Beautiful Accidents Page 12

  “So…” Bernadette’s voice was smooth but had an edge, not much different from Stevie’s macchiato. She was toying with the paper sleeve on her cup. She hadn’t made eye contact with Stevie since they sat down. Whatever Bernadette was going to tell her was either going to be pretty deep or completely off the wall. Stevie wasn’t sure what she wanted more: deep and moving or a conversation about a spider phobia or a favorite food.

  “Bernadette?” Stevie waited for her to look up, and when she didn’t, Stevie said softly, “Are you in love with Constance?” That did it. Bernadette’s eyes snapped up to Stevie’s, who held her free hand up in mock surrender. “I’m only asking. It seems like…maybe there’s some tension there.”

  The eye contact didn’t last long as Bernadette looked back at her white chocolate mocha. Stevie watched as she took a deep breath. She waited, but Bernadette took another breath, opened her mouth, closed it, then leaned slightly forward. “Yes.”

  “You are.” It wasn’t a question. It was a confirmation. “Okay.”

  “Since high school.” Bernadette shrugged while continuing to maintain eye contact with that fucking cup.

  “Do you think maybe you’d like to look at me?” Stevie raised her eyebrows as she drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “I am not going to judge you for this. So can you please look at me?” Finally, Bernadette’s eyes flitted from the cup to Stevie. “Thank you.” Stevie wasn’t always a fan of intense eye contact, or deep dark brown eyes that were almost black, but when Bernadette looked at her, especially right then and there, she knew she could handle them for the rest of her life.

  Bernadette picked her cup up to her lips, and before she drank, she said, “You know you’re the only person who knows this.”

  “She doesn’t even know?”

  “Well, of course not. I mean, she might have an idea, but I’ve never confirmed it with her.”

  “You’ve never told another soul, though?”

  “Not even my therapist.” Bernadette smiled and shrugged. “My family assumes, but it’s never been confirmed.” Bernadette had her free arm draped across the back of the chair next to her, and she popped each knuckle with her thumb. Stevie had no idea why—she hated when people would pop their knuckles—but seeing Bernadette do it was incredibly erotic. “It’s not something I’m proud of. I don’t love talking about it.”

  “I understand. It’s not like I love talking about my dead parents, but somehow, I was asked about them.”

  “Touché,” Bernadette replied with a nod. “Let me be clear, though. Nothing has happened between us. It’s me loving her. We have never, y’know, done anything. Even through all those years of being roommates.”

  “Oh, okay. So you two went to college together?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Bernadette sighed. “I know it seems odd. And maybe it is.”

  Stevie raised her eyebrows. “Am I supposed to think it’s odd?”

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  “That’s a trap,” Stevie said and pointed at Bernadette. It wasn’t odd, at least not to Stevie. “I know all too well the story of unrequited love and how agonizing it can be. I guess the question in my mind is why she never even tried with you. I mean, have you looked at you? You’re gorgeous.” Stevie watched as her compliment washed over Bernadette. She wondered if the blush that crept up Bernadette’s neck and onto her face stopped there, or was her entire body that lovely shade of pink? “I guess that’s the only odd thing in my mind.”

  “Stevie…” Bernadette’s voice was so soft, and the way her sad eyes shifted from Stevie’s eyes to her cup was infuriating.

  If Stevie needed to describe how badly she wanted to kiss Bernadette, she would have been speechless. Everything about Bernadette was changing her entire being. “I’m only sayin’…”

  Bernadette cleared her throat before she said softly, “She was never interested. And now? Well, she would never cheat on her husband, whom I hate.” Bernadette’s face softened. “But I also love that she is so devoted to him. She has morals, at least.”

  Stevie absorbed the information for a few beats. It was hard hearing the way Bernadette’s voice wrapped around her description of Constance. Stevie propped an elbow on the table. She placed her chin in her hand and gazed at Bernadette. “Can I ask you a question?” Bernadette nodded, so she continued. “Have you ever had a girlfriend she’s okay with?”

  Bernadette smiled a very knowing smile and shook her head slowly.

  “Gotcha.”

  “She didn’t know about Sarah, which didn’t matter in the end anyway. But still.”

  “When she finds out about someone new in your life, does she act like she did tonight?”

  “No, of course, not exactly like that. I’ve never…”

  “You’ve never what?”

  “Done this. With a client.”

  “And what is this?” Stevie arched an eyebrow when Bernadette took too long to answer. “It’s something. Isn’t it?”

  Bernadette nodded. “I don’t know what the hell it is.”

  Stevie adjusted her seating position by leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. “What does she do, then? She finds out you’re dating someone, and she does what?”

  “She gets jealous. And then I have to deal with her snarky comments and her inability to understand I am not only hers. So instead of dragging it out, I typically let the relationship fizzle. Or I stop talking to the person completely. Shut them out. It’s easier not to fight Connie’s jealousy.”

  “And it helps that you’re in love with her.”

  Bernadette rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah. That helps.”

  “Do you want to be in love with her forever?”

