“I spun and I spun and I spun, and I didn’t want to stop. Because I was so damn grateful to be free.” Claire’s voice caught. “You wanted to know how I felt when I came out? Like that. That’s how I felt.”
The breath in Anne’s lungs shuddered. Grief and gratitude, both equally strong, boiled beneath her skin. She’d never known. She’d never asked.
She’d asked now.
“Oh, Claire,” she choked out.
“Maybe it’s been like that for you, too.” Claire stared down at her lap. “Or maybe not. I mean, I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know I liked girls. But you always thought you were straight. I mean, you did, right?”
There was no good way for Anne to explain what she’d realized over the past few days: how a crawlspace could look exactly like a life, how you could spend decades inside it goingdeeper, convincing yourself that the narrow walls were what you wanted. So she said instead, “I did. It took me sixty years to figure it out. Which is why I don’t want to waste a single minute of the time I have left.”
“You know she’ll come back, right? She can’t stay away from you.”
Anne started. Maybe something in her voice had given away her longing.
“Sadie loves you. We’ve established this. Remember? Last weekend? Around the same time you informed Bee and me that you were heterosexually interested in having a heterosexual Boston marriage with your heterosexual best friend, heterosexually?”
“She’s coming home on Sunday.” Now it was Anne’s turn to look at her lap. She didn’t want to share the rest of it. Couldn’t bear to tell her daughter that Sadie was frightened to commit to Anne. “Four more days.”
“See? Then you and Mom Two can live in sweet sapphic bliss alongside Dad and Arthur’s adorable gay joy, and I get some pretty fucking conclusive evidence for the gay-gene argument. Everyone wins.”
“And you’d have the mother you’ve always wanted.”
It fell out of Anne’s mouth easily, like something loose. As though she hadn’t acknowledged a deep pain that had scratched at her since the day she’d introduced Sadie to Claire. From the very start, Claire had been so easy with Sadie, so open. So unlike the way she’d always been with Anne.
But maybe—maybe in future, things could be different. Anne, with more, might finally have more to give.
“Yes, Mom,” Claire said after a while, so carefully. “You’re right. Because I’ll have you. But happier.”
Chapter 19
“Yes, Genevieve,” Anne said into the phone and tossed her reading glasses onto the dining room table. “Yes, that’s correct. Like James, but with women. Yes. Both James and I. You’re right, the odds are probably very small. I understand why you’d be surprised. Of course. No, I’m not going to stop wearing high heels. No, Genevieve, I have never, nor will I ever think about you in that way. Well, I’m glad to know you’d find it flattering, but it just isn’t something I’ve ever—look, I’m sure there are plenty of other lesbians out there who’d find you very appealing; I just don’t personally—no, I don’tknow ofany. How would I—it’s not like there’s a gay directory, for crying out loud, I was just making a—”
Sadie, if she were here, would be covering her mouth with both hands and laughing delightedly into her palms.
“Well, thank you for your support. Well, yes. I agree completely. Your friendship is important to me, too. Yes.” And then, “Oh, Gen. Of course you’re allowed to say ‘congratulations.’ That’s—gosh. It’s a very nice thing to say. I appreciate it. I really do. Yes. Yes. Talk soon. Okay. Sounds good. Gen, I really do have a lot of—okay. All right. Same here. Bye-bye.”
That took care of Genevieve, who was really the only person at Conserve Malibu Anne socialized with and the last person she felt the need to officially tell. She’d already spoken to Margaret, who’d been infuriatingly unruffled. Not that Anne hadwantedMargaret to be ruffled, exactly, but her big sister could’ve at least pretended to be more shocked by the news.
I remember that time you tore out a magazine picture of Sigourney Weaver,Margaret had told her.Probably should’ve realized it wasn’t her hair you were into.
Annehadadmired Sigourney Weaver’s hair. Almost as much as she’d admired that scene inAlienwhere Sigourney had worn a tank top with no bra.
It was nearly lunchtime. Maybe Anne would leave the house and treat herself to someone else’s effort. Geoffrey’s had an impeccable Thai grilled salmon salad with a creamy ginger peanut dressing Anne always ordered on the side, never once touching the little bowl.
She’d always wondered what that dressing would taste like.
Ten minutes later, she was in her car and pulling out of the driveway, her Kindle resting in the passenger seat. She’d start the new Ann Patchett on Geoffrey’s patio, fall into it, let the book take her just far enough away so that the dressing-strewn salad might go down along with her anxiety.
* * *
Later that afternoon, while she was folding laundry, Anne’s phone buzzed once, then a second time.
Suddenly fearful and hopeful in equal measure, she pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. Was it—?
It was.
I hear flavored sparkling water’s good. You know, as a substitute