Stay
By
Disclaimer: ER and all ER characters and storylines are copyright to Warner Bros., ConstantC Productions and Amblin Television. This is just a little bit of fan fiction.
Again with the canon stuff. There’s something alternative a-brewin’ between the good Doctor’s Weaver and Legaspi, and it’s on my TeeVee. Yay! So herein lies my attempt to play with that.
Spoilers for “Rock, Paper, Scissors”.
This story is #4 in a series that wasn’t supposed to happen. Please feel free to send comments, kind or constructive, to shaych3@yahoo.com.
This one is for all the other bards, writers, singers, actresses and actors who have entertained me. Thank you.
This story was partially inspired by the song "I Will Stay" by Thomas Bordeaux. Some of his music can be found here: http://www.soundclick.com/bands/default.cfm?bandID=899779.
“I’d like you to stay.”
Five words.
Five small bits of speech that fell so softly from her lips, that I wasn’t sure if I had even heard them, or if some wisp of a once-dreamt conversation had echoed in my head.
“Please.”
Her eyes were earnest in their confused desire. How could I say no?
Five words.
I remember other words. Words of trust – words that spoke of a secret long held, a sorrow long borne alone. A night spent in a near silent battle – one similar to this one, in fact. I almost smile as we sit down again. It is always a fight, with Kerry and me. We clash better than we kiss.
But oh, do we kiss.
So I sit and wait, and hope that she has more words than five.
“I’ve missed you,” she says softly. How is it that she can say what I feel, without hesitation?
I smile slightly, and nod my head. “I’ve missed you too, Kerry, but you know why I didn’t –“ I say, trying to defend, without offending.
“I know.” Her hand slides across the table and covers mine. She’s still in her gloves, and they are soft, yet abrasive. I want to feel her warm flesh, not the leather that encases it. Carefully, I work the glove free and listen to her speak.
“I was a bitch,” she says contritely, lines crinkling the corners of her eyes as she grimaces. “I don’t always know a good thing when it rear ends me,” she adds, chuckling slightly. “I was scared, more scared than I’ve ever been in my entire life – more scared than I was even able to admit to myself.”
There! The glove comes free and I lace our fingers together. Her hand is cool, but not frozen. Mine is warm, too warm almost. I chew on my lip, not wanting to answer, to put to words all the things I’m feeling and scare her away again.
It had been so wonderful, waking up to find Kerry Weaver tucked comfortably under my chin. Her body had molded against mind like wet clay - soft, supple, but with a hidden core of strength. I had wanted to stay like that all day, but we each had shifts. Neither of us spoke of the night before - of the kisses, the touches, or the words that were shared. Neither of us dared to break the silence as we showered, ate, and then dressed for work.
I don’t know if anyone in the ER noticed that I wore the same thing two days in a row, but Caroline in psych had.
The blonde nurse had given me a saucy, knowing wink as we passed in the halls, causing me to flush hotly. I haven’t confirmed, nor denied the rumors I know she has been spreading about some hot doctor and me. Since that day, though, Kerry and I had spoken once, maybe twice. She was avoiding me and I knew it. I even knew, or at least, thought I had diagnosed, why. So here she was telling me to my face what I knew. She’s afraid. As if I’m some Xena of the lesbian world?
“Kerry,” I say, tilting my head down and catching her gaze with my own. “Everyone feels fear, especially about new things, things they haven’t… done before.”
“Yes, but I –“
“Kerry, I understand your fear, but I’m not sure I can be a part of it,” I say, realizing too late that my words are unclear. “I don’t want to get hurt either,” I add hastily; hoping that she will hear me, hear what I’m not saying. I’m afraid, too.
“Kim…” her lips shape my name. A breath of a second passes. “Come home with me.” The words are whispered, but they hit my heart like a shout.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. I know that if we make it to her place, that there will be no turning back, no second thoughts, and no more ambiguities.
