carpenter. That’s her name, a simple name—not classy, not double-barrelled, not anything special. But her name belied how very special she was, and not just to me. There was just something about her that attracted people to her, something about her that made a person feel better knowing she existed in this world. Everyone loved Mary. Everyone. If I didn’t know better, I would have said even my parents loved her more than they loved me. Not that I minded. It was the boys who hovered around her all the way through school that I hated. Those pimply-faced wankers would try to cop a feel of her at any opportunity.
That’s where Mary and I met. School, I mean. Infant school. We bonded immediately, becoming firm friends within minutes. She poured sand into my hair from the sand pit and I punched her squarely in the face, and those things seemed to solidify our friendship, though we came out of the experience grainier and bloodier than when we started. Blood sisters from the beginning.
Life with her in it always seemed better, brighter, full of fun. Being with Mary filled me with such agonisingly wonderful emotions that I knew she would always be a part of my world. Either that, or I would shrivel up and die in a corner somewhere. Overly dramatic? Yes. But that’s how it’s always been, and would continue to be if I had anything to do with it.
Anyone would think I should have caught a clue in my teens, especially with all those hormones raging inside of me, screaming, ‘Give it to me. Give it to me. I don’t know what it is, but give it to me anyway.’ But no.
I didn’t even go down the ‘experimenting with others of the same sex’ path, as quite a few of my classmates seemed to do. My experimenting happened with lads. I should have realised then, but, once again, no. I was so far in the closet I couldn’t even find my way past my t-shirts and to the doors, not that I was looking for them. I was oblivious to the fact I was a lesbian.
When Mary had a date, I would be happy for her. Well, happy in the way that included grinning and nodding stupidly whilst wondering why there was a feeling of emptiness creeping inside me. When she wanted to stay out late, I would lie and tell her parents she was staying over at my house, when I knew for a fact she was shacked up with some twat-faced, tit grabbing, arse-wipe of a boy, and they were probably doing unmentionables with the stickier parts of their developing bodies.
She never told me, though—never bragged about it, complained about it, or laughed about it. She was always the same, always my Mary.
I’m not surprised she had all the lads in a tizz. Mary Carpenter was a beauty. Her body was that of an athlete—firm, strong, toned. Whatever the season, Mary’s skin appeared to always have a soft tan, and instead of this hiding her other features, it gloriously enhanced them.
Her eyes. God, those eyes. I could live and die a thousand times in them and still beg for more. Dark. Dark and intense, and able to absorb the world with just one look. Thick lashes framed those perfect orbs, making them even more striking. But that wasn’t all. Her long dark hair shone when there was any kind of light, and even when there wasn’t. Her lips appeared to have been crafted by a Heavenly Being rather than the result of genetics passed down to her from her parents.
Even though I had duly noted every one of Mary’s attributes, I was still surprised to discover that my feelings for my best friend ran deeper than platonic love. The moment I first realised I was in love with her instead of the sisterly adoration I believed I felt will be forever engraved in my mind.
We were seated in Pizza Hut, wading through a 14-inch Hawaiian. Not the most romantic of places, but who said a person had to be sitting on a beach in Hawaii to get the gist of the tropics? I was picking pineapple off my half as if it was the spawn of Satan, and she was laughing at me.
‘Why do you insist on getting pineapple on the pizza when you hate it?’
Her voice was soft, yet sultry. It was me recognising the ‘sultry’ part that made me realise that things were not as they usually were. My hand hovered over the pizza, mozzarella clinging to the piece of pineapple dangling from my fingers almost like a fucked up fruit version of a bungee jump.
Her face was animated; her parted lips exposing wonderfully straight white teeth. I sucked in an involuntary breath as the ache inside my chest intensified into sweet agony. A light seemed to glow behind her, illuminating her outline as if she was being signposted to me by God, ‘This is she!’ With her very own nimbus to seal the deal.
It was at that precise moment that I knew I was in love with Mary Carpenter, that miniscule moment in time when all my sad little life up to that point seemed to make sense to me. I remember the pull of the idiotic love-struck grin slowly sliding into place across my lips, remember sighing dreamily, leaning forward, my fruit and cheese combo dragging across the table.
‘Are you okay, Louise?’
The sultry tone was gone, replaced by what I can only term as confusion, with maybe a little panic for good measure. The intense eyes were boring into mine, her body language and expression expectant yet guarded.
‘Yeah. Sure. I just don’t like pineapple.’ What the fuck?
And I wondered why Mary Carpenter didn’t want me the way I wanted her. Even at the precise moment I realised I was in love, I couldn’t think of anything else to say apart from a reference to me not liking pineapple. That’s the kind of sad fucker I was. Or should say ‘am.’
* * *
It has been six years since I realised I was in love with Mary Carpenter. Six long years. Six years of wanting her, yearning for her, praying that she would one day look in my direction and realise I was what she wanted. And for those six years I had to stand to the side and watch her become more beautiful, witness the longing looks from all the men she met—and even some of the women. The green-eyed monster seemed to be forever present, but I told him, unceremoniously, to fuck off.
Not long after I realised I was in love with Mary, we went off to university. Separately. She went to Durham, and I stayed nearer home in Manchester. We stayed in touch. We were best friends, after all. We even made the time to meet when our schedules allowed. It was these times I loathed and loved. To be with her was a pleasurable pain. Don’t get me wrong, being with her was glorious, but it was the knowledge that she would be gone again, living her life 130 miles away from me, that was the kick in the teeth.
Let me get one thing straight: I wasn’t straight. Being in love with my best friend had awakened me to all the possibilities that life could hold. I wish I could say that in the six years I was waiting for Mary to notice me in a way that went beyond friendship, I was a saint, but, alas, I wasn’t. I wasn’t a tramp; I was just searching for someone who could ease the yearning I had for the one woman who was unobtainable.
In some ways, I still feel bad about all the women I’d been with. They wanted so much from me, and I couldn’t give it. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But how could I give my heart when it had already been lost when I was 19 years old? Maybe even way before that, but I was too stupid to realise it earlier. Relationships seemed to be built on empty foundations, and I counted the days until I could make an excuse and flee from what I termed the shackles of life with someone I didn’t love, would never love, could never love.
Stupid, I know. Why would I give up a chance of happiness because of someone I knew I could never have? Simple. Because I knew I would never know true happiness unless I was with her. She was my all, my everything, my heart’s desire. For me, Mary was the woman all other women had to aspire to be, and she didn’t even know it.
Mary was oblivious to my pining. Surprising, considering I am the worst actress known to mankind. Her behaviour towards me never changed. When we saw each other, she was still filled with excitement, bubbly, wanting us to do the same things we had always done. But now I felt weird cuddling up with her on the sofa, watching old films. I felt like I was taking advantage of her whenever she slipped her arms around me, pulled me close, and told me how much she missed me when she was away. It was becoming more and more difficult to not be on edge all of the time I was with her. I was afraid the longing I felt for her might expose me; I might turn in her arms and kiss her when she was dozing behind me.
