With Elizabeth, a walk wasn't just a stroll around the neighborhood. She made me put on a pair of her hiking boots, muddy faded purple ones, and shook her head at me when I'd taken my jacket from the coat rack, telling me I needed a new one for the winter. It was cold outside, which was the only reason I accepted one of hers, though I secretly wondered if she didn't want to be seen with a woman in ratty old clothes. The thought stung.
There was a determination to her actions that made me watch her in silent awe. Although she had pocketed her work phone, she managed to not pay it any attention even though I heard the tell-tale swoosh of an incoming e-mail more than once. I'd briefly suggested picking up the kids, but she figured they were probably doing much more exciting things at their grandparents and they wouldn't appreciate being whisked away to go to the woods. She had a point there.
We hadn't been in a car with just the two of us since the day she hired me, now over four months ago. Though she was still pretty quiet, things couldn't have been more different than last time, with me chatting away about this and that, making her smile or roll her eyes at my silly jokes, comfortably leaning back in the passenger's seat with my legs spread wide. The way she muttered some unkind words under her breath at other people on the road brought a bubbly feeling to my stomach I couldn't really place — familiarity, probably. Without noticing, it hadn't only been the kids I'd grown attached to.
"What?" she asked, in that pretend offended tone of hers, her eyes flickering to me for a second before checking the rearview mirror. I liked watching her hands, the elegance with which they moved, even making driving look like a sophisticated activity.
"Nothing."
"Then why are you grinning at me like that?"
"Just happy. Lennox still hasn't answered. Think you took care of her for good." I still wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Maybe lesbians should never do the straight thing. Maybe Lennox had wanted to apologize, become friends again, and I'd ruined that now.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, seemed smug, straightening her shoulders as her lips twitched. "Good," she said, then went silent again, though the hint of victory remained clearly visible in her face.
The park was beautiful this time of year. On both sides of the trail, tall, thin branches hunched over us like little children's hands reaching out for each other, some leaves green and fresh, others flowing from fiery red into a glowing orange. Elizabeth's hair danced behind her as she walked out in front of me, blending in with all the colors of the forest around her. My footsteps were loud and messy, kicking about the undergrowth, while hers were light as a feather. She belonged here just as much as she did out on the water, her cheeks tinged with a healthy pink, creating puffs of cloud with every breath. The tips of my fingers were cold, and I stuck them in the pockets of the borrowed coat — it smelled like her, and it was much warmer than mine.
She looked over her shoulder, waiting for me to catch up. Her gaze lingered on my legs, and not for the first time, I wondered what it looked like to other people. I'd gotten offers of help so many times throughout my life, I was sure it must've seemed like a big struggle to others. "How far can you manage?" she asked.
"Three miles max," I said, not entirely truthfully — I was definitely upselling myself, but somehow I'd always had trouble admitting the real limits of my body.
"Alright," she said, already moving on again, "there's a path to the left that circles back to the parking lot. It's about two and a half miles, so should be doable."
Lucky me. That was probably right around what I could handle without exhausting myself. With a little more confidence, I took a bit of a sprint, falling in step next to her. "And then maybe on the way back," I said, my gaze trained on the ground in case of treacherous tree roots I could trip over, "we can go get pizza?"
She rolled her eyes. "You're just like Camille. If you hadn't only just started out here, I'd say she gets it from you."
The warm glow in the pit of my stomach was back, this time even more intense. There was just something about the idea of these kids copying parts and bits of me that made me feel like this was exactly where I was supposed to be. I felt myself relax, suddenly sure that closing the door on Lennox had been the right choice. "Now that you mention it," I said, "I caught Ari with another chili pepper. Apparently, Manon told her it wouldn't do any damage at all. Wonder where that wise-ass gets that from."
Elizabeth laughed. "That might be my mother's genes," she said, as if she wasn't just as much of a smart-ass.
"Oh, yeah, it's not like Manon is a small version of you."
"No, not really. It's Ari who takes after me the most." She smiled wistfully, looking up at the icy blue sky. "My mom used to say she hoped I'd get a child just like me. She certainly got her wish."
"Really?"
She nodded. "I didn't sit around reading books all day. In fact, every second I wasn't outside getting into trouble seemed wasted to me."
"You're kidding!"
"Is it so hard to imagine?"
"Sorry, but yeah." I looked her up and down, from her perfect make-up to her classy earrings to her grey woolen coat. "You always look so... cultivated." It was a word Hakim had taught me, and now I could tell him I used it in a conversation, like some fancy-pants college grad.