We go in separate cars. There is some safety in that, for if things do turn sour, I can make a clean break of it. Snow and ice lies in sludgy puddles over the city, gathering the dust and grit of pollution. What was once beautiful is now only irritating as I wait for a uniform to direct me around an MVA. I look for Kerry’s car and spot it parked on the shoulder.
I catch a flash of her red hair as she skip-slide-runs over to assist the EMTs who are working to resuscitate a victim. A grin teases the corners of my mouth. I’m irked, but I’m also pleased. I wouldn’t be half as attracted to Kerry if she were the kind to drive by without offering to help. I pull over as well and put on my best serious face.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Legaspi, from County – how can I help?” I ask a uniform. I recognize him; it’s Raoul Gomez, a friend of a friend.
“Hey Dr. K, howya doin?” he asks cheerfully, gulping a mouthful of coffee.
“I’m good,” I reply absently, looking around to see if I can help. Across the street is an elderly woman, looking rather dazed as another uniform talks to her. “I think I’ll go see if I can help your partner over there,” I say, pointing to his floundering friend.
Raoul nods. “Yeah, Jimmy ain’t so good with the ‘splainin’ stuff an’ all. Wit’ you bein’ a doc ‘n stuff, it might help.” He grins, takes another drink and makes a face. “Gah, I hate this shit,” he mutters spilling out the dregs onto the snow.
I cautiously walk across the icy street and approach the other officer.
“Mrs. Feldstein, please. Did you or did you not signal to turn left?” He asks in an irritated tone.
“Excuse me, perhaps I can help?” I say softly, moving my scarf just enough so that the officer can see my County Memorial Psych staff badge. Hesitating only momentarily, he nods and steps aside.
“Go right ahead, Doc,” he says crankily. “Maybe you can figure out what happened.”
Soothingly, I begin to talk to the older woman, calming her and asking all the right questions in order to get to the bottom of the accident. Her story is simple enough. She and her granddaughter, Lisa, were coming home from the grocery store when they were broadsided by another car. The officer takes his notes, and then closes his book and nods.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Feldstein. If you’ll just come with me, we can go on to the hospital.”
“Hospital? Is my Lisa hurt? Oh, what has happened to my beautiful granddaughter?” she wails mournfully, wringing her hands.
I look at the officer for some visual sign of the child’s condition, and the slight tightening of the skin around the man’s eyes tells me that whatever it is, it isn’t good.
“I’ll go with you, Mrs. Feldstein,” I offer, knowing that a calm presence is often welcome in situations like this.
“Oh, thank you dear.” The older woman puts her hand on my arm, smiling weakly. Her eyes are glazed with fear.
Slowly, we walk over to an ambulance, skirting around the wreckage of two cars. Blood drips from the hole in the windshield of the station wagon, forming a slowly freezing puddle on the ground. The other car, a small sedan, is seemingly undamaged. When we round the other side, I am aghast. The entire passenger door has been cut away to reveal a mess of glass, blood and steel within. Tow-truck operators are grimly attaching cables to the cars, preparing to haul them away to police impound.
Mrs. Feldstein gasps in horror when she sees her car. “Oh,” she whispers, hands flying up to cover her mouth. “My little Lisa…” her breathing is ragged, and I reach out to steady her. She sags in my arms and I recognize the signs of trouble. Tears stain her face as her eyes roll back in her head.
“Get one of the EMTs!” I shout at the officer, while slowly lowering the woman to the pavement. Her breathing has stopped now, and I frantically pull open her layers of clothing, seeking a pulse. Nothing. Damn it! Not today, not when things were starting to look so damn good! Furious at fate, I begin CPR. I do not notice when an EMT takes over, but when I hear Kerry’s strident voice call out, hope rises thick and heady within me.
“What’s the problem?” Kerry is asking, and I turn to see her pushing through the gathered crowd. Old gloves snap wetly as she removes them, then shoves them into her coat pocket. Carefully, she picks her way around the tangled mess of steel and glass that used to be two cars. Blood and other fluids speckle her clothes and face. Her glasses perch crookedly on her nose and absently, she shoves them up. Her eyes are filled with the gleam of triumph that I see everyday on the doctors at County. She has been busy saving another life. People move away, allowing her entry. Stiffly, she kneels down, slipping in beside the working EMTs effortlessly.
