Page 83 of Atmosphere

Joan froze, trying to contain herself. She thought she might break out in hives again.

“I did not know that,” Joan said back, as cool as she could.

“I’ve never said it to anyone before.”

Joan pulled back and looked at her. “I love you, too.”

“You do, huh?” Vanessa said with her lopsided smile. “Wow. Imagine being so lucky as to be the girl Joan Goodwin loves.”

“Imagine that,” Joan said, putting her arms around Vanessa’s torso, holding on to her. She could hear Vanessa’s heartbeat through her chest.

A few minutes later, Vanessa asked if Joan thought it was too early to get up and find a diner open for breakfast. But Joan did not move. She just held Vanessa tighter. All she could think about was how grateful she was that the Earth was ninety-three million miles away from the sun today, far enough to be warm but not too hot, just the right distance for life on this planet.

On the mornings when Vanessaslept over at Joan’s, she snuck out of her apartment around foura.m.

When they were out at the bars, Vanessa often talked about an old boyfriend who didn’t exist.

When Donna asked Joan, in front of everyone at Frenchie’s, if she was open to going on a date with Hank’s buddy, Joan said she would love to and then sipped her wine, knowing full well she’d never get around to calling the guy back. But when she caught Vanessa’s eye, Vanessa did not need to have even the hint of a smile for Joan to feel it in her chest.

They were thoughtful about how often and where they spent their evenings together—more and more frequently at Vanessa’s instead of Joan’s. This necessary privacy had been the reason Vanessa lived so far off campus to begin with, Joan understood now.

It was not easy.

But, oh, was it good.

—

That November morning, Joan wokeup in Vanessa’s soft bed and went out to the kitchen to see that Vanessa had made her a Gruyère soufflé.

Joan took a bite of it, warm right out of the pan, holding her fork over the sink.

“You can sit down, you know,” Vanessa said. But Joan was too busy getting another forkful to find a plate and a chair.

“You’re a good cook,” Joan said.

“It’s been a long time since I had someone to cook for,” Vanessa said.

Joan leaned against the sink and wondered who else Vanessa hadcooked a soufflé for. But she didn’t know how to ask without making it obvious how much she cared about the answer.

“I have to pick up Frances soon. Barb is meeting with some matchmaking service,” Joan said. And then: “Do you want to come with me?”

Vanessa started wiping up the countertop. “Oh.”

Joan stared at her. “Oh?”

Vanessa stopped cleaning and turned to Joan. They were leaning against opposite counters now. Joan had to make a conscious effort not to fold her arms.

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa said. “I’m not…I didn’t take it as a given that we would meet each other’s families.”

Joan stared at her. She tried not to let the way her heart was sinking show on her face. It was very hard, Joan had learned these past few months, not to scream at someone sometimes. One moment you were vibrating with excitement, but quickly all that same energy could be funneled into fear or anger. She’d never lived this much on the edges of her own emotions, and it was exhausting.

“Okay,” Joan said. “Is that…do you mean ever?”

Vanessa frowned. “I…I don’t know. I’ve never done that.”

“You’ve never been with someone and met their family?”

“I mean, I’m normally the person womendon’twant to bring home,” Vanessa said, as if it were some hilarious joke they were both in on.

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