Chapter Fifteen

NAN COULD NOT resist T. When she heard that tap tap on her door, no matter how late it was, no matter what else she was doing, she felt compelled to open it. That mouth, that skin, that woman was delicious. She dove right in every time; she was all eagerness; she was drinking her in after a long drought; she was filling herself up on the feast of that woman.

She knew it wouldn’t last. She didn’t care. Who in their right mind would pass up immediate gratification at this excellent level? Honestly, she didn’t even know if she wanted it to last. That thinking didn’t apply here. There was no thinking when they were together.

They couldn’t go to T’s place because she lived with her grandmom, mom, and aunt.

“It’s a big house,” T said. “Huge, really. But they don’t ever sleep. They’re up all night. I can’t relax there. I feel like they’d just be waiting for us to be done, and then they’d want us to watch a movie with them or play dominos, or they’d bring out all the food in the fridge and have a party. At least you have a separate entrance here.”

I’m sleeping with a woman who still lives with her whole family. Nan laughed to herself. It was such an odd thought to think at fifty years old. Orphaned at fourteen, she’d lived with Franny and Regina, all of them banging around the house in separate states of grief and confusion until she left home at eighteen to go to college and never moved back.

“Do you like living with your family?” Nan asked.

“Love it,” T said, sitting up. “They do my laundry; they make all my meals; they run errands for me.”

“What do you have to do for them in return? Take them to their doctors?”

“Nah. They don’t do doctors. They say don’t look for trouble, or you’ll find it. I don’t have to do anything for them. That’s the beauty of this deal.”

“Nothing?” Nan couldn’t believe how one-sided this family arrangement was for T. But then again, one-sided relationships that were easy for T was what her whole life seemed to be all about.

“Well, I do supply them with news,” T said. “I do tell them what people are talking about in town. But I’d do that anyway.”

“It’s a regular Peyton Place around here, from all the stories I hear at work.” The latest story Nan had overheard was about the town baker who had walked in on her husband in bed with his high-school sweetheart. How the husband had to take the baker on the luxurious world-wide cruise she’d always wanted to go on to make up for his lapse. The part Nan loved best was that when the baker told the story, she laughed about it all and said she had lucked out to catch them together, so she could finally go on this wonderful trip of a lifetime.

Nan could tell by T’s blank expression she’d never heard of Peyton Place, the salacious Grace Metalious novel she’d discovered as a teenager that made her realize many homes held big secrets and many women were not who they seemed to be. She honestly thought everyone knew what Peyton Place meant, even if they hadn’t read the book or seen the movie.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. As usual.” T dismissed her.

So many things Nan and T said to each other whizzed right by without connecting. Their frames of reference were so different. She didn’t know why exactly. It’s not like I was spouting metaphysical poetry from Andrew Marvell or something la-di-da. She felt aggrieved, as if T had accused her of something rude.

It wasn’t T’s brain, education, or life experience; she had a business degree from Penn State and a minor in Italian language and culture, had spent her junior year abroad in Italy, and traveled all over Europe. But T reminded her of those kids she couldn’t stand in grade school who had taunted Nan about her head always being stuck in a book. Like that was a bad thing.

I’m bored. The feeling bobbed up and poked Nan hard in the chest. But it felt really good to have such a strong, clear feeling. The words were a voice in her ear that she had never paid attention to in her other affairs and relationships with women. I’m listening now.