That little voice had disappeared completely in the last four years, a tremendous relief. She’d had the perfect reason: It was all James’s fault, because James was gay. James was why she’d always had a large bank of excuses ready to go for the rare occasions he’d put his book on the nightstand and say, “Well, Anne? Should we?” She’d rotated them like kitchen towels, putting out a new one when the old one got overused:Not tonight, I’ve already put on my face mask; I’ve got to go over this seating chart again; I’m too bloated; it’s just that the girls tired me out; you’ve got to get up early tomorrow; I’ve got that morning delivery.
Learning that James hadn’t desired her in that way was plenty enough to keep Anne from thinking about the fact that she’d never really desired him, either.
The thought was a reverse eclipse, the unblocked light of realization burning Anne. She sat down on the edge of her bed and tried to keep her breath even. Failed. Fear and fire blazed through her blood.
They wanted their men all along.
They wanted them like I want her.
What does that say about me?
No, they couldn’t stay inside, with walls and doors and partitioned spaces. Not today. The desert was the only place big enough to hold what was happening.
* * *
I need to think, Sadie had said back at the house, and so Anne, who drove, kept quiet the whole route down the101, the134, and the210, a series of freeways that slingshot them east toward the gray-brown SanJacinto Mountains.
Because Sadie’s phone was hooked up to the CarPlay, Siouxsie and the Banshees sang them on their way, then Cocteau Twins, then the Smiths. The music was the only sound in the car other than Sadie’s shifting feet, her legs propped up against the dashboard.
When Anne sneaked looks to her right, she caught Sadie in profile, staring intently out the windshield.
It should’ve been time for Anne to think, too—she certainly had enough to think about—but her overwhelmed brain kept short-circuiting when she tried to comb back over what had just happened or what it might mean. Right now, too much of her awareness was focused on Sadie, just inches away, her pale, shapely calves on display. Sadie in a shockingly-simple saffron linen dress and multicolored '90s windbreaker. Sadie, newly wigless, her natural hair falling just past her shoulders in honey-brown waves, with just a few strands the color of pearls. Sadie, whose left arm rested against the center console, so close that Anne could let herself place a hand on it.
A sixth sense to add to Anne’s five. Sight, smell, taste, touch, sound, and Sadie.
About an hour into the drive, Sadie spoke up for the first time since Encino. “I’m feeling a little peckish.”
Sometimes Sadie announced her hunger out loud, like it was just a simple, open fact and not a private matter. It always took Anne by surprise.
“All right,” Anne said, not sure how to respond.
“Are you hungry?”
Was she? “You’re saying you want to stop somewhere.”
Sadie pointed through the windshield. They were currently driving through San Bernardino, which, from the freeway, appeared to be about as interesting as old burlap, and approximately the same color. “There’s a Burger Bliss right off the next exit. Quick and tasty, if not exactly the apex of cuisine. But a little sodium never hurt anyone.” She paused. “Well, it hasn’t hurtme.”
“Burger Bliss and I aren’t acquainted.” The closest Anne ever got to fast food was the salads at Sweetgreen.
“Well, that settles it. We’re stopping,” Sadie said firmly. “Today’s a day of firsts, isn’t it? Seems appropriate to add another one.”
It was the first time she’d alluded to what had changed between them since they’d reunited at Anne’s house before leaving. Even though the words were mild, a responding hum still trickled through Anne, making her catch her breath.
Maybe that was why, despite her misgivings, she took the exit off-ramp without a protest.
To her credit, Sadie didn’t crow victory. Instead, she announced, “Have you ever noticed that just thinking about eating something specific can make your mouth—I don’t know”—she made inexplicable gestures with her hands—“jolt? Little sparks. They’re like gastronomic ghosts of whatever you’re remembering. I’m getting memory shocks from a Burger Bliss bacon-and-avocado cheeseburger.”
“You’re not orderingthat, are you?” Anne turned right at the stoplight. “I know, I know, you’ve got the constitution of a fratboy, but high cholesterol has a habit of creeping up on you, and blood pressure starts to spike around our age.” She conveniently avoided acknowledging that Sadie was four years younger than Anne. “We’re in the time of life where you’ve got to start taking care of yourself or there’ll be consequences.”
“Au contraire. We’re in the time of life when my best friend should know better than to start policing my food choices,” Sadie told her. “You’ve never done that before, Anne, and it’s really not time to develop a new practice. Unless you’d like me to start returning the favor.”
Her tone was kind but firm, with an unusual edge to it. Anne felt a twinge of guilt. Had she accidentally poked a sore spot made by Brenda’s cruel reference to Sadie’s body? Anne had only been alluding to health, not anything else.
But it was true that they didn’t typically discuss food or the stark differences between their approaches to eating: Sadie, with an enthusiastic zest that mirrored everything else she did, and Anne, with careful, measured control.
“There’s nothing at all to say about what I eat.” Anne curled her fingers around the steering wheel and slid her hands up and down. “Every bit of food I put into my body is healthy and in perfectly appropriate amounts for a woman my size.”
“Exactly. Sanctioned, measured, and portioned within an eighth of a calorie. But we don’t ever talk about that.” Sadie pulled her feet off the dashboard as they turned into the Burger Bliss parking lot. “Unless you want us to start, that is.”