A feeling of quiet awe washes over me as I watch her work. New gloves are produced and with quick, efficient motions, Kerry is in charge of the situation, assessing the problem.
Snow begins to fall, as Kerry fights to save Mrs. Feldstein’s life. A thin blanket dusts everyone as she first stabilizes the old woman, then follows the EMTs onto the ambulance. County is only three blocks away, and I choose walk over, hoping that we can reconnect.
The ER is buzzing with activity. Nighttime in Chicago is even busier than the day, and with the onset of snow, accidents are sure to happen. I nod to the nurses and search for Kerry. I finally find her in exam three, still working furiously on Mrs. Feldstein. I’m just in time to see her shock the old woman, and then cry out in triumph when a faint blip appears on the monitor.
Kerry steps away from the patient as Dr. Romano takes over. Wearily, she drops her gloves into a biohazard container and exits the room. She almost walks by me, but I reach out to touch her shoulder.
“Kerry,” I say softly and she starts.
“What? Oh, Kim… I’m sorry,” she starts to say. The lines of exhaustion around her eyes are deep, but there is an unspoken gleam of hope beginning to form there as well.
“It’s okay. Really,” I assure her. “You did the right thing.”
She smiles slightly. “Thanks. Look, I have papers to fill out – will you wait for me? Or would you rather do this another day?”
“I’ll wait for you. I have some paperwork I can do in my office. You know where it is?” Kerry has never been to my office, and I wonder if the room will somehow absorb a little of the spicy jasmine fragrance that clings faintly to her.
“Yes,” she says, so quickly that I wonder if she’s been there after all.
“Great. I’ll see you there, then,” I say, starting to turn away.
“Kim,” she says, reaching out and putting her hand on my arm, stopping me.
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” she says, her voice so soft and sweet, that chills run up and down my back. This woman does so many things to me with so few words, that I wonder if I will ever survive a whole sentence.
“You’re welcome,” I stammer back. She smiles gently, and then turns away to go do her paperwork.
The PM staff are surprised to see me, but don’t complain when I head into my office and turn on the light. I stick my head out long enough to stop a passing nurse and say, “I’m just doing a little paperwork while I wait for a friend. I’m not here to see patients, okay?”
“You got it, Dr. Legaspi,” the nurse says, grinning at me.
“Great, thanks,” I reply, then duck into my office and grab the first chart on my desk. I have every intention of working, but my mind refuses to dive into the twisted myriad of psychosis, preferring instead to flip through the memories of Kerry’s skin, burnished gold by sunlight. More memories follow, of her lips on mine, her hands on my body, my hands on hers, of our legs entwined and of the two of us so close together, that there is no her and me, only we.
I sigh and set aside the paperwork, giving in to my fantasies. I don’t know how much time passes, but the opening of my door snaps me out of my dreamland. Kerry steps inside my office gingerly, as if unsure whether or not some strange form of Cerberus guards my inner sanctum.
“Kerry,” I say warmly, rising to greet her. “Please, come in and sit down, it’ll just take me a minute to finish up.” Hurriedly, I grab the scattered, forgotten files and begin shoving them into my briefcase.
Timidly, Kerry settles on the edge of the only other chair in the office. “Thanks for waiting, Kim. I really wanted to change out of those clothes…” she says.
I look up and notice that she has, indeed, changed out of the blood-spattered things and into a pair of dark blue scrubs. I smile and allow my gaze to linger. Her cheeks flush under my regard, and I say, “Blue is your color.”
“It was the only thing in my locker besides a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, and it’s definitely not tee shirt weather,” she replies as I stand to gather my coat and gloves. Wearily, she runs a slender hand through her hair, disturbing the burnished copper strands.
Slowly, I lean over and smooth it out, drawing my hand over her hair and cheeks. She leans into the touch, gasping softly. Her eyes close wearily as she nuzzles my fingers.
