Page 84 of Touch the Sky
“Hello, new friends!” she says, swishing her waist-length, jet-black braid over her shoulder. “Come in, come in.”
I was planning on a quick drop-off, but Jamilla already has tea and coffee ready. She thanks me about fifty times for the snack plate before we’ve even sat down at the small round table in a corner of the sunny kitchen.
The kids are already long gone, headed for a fort in the woods Shel has been dying to see. I sip my tea, the warm spices of the chai a perfect complement to the crisp fall day, and try to focus on what Jamilla is saying without zoning out to think about Jacinthe.
I haven’t made many mom friends. Even back in Guelph, I always felt awkward at the typical mommy meet-ups. No one expects an aggressively butch lesbian at those things, and even though I was always welcomed, the inevitable moment of recalibration people had to do when I showed up set me apart in a way I couldn’t shake.
Jamilla wasn’t fazed to see me at all, so I sit up a little straighter in my chair, take one of the biscuits she offers me, and order myself not to screw up this opportunity.
We spend a half hour discussing our jobs, my move to La Cloche, and how we both think the principal at the kids’ school has an uncanny resemblance to Bart Simpson.
“It’s the forehead,” Jamilla says, both of us cackling.
“Really? I think it’s his eyes,” I counter, “or maybe it’s just his outfits. Does he even own anything other than blue pants and white shirts?”
We’re still laughing when she walks me back to the front door. Shel is staying for dinner, and Jamilla invites me to do the same, but I know Shel would be mortified if I hung around for her entire play date.
“You’re adjusting okay, though?” Jamilla asks while I’m pulling my coat on. “To life in La Cloche?”
“I am,” I answer. “Much faster than I thought, actually. Like, scarily fast, if I’m being honest.”
She lets out a chuckle that’s more understanding than I expected.
“I know exactly what you mean. This place, it’s…”
She sweeps her arm out like she’s trying to capture everything: the rolling mountains painted in a kaleidoscope of rich autumn hues, the tiny town bursting with art and life, the winding country roads that always seem to lead to adventure, and above it all, that beckoning dome of bright blue sky.
“It’s like it takes hold of you,” Jamilla says. “For some people, it’s just a cute two-hour stop on a road trip, but for others, for us, it’s like La Cloche reaches out and grabs you by the heart.”
Without thinking, I place a hand on my chest, pressing my palm to my sternum.
“I think you’re right,” I say.
She chuckles again. “I guess that means I’ll be seeing you for tea again sometime soon?”
We make some vague plans to meet up in town next week before I finally head out the door. I switch the radio on to drive back to La Grange Rouge, but my thoughts are too jumbled to enjoy the music, and I end up driving in silence.
Jamilla’s words echo in my head.
It’s like La Cloche reaches out and grabs you by the heart.
I can feel that grip tightening a little more every day. Even though I desperately wanted a place for me and Shel to belong, I know it should scare me to feel so tethered this fast.
Iamscared. I’m supposed to be rational. I’m supposed to keep a clear head and be ready to make tough decisions for my family. I can’t do that if my feelings are galloping fifty miles ahead of my thoughts.
Still, I can’t bring myself to slow down. It feelsgoodto fit in like this, for everything to be so easy, so right. I don’t just feel tied to La Cloche; I feel anchored. I feel like all the doubts that have latched onto every decision I’ve made since Shel was born might slink away into the night if we stayed here long enough.
It’s too conflicting. It’s like my head and my heart are scattered planets orbiting in a crash-course collision around a single point of gravity with the power to explode it all.
Jacinthe.
She’s the rogue part of the equation. She’s the element I can’t control.
By the time I get back to La Grange Rouge, I know I have to talk to her. We can’t go on like this. The whole ‘ignore the kiss’ plan isn’t working. I have no idea what Plan B is, but I have to at least try to figure this out.
Gabrielle’s car is still gone when I pull up at the house. Jacinthe is down in the yard working on her tack cleaning. She lifts her head from where she’s bent over a saddle when she hears me coming.
I have no idea what my expression looks like, but it’s enough to make her eyes widen and keep her from calling out a greeting. Instead, she just stares.
