Atmosphere(61)

“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 Vanessa slept over at Joan’s, she snuck out of her apartment around four A.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 woke up 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 had cooked 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 women don’t want to bring home,” Vanessa said, as if it were some hilarious joke they were both in on.

“You’ve never wanted to . . .” Joan asked. “Introduce someone to your mother?”

Vanessa scoffed. “No.”

“Well, certainly you’ve met an old girlfriend’s family . . .”

Vanessa considered the question. “I’m not really sure I’ve ever called someone my girlfriend. It feels . . . like something people do in high school?”

“Right,” Joan said, unable to look at her. She nodded. “Sure.”

“I mean, I’ve . . .” Vanessa sighed. “I’ve just always had relationships like what we have now. I never pictured myself as someone who meets somebody’s niece. It’s not like we’re in a situation where I can come to a Sunday dinner and try to win over your family.”

“I know that,” Joan said, her jaw tight. But she wasn’t sure if she did know that.

“But,” Vanessa said. “I’ve also never felt about someone the way I feel about you.”

Joan tried to hold back a smile. Vanessa could melt her so swiftly.

“I’m not asking you to meet Barbara,” Joan said, finally. “Or my parents. I know that is different. But I have a life, and there are parts of it I want to share with you. Don’t act like that makes me cuckoo.”

Vanessa smiled and closed the space between them, putting her hands on the counter on either side of Joan. “Am I acting like you’re cuckoo?”

Joan laughed and dodged Vanessa’s kiss. “A little!”

Vanessa missed Joan’s mouth and kissed her neck instead. “Well, I don’t think you’re cuckoo,” she said.

“So you’ll meet Frances at some point,” Joan said, giving a firm nod. “Wonderful.”

Vanessa laughed and pressed herself against Joan’s body. She buried her face by Joan’s ear.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Joan said. “Just because you’re chickening out doesn’t mean I don’t still have to go.” She kissed Vanessa on the mouth. “I’m getting dressed and leaving, and you will just have to miss me.”