She didn’t feel the same way about me. Mary was as straight as they came. So, I made excuses not to curl up with her, lean against her, or share the same bed when she stayed over at my house or me at hers. Eventually, she stopped trying to get me close. Maybe she did know about my feelings for her and was glad for the distance, or maybe we were just growing apart. Each of those scenarios made my heart ache every time I thought of her, which was nearly all of the time.
And I still ordered Hawaiian pizza, even when she wasn’t with me. I would pick off each piece of fruit and pretend I was passing it to her, imagine our hands were touching as she accepted my fruity offering. But only when it was home delivery, I hasten to add. Waiters and actual dates would undoubtedly have given startled looks at my extended gift and my love-struck grin.
Fuck. I am probably funding the cultivation of this tropical plant in South America and supporting fair trade workers. Ananas comosus should be changed to “Sponsored by Louise Thomas—The Sad Little Shit.” Sure. Funding fair trade workers is a good thing, but wasting my hard earned dosh on a fruit I didn’t even eat wasn’t.
So where does this leave me? Why am I focusing on my past life?
Maybe because it wasn’t just in the past. It was all too real, all too present. Especially now that Christmas was winging its merry little way into the season like a fucking bad penny, and I was the host this year for the family luncheon—the luncheon that Mary Carpenter was attending with her boyfriend / man friend / partner / whatever the fuck “he” it was that she had been seeing for a few months. Patrick, or some other such arse holed name, was the man of the moment. I hadn’t even met him, and I hated him already. Mary had talked about him when she called me, but not in a lot of detail. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since she had started seeing him. Maybe that’s why I hated him. Maybe it was just because it wasn’t me she was waxing lyrical about.
And the worst thing?
She had news. I knew it was bad news, even before I heard it. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work it out. Mary was getting married, and I was getting my heart broken. Not what I’d asked Santa for this year, not by a long shot.
At least I learned a life lesson: Never trust a fat guy in a red suit who is always laughing, especially if he has broken into my house and has a full sack of something dangling over his shoulder. I can guarantee that his bag wouldn’t be full of festive cheer. More than likely, it would be full of weapons of torment in order to get me in shape for December 25th.
Knowing that Mary was going to be married would be a form of torture. I had no doubt that when she made her announcement, I would feel deprived of oxygen and have my pressure points pushed to the point of fainting, and my heart would definitely take the worst beating. Not to mention the intense interrogation techniques my sister and parents would put me through, as they had known for years that I felt more than friendship for Mary.
No. Christmas this year could go and fuck itself.
* * *
I slept quite well, considering I was like a kid with head lice all Christmas Eve. But I had to be up on Christmas morning to get “the bird” in the oven at the crack of the devil’s arse o’clock. After that, I had too much time on my hands. I prepared all of the vegetables, set the table, did all the little odd bits and bobs that a person usually remembers at the last minute, and it was still not even nine in the morning.
It was a choice of twiddling my thumbs until they became sore, or a long soak in the bath. I picked both, as sitting in the bath and trying to relax wasn’t happening. Every time I stretched out to lounge in the bubbles, Mary’s face appeared in front of me. Usually I would have made the most of the opportunity to be naked and wet and conjuring her face, but not this time. Seeing her face blossom into one of her breath-taking smiles would usually have had me grabbing for the loofah, but today her smile always followed her saying, “I’m getting married, Lou. Can you believe it?”
No, I couldn’t. I did, but I couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t allow myself to believe it until it wasn’t just an image of her saying it, but the real deal, and then I would probably still keep denying it.
In the end, I gave up. There was no point trying to relax when it was impossible to do so. I was clean, and that’s all that mattered.
Thankfully, my sister Hannah and her brood of urchins came earlier than the one o’clock we’d agreed upon. Considering the clock in my bedroom claimed it was only 10:24 a.m., I was perfectly within my rights to keep them hanging about on the doorstep until I had put some clothes on. Her excuse for turfing up two and a half hours early was her “concern” about how much I had to do for the Christmas lunch. I knew she was lying through her teeth, especially when I noted the kids were as high as kites already, and she had probably only turned up early so she could dump the kids in front of my TV and leave me to sort them out. It didn’t help matters when I spotted her husband, Pete, sloping off into the living room and clicking the door shut behind him. I stuck my middle fingers up in that general direction, thus alleviating some of the tension that was building inside me.
Hannah had barely enough time to take off her coat and bollock her kids before the doorbell went again. She looked at me sheepishly before shrugging and grinning stupidly. There was something afoot, something I just wasn’t getting.
I opened the door, and wasn’t surprised to see my parents standing there, grinning like idiots. I turned quickly to see Hannah mouthing something to them over my shoulder, just before her dip shit grin surfaced again. Anyone who hadn’t met us would have known that Hannah was related to my parents just because of her grin. Not that having a grin like that was something to be proud of.
‘What’s going on?’ The tone of my voice was commanding. Authoritative. The voice of a leader. I was impressed with my forcefulness, even lifting an eyebrow to reinforce my position as Alpha.
“Get out of the bloody way, Lou. It’s freezing out here.” My mum shoved past me to hug Hannah, and I knew they were whispering behind my back. Either that, or I was becoming paranoid.
“Hello, sweetheart. Merry Christmas.” My dad was the same as always—loving, kind, and considerate of my temperamental emotions when I was in charge of feeding the horde. He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a hug, one that I returned with equal fervour. “Are you ready for your surprise?”
“Jim!” My mum’s voice seemed to slice through my back and twat Dad around the face. He grimaced before blessing me with a wink. “Don’t tell her…what…erm…”
“Her present! That’s her surprise.”
Hannah was in on it too, but for the life of me I couldn’t put my finger on what “it” was. Had they won the lottery and were paying off my mortgage but wanted the whole family there to see me dance around the room and scream until I peed my pants?
I tilted my head, my eyes narrowing in accusation, but I knew it wouldn’t get me anywhere. I was shite at getting information, even when reading it from a leaflet.
My mum came back to me and hugged me close, landing a kiss on my cheek, followed by another and another. She knew that always made me laugh like a kid; and she also knew it was a complete change of subject.
“Jim?” My mum spoke over my shoulder. “Get Hannah’s boys to help you get the presents out of the car.” After a slight pause, she added, “And Lou can help you too.”
I pulled from her embrace and looked at her quizzically. “I’m Head Chef today, not Bellboy.”
“You’re a pain in the arse, that’s what you are,” came from behind me.
Trust Hannah to think she was a comedian. A crap comedian at that. One that would be sporting a festive black eye if she kept trying to press my buttons like she was playing with bubble wrap.
The words “fuck you” formed on my lips, but I knew I would have had to have my teeth surgically removed from halfway down my throat if I came out with that delightful epithet in front of my mother. So, I gritted my teeth, which were still in place, and went out into the cold December morning, Hannah’s two lads dancing around like Ariel, the fairy sprite from Shakespeare’s The Tempest, on uppers behind me.
It was going to be a long day.
* * *
It was quarter to one, and it appeared that an army of ants had received marching orders to create havoc in my pants. I couldn’t sit still. My mother had taken over cooking duties, whilst Hannah and I became her sous chefs—taking orders from her like we were on the front line. My eyes constantly turned to the kitchen clock, and I had to mentally deduct an hour because I hadn’t bothered putting the clock back over two months earlier at the end of British summertime. At least it kept me on top of my maths skills.