“Your hands are so warm,” she whispers wonderingly, reaching up to cover my hand with hers. “It’s what I remember the most about that night,” she adds, standing as well.
A step, and then she’s in my arms, her crutch trapped between us, a silent sentinel as her arms wrap around me. A tiny sigh of contentment escapes me as we rock together.
“God, I missed you,” she whispers. I kiss the top of her head gently.
“I missed you too, Kerry,” I admit finally.
She lifts her head to look at me, her eyes are glassy and bloodshot, but there is a hunger beginning to blossom within their green depths. “Take me home with you, Kim,” she commands.
“Kerry, I –“ I stammer, but she shushes me by placing a finger over my lips.
“Please.” Her eyes are earnest. Her finger is soft, as are the others that cup my cheek so lovingly. “I want to see more of you, I want to learn everything. I want to try to be with you, Kim.”
Her words stiffen my spine. “I’m not the Baskin-Robbins of lesbians, Kerry. You can’t sample the merchandise and then decide you’d rather eat vanilla after all.” My words are harsh, and meant to sting. I refuse to be hurt again.
She closes her eyes, stung by the words. “I know,” she says, after a long moment of anguished silence. “I don’t want vanilla, Kim. I want you.” She drags my head down and kisses me deeply. It’s hard not to believe her. It’s hard to think of reasons why I should oppose this.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to wake up one morning and decide that you’d rather sleep with Romano.” My voice is cruel and pitched to anger, but she only laughs.
“I promise, I will never want to sleep with Romano.” She lays her head against my chest and nuzzles me. “I can’t promise that I’ll be the easiest, or the best person in the world to love, but I hope you’ll take the chance.”
“What about your friends?” I ask, knowing immediately that this will be a point of contention between us. God, it’s so hard to keep myself distant. I want to chuck it all, throw caution to the wind and just accept her. But I can’t. I’ve got to know that I can trust her.
“What about them? I don’t think they have much to say about my love life, except maybe to speculate on whether or not I have one,” she replies flippantly.
I slide my hands up over her face and tip my head down to kiss her again. I take my time in exploring her lips and mouth, needing her to know exactly how much I want her. “Will you tell them about us? Will you walk with me in public and hold my hand? Will you take me home to your parents?” I ask, after letting her go. “Will you kiss me like that at the door, when I leave for work?” The words flutter between us on gossamer wings.
“I,” she begins to say. I can see by her eyes that she’s just now thinking of all the consequences of being my lover. I want to capture those words and hide them away forever, but I won’t. I can’t let my heart be crushed again. So I wait, silently cheering her on as she wrestles with whatever demons my questions have raised. She sighs heavily. “I don’t know what I will do,” she finally allows reservedly. “But I promise that I will never lie about us to anyone who asks. Is that enough for now?”
It is a huge sacrifice for her. I know how intensely private she is, and how much she works to keep her personal life separate from her professional. With that promise, she has let me know that she is willing to sever those boundaries, should the occasion arise. I know it will. Hospitals are worse than high schools, with cliques and gossips and soap opera-ish relationships. Someone was bound to notice that Dr.’s Weaver and Legaspi were suddenly being seen together a lot, and almost everyone knew I was gay. Speculation and her sister, rumor, were bound to circulate, if they weren’t already.
I also knew that someone was bound to let it slip to Mama and Papa Weaver that their little girl was walking on a non-hetero road. I wonder how they’ll take it, knowing that their little girl might be gay. I knew I could never use my own parents as a yardstick, because they had been wonderfully open-minded about me. I wish I knew more about her parents, but she has always been so quiet on that subject.
Kerry is still looking at me with sad eyes and I know that I have to say something.
“For now, it is enough.” What other answer could I give? Conditional romance has never been my forte, but I will try to meet her half way. Her smile of relief is all my heart needs to start a hope chest against the day that there will be no conditions, only us.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, snuggling against me again.
“For what?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her and inhaling the scent of her perfume.
