by: Laura Browne-Lambert
Rebecca and Jayla had a love for the ages. Rebecca said so every morning and Jayla whispered it every night. Those words were the sappiest they got. Most of their time was spent bickering and finding new ways to annoy each other. Back in high school, Rebecca discovered that poking Jayla in the ribs was just about the best way to get a rise out of her, and she leaned on that option heavily any chance she could. Two years later, as they were packing Rebecca’s belongings to take with her to college, Jayla uncovered the raucous squeals that Rebecca would emit when Jayla took a strand of her hair and tickled Rebecca’s nose.
CW: homophobia, language
Image Description: A silhouette of two hands with their pinky fingers linked is in the foreground of the painting. The background is a rendition of the lesbian pride flag with an orange stripe at the top, white in the middle, and magenta at the bottom.
Credit: Laura Browne-Lambert
Jayla crawled tentatively into bed and wrapped an arm around Rebecca’s curvy middle.
“Are you mad that I don’t want to hold hands in public?” Jayla asked. Even though she was nervous about the answer, she believed in speaking directly.
Rebecca turned around to face Jayla, reached for her hand, and slotted their fingers together. “I’m not mad, I’m just—”
“Disappointed?” Jayla cut in.
Rebecca shook her head. “Maybe, but not in the way you’re thinking. I’m sad that you’re so scared of people recognizing us.”
“Can you blame me?” Jayla asked, a brashness in her tone.
“No, Sweetheart,” Rebecca said, pushing a stray curl over Jayla’s ear. “Of course not.”
“Why aren’t you scared?”
“I never said I wasn’t scared,” Rebecca answered. She looked at the ceiling for a long moment. “I am scared sometimes, in some neighborhoods more than others, but – but I’m also proud of who we are. I’m proud to call you my wife. That feeling makes me want to parade around with you all day. And maybe, if people like us see us holding hands, they’ll feel the same way.”
“I can get that.”
“I don’t want you to do it if you’re not comfortable, and I don’t want you to feel badly if you don’t.”
Jayla shoved her nose under her wife’s chin and snuggled closer. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“I love you, Sweetheart.”
“We have a love for the ages,” Jayla whispered.
Thoughts of handholding filled Jayla’s head. She had won the debate. Usually, winning an argument with Rebecca felt good, but this time, even with Rebecca’s conciliation, victory only made her ache. Truthfully, not holding her wife’s hand like all the other couples she saw made her feel different, like she was wrong to even wish it. And when she convinced herself that the desire was not wrong, her fear made her feel weak.
Each morning, as Rebecca drove Jayla to her job at the lumberyard, Jayla watched the pedestrians through the window. This time of day, most were commuters, some were runners. A few handed out pamphlets. One man had a sandwich board hanging over his shoulders. One side said, “Repent, for God is coming.” The other side said, “You shall not suffer a homosexual,” written as if it were in the bible. Jayla was pretty sure that phrase was not, but she had not checked in a while.
Jayla gave Rebecca a quick peck on the cheek as they rolled up to the gate of the lumberyard and Jayla hopped out.
“Hey, Jeff!” Rebecca called out the window to the security guard.
“Morning Becky,” he answered with a wave.
Jayla rolled her eyes. Not even Rebecca’s parents called her that. “You better not be hitting on my wife,” Jayla said, trying to affix some levity to the morning grouchiness in her voice.
“Just being friendly, Jayla,” he said. “I see you’re still working on that.”
Jayla gave him a little push just for that.
Rebecca waved as she pulled the truck back into traffic. “You have lovely manners, Jeff,” she called.
This time, Jayla turned around to make sure Rebecca could see her exaggerated eyeroll from the rearview mirror. Jeff was good people, though. Jayla was almost certain he had put in a good word for her when she had applied for the job as forklift operator, even though he had only talked with her a few minutes as she waited for her interview to start. That had been two years ago. Now, they were close enough that Jeff had named her godmother to his second child, a responsibility that Jayla took very seriously.
Most of the time, the lumber business brought contractors to the yard – though on rare occasion a micromanaging homeowner would stop by to pick out material. Not quite as rare were the DIY-types. Some of them were serious and knowledgeable. They spent most of their time making a mess of Jayla’s piles as they picked out the cleanest and straightest boards. Others were less knowledgeable and required Jayla to park her equipment and spend her time answering questions that Google could have answered for her.
