A few years before the island wedding…
⛌-⛌-⛌
The literary event had been fine until the Q&A portion. Renée had been maintaining her professional smile, nodding along as the older author they invited discussed his memoir. But then someone asked about the strain of loving someone with mental illness.
About choosing to stay even when it seemed impossible.
"There were moments I almost gave up."
The author admitted softly.
"Times when I felt like I was drowning trying to keep her afloat. But that's the thing about love - sometimes you have to learn to swim together."
[The metaphor wasn't even that good.]
Renée's wine glass was unluckily empty. Her chest felt too tight. Worse, suddenly her heels were pinching in a way she couldn't stand. She made it through two more questions before slipping out of the venue early. The writer left her shoes in the taxi that took her to the liquor store.
She bought the kind of wine she used to drink in the early days of university. The kind that went down easy and hit hard. The shop owner didn't comment on her bare feet, if he even noticed. Neither did other passing pedestrians.
Those merely gave her looks for her increasingly unsteady gait.
Naomi's building was closer than her apartment. That's what she told herself, though she knew it wasn't the reason she picked it. She knew exactly why she was choosing her attractive friend's place instead of her own empty rooms.
"Ren?"
Naomi opened the door in yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt. Her brunette hair spilled down the sides of her face lazily. She was also the first to comment.
"What are you- wait, are you not wearing shoes?"
"You're really pretty. Has anyone ever told you that? Because you're... really pretty."
Renée announced articulately, holding up the mostly-empty wine bottle like it proved her point. A moment of consideration crossed Naomi's face before she stepped aside.
"Get in here before you wake up my neighbors."
Renée stumbled slightly crossing the threshold, catching herself on Naomi's shoulder before wobbling back to something like standing. Her friend grabbed her wrist and started to guide her to where she wouldn't hurt herself.
"Strong too. I like that in a woman. Did I say you were pretty yet?"
"Uh huh. And how much wine did it take to make you want to tell me these qualities?"
"Most of this bottle."
Renée flopped onto the couch with the container, then immediately started unbuttoning her blazer.
"It's hot in here. Why is it so hot?"
"It's not. Not especially. You're drunk."
Naomi disappeared into the kitchen for a short while, returning with a plastic cup of water.
"Here. Drink this instead."
"Water? Don't want water. Want you."
Renée's attempt at a seductive smile was somewhat undermined by her inability to focus her eyes properly.
"Come here. I'll show you what you're missing."
"Pass."
Naomi sat in the armchair nearby, safely out of reach of the pawing of the drunkard.
"Though I'm flattered. Seriously. Of all the straight girls. Want to tell me what actually brought you here?"
"Can't a girl just want to seduce her gorgeous friend?"
"Sure. But you don't."
Renée's smile faltered. She took the water placed on the table, if only to have something to do with her hands.
"There was this author. Talking about... about loving someone through their illness. About staying. About... swimming."
"Ah. And?"
"I couldn't let her stay. Couldn't let her drown with me."
The words slipped out before she could catch them. Before she could think about how little they made sense to her 'best friend'. The woman didn't know about her ex, not in detail.
"She would have tried so hard to save me. Would have broken herself trying."
Naomi didn't bother to ask the woman who "she" was. The brunette just waited, letting Renée ramble what she needed to between sips of water.
"But this author... she made it sound so simple. Like love conquers all or some bullshit. Like if you just try hard enough then..."
Renée's head dropped back against the couch. She didn't speak for a while.
"I'm tired, Mimi. Of questioning it. Kiss me?"
"No."
"Please? I'll make it good. I have references! I just... I need..."
The energy in her tone bounced about.
"You need sleep."
Naomi stood and helped Renée up to her feet.
"Come on. You can have the bed. I'll take the couch."
"You could join me, you know. I might lick, but I don't bite. Much."
Renée 'tried' one last time, but her heart wasn't in it anymore… if it ever was.
"Tempting, believe me. But… I'll pass."
Naomi guided her friend to the bedroom. She helped her out of her blouse and pants and shoved her under the covers.
"Sleep it off, Ren. It'll be better tomorrow, alright?"
Hours later, Naomi was awakened by sounds coming from her bedroom. A few short but distinct groans of pain made her surge to her feet to check on her friend. She found Renée half-sitting up, disoriented in the darkness and unfamiliar space.
"Ayla?"
Her voice was small and confused as she turned to the person standing in the doorway. Then panic crept in as she registered the bed and sheets that weren't hers.
"Oh god, did I-"
"It's just me. Me, Ren. You're at my place. Nothing happened. Okay?"
The brunette urged quietly but firmly.
"...Naomi?"
Visible relief flooded Renée's face in the low light before her eyes glazed again.
"Oh. Good. Safe."
She was asleep again before Naomi could respond. Maybe even before she actually collapsed back into the bed. She wouldn't remember this moment in the morning. But Naomi remembered.
Remembered the name she spoke, the panic she saw, and the relief. Remembered and understood exactly why her friend had chosen her couch to crash on after drinking. Her bed to 'sleep' in. She was safe precisely because nothing would ever happen between them.
Because Renée could play at seduction without risking her heart for real with her straight friend. Because sometimes you needed a low moment to pretend to move on… before you could admit you never would.
⛌-⛌-⛌
"So that ex of yours *was* going to be there."
The woman's breathy voice over the phone held a bit of sympathy.
"And now you're trapped on an island with her. With what looks like a pretty bad storm to make it all better."
While they'd talked, the brunette woman had begun to play on her tablet and look up the news. The sudden strengthening of the weather toward a hurricane had apparently made late night headlines while she slept. Her claim of having been on a date was a small white lie so her friend didn't blabber about waking her.
"No wonder you're drinking."
"Yeah."
"Just... try to keep your shoes on this time? Don't go looking to enter people's rooms to seduce them."
Renée tried not to think about her choice of kicking off her shoes earlier. It was something everyone did when getting on a bed!
"I really am fine, you know."
"Sure you are, honey. That's why you called me to 'process.' Just like you were 'fine' that night."
The quotation marks were audible. She could practically picture Naomi making them unnecessarily, even though it was a voice call. Renée had seen her do it before while on the phone.
Before the writer could protest, a tremendous crash echoed through the building, followed by the distinctive sound of breaking glass. She sat bolt upright, heart pounding. On the other end of the line, the voice sharpened with concern.
"What was that?"
"I don't... hang on."
Renée moved away from her window, just in case.
"They warned us earlier about the storm…"
She reached for her shoes as she heard sets of running footsteps passed her door, accompanied by urgent voices and radio static. The staff were in a hurry which couldn't be great news.
"I should go. Make sure everything's okay with everyone."
"Text or call me when you can. And Ren?"
Her severe tone made the original caller pause.
"Yeah?"
"Try not to accidentally call anyone pet names while checking on that noise."
"I hate you."
"Love you too, disaster lesbian."