“For giving me a chance. Now, will you take me home? I’m getting hungry and tired, and when I get hungry and tired –“
“You get cranky,” I interrupt, amusement coloring my voice. “I know. But I should warn you – I have pets.”
“Pets?” she asks as we step away to gear up for the weather.
“Yup. Pets. Two dogs, six cats, and a rather venerable old rat named Mr. Prickle-toes.” I explain as I shrug into my coat.
Kerry giggles. “Quite the little farm you’ve got going there, Dr. Legaspi. Or should I call you Farmer Kim?”
I bump my hip into hers lightly and roll my eyes. “I inherited most of them, as well as the house, from my folks.”
Sadness dances across Kerry’s face. “That’s right. You told me about them at Thanksgiving. I had forgotten.” Her words remind me that she, herself, has parental issues.
“Hey, it’s okay. I miss them, but I know they’re still with me.” Her hand twines with mine though, squeezing my fingers gently. “So, you’ll follow me?” I ask, trying to change the subject before we get maudlin.
“Lead on, Mac Duff,” she says, gesturing to the door. I laugh, and we leave.
Walking through snow is always interesting. When you’re not skating on patches of ice, you’re lamenting the fact that your toes are so cold, they burn. Yet Kerry plodded down the street beside me. Instead of the hindrance it usually was, I could see that Kerry was grateful for her crutch. As we walk, I curse myself for not driving the short distance from the scene of the accident to the hospital. My steps are careful, minced out of necessity. I do not wish to fall, and it frustrates me that my car is so close – yet so far.
“You should stop castigating yourself, Kim,” Kerry suddenly says, reaching out to put a gloved hand on my arm, steadying me as I nearly slip on yet another patch of ice. “I would have walked back, too.”
I smirk, and then laugh outright. “I’m not sure if I feel better with you having said that. I mean, does that make us both idiots, or …”
“Perhaps it makes us young and falling in love,” Kerry says haltingly, still leaving her hand on my arm.
“Or just falling,” I manage to get out as my feet slip out from underneath me, dumping me on my ass.
Kerry’s lips hover between an “O” of astonishment and a smirky grin. Merriment sparkles in her eyes as she reaches a hand out to help me up.
“Oh go ahead and laugh,” I say, dusting snow and ice off of my clothes. “It was pretty damn funny.”
Laughter tumbles out of Kerry as she helps me to clean off. The breath catches in my throat as she brushes the snow and ice from my backside. Did her hands linger just a little longer than they should have? Did she just curve her fingers around me and squeeze? I’m frantic to know, and even more frantic to reach our cars so that we can get home, and away from the prying eyes of every window on the street.
“There, that should be all of it. You’re a mess, Kim Legaspi,” Kerry says, with a gentle smirk on her face and a flash of amusement in her eyes.
“I’ll change when I get home,” I say absently, starting to walk toward our cars again.
The drive out to the warehouse district is quiet until my cell rings. It’s Kerry. I grin and answer.
“Dr. Legaspi’s roving office speaking, how can I help you?” I say, with just enough of a lilt in my voice to mimic that of a particularly brainless secretary at County.
“Oh my God, Kim, I never knew you did impersonations,” she blurts, her own voice tainted by static.
I laugh. “It’s one of my lesser known talents.”
“Ah, I see,” she replies.
“It keeps my tongue in shape,” I add saucily, imagining her cheeks flush a bright crimson as she realizes the implications of my words.
“You’re a devil, Kim Legaspi,” she finally says, after a few heartbeats of silence. “But you’re a devil I really want to know. Anyway, the reason I called is… where the heck are we going? I didn’t think there was anything out here except warehouses and winos.”
“Oh, there’s a few of those out here, I’ll grant you that. But, tucked neatly away, hidden on little streets like this one we’re turning on...” I match actions to words and pull up to a well-concealed driveway. Rolling my window down lets in the weather, and I ignore it to punch in a code on a keypad, then wait until I hear the creak of machinery. Slowly, I pull into the drive, following the S curve until I reach a small lot. Kerry pulls up beside me and gets out, closing her cell as she does.