Elizabeth chuckled, as carefree as back when we were out on the water, and I drank in the sound of it. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, brushing a stray one aside. "That's not difficult when you've got money, Jessie. Believe me, if I'd still been seven years old, I'd be up that tree right now, trying to reach the top."
It wasn't hard to picture, but that was mainly because Ari would've done the very same if she'd been with us right now. "I've never actually climbed a tree," I said, flashes of my own childhood coming back to me. "Was too busy making sure my brothers didn't fall out of one. Probably for the best." With my clumsy footing, I'd have surely broken something if I'd ever tried.
"You always sell yourself short."
That wasn't the response I'd expected. Most of the time, people tended to agree with me and my shortcomings. Ma had taught me from a very young age I was better off not exerting myself; that only led to trouble and disappointment. "Have you seen me walk?"
She halted in her step again, seizing me up like she was trying to measure me or something. Then, she turned on the spot, searching around for something in the trees. "I bet you fifty dollars you can climb up that one," she said, pointing out a sycamore. It was tall, its top shooting out of sight, but it had a couple of thick low hanging branches a few feet above the ground, and some well-placed bumps and knots on its trunk. "Only to the first branch."
The idea was utterly laughable.
"I don't have fifty dollars to waste on bets I can't win." Honestly, it was tempting, mostly because I had never seen Elizabeth get into something as silly as a bet.
"If you lose, you'll have to stay out of my office for a change." There was the same playfulness in her tone as back on the boat, and damn, it worked so well with her sly smile, brown eyes glinting like Ari's could.
"Deal."
I hadn't consciously decided to agree — it was that smile, really, it was unfair. Determined to win this thing, I shrugged off the coat and handed it over to her. The wind crept up my arms, teasing my neck. Luckily, I was burning with warmth from the walk up here, and I was pretty sure the task at hand would leave me sweaty in only a matter of time. I made a show of flexing the biceps I didn't have; her scoff, laced with a suppressed laugh, was enough to spur me on.
I could do this. It shouldn't be that hard. If I could learn how to read well, this should be easy as pie. Closing my fingers around a young branch, I put my right foot on one of the knots, the sturdy boots giving me an incredible amount of adhesion. Surprised, I grabbed another branch with my left hand, lifting myself up. Still, I didn't slip.
Unbelievable. A little more sure of myself, I moved my right hand higher. All I could smell was the moss and resin of the tree, the palm of my hand already sticky with it, and the fresh autumn air, leaves rustling around me as the wind blew through them gently. Another step, and I could almost reach the low hanging branch I was aiming for.
"See?" Elizabeth said from below me. "You're doing fine."
I threw a glance over my shoulder — a mistake, because the next thing I knew, I skidded, yelping, and then I was hanging with my feet swinging back and forth aimlessly, struggling to find something to latch onto. "Oh, crap," I said.
Maybe I would've panicked if it wasn't for a clear laugh ringing through the air. It wasn't mocking me; it was genuine, the sort she only directed at the kids, and for some reason, it calmed me down. "I can't believe you're just cackling at me right now." I could barely talk, gritting my teeth. My arms were straining, and every second, I expected them to give up and drop me. I wasn't that high up yet, so I wasn't worried, but it wouldn't be pleasant either.
"Here, let me help you," came her voice from up close, and she pushed my feet back to the tree, guiding them to steady spots.
Relieved that I was stable again, I breathed out deeply. "Maybe I should just admit defeat," I said, realizing that falling wouldn't be as pleasant if I'd actually get higher up.
"Nonsense." There was a rustling sound, as if she was casting something aside, and then, within seconds, she'd climbed up beside me, speedy as a monkey, settling herself on the very same branch I'd been trying to get to, like it was nothing.
Was this woman ever going to stop surprising me? She sat there like a queen riding a horse, her legs dangling on either side, her expensive pants smeared with moss. "Put your hand right there," she said. "No, no, your left hand, Jessie. Come on, be logical. And now you move your right foot..." Step by step, she instructed me where to go, slowly guiding me higher up the sycamore.
"This is madness," I said, when she reached out for me to take her hand, and I had to throw my leg over the branch. I lost my balance, crashing fast forward into her arms, laughing in sheer terror.
And then, then I was sitting in a tree with Elizabeth Canfield, awkwardly holding onto the branch for dear life while she laughed too, goosebumps covering her exposed neck. Both of our coats lay discarded on the ground, a mass of grey in the brown and orange of the undergrowth. The view wouldn't have been impressive if it wasn't for the fact she was in it, too gorgeous for her own good.
"You owe me fifty dollars," I said.
She rolled her eyes. "I had to drag you up here."
"Let's call it quits then."
"Fine."