And the reason for behaving like I had ants in my pants?
“She”—and I don’t mean Haggard’s Queen Ayesha—would be here at any moment. I could feel her getting closer. Honestly. I always knew when Mary was on her way. It was as if my world became more vivid, as if it was filmed in Technicolor when she was in it. That, and the fact that Mary was never late. If anything, she would be early. I so wanted her to be early. So wanted her to be here with me, just me. Not Patrick. Not the man who was going to take her away from me and make her his wife.
“You got something in your eye, Lou?”
Hannah’s face peered up at me, the blade of a huge knife glinting from the region of her hand.
I shook my head.
“So why are you standing there with your eyes tightly shut?”
My mum’s voice drifted over from the other side of the kitchen, her attention on making her “secret recipe” gravy. “She’s working out the clock again.”
Ding dong!
I physically felt my heart drop, lift, drop, lift, shoot side to side, drop and lift in the matter of seconds. Nausea swept through me, and I thought I would hurl my breakfast across the room in a splendid rainbow of chunks. Then I remembered I hadn’t eaten.
Ding dong!
The feeling that swept over me, maybe because of the cardiac dysrhythmia of moments before, created a coolness throughout my body and made my legs seem weak and useless.
“Are you going to get that?” Hannah waved the knife in the air in front of me. “Or do I have to do everything?”
Amazing how Christmas can make us all act like kids, isn’t it?
Ding dong! Ding dong!
“Lou! Just answer the bloody door. My gravy’s going lumpy.”
I don’t remember moving from the kitchen and into the hallway, but I must have. My hand was shaking as I lifted it to the latch; tunnelled vision made my fingers seem longer and misshapen.
Swallowing hard, I tentatively pulled the door open, all the while readying myself to meet Mary’s future husband. I knew I had to smile, knew I had to be on my best behaviour even though I wanted to drag her inside and leave him to freeze to death on my front doorstep, maybe even shouting out a “fuck off” for good measure.
But when I saw her…when my eyes met hers…when it seemed, once again, that I had fallen straight into her, straight inside of her, nothing else mattered. Not Patrick, not that Mary didn’t love or want me, nothing. It was enough. Just being near her was enough.
Maybe that was because it had to be enough.
Her smile was, as ever, radiant, her eyes filling with light that likely showed the happiness she was feeling at seeing me. I was her best friend, after all, and it had been over three months since we had last seen each other. Our phone calls had been hit and miss, too.
She didn’t wait for a hello. Mary’s arms wrapped around me and pulled me close, her face burying itself in my hair. The scent of her filled my nostrils as I breathed her in. It was her smell, hers and hers alone. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would be able to pick her out of a line-up, even if I was blindfolded.
I felt tears prick my eyes and had to swallow hard to suppress the emotion that was bubbling up inside me. Mary squeezed me harder, and I struggled to keep the sob back. Her hand stroked my hair, then stilled. She drew back and looked straight into me, her beautiful eyes sparkling with unshed tears, a sad smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
Concern flooded through me. Why was she on the verge of crying? Had something happened with him? Had he hurt her? Told her he didn’t want her after all? A tingle of anger spread up from the region of my chest and then dissipated with my next thoughts.
What if it was me? Had I done something? Exposed my longing for her in my look, my embrace?
I started to pull back, give her space, but she wouldn’t let me. She kept holding on to me, her eyes becoming darker the longer I looked at her, the pupils taking over the colour and making them appear black.
“I’ve missed you so much, Lou. So much.”
Mary’s voice was soft, but sounded ragged. I couldn’t understand why she seemed unhappy. This was the day she should have been skipping about and announcing to the heavens that she was so happy she could explode. This was the day she would be telling us all about the man she loved, the commitment she was about to make, the life she was about to embark on. This wasn’t a day where she should be sad—unless the bastard had broken her heart just before Christmas.
No. Her appearance didn’t support my theories. She didn’t look as if she was nursing a rejection. Unlike me.
Instead of telling her how much I had missed her too, I changed the focus. I decided to put the “man of the moment” in the spotlight.
‘Where’s Patrick?’
Mary tilted her head and frowned. “Patrick?”
I bit my lip. I had to or else I would have called him a fine selection of names that couldn’t be repeated to people with sensitive stomachs. “Yeah. Pat-rick. You know, your boyfriend?’ I cringed at the obvious dislike in my tone, and tried to smile to distract her from my bitterness.
Mary’s eyes widened. I felt her stiffen, too. Shit. I hadn’t pulled it off. She had guessed I wasn’t Patrick’s number one fan. How could I be? Ever since she had met him I hadn’t seen her, hadn’t really heard from her either, apart from a quick call now and again.
“Oh! That Patrick! He, well…” A small laugh escaped her mouth. “Sorry. He’ll be here in a little while.” She grinned that grin I loved so much, and I felt my heart melt. “You’re stuck with just me for now.”
That was my ultimate wish. And it wouldn’t be stuck. Definitely not stuck. It could be many verbs, but that one didn’t even appear on the list. Such a shame that Patrick would be turning up after all.
As soon as the thought flitted through my head, guilt washed over me. I had to get used to the fact that Mary was not mine, would never be mine, never wanted to be mine. Alas, thinking those thoughts was a lot easier than accepting the sentiments behind them, as I still longed for her to be mine and me to be hers.
“Hello, love. Good to see you!”
My dad had broken free from Pete and the kids to greet the woman he considered his adopted daughter. I heard my mum shouting his name from the kitchen, but he ignored her as he pulled Mary into a hug. “Where’s that strapping lad of yours? I was hoping to meet him today.”
I wasn’t. Any similarity between me and my dad stopped there.
My mum called him again and he waved his hand in front of us as if to dismiss her, his face crinkling briefly into a disinterested look followed by his traditional cheeky grin.
“I saw that.” My mother had come looking for him, and judging by the expression on her face, I doubted he would get off lightly. “Hello, Mary love. Can I pinch him for a little while?” She smiled at Mary before giving my dad a death stare. “He needs to sort the turkey out.”
“Why? Has it been misbehaving?”
Why didn’t dads know when to give in?
My mum didn’t answer. I doubted she could have, considering her lips were pressed so tightly against her teeth, nothing was going to get past them. Not even a snotty retort.
Her expression was enough to make Dad realise that he was on the threshold of the doghouse, Christmas Day or not, and he scuttled off to do her bidding, leaving just Mary and me, and an expectant atmosphere.
It was a good job that Mary always seemed to know what to do in all situations.
“Shall we?” She indicated we should follow my parents, and I realised that we were still standing in the hallway and the front door hadn’t even been closed.
Sometimes I am even more of a knob than I thought.
* * *
Christmas lunch went surprisingly well, considering there were four women in the kitchen. The reason was probably because we all knew our rank: Mum, Hannah, Mary, then me. I was glad I was last. At least I only had to do the boring shite and not take charge of a 15 pound turkey. We had enough leftovers for the usual fare of turkey sandwiches, turkey salad, turkey hotpot, and my dad’s speciality, “Is it really turkey?” That one, he usually ate on his own.
