Page 36 of Reverence

They stood in place, their hands skin on skin under therunning faucet, encased in that cherished pink light, and Juliette was suddenly battling tears. One must’ve escaped, because Katarina lifted her uninjured hand and dabbed a finger at her cheek, whipping it away with one of those crooked smiles, one that did not quite reach the sadness in her eyes.

“You’re going to say that you’re sorry, aren’t you?”

Juliette sniffed and nodded, feeling like any words she might come up with would be inadequate. She was the one who was supposed to be cradling a burnt hand instead of Katarina.

“Setting aside the fact that I scared you into dropping the mug… I couldn’t stop myself from catching it. I’m uncertain whether I knew how to stop.”

The light of the lamp flickered and then the little bulb blew out with a tiny whimper of its own, surrounding Juliette and Katarina in a darkness interrupted only by the flecks of headlights of the rare car slinking down Rivoli at this late hour.

Her hand still holding Katarina’s, Juliette felt her stiffen for a second, then gradually, as if very determinately, relax, confirming Juliette’s earlier suspicion that she, too, might be afraid of the dark. And yet here she was, standing still, surrendering again to circumstances that were out of her control. For Juliette.

Under the cold water, Juliette bent her fingers slowly, parting Katarina’s and intertwining them until they were palm to palm, the heat of their touch somehow negating the coolness entirely.

If her heart had been tearing earlier, it was stitching back together now, trapping all the butterflies. Juliette didn’t care. As her eyes got used to the darkness, Katarina’s face looked less impassive. A marble statue no more, emotions flickered in the dark depths, and when they welled up, it was Juliette’s turn to lift a hand and wipe away the tear that trembled for so long on the wondrous lashes before falling down the pale cheek.

One breath… Another… A whimper again… Who was whimpering? Juliette suspected the pitiful sound of hunger, of need, of yearning emanated from her. Katarina’s eyes were enormous, opening wider with every second, her lips parting?—

The shriek of the phone was like a hammer to glass, shattering the moment, the intimacy, the dreamlike state, and the very possibility…

What possibility? How foolish.

Juliette watched Katarina’s mask return to her features, and it was as if the moment never had happened, as if Juliette’s fingertips—the ones that weren’t still under the cold of the tap water—weren’t holding the whisper of Katarina’s tears.

The woman herself simply reached over Juliette’s hand and turned the faucet off before wiping her hand on the nearby towel.

Juliette opened her mouth. To say what, she did not know, but something needed to be said. The moment had happened and it deserved its existence, it deserved words, dammit. But Katarina just shook her head, a brief motion of her chin in the darkness, before leaving the room.

The phone rang again, pulling Juliette out of her stupor. She almost didn’t answer. It was too tempting to stand where she was and mourn the loss of whatever had been brewing for weeks between them. But Helena would try again, knowing too well that Juliette was home, and she wasn’t yet ready for a conversation about why she was avoiding calls.

“You have awful timing, Moore.”

Since Helena’s late-night calls were becoming a habit of exorcism that never quite purged their demons, Juliette decided that attack was the best defense. Sun Tzu knew what he was talking about. The man lived in the fifth century BC and must have possessed the highest level of drama since he called his life’s workThe Art of War. Talk about over top. She’d give him credence for that alone. As a ballerina, she understood drama. She didn’t like it, didn’t enjoy it, as the call that was about to unfold would show, but she did understand it.

Helena’s laugh was testament to the fact that she knew all too well what was coming.

“You’re getting tired of me calling. And you’re allowing it because you feel guilty. You think I am lonely and missing you and regretting my decision, and you have moved on. Survivor’s guilt, Jett.”

Juliette rolled her eyes.

“One day you will find a patient who will be so vexing, so difficult, so very bizarre and unreadable, Helena, that she will consume your waking hours. A puzzle of the highest order. And then you will be happy solving that puzzle. Sadly, I am not that patient. I’m not a patient at all, so please stop.”

There was silence on the line, and Juliette finally allowed her shoulders to drop, feeling the tension of the day drain from her. She sat down, cradling the receiver to her ear, and listened to Helena breathing.

“I wanted to say…” Her ex paused for so long, Juliette thought they had been disconnected. Then the sounds on the other end of the line told her Helena was sitting down too, perhaps getting more comfortable. They’d finally tell each other what they needed to after all. It was time to cut this cord. There was a woman in the bedroom next to hers, a vexing, interesting, beautiful, confusing woman, and Juliette knew she had been branded for life by the ice thawing in those sad eyes.

“I miss you too, Helena.” Now that her heart was shelter to this new emotion, Juliette felt that the truth was mandatory. Compulsory. They had lived in these pockets of half illusions about each other for too long. “But you left me. You made a decision. And it was the right one.”

Juliette knew her words were sharp enough to cut the telephone cables sprawled on the floor of the Atlantic, but Helena said nothing, and the silence stretched again. When it was interrupted, Juliette released the breath she was holding.

“I do miss you. And I did make the decision. However, I miscalculated, and I’m the lonely one, not you. I have no right to ask you who it is. You’re honest with me, and all I can do is repay you with the same honesty, the same kindness, and stop calling. These calls turned into something I never intended them to be, and I’m sorry for that.”

Juliette sighed. Why did lesbians have to keep breaking up even after doing so several times already? Not everything was meant to be analyzed. Sometimes things were better left alone.

Granted, she could afford to think that way, her heart pounding in her chest at the very memory of Katarina’s scent wrapping itself around her. And winners could be magnanimous, generous. But with every second, she wished she was anywhere but on this call. And by anywhere, Juliette knew she meant in the kitchen, holding Katarina’s chilly hand, making sure she was okay and the burn wasn’t serious.

“I hope?—”

“Please don’t say that you hope we stay friends.” Helena’s laughter was two-thirds hysterical, one-third sad. “We are friends, Jett. We were friends long before we were lovers. But I think I will stop calling for a while. I was indulging myself, you see, listening to your voice, imagining myself back in our room, just talking as we lay in bed about our days, the important and the mundane. Fuck, I do miss you, Jett. And I don’t actually miss you enough to reconsider Columbia, or New York, or any of this.”

---