Songs without Words (21 page)

“I’ll call you,” Harper said. “Maybe we can do something next weekend.”

Harper recognized that they were now dating, that they were no longer two friends “hanging out.” She also knew when she invited Chelsea to her house for dinner a week later that she was inviting her to the next stage. That Saturday, Chelsea arrived with a basket of nectarines she had picked from her parents’ tree, a gift of summer fruit. She wore her hair in a ponytail, exposing her small ears with their gold hoops and the tufts of light hair down either side of the back of her neck, hairs too short and wispy to be pulled into the elastic band. Across the top of her nose ran a random pattern of light freckles that hadn’t been there the last time Harper saw her. As the weather warmed, the freckles emerged from their winter dormancy. Her hair seemed lighter too, as if it were absorbing summer sunlight.

Chelsea placed her hand on Harper’s more than once during dinner, smoothly guiding their evening toward the physical. Harper had already told Chelsea what she needed to know, that, although certainly not naïve about sex, she was inexperienced with women. She had never even kissed a woman, though that time with Peggy, in college, had gone well beyond kissing. That had been seventeen years ago, but it was close to the surface of Harper’s consciousness once again. Chelsea’s experience, Harper knew, was also limited, though in a different way—but in this particular dance, they seemed to have agreed, she was leading.

After dinner they sat in patio chairs on the redwood deck, sipping a crisp Riesling and eating nectarine slices while the lively tones of Vivaldi serenaded them from inside the house.The night was warm with only an occasional slip of a wind cutting through the heavy air. They were both tired of talking, it seemed. They sat side by side, enjoying one another’s company in silence, watching the night sky and listening to the faint tinkling of a neighbor’s wind chimes, an odd, but not unpleasant, percussive addition to Vivaldi. At one point Chelsea reached over and took hold of Harper’s hand, clasping it easily between them, casting an uncomplicated smile at her. Harper felt calm and happy and strangely as if the two of them had been sitting here like this, contented and familiar, for years. She felt, in fact, as if they were already lovers.

As their magical evening concluded, they stood just inside the front door, looking at one another wordlessly, an air of expectation between them. Chelsea put her hand to Harper’s cheek, caressing her gently as she moved closer. Her eyes were full of portent.
She’s being careful and polite,
Harper realized,
because this moment is a powerful memory in the making, a moment to be cherished.
Chelsea took Harper lightly in her arms and kissed her tentatively. As soon as Harper felt those soft lips gently pressing hers, she gladly abandoned herself to the feeling. She’d been imagining this for several weeks already.

They kissed one another tenderly for several minutes during which neither of them spoke. Harper tasted sweet nectarine juice on Chelsea’s mouth, a flavor that diminished as they continued kissing. Chelsea was a wonderful kisser. Harper felt immediately comfortable and natural with her, their mouths meshing perfectly in a leisurely, luxurious communion. She felt Chelsea’s hands on her back, their breasts and thighs touching. Everywhere their bodies intersected, there was heat and a heightening of senses.

Chelsea’s lips grazed her neck, her ear, her collarbone, so tantalizingly soft and sensuous. Harper, her eyes closed, felt as if she were being transformed into music. She felt like a Mendelssohn sonata drifting through the room. Ironic, she thought, remembering how Chelsea professed no musical talent. And yet she was masterful at playing Harper.

Chelsea could have done anything she wanted to at that point. Harper was completely under her spell. But she said good night instead, leaving Harper’s body craving more, leaving a promise of something extraordinary yet to come. Long after Chelsea had gone, Harper felt the splendid sensation of her mouth.

She knew why Chelsea hesitated. It was because of Eliot. She was waiting for Harper to be done with him. She didn’t want to be involved in a triangle. She was moving cautiously. If Harper had felt any doubts at all about what she should do next, Chelsea’s marvelous kisses would have easily dispelled them. But she had no doubts.

The following week Eliot arrived for his summer visit. Harper had told Chelsea, weeks earlier, long before she had tasted those velvety lips, that she planned to break up with him this summer. She didn’t want to do it on the phone, though. She wanted to do it in person. So she let him come as planned, but, soon after he arrived, she told him what she had been rehearsing for months.

“You can’t see me in your future,” he said, repeating the gist of what she was trying to explain. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s right. There’s no future for us. We’ve known that for a long time. I don’t want to invest any more of my life in something with no future.”

“I thought that’s what you liked about it,” he objected, “that you didn’t have to invest anything. You know, the lack of commitment, the free and easy good times. You’ve said as much, that you didn’t want to be tied down or deal with expectations.”

“Yes, I know, but I’ve been feeling differently lately. It doesn’t feel right to me anymore. It feels hollow. I think I need something more substantial.”

“Harper, I’ve been trying to persuade you for years now to get married. You can’t get any more substantial than that.”

“I’m sorry, Eliot, but I just don’t see you as a part of whatever substantial means for me.”

“So you don’t love me anymore?”

“As a friend, Eliot. I love you as a dear, old friend.”

“Since when?” he asked.

“Honestly, it’s always been that way.”

As Eliot slept in the guest room that night, Harper considered the sixteen years of summers that he had inhabited and felt a vague sense of loss. She was buoyed, though, by the tremendous potential of this new summer. And, although he was disoriented, she knew he would be okay. Better than okay. He had a life already that didn’t include her. This breakup felt anticlimactic to her. She thought it would probably be similar for him, once he got over the sting.