  “God, no.” Bernadette looked as if she was going to be sick and lose the piece of warm banana bread they’d shared all over the table. “I hate this part of myself.”

  “Don’t. Don’t hate yourself. We all have feelings. Some aren’t the best for us to have.” Stevie reached for her cup but stopped before she brought it to her lips. “What if you tell her to fuck off?”

  Bernadette laughed. The sound was wonderful in the calm environment, the way it warmed Bernadette’s face and Stevie’s heart. “You realize I work for her, right?”

  “I do. But”—Stevie paused and looked around at the few tables where people were sitting. This particular Starbucks was one of her favorites in the city. The lighting was incredible, especially for heartfelt conversations. And it had a fireplace with a roaring fire a few feet from them. The seating area was large, with comfy chairs and low tables, high tops and stools. “I’m going to make it to New York City.” Stevie wasn’t sure how to take the look that washed over Bernadette’s eyes, across her lips, and down her chin. What was that? Was that sadness? “So in the meantime, why don’t we hang out? And keep each other company.” Stevie took a drink of her macchiato, then set it back on the table. She wasn’t exactly happy about saying all that, nor did she believe they could only keep each other company without feelings getting involved, but the idea that Bernadette was more than likely going to ditch her the second Constance’s jealousy reared its ugly head made Stevie’s stomach twist and her hands ache. “Would you be okay with that?”

  Bernadette leaned forward a minuscule amount, but it was enough to show she was intrigued by Stevie’s plan. “You think it would work?” Bernadette smiled. “You think you could hang out with me, and I could hang out with you, we could do things, stuff, then wipe our hands clean, so to speak?” Bernadette paused while Stevie chuckled. “And neither of us will be hurt when you go to the Big Apple? Or when Connie finds out and…”

  Stevie shrugged. “I mean, it’s worth a shot, right?”

  “Is it?”

  “Let me tell you something.” Stevie drank two swallows from her macchiato, then continued with, “I am superb in a competition. I am a fucking rock star. So bring it on, Constance Russo. Bring. It. On.” Bernadette leaned her head back and laughed and laughed. It was such a l
ovely laugh. Getting her to that point was quickly becoming Stevie’s favorite thing to do.

  “Okay,” Bernadette finally said once she stopped laughing. She was still smiling, though, and Stevie couldn’t stop wanting to kiss her. Now she’d backed herself into a corner with the idea that they could hang out a bit, get to know each other, never develop feelings, be completely fucking heartless human beings. She could have slugged herself in the face.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bernadette loved the holidays when she was a child. Seeing family, hanging out with cousins, helping with the cooking, all of it. But as the years went by, holidays became harder to love and easier to loathe. She wanted them to fly by, unnoticed, uncelebrated. She knew it wouldn’t happen that way, but dammit, she’d have given anything to be able to hole up in her room and not come out until the second day of January.

  Her mother, on the other hand, was a total Martha Stewart when it came to the holidays, which meant two things: one, Bernadette had to hide her true feelings about the holidays, and two, she had to help with everything. The decorating, the shopping, the cleaning, the cooking, the taking down of decorations. She wanted to blame her mother for her newfound detestation for anything that said turkey or give thanks or, Heaven forbid, happy fall, y’all. But she knew it wasn’t her mom’s fault. It was her own fault. She no longer knew how to compartmentalize, so having fun during the holidays without instantly remembering her father was no longer there to celebrate was absolutely off the table. Her therapist was trying to help her with this. She wanted to be able to think about memories of the good times without resenting the constant pursuit for new good times.

  She was failing, though. Superbly.

  And Paul was going to arrive soon with his family, including his stupid, beautiful wife. Marci being there with her wavy blond hair and her stupid skinny self, walking around on her long legs after having two kids was enough to make Bernadette scream. And cry. She always held it together, though. Always. She would never let her brother or his wife see her get too emotional. She was hoping she could keep herself together this time. There was something stirring inside her she couldn’t put her finger on. Was it missing her father? Was it the whole Stevie situation? Was it Connie, and the glaring obviousness that she was pining after a woman who would never be available? Or was it finally seeing clearly that Connie was never going to be okay with anyone Bernadette brought into her life?

  Bernadette was kind of pissed off Stevie had pinpointed it with such accuracy after barely knowing either one of them. How was that even possible? And why was she so embarrassed about the whole thing? She had no excuse and no real fight left in her to stick up for Connie like she normally would have. Maybe that meant she was finally ready to stick up for herself. The thought was laughable, even though it was exactly what she hoped would eventually happen.

  Pining after a woman for the past however many years had not exactly been a hayride. It was horrible and unfortunate and awful and any of the million adjectives used to describe an undesirable situation. But that was how it’d always been. Since high school, since late night chats in bed together, since college, since being the maid of honor, since being in the room when Connie gave birth, and now…

  Bernadette pulled a breath into her lungs and tried to fight back tears that were threatening a mutiny.

  “Honey, I need you to help with the gravy this year.”