“…There are some interesting homes,” I call over to her.
She turns and looks around at the building and grounds, amazement and envy scribed on her face. “This is yours?” she gasps.
I shrug. Some days, the place is more trouble than it’s worth, but I can’t let it go. “It was mom and dad’s until they died. They were given to ostentation, and dad loved to impress his guests with it.”
I don’t mention that the building has been in the family in one form or another for over one hundred years. The three story, brick building had served as a cannery, a warehouse, and a carpentry shop before my parents came in and turned it into the home it is now.
We go up to the side door, where I once again tap in a code on a keypad, and then unlock the door. The animals know I’m home and they are waiting, crammed into the small foyer, panting and meowing furiously. I stop and pet each one of them while Kerry stands in the doorway, smiling nervously.
“Come on in,” I say, pushing a few of the squirming animals aside with a foot. “They won’t bite.”
“Some zoo, you’ve got here, Dr. Doolittle,” she says, sidling in and shutting the door before the young female cat, Missums, can escape.
“Oh no you don’t, little miss,” I say, reaching down and scooping up the purring ball of fluff. “You’re headed to the vet’s tomorrow, and I’m not taking any chances!”
“Vets? Is she that young?” Kerry asks, eyeing Missums' fluffy fur.
I laugh, juggling the kitten around. “She’s just about five months old, and starting her first heat. I found her in the yard when she was six weeks old. She had been mauled by a larger animal and her foot was broken.” I extend the still-tender paw to Kerry, and she nods, noticing the fine tracery of scars on Missums’ pads.
“So you’re a softie when it comes to animals?” she asks, reaching out to stroke the kitten’s fine, white fur. Missums lets out a loud purr and lolls her head back so Kerry can scratch her chin.
“Yes, I am,” I say, ticking Missums’ tummy before letting her jump free.
We finally make it into the living room where I toss my coat and things onto a couch and invite Kerry to do the same. Then I make all the introductions. “Kerry, this is Fric and Frak,” I point to the two dogs, “and these are Missums, Xena, Gabrielle, Zeus, Hera, Odin and that,” I point to an extensive cage against one wall where a large, white rat is napping, “is Mr. Prickle-toes.”
“Xena and Gabrielle? Are you a fan?” Kerry asks, smiling amusedly while dutifully holding her hands out to be sniffed, rubbed, and licked. When she doesn’t cringe or make a face, I know that she’s okay with my menagerie. Odin has successfully found his way into her arms, as I knew he would. The orange tabby with one eye has charmed harder-hearted people than even the formidable Kerry Weaver.
“My parents were fans, and I will, if pressed, confess to a certain habit of staying up late on Saturdays to watch the episodes,” I reply as we move toward the kitchen.
I turn back when I hear Kerry’s exclamation of surprise. Fric and Frak are herding the cats aside so that she can move freely behind me. I smile, because I had hoped they would do this, like they had for my dad.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Kerry says when she catches my eye.
“Fric and Frak are used to people with extra forms of mobility. Dad walked with a cane for the last fifteen years of his life.”
Kerry nods with understanding. “So they’ve been like Service animals.”
“Yep, only these guys,” I reach down and pet them, “have never had any training.”
“Amazing,” she says, looking at the two older dogs with new appreciation.
I smile. “My dad was a great guy – he and mom loved animals, and they,” I nod at the pack that are trying to creep in, “knew it.” Missums slips under Frac’s chest and winds herself around Kerry’s feet before coming to sit on my foot and meow expectantly.
“Demanding thing, isn’t she?” Kerry says, laughing gently.
“They’re all hungry. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll feed them and then work on feeding us.”
“Of course,” she says, looking around the kitchen and spotting the small table settled into a tiny corner. “I’ll sit over here and watch.”
Quickly, I feed the animals, getting their food from the laundry, which gives me an idea. “Kerry,” I say as I come out of the back room, “would you like to wash your clothes here? I’d be happy to toss them in the washer.”