Her lips curled into a smile. How on earth we'd gotten to this moment, I had no idea of– from bickering to sitting in a tree. My gaze traveled to her mouth, suddenly realizing her proximity, my brain thinking this was the perfect time to rediscover old nursery rhymes. Jessie and Lizzie, sitting in a tree — my cheeks flushed, and I looked away. No, no, no. This was not a road I ever took, alright? Never catch feelings for the straight girl. That was rule number one of lesbianity. Lesbianism. The gay. Whatever.
Would a straight woman wonder about what could've been, though? Maybe picture-perfect Elizabeth wasn't as straight as she seemed, with her I could be a good lesbian and we're all just people, aren't we?
"What now?"
I startled, luckily managing to stay put. "I'm just thinking."
"About what?" Her tone was almost accusatory, and I hoped whatever I'd been thinking hadn't been on display.
Kissing you, apparently. "About us sitting in a tree."
"Shocking."
"Hey, I never said they were brilliant thoughts." She laughed, and I caught a whiff of spicy shampoo, and my stomach did the thing again, where it performed a bunch of complicated gymnastic moves I'd never practiced. "It is kind of shocking, though. Not just us in a tree, but you in a tree."
"I used to go here every weekend with Manon."
"Why did you stop?"
She gave me a meaningful stare. "I had Ari."
I snorted. "Yeah, fair."
She averted her gaze to her hands, fingers picking at the bark of the branch, tracing patterns in it. Hesitating, she opened her mouth, closed it again. She looked back up, then decided on: "I wasn't myself for a while after I had her."
"What do you mean?"
Scatters of pain flashed through her eyes, reminding me of the night she told me about Connery's betrayal. A frown clouded her face, and she swallowed. "I was tired, all the time. Didn't stop crying. And Ari," she shook her head, "I didn't know what to do with her. I didn't feel what to do with her, like I'd done with Manon. Sometimes, I thought about...—" she shivered, "...horrible things. I was miserable, for no reason at all."
I wanted to reach out for her hand, only I was scared I'd plummet towards the ground if I so much as moved. My breathing had slowed, listening so intently to all these memories I'd never expected to hear. "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth. That's rough."
She tucked her hair behind her ear, like it was easy, not wobbling in the slightest. "Yes, well... I got over it. But I still think it has had... impact. On both Manon and Ari." A bitter smile. "I'm just... not a good mom."
Oh, poor woman. I sucked in a breath, suddenly overcome with the urge to cry. "Sounds to me like you had postnatal depression. That's not really something you can control, you know."
She shrugged. "Maybe. Connery, he —" a pause, "he kept telling me to cheer up. I had everything, and it still wasn't enough. He was so angry with me, angry for..." she trailed off, eyes seeing something I couldn't.
"Connery sounds like a dick, to be honest."
Oops. Me and my endless talent to speak my deepest thoughts out loud. I winced, waiting for some kind of admonition, but it didn't come.
"I know you think that. He used to be a good father."
"Right. He up and left his kids. Cheated on you." With every fault, I tilted my head to the other side, like I weighed them out. "Blamed you for your depression. Really stellar dude. Top prize." She didn't say anything, only stared at me, like I wasn't making any sense at all. "For what it's worth, I think you're a good mom, when you're just being you and not in your head all the time. Which is why I think you should tell Manon the truth."
She looked away again, to the ground, as if she was contemplating the distance to see if she could safely make the jump and escape. Conveniently, we were up way too high, and she'd have to slip past me to make it down.
"This isn't healthy for her, Liz," I added, my heart taking a little leap of itself as my lips shortened her name. It felt strangely intimate, and it left a trail of tingles through my body. "She needs to know you are the parent she can trust. Because you are. Not Connery."
The intensity with which she looked at me took my breath away. When I blushed slightly, I realized it might be a little late to tell myself not to catch feelings. Crap. Not good. Not good. Especially since I fully expected her to yell at me in three, two, one...
"You might be right." She smiled sadly. "That infuriating app of yours has been telling me something like that for a while now. I keep deleting it out of spite."
I laughed, way too loud for the situation, and nearly toppled off the branch if it hadn't been for her catching me, her face way too close to mine to not think about that stupid nursery rhyme.
"Let's continue this conversation with both feet firmly planted on the ground, yes?"
I was thankful for it. My butt was starting to ache, and I wasn't sure how long I could've kept sitting there without starting to sing that song. The way down was easier than up, even though I did land on my back at the end, in a soft pile of leaves. Elizabeth chuckled at the sight of it, which made it worth it somehow, and helped me back up.
"One more thing," she said, while I brushed the leaves off my clothes, "don't you dare tell anyone I sat in a tree."