We hadn’t opened presents beforehand, even though Hannah’s lads had pestered the living shit out of anyone who would listen. Therefore, the afternoon was spent unwrapping gifts and oohing and ahhing in all the right places, even if it was the customary Christmas jumper with a cross-eyed reindeer on the front. Every year my parents bought us the same thing as a joke. It was a tradition. Hannah and I always got gloves, a hat, a scarf, and a diary. At least they had stopped with the chocolate selection boxes and colouring books, although Hannah’s kids appreciated them. Then again, so did I when I was twelve. I wasn’t one for writing a diary, as I never got past the second week in January, but Hannah still filled her pages with shit. I know this because I still read them when I got the chance, although she had never worked that out.
Amazingly, just before I was about to give Mary my present, my mum stood up and announced she was going to do the washing up. What was even more astounding was that Hannah volunteered to assist, something she would usually do only if dragged by her hair, screaming all the way. I looked towards Mary, who just grinned at me and shrugged.
Before I had the opportunity to ask if they wanted us to help, my mum cut me off. “You spend time with Mary, love. We’ve got this.”
I opened my mouth to question why, but she waved me off. They had barely disappeared before Pete got up from the sofa, stretching and grimacing.
“I’m stuffed. I think I’ll take the lads out for a walk. Get rid of some of that energy.”
The kids looked up at him in surprise, the game console controllers gripped firmly in their hands. Pete was not known for pursuing any health or fitness regime. He broke a sweat changing channels.
“Coming, Jim?”
My dad’s head whipped up, and he looked at Pete as if he had lost his marbles. My mother’s voice answered for him from the kitchen.
“Yes. He is.”
There is something unnerving about mothers and the acuity of their hearing, and not only for eavesdropping on the kids. Quite a lot of the time, the dads copped it too.
Within minutes, the men had bundled up and were on their way out of the door, leaving me alone with Mary Carpenter. I was beginning to wonder if my choice of Christmas gift for her was so bad that no one wanted to be around to witness my best friend’s attempt at being gracious in her acceptance. Two tickets to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream and a weekend stay in London didn’t seem too shabby a present, although I had to swallow my gall at the knowledge that Mary would be sitting with Patrick watching the play. I didn’t want to even consider what they would be doing in the hotel room after the show. That performance would forever be omitted from any thought I would ever have. There was no way I could cope with thinking of him touching her. No way could I bear ever thinking of anyone touching her but me. God only knew how I would cope when they got married.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us.”
Mary’s voice was soft, her dark eyes sparkling, and I had to purposefully tear my eyes away.
“Here you go.” My voice was a little squeaky, so I cleared my throat before continuing. “It’s not much, but the thought was there.”
I held out the envelope with the tickets and hotel booking confirmation and waited for her to take it. Her attention wavered from the gift to my face, my face to the gift. I waved it in front of her. “Are you going to take it or not?”
I released a small laugh to follow my question and ease my…erm…unease.
Mary tipped her head in affirmation, the grin spreading beautifully across her soft, exquisitely crafted red lips.
Just seeing her smile made my heart contract, and a sigh released itself into the air with no help from me. I was so in love with this woman, so in love. Everything about her just made me feel so much, made me feel so alive, as if I could understand the universe and my reason for being in it with just one glance from her in my direction.
A soft tug brought me back to the reality of the moment, and my eyes dropped to see Mary’s fingers holding the tip of the envelope.
“Are you going to let go, or do I have to wrestle you for it?”
I think it was because I had been caught daydreaming that I laughed wildly, slapped her arm, and nearly knocked her off the sofa. Either that, or I was a complete twat. Maybe both.
I watched as Mary pulled the A4 sized packet towards her, her brows furrowing in contemplation as she examined it.
“What is it?”
“A bike. You may want to pump the tyres a little once you get it out.”
Her girlish chuckle swam around in my smugness that was gloriously wafting in the air with the knowledge I had made that noise, that emotion, happen.
“Git.”
I opened my mouth to answer, “your git,” but caught myself just in time.
Mary pulled out the sheets of paper and scanned the details, her eyes widening as she did so. She pulled the tickets for the play to the front and read them carefully before looking at the hotel information again. I was beginning to squirm. What if she didn’t like it?
“I…thought…erm…well, I thought you and…and Patrick might like a weekend away.” Every single word stuck in my throat, but I felt, in some fucked up way, as if I had to justify my gift.
“Patrick?” Mary’s eyes met mine, and I could see confusion dancing there. “Why Patrick?”
I couldn’t argue with that. It was exactly what I’d thought as I had sealed the envelope. However, I did argue it. I had to defend my previous words, even though I didn’t believe a single one of them.
“Well, who else would you take apart from the man in your life?” The same man who hadn’t even shown his face yet. What was he doing? “Where is he today? Isn’t he coming?”
My tone sounded a little bit curt, but I believed it was justified. If I was with Mary, if she was my woman, there would be no way I would leave her on her own on Christmas Day. All I would want to do would be to bask in the warmth of her smile. Everything else would take a back seat.
Fuck. What was the matter with me? Why was I so bloody romantic all of a sudden, so bloody mushy? Worse still, why was I challenging him being a part of Mary’s life? Was it because I still hadn’t met the man who occupied the place I wanted to be? Or was it because Mary still hadn’t told me much about him, still hadn’t told me her news?
Mary just stared at me, the tickets and booking details held out sideways, almost as if they had been forgotten. A small smile played at the corner of her mouth, and I thought it was because she was thinking of him.
“He had to pull a shift.” Her voice sounded dreamy, as if she was summoning up a memory of a better time. “Now and again, he works at a seafood restaurant.”
Who on earth had seafood for Christmas dinner in Manchester? Flipper?
Mary leaned forward and wrapped her arms about my neck. Initially I felt myself stiffen, but when I caught her scent, felt the warmness of her body against mine, I melted into her. Her breath tickled my ear and, embarrassingly, I felt my nipples harden against her chest and prayed the thickness of her jumper disguised it.
“Thank you, Lou.” Each syllable landed on my ear like a kiss, and a shiver rippled down my spine. “I…love…love…love…” I held my breath expecting a miracle “…them.”
Clamping my eyes closed, I swallowed the disappointment of the reality of the situation that made my heart ache so badly. I squeezed her tightly before allowing her to pull away. Instead of leaving the embrace, her lips gently brushed my cheek. Then again, this time just shy of my mouth. The temptation to turn my head and capture her lips with mine was battling with my sense of reason; my teeth gritted together in a painful clenching. They were within my reach. Those lips, I mean. So close, so damned close. But they could have been hundreds of miles away for all the good it did me. Our lips, however much I wanted them to, would not press together in a kiss.
“Open your eyes, Lou.” Her voice was tender, gentle, almost caressing. “I have something for you.”
Slowly, my eyelids parted and I sucked in a breath. Mary’s face was right in front of my own, her dark eyes glistening. All I had to do was lean forward less than six inches, and my longing for her would be exposed, my love for her would be exposed as I claimed her lips as mine. I didn’t even consider that my eyes were actually exposing me already.
“Yes?”