Today’s visitors were the second sort. Jayla chugged her tepid coffee and was just about to switch off her forklift when she saw one of the associates approach. Thank God, she thought. I was not ready for small talk. She paused though, watching the exchange, and saw it. The two men had walked onto the lot hand-in-hand, but as soon as someone came up to them, their hands fell away and they took a step apart. Just like Rebecca had been saying. That fear that other people like them had. She leaned back in her seat and scrubbed her face with her hands.
Jayla spent her lunch scouring the internet. First, she found the most gay-friendly neighborhood in the nearest city, then found a hotel room and a few restaurants in the same neighborhood. A coffee shop for breakfast, a sandwich shop that promised the best capicola in the city for lunch, and a full-service restaurant with a dance floor in the back for dinner. That night, after Rebecca had fallen asleep, mouth hanging open and a hint of drool on the corner of her lips, Jayla packed their overnight bags. Lucky Rebecca was a heavy sleeper.
Jayla woke her wife with warm kisses on her forehead. Bleary eyes crusted with sleep blinked back at her.
Jayla smiled. “Rise and shine, Sleepyhead.”
“Sweetheart, it’s Saturday. Go back to sleep.”
“No.”
Rebecca rolled over. “Then let me sleep,” she mumbled into her pillow.
The smile on Jayla’s face widened into a maniacal grin. “No,” she said again, this time accentuating the word with a poke to Rebecca’s ribs. In an instant, Rebecca’s sleepiness disappeared, and she slapped Jayla’s hand away. They tussled, Jayla seeking new ways to get her fingers on Rebecca’s middle, and Rebecca fighting back with smacks and pinches. The battle ended as it usually did, with Jayla pinning Rebecca’s hands to her sides.
“Gotcha,” Jayla proclaimed.
Rebecca curled her lip in response. “Fine, I’ll bite,” Rebecca said at last. “Why have you got me up so early?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows rose until they were hidden behind a messy curtain of blue hair. “A surprise?”
“Yup. Do you trust me?”
“Of course, I do,” Rebecca said. “Except when it comes to those fingers. “You could poke attack me any moment.”
“Then, how about this?” Jayla stuck her chin out jauntily. “Do you love me?”
“You know the answer to that. Ours is a love for the ages,” said Rebecca. Jayla bent down to kiss Rebecca, but her wife pulled away with a squeal. “Ew, gross! Get away from me with that morning breath!”
“Fine,” Jayla said with a laugh. “But throw on some clothes. I’m taking us away for the weekend.”
A bright serenity washed over Rebecca’s face as they strolled aimlessly along unfamiliar streets. Jayla had felt it, too, as soon as they parked the car on a street lined with shopfronts that had decorated their windows with rainbow flags. Safety. That was the feeling Jayla got. Finally. She took Rebecca’s hand and pulled her into an open-air street market.
“What are you doing?” Rebecca asked, surprised.
Jayla squeezed her hand nervously and fought the urge to pull it back. “Practicing,” she said.
Rebecca’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, then she smiled a shy half-smile. “Okay,” she nodded. “Let’s practice.”
They spent the day like that – hand-in-hand – only stopping to buy the odd knickknack (a bracelet fashioned out of old nails braided together for Jayla and a painting of Clydesdales dancing the tango for Rebecca). They practiced through dinner, and even while dancing that night. By morning, they had stopped practicing. Instead, they held hands because it felt right.
“You know it won’t always be like this, right?” Rebecca asked over breakfast.
“You mean, we’ll go home, and we’ll be afraid again?”
Rebecca took a sip of her fruity tea before answering. “Yeah, I mean that. I also mean that it’ll get better, you know. It has to.”
“I hope so.”
“You know it’s okay with me if you don’t want to do this when we get home?” Rebecca took Jayla’s hand and ran her thumb across her palm.
Jayla nodded. “I know.”
The next time they walked to their favorite neighborhood coffee shop, Jayla took her wife’s hand and held it the whole way – from their house all the way up to the cash register. She would have held on longer if she had not needed two hands to pay for their drinks.
They settled into a booth by the window. “So, who won this fight?” Rebecca asked with a self-satisfied smirk.
Jayla groaned. “You did, Baby.”
Rebecca hummed. “What was that?” she asked, lifting a hand to her ear. “I don’t think I heard you.”
“You did,” Jayla answered grumpily. She poked her wife in the ribs in petty retribution.
“Disappointed?” Rebecca asked as she playfully dodged the onslaught of fingers directed at her midsection.
“Nah,” Jayla harrumphed.
Rebecca and Jayla had a love for the ages. They always knew it. Now that they were both brave enough to show it, maybe other people would know, too.
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