A thoughtful expression comes over Kerry’s face. “I suppose… yes, I think I’d like that,” she says, getting up and retrieving the plastic bag from the couch in the living room.
While she works to scrub the bloodstains from her clothes, I run upstairs and change into something more comfortable and less wet. When I return, we toss our clothes into the wash together. For a moment, I stare at our mingled clothing, then, as my thoughts grow more and more prurient, I slam the lid shut and start the washer.
My cheeks redden as I turn and ask Kerry, “What would you like?”
“Hmm?” she asks and I realize that she’s been staring at me the whole time.
“For dinner, Kerry. I’m starved… what about you?” I can feel my cheeks heat even more and Kerry is moving closer to me, so close that there is barely enough room between us for air.
“How about we start with this?” she asks, slipping her arms around me and laying her head on my chest.
I almost cry. God, she feels so good. I hold her close and marvel that this is happening. From feast, to famine, to feast again – I wonder if I can take it. Fear clamors in my heart, forcing me to speak.
“Kerry, we – we really need to talk.”
“Kim?” Kerry’s voice is confused.
“About us. About what is going to happen. About why I’m so scared of this, that it makes my stomach hurt.”
The fear is worse now, and my internal voice is screaming at me not to speak, to shut up and just go with it, but I can’t let this happen again, not if I want to keep my sanity.
Kerry lets me go and the loss is a wound that begins to weep almost immediately. She goes back to the table and sits down while I start coffee.
“Talk to me Kim,” she says after I put out cups, sugar and a plate of snacks.
I pour us each a cup and then sit down. “It’s not easy to talk about, but I’ll try. About six years ago, I got involved with a straight woman. It’s a familiar story, I’m sure you’ve heard it before. Gay chick meets a straight chick who is curious, they date, they fall in love, they move in and suddenly, Prince Charming comes into the former straight chick’s life and whisks her away from the gay chick. Well, that’s pretty much my story.” I say, looking down at my hands.
Kerry nods, “All right. I’m listening.”
I take a huge breath and begin again. “Jessica was so beautiful and special and everything that I wanted when I was in college. She was my roommate,” I pause and chuckle weakly, stirring sugar into my coffee, “she chose to room with me even though no one else in the dorm would. I was the ‘lezzie’ and they were all afraid that it was contagious.
We had lots of fun together, Jess and I. She told me right away that she didn’t care that I was gay – that she was okay with it. One night, after several bottles of beer, she told me she was more than okay with it and from that night on, we were lovers.” I close my eyes as the memory of that night washes over me. Memory used to paint that night in shades of romance, but the wisdom that has come with age tells me that it was the booze and not any great emotion that drove Jessica into my arms.
I open my eyes to look at Kerry and am surprised to see a flicker of something, jealousy maybe, in her eyes. More butterflies hatch in my stomach as I realize that something good actually might be happening here.
“Of course, she didn’t tell anyone, and she nixed any public displays of affection, but I was okay with that – as long as she was with me, I was happy to hide my love.” I stare at the clock, watching it as the second hand bounces around the face.
“But… something happened to change this?” Kerry prompts gently.
“Chad. Chad Wentworth the third, actually,” I say absently. “Handsome, arrogant, and every straight girl’s wet dream, and he wanted my Jess. Jessica’s parents were thrilled that one of the rich Wentworth boys was showing such an interest in their daughter. They threw them together at every opportunity. Parties, picnics, you name it, if Jess was there, so was Chad.” God, it had been awful, going from place to place, always seeking a place to just be with Jess, only to have him show up and spoil things.
“After a while, Jess began to like his attentions. He was flattering. He was nice, he brought her flowers and he sent her bad poetry professing his undying love for her. It all wore her down.”
“Bad poetry?” Kerry snickers, and I have to laugh as well. It’s either that, or fall apart, and she’s not ready to see me like that yet.
“Yes, horrid stuff. Original, but horrid. To cut the story short, she dumped me.” She wasn’t even cruel about it, just nice, ever so, horribly, horribly nice.