My question, although only one word, stumbled from my mouth as if it was unsure of its direction. All I wanted for Christmas was Mary Carpenter. All I’d ever wanted was her. She was a lifetime of gifts, a lifetime of wanting, a lifetime that I wanted to be a lifetime of us.
“About Patrick…” It was as if a bucket of water had been dumped over my head. I tried to move away from her, but she gripped me tighter. “Listen, Lou. I have something to tell you.”
Here it came. The news. The announcement. The happily fucking ever after.
“I have some news for you.”
I wanted to die right there and then. Was this the reason everyone had scarpered? Did they all know for sure what Mary was going to tell us? My parents and sister had known about my feelings for Mary for years, but after they had guessed, I had sworn them to secrecy. I didn’t want Mary to ever feel uncomfortable around me. I especially didn’t want her to know how much I ached for her, longed for her, yearned for her touch, her kiss, her smile.
“Wouldn’t it be better if you wait for your boyfriend to arrive?” My voice was cold, unaccepting.
She chuckled, and I felt my lips twitch into a thin, straight line.
“He won’t be coming, Lou.”
I would have expected there to be a hint of sadness at this revelation, but she seemed happy about it.
“Why not? Doesn’t he want to spend Christmas with his future wife?”
Mary’s eyes widened in surprise, and so did her mouth. “Future wife? Me? Patrick’s future wife!”
I pursed my lips, my teeth softly gnashing together, then bit my lip in order to engage my brain. I was totally fucking confused now. It didn’t take much for that to happen; even showing me a row of shovels and telling me to take my pick would do it.
“Your news. Your and Patrick’s news.”
Releasing her hold on me, Mary stood up. “Wait. Don’t move.”
The words barely left her mouth before she was gone, and I was left half perched on the sofa, wondering what had just happened.
I heard the front door open, felt the chill of the air whip around my legs. Where the hell was she going? But like a good girl, I continued to sit, continued to wait. I’d been waiting for her for years, a few minutes longer wouldn’t hurt.
I heard the door slam shut and tried to act casual, tried to act like I wasn’t on pins. I didn’t even have time to cross one leg over the other before she was standing in front of me. With one fluid movement, Mary knelt down, wrapped gifts in her hands.
I stared at the packages before lifting my eyes to meet hers. She was flushed, her cheeks glowing from the fresh air and the mad dash she’d made. Her hair was windblown, strands dancing around the contours of her face. She was beautiful, and I felt my breath catch before it stuttered back into the air.
“Patrick is here.”
Her voice was low, so low I had to keen my ears to hear her words. And then I wished I hadn’t. If someone had thrust a hand down my throat, grabbed my heart, then squeezed it with superhuman strength before ripping it out through my throat and tossing it aside, I couldn’t have felt the agony of the situation any worse. Patrick had turned up. Fucking Patrick. RatPrick Patrick.
My jaw clenched painfully as I turned to look over my shoulder at the doorway, fully expecting to see a devilishly handsome man standing there, a lopsided, shit-eating grin on his chiselled features. But there was no one there. The doorway was empty.
I stared, blinked, and then stared a while longer at nothing, fully believing I was not staring hard enough.
Something touched my knee, something that felt like a hand. The heat of it shot up through my thigh and blossomed throughout my lower body.
“No, Lou. Not there. Here.”
Her voice was so close to me that it felt as if her mouth was right next to my ear. But it wasn’t. She was still kneeling in the same position she’d been in before I’d looked towards the door, the presents still resting in her hands like an offering.
“What do you mean?”
Patrick wasn’t next to her. There were only the two of us in the room. I think I would’ve noticed otherwise. I might be stupid at times, but my eyesight was pretty good, although I was beginning to doubt my sanity.
“Here.”
She lifted the presents towards me, and I became more confused. Why was she trying to get me to open gifts when she had told me Patrick had arrived?
“But where’s Patrick?”
Mary placed the presents on the floor and picked up the top one. Her hand absently stroked across the ribbon and straightened the tag, long fingers toying with the string that attached it to the brightly festive paper. She sighed, and her shoulders rose and fell dramatically. Mary tilted her head and stared at the gift, then lifted her chin and allowed those dark brown eyes to land on me and begin, or so it seemed, to read me like a book.
I opened my mouth to ask her again where her boyfriend was, but she leaned forward and placed two fingers on my lips, shaking her head as if to silence me.
“I feel a little bit stupid now.” I was too focussed on stopping myself from kissing her fingers to do anything but let her continue. ‘I…I have something to tell you, Lou. Something I’ve wanted to tell you for a very long time.”
My bottom lip dropped as I attempted to respond, but I couldn’t speak. Having her skin touching my lips, my parted lips, was nearly my undoing. It would have been so easy to kiss those perfect digits, to swipe my tongue over them and savour their texture, taste, the everything that was Mary Carpenter. But I didn’t. Whatever happened between us, whatever it was she wanted to say, I would never do anything to jeopardise our friendship. I loved her. She was my all, my absolute. And if that meant forever living on the sidelines as others romanced her, then so be it.
“Just hear me out, okay?”
She leaned closer, her eyes darting to each of mine in quick succession, as if exacting my promise. I nodded, luxuriating in the sensation of my lips moving over her fingers.
“Promise?”
I nodded again.
Mary tentatively removed her fingers from my lips, and their absence left a chill behind. But not for long. Her thumb came back and brushed slowly along my bottom lip, her eyes watching the movement as if mesmerised by her caress.
“Do you know how special you are to me, Lou?” Her thumb slid down towards my chin, the skin coming alive at her touch. “How very special…” Her tone was wistful.
I felt as if I was being hypnotised. Her delectable thumb was stroking the base of my jaw, backwards and forwards, forwards and backwards, her eyes watching the journey in rapt fascination.
“For years I have known how I felt about you. Years.” The thumb stopped, dropped, and she leaned back onto her haunches. Dark eyes penetrated mine. “You are my best friend. My very best friend.”
My head was shaking from side to side. Why was she reiterating our friendship? Was she trying to let me know she knew how I felt, but that she didn’t feel the same way? And what about Patrick? I still had no idea what was going on.
With one fluid movement, she was on her feet, her back turned towards me. “Do you remember when we kids and we used to rush home from school to watch cartoons?”
Her voice sounded distant, even though she was only a matter of feet away. What the fuck?
Mary turned her head and looked at me over her shoulder. “Do you, Lou? Remember it?”
“Of course I do.” My voice was hoarse, either from lack of use or something else that was building inside me.
Mary smiled at me before turning away. Her head dipped, and I wondered what was going through her mind.
“Do you remember when we were about eleven, and a new cartoon series started on Nickelodeon?”
I shook my head, and then remembered she couldn’t see me. “No. And I don’t understand what—”
“SpongeBob Squarepants.”
Why on earth was she talking about fucking SpongeBob Squarepants at that precise moment? Or about cartoons in general? Couldn’t she just tell me that she didn’t think of me the way I felt about her? It would save a lot of time and keep me from feeling like a prize one dick head in the process.
“Look, Mary, I don’t know why you’re talking about.”
“Can you remember where he lived? SpongeBob, I mean?”
