Beneath the Surface(51)

“Perhaps it was always in the cards for us,” Sheryl mused. “But we never truly know, do we?”

“You’ve become even more philosophical in your old age,” Caitlin said. “Every inch the wise professor I knew you would one day be.”

Sheryl bumped an elbow into Caitlin's arm. “I’m forty-five. You can call me wise but old is pushing it a bit.”

“Don’t you love it, though? Being in your forties?” Caitlin said in the same conspiratorial tone she’d always talked in. A tone that made Sheryl realize how much she’d missed her friend. “When you’re finally beginning to realize what truly matters in life.”

Sheryl glanced at Caitlin. “And what are your findings on the subject?”

“I, for one, couldn’t give one more flying fuck about what anyone thinks of me and my ways.”

Sheryl chuckled. “As far as I can remember, you never cared about that in the first place.”

Caitlin shook her head. “I cared a little, which was still too much.” Sheryl noticed how Caitlin's glance stuck to Amber. “All that matters is being true to yourself.” She took a swig from her champagne glass. “Now tell me, old friend, do you have any way of introducing me to that cute ginger over there, or am I going at this cold and alone?”

“I’ve got your back, sister,” Sheryl said, as a throwback to their early university days. “All you have to do is ask.”

Sheryl introduced Caitlin to Amber. Earlier, Amber had listened attentively to her little speech about visibility and all the ways in which it matters, her green eyes lighting up a bit, the way they used to, years ago, in girls who had just joined LAUS. Sheryl wondered what Amber’s story was, and she marveled in the fact that, because of this coffee shop she owned with her partner, she would soon be able to find out.

Sheryl looked around. People were chattering away, some meeting each other for the first time—like Caitlin and Amber—and some who had been neighbors for a while. Already, a sense of community was in the air. She had to hand it to Kristin once again: she knew an opportunity when she saw one, but more than that, she knew how to seize it when it presented itself.

She found Kristin in the thickening crowd and looked at her for an instant while a waiter refilled her champagne glass. As the level of bubbly liquid rose in her glass, so did the amount of respect and love she had for her partner who had pulled this off.





2016





Chapter Twenty-Three





Sheryl was going over the results of a research study two of her grad students had conducted. She often found herself coming down to work in the cozy, bustling atmosphere of The Pink Bean rather than in her office upstairs. She loved the hum of conversation around her and the sense of being surrounded by people more than the quiet of her study. What she loved most, though, was being able to watch Kristin from the corner of her eye.

Kristin had worked hard the past two years, often pulling week-long twelve-hour daily shifts behind the counter, because she was the sort of perfectionist who had trouble delegating even simple tasks like handing customers their change. These days, she employed a couple of people to do the work with her—one of them, Josephine, a student of Sheryl’s. A shy girl who Sheryl had pushed to take a job in a busy coffee shop when she’d asked her if she knew of any job openings. Sheryl was certain Josephine had meant a job at the university, but she’d also been sure that the girl would benefit more from a job that would put her into direct contact with a bunch of strangers. And she had. At least as far as Sheryl could tell. She made a mental note to check in with Josephine at the end of her shift.

Sheryl refocused her attention on her laptop screen and was just starting to recognize a pattern she’d been hoping to find, when the door opened. A man walked in and Sheryl did a double-take. He sort of looked like her father, but also sort of didn’t.

Instinctively, she rose. First, she looked around for Kristin, who had never actually met him, but she was in the back or upstairs.

Her father spotted her and walked up to her, hesitation in his steps. How did he recognize her so easily after all these years? His beard was neatly trimmed and his eyes were strangely clear. As he approached, Sheryl realized she was looking at an old but sober man. That was why she’d barely recognized him. He didn’t match the memory she had of him.

“Sheryl,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “Can we talk?” He didn’t make any moves to kiss or hug her, which Sheryl appreciated. They had lost contact decades ago. Though never a deliberate choice on Sheryl’s part—she couldn’t be sure of her father’s inebriated intentions—it had happened and it had been a relief. Because all her father reminded her of was the atrocity of her mother’s death. It was all he embodied for her because of what he had allowed it to do to him. And Sheryl soon realized there was no saving grace in hanging around a man who liked drinking more than spending time with his only daughter. Not if she wanted to save herself.