After breakfast the next day, Eliot hugged Harper goodbye and left. It was a sad moment, the end of an era. But by the time she had dialed Chelsea’s number to report that he was gone, the sadness had completely left her. Now, an hour later, as Chelsea’s Honda appeared at the curb, Harper couldn’t have been happier. She was ecstatic, in fact. Eliot was completely forgotten as she watched Chelsea approach. She moved like a waltz from the street to the door. Her hair, loose, bounced over her shoulders as she stepped up the walkway. She was radiant. She fell into Harper’s waiting arms, the sun’s heat clinging to her skin and clothes. They clutched one another tightly, their mouths coming anxiously together.

They kissed with unrestrained desire. Finally, Harper pulled away and took Chelsea’s hand, leading her into the bedroom. They sat on the bed and resumed kissing. Neither of them had uttered a word since Chelsea’s arrival. They had been talking for months. There was nothing to say now except through touch.

Chelsea pulled off her shirt and slipped out of her bra, tossing it on the floor. There was a faint tan line slung low across her chest. Her firm breasts were as round as peaches and looked just as luscious, their relaxed nipples the color of bubble gum. Harper touched them softly, feeling silk. As her thumb passed over a smooth aureole, it clenched into prominence—an invitation. They removed the rest of their clothes rapidly.

There was something in her that had been waiting all her life for this moment, thought Harper, holding this woman in her arms. It had been lying semi-dormant, not peacefully as in a dreaming sleep, but fitful and impatient, goading her. And it had taken her all this time to understand what it was that she had been heading toward.

Chelsea lowered Harper to the bed, lying on top of her. Taking hold of Harper’s mouth with hers, she kissed her so deeply that Harper could feel desire sweeping across her entire body.

Chelsea’s hands moved over Harper’s curves, caressing her with exquisite, lingering touches. Her mouth rhapsodized Harper, softly, sweetly. Her fingers touched every part of Harper’s body as if she were a blind woman reading the libretto of her soul.

Harper touched Chelsea too, marveling at how soft and sleek she was, how like satin her skin felt against fingertips and lips. With sensitive abandon, she let her mouth follow its own course— along Chelsea’s shoulder, then down between her breasts, along the side of her waist to the bone protruding at her hip, and then into the tender spot at the top of her thigh where honey-colored hair tickled her nose. Facing toward the footboard now, Harper kissed the pale skin below Chelsea’s navel, letting her tongue glide along the tan line low on her stomach.

Chelsea turned on her side, pulling Harper’s hips close to her face, then stroked her, gently and lightly at first, with her fingers, but gradually more insistently, deepening the sensation, and Harper’s body found and matched the rising tempo. She gripped Chelsea’s body more tightly as the heat grew between them and her desire swelled. She felt Chelsea’s hot breath between her legs and then felt her warm, wet mouth nuzzling into her. As her tongue slid up and back down like a bow on a violin, Harper buried her face in Chelsea’s soft inner thigh and let herself be overwhelmed.

Chapter 17

SUMMER, TWO YEARS AGO (JULY)

The summer of Chelsea, with its long, languid nights of lovemaking, proceeded happily through June and into July. When the time came in late July to travel east, Harper went reluctantly. She and Chelsea hadn’t been apart for more than a day up until then, and she was still drowning in the ecstasy of this woman’s company.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Chelsea told her, urging her to go. “I’ll just want you more.”

“I’ll only stay nine days,” Harper promised.

Those nine days passed by rapidly with frequent phone calls from Massachusetts to California and from California to Massachusetts. Harper, thoroughly preoccupied with her newfound joy, told her brother all about Chelsea on the day of her arrival. She was relieved to have a confidante. Danny, she knew, wouldn’t be alarmed or judgmental. He was momentarily surprised, but that soon gave way to the anticipated interest and support. Harper wasn’t able to hide her overwhelming happiness from the rest of her family, although she tried, making her phone calls away from the house or late at night when everyone was asleep. Since Chelsea was three hours behind, this was ideal. But her mother was watching her, it seemed, growing more and more suspicious, because mothers can sense the moods of their cubs without being told. And it probably didn’t look all that nonchalant the times Harper’s cell phone rang and she bolted from the room like a spaceship going into hyper drive.

Alice waited until the third day to ask, “Who is it that you’re so preoccupied with, Harper?”

“A friend,” she said evasively.

Her mother eyed her in a way that made Harper feel small and vulnerable, as if she were five and being asked, “Who spilled milk all over the dog?”

“Girl friend,” Harper said shyly. Although she had correctly predicted Danny’s response to her love for a woman, she wasn’t sure how her parents would take it, despite their political support for gay rights.

“I see,” Alice replied, looking steadily at Harper. “Someone special?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Chelsea.” Harper slid the photo she’d been carrying out of her cell phone case and handed it to her mother.

Alice looked at the photo carefully for a moment, then handed it back. “She’s darling,” she said cheerfully. “A darling girl! Thank you, Harper, for sharing this with me.” Alice reached for Harper, giving her a warm hug. She then turned toward the oven where she was baking lasagna and appeared to be finished with the subject.

Harper was perplexed. Maybe her mother hadn’t understood.

“Mom,” she asked, “is that it? You don’t have any questions? You aren’t going to ask what happened to Eliot or why I’m dating a girl?”

Alice turned back to face her, looking puzzled. “I assume it’s because you like her. And what do you mean about Eliot? Has something happened to Eliot?”