I shook my head, as I had no idea where she was going with her references to a program I hadn’t watched for years. Then it struck me, like a lightning bolt. Sharp and exact, and I gasped in understanding.
Mary turned to face me, her expression so open, so honest, so full of expectation. “Do you remember, Lou?”
“A pineapple. He lived in a pineapple…under the sea.” I could barely get the words out, and I didn’t understand why.
Mary turned back to me and dropped to her knees in front of me. She reached out and took my hand, then ran her thumb along the back of it. I stared at the movement, not truly believing I was seeing what I was seeing. Each stroke of her thumb assured me that I wasn’t losing my mind. How could I be going mad when I felt every stroke, every movement as if it was the most intense thing I had ever felt? I couldn’t dream up the delightful ripples that shot up my arm before exploding throughout the whole of my body, could I?
“You used to call me SpongeBob, remember? Because I love pineapple.”
My heart was beating so fast, so hard, that I felt lightheaded. Mary brought my hand to her mouth and landed a soft kiss on my knuckles. I blinked, then blinked again. I hadn’t dreamt it. I couldn’t have. I felt her lips touch my skin, the thrill of it, the softness of her mouth as it made contact, even heard a small noise as she delivered the kiss.
“Can you remember what I used to call you?”
Her voice was soft, tender, so unbelievably, agonisingly Mary. My tears began to well. I could feel them choking me as they escaped from wherever they had been stored for so many years. It was as if I was ballooning, expanding, whilst shrinking at the same time. As I nodded, a tear tipped over my eyelid and began to track down my cheek. Mary gently wiped it away.
“Say it, Lou. Tell me the name.”
A sob broke from my lips, and I shook my head to jolt myself from my inability to speak. Without thought, I cupped her face, my hands shaking as if they were holding something fragile. I wanted to look into her eyes as I said it, wanted to see that what I was hoping for wasn’t just in my head.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and opened my mouth, but the word stuck. I shook my head and gulped back the emotion before stuttering out the name.
“Pa…Patrick.”
The smile she gave me was blindingly brilliant, her head tilting sideways to press her cheek against my palm.
“Yes. Patrick. His starfish best friend is Patrick. Just like mine.” She took one of my hands from her face and kissed my knuckles, her eyes closing for a moment as contact was made, then she looked up at me.
My heart. My poor, poor heart. Its cadence was frighteningly rapid, but it felt magnificent. Never in a million years had I ever thought this could happen. I’d dreamt of it, longed for it, cried myself to sleep for the want of it, but deep down I never believed it would happen.
Mary raised herself onto her knees so her eyes were level with mine, and my hand slipped onto her shoulder.
“So, you see, Lou. Patrick is here. The person I love is right here.” She pulled my hand to her chest and placed it just beneath her breast. “Right here, too.”
I squeezed my eyes tightly shut as I processed what she had said. Then, without actually thinking it through, I leaned into the space between us and pressed my lips against hers.
Soft. So bloody soft. Her lips felt better than I ever could have imagined. I just held mine against hers, didn’t move them, didn’t budge from the initial contact. I wanted to commit this moment to memory, capture it and store it in the folder inside my brain that was labelled “Perfection.”
It was Mary who moved her lips first, Mary who increased the pressure and started to slowly capture my mouth. Our initial contact had been everything I had ever hoped it would be, but having Mary Carpenter kiss me was way beyond anything I had ever have conjured in my limited imagination.
The heat of her seeped into me, and mine into her. Slow, languishing movements of two mouths connecting for the first time. Her lips parted, encouraging me to stroke her bottom lip with my tongue. The taste of her was all consuming, and I felt the hunger rising within me.
I lurched forward, my body pressing against hers, her arms wrapping tightly around me and pulling me closer. My kiss was hard, demanding. It was as if the dam had burst, and now I could finally unleash it all, unleash my love for Mary Carpenter. Show her with a kiss what she meant to me. Show her that she was my all, my reason for being, and the woman I had always loved…would always love.
My fingers threaded through her hair, luxuriating in the feel of the silken strands that I had lusted after for years. Her tongue met mine and the charge of it spread through my body, hitting every region, every extremity. I don’t know which of us moaned, but the sound of it filled my ears, the vibration pulsing through me, creating my moan that slipped inside her mouth.
Mary’s hands were on my back, her arms holding me close, but I wanted to be closer. I wanted to be beneath her skin, wanted to be part of her as she had always been part of me.
But Mary pulled her mouth from mine, leaving me kissing air. Coolness touched my lips, and my eyes shot open in question. If it wasn’t for her arms still holding me and her half hooded eyes, I would have started to panic, thinking I had misread the situation.
“I love you, Louise.” Her expression was serious, her eyebrows dipping slightly, indicating she was thinking about something. Why did she look so expectant? So concerned?
Then it hit me. I can’t believe I hadn’t gushed it as soon as I realised what was going on, considering I had said it every day for six years, even if it was only to thin air or to her photograph.
I cupped her face and pulled her closer, making sure she was looking at me. I wanted her to know how I felt, to realise how very much she meant to me.
“I have loved you for the better part of my life, Mary. And I intend to love you for the rest of it.”
Tears formed in her eyes. She blinked, and they broke free and slipped down her cheeks. I brushed them away. I moved nearer and kissed the tip of her nose before resting my forehead against hers.
It should have felt weird, looking at her from such a close range, but it didn’t. It did make my eyes hurt, but I knew I could stand any amount of pain to be this close to her.
“I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to hear you say those words.” Her voice drifted between us, and I could feel as well as hear each word. “You git.”
Huh?
I leaned back a tad so I could look at her. “Did you just say what I think you just said?”
A crooked grin broke out on Mary’s face. “What? Giiiiiit?” She dragged out the last word, making it sound comical.
I half closed my eyes and gave her a questioning look. “Yes. That.” I licked my lips and enjoyed the way Mary watched my tongue. “Why are you calling me a git?” My tone came out playful, miraculously just how I wanted it to sound.
Mary shook her head in a futile attempt to look stern, making a tsking sound as she did so. “My beloved git, why have you not told me before that you loved me?”
I released an incredulous laugh. “What? Tell you that I loved you even though I truly believed you were straight?”
“Yes. You assumed I was straight. You never questioned it.”
“Why would I question it?” I was getting confused. “You had more boyfriends than you knew what to do with.” Though even one had been more than I could possibly bear.
She laughed that beautiful, womanly laugh of hers and cocked her head to the side. “And why do you think I had all of those boyfriends?”
I shrugged. “Because you wanted them?”
She laughed again, and I glared at her.
Mary leaned forward and kissed me, her lips touching mine so quickly that I didn’t get the chance to respond.
“No.” Her voice was sultry, her index finger coming up to touch my lips whilst her eyes followed. “It was because I wanted you. Not them. You.”
“Me?”
Obviously I was unconvinced. Who wouldn’t have been? To me, Mary was as straight as they came. Until she kissed me, that is. Kissed me. On the mouth. With tongue. Kissed me with those perfect lips. Kissed me and made my life brighter, happier, more fulfilled than I ever dreamed possible.