  Bernadette’s mother was basting the turkey expertly while Bernadette continued her task of cutting each Brussels sprout in half. She was trying to keep her mind off Connie, off Stevie, off anything that might cause emotions to flare. She waited for her mother to clear her throat before she looked up and over at her, nodding once and smiling so her mother knew she heard. She heard her mother’s small sigh, which meant she knew something was bothering her. Making Thanksgiving dinner was not the time, nor the place, to discuss anything of importance. It was hard to sign anything when she was wielding a knife.

  “Do you think you could tell me what’s going on with you these days, Bernie?” Her mother was now standing next to her, a hand on her back, right between her shoulder blades. The familiarity was something Bernadette loved, of course—it was her mother, after all, and she always wanted to have that kind of relationship with her. But today, with the emotions bubbling right below her throat, it was almost too much.

  She turned her head. “Mom?” She didn’t sign because her mother was looking right at her, and she knew if she stopped gripping the knife, she’d start crying.

  Of course, that was when Paul and Marci decided to burst in through the front door, kids shouting, Marci’s annoying laugh already echoing through the house. It ruined the heart-to-heart Bernadette was desperately struggling with, simultaneously wanting and running from. She had absolutely no idea what she would have said anyway.

  The only benefit to them marching in at an inopportune time was Bernadette absolutely loved her nieces.

  Carly, seven, and Jesse, five, were possibly her two favorite people on the planet. And they seemed to feel the exact same way about her. “Auntie Bernie!” they screamed in unison as they came sprinting into the kitchen. Thankfully, she knew what was going to happen, so she set the knife safely on the cutting board and swung around to catch them both as they leapt into her arms.

  “Girls!” Bernadette hugged them both close. “How are my favorite humans?”

  Jesse’s adorable laugh made Bernadette’s heart explode. “We’re good. I brought you a present.” She was learning to sign, so her attempts were sloppy, but at least she was trying, which was all Bernadette could ask for.

  “A present? For me?”

  “Yes, it’s something we made together,” Carly corrected Jesse’s sloppy signing attempts as Bernadette set them both back on the linoleum. “Jesse did have the idea, though.” Carly pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She’d been diagnosed early with horrible eyesight, so the lenses were thick and made her eyes look much bigger than they were.

  “You both need to say hello to your grandmother before we do any gifts,” Bernadette signed as she put her arm around her mother. Both of the girls giggled and said their hellos, then both signed they were so sorry they said hi to Bernadette first. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, girls. I am the favorite, after all.”

  Bernadette’s mother hugged both girls, then knelt down to their level to sign she loved them both. The girls signed, “I love you,” and giggled when they were handed pieces of candy wrapped to look like strawberries. They weren’t allowed to have candy, but grandmothers—okay, and aunts—always broke the rules.

  “Go hang with the girls,” her mother said to her while signing. “I’ve got this. Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. Do the gravy then.” Bernadette leaned in and kissed her mother on the cheek. Her tears were cooperating, but damn, when her mother whispered, “I love you,” in Bernadette’s ear, the tears almost rioted.

  * * *

  “You all are the worst at this game,” Stevie shouted as she rounded the yard at Gram’s house at a full sprint. “I swear to God! I am going to make you all pay for this.”

  All the kids were laughing as Stevie chased them, dodging her expertly when she dove at them. “Nana-nana-boo-boo! You can’t catch me,” Harper yelled from the steps, which also happened to be safe base for the game of tag they were playing.

  “I can wait here all day.” Stevie stood at the foot of the steps and crossed her arms. She was bundled in a sweatshirt and gloves and sweating her ass off. The weather was surprisingly warm considering two weeks ago, it seemed as if it was going to snow. That was Chicago in the fall, though. Don’t like the weather? Wait five minutes.

  “Stevie! Don’t stand there. There are, like, fifteen of us you could catch,” Brandon taunted from the side of the house, about five or so feet from where Stevie stood. He was one of the older cousins, but she had no idea how old he was. High school. At least…Right? “You’re such a pussy.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Stevie snapp
ed her head toward Brandon. “Do not cuss. There are kids everywhere, you little shit.”

  All the kids started to laugh, a perfect diversion. Stevie lunged toward Brandon and finally grabbed on to the hood of his sweatshirt as he tried to escape. “Tag, you’re it.” She sprinted past him, laughing the entire time as he cursed her. “You suck.”

  “Um, no, you do,” Brandon shouted after her.

  Stevie made her way around the house and took the front steps two at a time. She pushed her way inside the door and slammed it, collapsing against it. “I am too friggin’ old for that shit.”

  Aunt Lucille laughed from her perch at the kids’ table where she was filling pierogies with potatoes and cheese. “Well, well, well. The one who we never thought would grow up finally has? I’m shocked.”

  Great-Aunt Helen, Gram’s sister, chuckled. She was at another card table filling more pierogies, but she was using sauerkraut. “I used to tell Aggie that Stevie here was going to be the death of us all. You remember that, Aggie?” Helen shouted the last part while she continued to fill each pocket of dough.