“But Kim, you knew it wasn’t going to be forever. I can’t be with a girl forever. I have my future to think of. Grandkids for mom and dad to produce. That kind of thing. You understand, don’t you?” Jessica pushed her curly red hair out of her eyes and smiled sadly. “You’ll find someone, Kim, someone who’s like you, someone who’s interested in being gay. I just can’t be that woman. I’m sorry.”
With those words, she walked out of my dorm and out of my life.
“So did the jerk break her heart and leave her pregnant and poor?” Kerry asks me, an angry tone in her voice.
Wearily, I rub my eyes. “Actually, they’re still married – three kids, a nice house and they’re so sick with love for each other that people get cavities when they visit.”
“Oh, well,” Kerry says, taking a sip of coffee, then resting the cup in her hand. “This is what you think is going to happen with us?” She sets her cup aside and waits for my answer.
“Well, I don’t know if the script will be the same, but the plot is pretty standard,” I reply softly, reaching for a cookie.
Kerry’s hand stills mine and our fingers twine together. “Well, this isn’t your standard movie, Dr. Legaspi, and I’m not known for following anyone’s script.” She lets go of my hand to pull her chair close to mine and then takes both of my hands in hers. “Kim, I used to think I was straight, but then, I met you, and everything about you makes me question myself, question what I know. I can no longer say with certainty that I am straight. I cannot say that I am gay, but what I do know is this,” she takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye, “Every day since you kissed me I have thought about you, wanted to be near you, and wanted to somehow go back to that moment, so that I could kiss you back.”
“Kerry,” I say, my throat closing against the tears that are begging to fall.
“I know I can’t go back to that day, so I’ve done everything I can to go forward. I know that I’ve stumbled, I know that I’ve let you down – hell, I’ve let myself down. But, I’m human, Kim, and I make mistakes. Please don’t hold that against me.”
“That’s just it, Kerry. You’re human, and you’re just as capable of deciding that you don’t want to be involved with a woman - that you can’t handle it,” my voice cracks and I turn my head away so that she will not see me cry.
Kerry shakes her head. “No,” she says softly, “it’s too late for that. I’m involved. I was involved the moment I said yes to your first dinner invitation. No matter what happens, I will never say that I don’t want to be involved with you because you’re a woman.”
“What about Thanksgiving?” I turn back to ask, both dreading and needing the answer.
She blinks, and frowns, then nods in understanding. “My reaction. Well, I certainly wasn’t very politically correct, was I? Stuttered my ass off, in fact, if I recall. I guess – no, chalk it up to nerves. I was stunned that you were able to see how deeply I was coming to care for you. No one else ever had. I was so surprised, so taken aback by coming face to face with what had been a half-formed unconscious desire. You laid my most secret fantasies bare. Beyond that, you returned my interest. Talk about outside the box, for me,” she replies softly and suddenly I want to kick every person who has ever hurt Kerry Weaver.
“And what about after that night? You avoided me,” I accuse. “I thought we were starting something special.”
“I did, and we were and I was scared. I was wrong. I should have come to you, talked to you, but I didn’t – I couldn’t, I was too proud. I had laid myself so bare to you, I – I’ve never done that before, and I was frightened by the power you have over me.” Her eyes never leave mine. “I’m not frightened anymore. Not by that, at least. What scares me now is the thought that you might still walk away and we would be ‘just colleagues’.”
“Kerry,” I start to say, but what else is there to say? She has laid it all out for me, not holding anything back. I know, if not all of her secrets, at least the ones that are enough to help me make my decision. “Steak, or chicken?”
She laughs, and cries, and suddenly, I’m laughing and crying too. I will stay with her, and give us the chance to fall in love. I will stay and discover if we can walk the road of life together.
We stand simultaneously, needing to bridge the gap, hold on tight and cry into each other as the burden of miscommunication rushes away. Yes, I will stay with her, and hope that tomorrow brings smiles and not more tears.
fin
01/31/01
Revised 09/29/00