A stupid grin tried to break out, but I suppressed it and tried to focus. With the woman I loved sitting at my feet, looking adoringly at me, hiding my idiotic grin was no mean feat.
“Yes, you.” She sighed. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to admit it, just tell you I loved you, but…” She shifted slightly, and I followed her.
“But?”
She reached out and grasped my hand, rubbing her fingers against my palm. “But I didn’t know you felt the same.”
I opened my mouth to rebut her words, but she didn’t give me the chance to speak.
“You stopped wanting to be close, didn’t want to cuddle when we watched films.” Mary sucked in a breath and held it for a moment before releasing it in a final rush of words. “And you stopped wanting to share a bed when we stayed over at each other’s houses.”
I snorted.
Mary tilted her head and looked straight into me. “What’s the matter?”
“I didn’t want to stop being close, Mary. I was just too scared that if you found out how I felt, you would hate me for wanting you the way I did.” I lifted our joined hands and kissed her knuckles. “For wanting you the way I still do.”
She pulled me towards her, and I went willingly, not thinking about the consequences. Mary was kneeling on the floor, and I was seated on the sofa. There was only one outcome of me moving forward. I landed squarely on top of her, her falling backwards and taking me with her.
Having Mary beneath me was like all my Christmas wishes pooled into one—past, present, and future. I luxuriated in our closeness, the feel of her firm body supporting my weight. Even the way she oofed seemed a welcome of my body as I landed on top of her, made it more real somehow. Dark brown eyes stared up at me, and I felt myself become lost in her all over again.
“You have the most amazing green eyes I have ever seen, Lou.”
Each word slipped inside me and made me tingle in places I never knew existed. Her hands came up and tangled through my hair.
“And I love your hair. So soft…so unbelievably soft.” The words began to drift near the end, and my eyelids fluttered. “Why did we wait so long for this…for us?”
I slowly shook my head. I wanted to ask her why she still waited when she knew I was gay, but I couldn’t find any words. Answers to that question could come later, but for now I would allow my actions to speak for me.
I gently pressed my lips on hers and indulged in the absolute connection we shared. I didn’t move, just held them against hers and filed this moment as the first in the collection of blissful memories I knew I would share with her as we moved on with our future together. It seemed that I kept on wanting to just to connect with her rather than pursue my wildest fantasies.
Mary was still too, as if she was doing exactly the same thing as I was. My heart was racing wildly, and I wasn’t sure whether the beating I could feel ricocheting through me was just mine, or both of ours.
‘So, when do we get… Lou?”
Considering our lips were otherwise engaged, it would have been impossible for the voice that invaded our perfect moment to belong to either of us. Even if we hadn’t been kissing, the voice was too deep, too manly. Too much like my dad’s.
I tried to struggle up, but ended up getting more tangled in the situation. I could see a pair of short legs standing to the side of my head, and my face burned with embarrassment.
“What are you doing, Aunty Lou?”
Alfie, Hannah’s eldest had decided that standing next to us was not close enough, and he dipped his face to be on level with ours. I wouldn’t have thought my face could go any redder, but it did.
“Hey, champ. Enjoy your walk?” Apparently Mary wasn’t fazed by the invasion, and I was surprised at the calmness in her voice. She just snaked her hands around me and hugged me tighter. I wanted to bury my face against her neck and wait for everyone to bugger off so I could collect myself. I don’t know why. It wasn’t as if my family didn’t know I was gay. But it is different being caught getting jiggy with it with the woman of your dreams by your dad and nephews, isn’t it?
James decided that joining his brother by standing as close as he could possibly get and enjoying catching his aunt with her metaphorical pants down was more interesting than going on his Xbox One. “Are you getting married?”
The rumble of Mary’s laugh reverberated through her chest and into mine, and I looked down at her. Her eyes were sparkling wildly, and I realized she loved how we had been caught. I couldn’t help but join her, and soon the tears were streaming down our faces.
“What’s going on?” My mother had come in. “About bloody time you two got it on.”
What the hell? My mother was condoning me sprawling all over Mary Carpenter on my living room floor in front of her grandkids? This was turning into a family get together. All I needed was…
“Smile!”
I turned my face in the direction of Hannah’s voice and experienced the blinding flash of a camera. I felt like a celebrity caught in the act, and fully expected to see it on Hannah’s Facebook page in minutes.
“Lou?” Mary’s voice was low and exceptionally calm. “Do you think we should tell everyone about us?”
I looked back at her, little orbs still dancing in front of my eyes courtesy of the camera flash. Through the spectacular luminous display, I caught the raised eyebrow and the expectant look from the woman I was covering.
What else did my family have to witness to understand that I was romantically involved with my best friend? “Are you serious?”
Mary nodded, but I glimpsed the beginning of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It was as if I used her body as a trampoline, as I seemed to bounce to my feet with hardly a stumble. Hand extended, I waited for her fingers to slip across my palm before I tugged her to a standing position and securely wrapped my arm around her.
“I’d like to make an announcement.” My eyes scanned the room and noted the expectant faces—apart from my dad, who just appeared confused. Nothing unusual in that, especially at family gatherings.
James was getting antsy. “I said, are you getting married?”
I think he was still at the stage where if you kissed someone it meant you had to get hitched, just in case a baby appeared. Considering he was nearly ten, that was a little disconcerting.
“Of course they are. They’re in love.”
Alfie, bless him, smacked James around the back of his head, making his brother grunt. Before an all-out scrap could ensue, Hannah dragged Alfie away to stand behind her, her hand firmly gripping his shoulder to make sure he didn’t make a break for it and smack his brother in the face.
“Listen, son. This is history in the making.”
Hannah nodded at me to continue with my announcement, but her words had got me thinking. There was something underlying her simple phrase, something in keeping with my sister’s big sisterly sneakiness.
“What do you mean by ‘history in the making?’” My question was innocent enough, but the blush that crept up Hannah’s face made me realise that the events of today were a little more complex than I had realised.
Mary pulled me closer. “It’s not Hannah’s fault, love.”
“What do you mean ‘It’s not her fault?’’’ Why was I suddenly having the urge to repeat snippets of people’s conversations?
“Erm…well, let’s put it this way. I didn’t do this on my own today.”
Mary’s voice was quiet, almost as if she wanted me to miss what she’d said. Turning, I looked at her. As expected, Mary looked a tad guilty. For what, I had no clue.
“Didn’t do what on your own? Kiss me?”
I think I’ve already mentioned that I am an idiot.
My mum spoke up. “Come off it, Lou. If it was left up to you, you would still be hankering after Mary when you’re seventy. There’s stubbornness, and then there’s you.”
I started to speak, but realised I couldn’t deny her words. I opened my mouth, gurned a little, and then shut it again without uttering so much as a gurgle.
“And you, Mary Carpenter, are no better. From the time you were kids, anyone with eyes could tell you two were meant to be together.”
My mum was on a roll now. God help us all. I felt Mary squirm, and I wanted to laugh.
“As a mother, I know. I could see it.” She hooked a thumb at my dad. “Him, on the other hand, he wouldn’t have a clue.”
I fully expected my dad to ask where Patrick was, but he didn’t. He just glared at my mum, then nodded and agreed.
“How many years have you both dodged the inevitable? Ten?” I wanted to say it had only been six years, but didn’t think it was the right time to interrupt my mother on a rant. “However long it’s been, it’s gone on too long.” My mum’s attention landed on Mary, and I felt her stiffen. “That’s why I called you. Told you to do something, or else you never would.’”
Called her? My mum had called Mary and told her to get her act together? What the hell?
“And if it hadn’t been for Hannah, you’d probably still be dawdling about and looking for your arse with both hands.”
Hannah too? Bloody hell. It was a family conspiracy—our very own version of The Sopranos but with less blood and fewer fuck words.
“But… I couldn’t…didn’t… What if…” At least Mary tried to speak. I stood next to her wallowing in my muteness.
My mum held her hand up to silence Mary, but not in way that was meant to be cutting or rude. It was my mum’s way of letting us know she hadn’t quite finished.
“You can’t live your lives on ifs, buts, and maybes, Mary love. And you too, Louise.” She moved closer to us, her smile gentle and reassuring. “Life is too precious to worry about rejection. What you should worry about is never doing anything with it, never speaking out, never showing your heart.” Mum stopped in front of us and rested one hand on my arm and the other on Mary’s. “And to live your lives hiding away your love is the biggest mistake you could make. You two belong together. Always have, always will.”
Emotion surged up my throat, the aching of it terrifyingly wonderful. Then the tears came, but not from hurt or anger. The tears were of happiness, acceptance, and recognition of what I could have lost because I was too bloody frightened to speak my heart to the one person who held it. What my mother had said was so true. So bloody true. I’d been so afraid of losing Mary’s friendship that I’d nearly lost her completely. I had been blinded by circumstance and expectation—my own—that I had thought that Mary could never feel anything but friendship for me. Even when I had told her I was gay, she’d been so understanding. It had been me who had freaked out when I…
Shit! Big fuck off light bulb over the head moment. Realisation shot into my mind as I recalled what I had done five years ago, the day I had confided my sexuality to my best friend. No wonder she had never told me how she felt.
“God! I am so sorry.”
It was the day I had told Mary Carpenter that I was a lesbian, to keep someone else from telling her first. Even I’d realised it would have hurt her to find out second-hand. It was that same day that I had also said, “Don’t worry, Mary. I don’t think of you that way. You’re my friend. My best friend.”
I thought she’d gone quiet because she was stunned by my revelation, and then she left not long after.
“When I told you I was gay, I only said what I said because I didn’t want to freak you out. I loved you even then.”
Mary slowly shook her head before releasing a deep sigh. “That’s all in the past, Lou. Don’t worry about it.”
God. Her eyes were so dark, so intensely dark.
Hannah apparently decided that it was her turn to speak. “You should tell her, Mary.”
I still hadn’t forgotten her “history in the making” comment, but that could wait.
“I don’t think…” Mary grimaced, the sentence unfinished.
Hannah moved over to the sofa and bent to retrieve the presents I had dropped when I had launched to grab the woman I loved. “Which one is it?”
She held three presents in her hands, her eyes darting to each tag as if they would reveal the contents. She stopped and looked over to us. “Give it to her and tell her. She needs to know this isn’t a flash in the pan, a sudden epiphany.”
I think that was the very first time in my life I had heard my sister use the word epiphany, and I knew for a fact it would be the last.
Mary sighed and moved forward to select one of the gifts. I watched, fascinated, as she deliberated before extending it to me.
I opened it tentatively, slowly pulling the Sellotape from each section of paper. I could hear James and Alfie discussing what on earth the gift could be, considering how both their mother and Mary seemed so obsessed by it.
As the paper separated, I felt tears welling again. I knew what it was before I peeled the covering away. My hands were holding a box. Inside the box were two figurines of two very well-known characters. At the base of the cellophane covering was a Post-it with “You and Me. Best friends forever” surrounded by little love hearts. SpongeBob and Patrick grinned back at me, their goofy smiles shooting directly to my heart and making it ache in that swelling-with-too-much-love kind of way.
“I told you Patrick was here.”
My vision was becoming blurry, but the bright yellow and pink were unmistakable. I trailed my fingers over the faces of my cartoon heroes, paying special attention to their smiles. As if from a distance, I heard Hannah encourage Mary to continue.
“I, well, this isn’t a new gift,” she murmured.
My head shot up, my eyes fixing on hers. Mary chewed her lip, then sighed as if realising she had to continue now she’d started.
“I bought it five years ago. I…bought it to give to you…to help me tell you how I felt.”
“So, why didn’t you?”
“Because you told her just beforehand that you didn’t think of her that way, you knob head.”
Trust Hannah to not be able to keep her gob shut. Now was not the time to mention my oversized mouth and inability to recognise a special moment.
“Is this true?”
My question was aimed at Mary. She tilted her head, her eyes closing momentarily, then she straightened her shoulders and stared right into my eyes, and it felt as if I was having my soul examined.
“Yes. But it was for the best.”
“I’m bored. Mum, can I—“
I heard Hannah shush Alfie and then whisper for him and James to go and find their dad, who was God knew where.
“How can it be for the best? We’ve wasted five years.”
Mary’s smile was so beautiful, so radiant, that I wanted to kiss her senseless without a care for my audience.
“We, my woman, have never wasted a moment. Every single day you have been in my life was a gift, the reason for me breathing. I have loved loving you, loved being in love with you whether you knew it or not.” Her hand reached up, slender fingers stroking the side of my face. “And I will live and love every day from now on, with the wonderful knowledge that you love me back.”
I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. Words would have been redundant. They were mere air, after all. Throwing my arms around her, I kissed her, our lips melding together perfectly as if each had been made in the other’s mirror image. Mary pulled me closer, our connection blindingly beautiful, perfectly synchronised.
I heard shuffling from behind me and knew my family was finally giving us the privacy we needed. I heard my dad’s mumbled, “But what’s happened? Is Patrick coming or what?” I smiled into Mary’s mouth.
The kiss was perfect, just like her. My lips knew hers, and hers knew mine. It seemed as if our kiss was the promise of one soul to another, a promise to never forget the love we shared. To never forget the connection we had. To never forget to keep telling each other how we felt, how we loved each other and would continue to do so for the rest of our lives.
I have been in love with my best friend for as long as I can remember, and I will continue to love her for the rest of my life. Given the chance, I would continue to love her beyond even that.
She was my woman, my SpongeBob, my pineapple loving best friend whom I loved to distraction, loved with the completeness of my whole being, and would love which every breath I took for the rest of my life.
Mary Carpenter was my reason to breathe in and out every day. She was my Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, birthdays, and everything else. And the best bit was knowing she felt the same way, even though it had taken us years to pluck up the courage to admit it. We knew now, and that’s all that really mattered.
For that knowledge, for that love, for my Mary Carpenter, I am truly thankful. These were Christmas gifts I definitely would not be returning this year, although I seriously doubted Hannah’s gift of a jumper sporting a cross-eyed reindeer on the front would have a long life.
I might even trade it in for one sporting the character who lived in a pineapple under the sea. That seems like a better fashion statement after all, especially for a starfish.