But on my thirtieth birthday, I was still living in Ohio. I wasn’t yet making enough on my writing to do it full-time so my life had become a cycle of working full-time, writing, checking on my father, fielding calls and visits from Susannah, and dealing with Fran. I don’t think there’s an appreciable way to explain the madness that was Fran except for this - I was in love with her. I was in love with her in a way that I don’t think I have ever been with anyone in my life.
I literally loved her from the moment I met her. It was a Hallmark moment. It sounds stupid now, but I did look at her across a crowded room and fall instantly in love. It wasn’t even as if she was that gorgeous, at least not at first. Most people didn’t think she was even that pretty. I mean, she did have that incredibly cute shock of naturally red hair that curled around her face in soft waves. Her ears were tiny and adorable. To look at her, though, I just don’t think you’d say that she was an “across a crowded room” kind of hot. First of all, she was short. Not that I’m that tall, but she was really short. Like five foot two. She was skinny, too. Not that kind of adorable skinny that some women have, but way skinny, with knobby knees and hard pointy hip bones that crushed into me sometimes when we were making love. I always felt that I had to be careful of positioning when I was cuddling with her or I was likely to end up with bruises. Her eyes were just brown. Not a deep brown like mine, but just kind of plain brown. She had sweet lips, but her nose was kind of long. None of her features were offensive in any way, it was just that put together in that way, they looked a little awkward, like they were all meant to belong to different people. Whatever. I don’t think it mattered what she looked like. I think the universe determined that we were going to be together and it just happened. We saw each other, our eyes met, we drifted toward each other, while the rest of the room faded into the background and some sappy love song overplayed the whole scene. It might not have happened exactly like that.
On my thirtieth birthday, Fran and I had been together for about four months. Maybe she came into my life right before my mother died. Meeting her and falling in love with her is a whirlwind that’s all blurred up in that time frame. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life. Yes, I know all about the big lesbian joke about bringing a U-Haul on the second date, but I had never been that woman. To this day, I am not that woman, though I did move in with Voldemort about six months after our first date. I still don’t know why, though I truly think I was still on a rebound from Fran. Somehow, the idea of being with my ex, a woman so radically different from Fran in every way, seemed a good idea at the time. I remember Sam literally begging me not to move in with she-who-shall-not-be-named, but of course, I didn’t listen.
Glancing over at Sam, I smile at the memory. Those two hated each other from the beginning, but Sam stuck by me the whole time. Sam catches me staring at her.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just thinking about you and Voldemort.”
“I can’t stand that woman.”
Laughing, I punch her on the shoulder. “I know. I was thinking about how you tried so hard to talk me out of moving in with her.”
“You know, you met Fran. Your mom died. Fran died. You moved to the island. You met Voldemort. You moved in with her. You didn’t give yourself the time you needed to recover from your mom or Fran.”
“I was lonely. I thought getting into another relationship would fix me.”
“Yeah, perfect fix for a hermit.”
“Who knew it would last ten years?”
“I should have clubbed you over the head.”
“Probably would have put me in a coma.”
Sam grins. “The hospital bills would have been ultimately less expensive.”
“Less painful, too.”
“Why are you wasting time thinking about her on a beautiful day like this?”
“I was thinking about that whole weird time around my thirtieth.”
She nods. “Want to talk about it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Fair enough.”
She flags down a passing waiter and asks him to go get her a beer. “I’m officially off the clock as of this moment.” He looks at her dubiously, but trots off to get it for her.
Part of me does want to talk about it. I’ve given Sam a glimpse into the strange place that is my head, but I haven’t really delved into the details. She read Annabelle Lies. We’ve talked a little bit about some of my dreams. I don’t know if she really knows what I saw before Fran died.
Fran gave me a kaleidoscope for my thirtieth birthday. She was always doing little things like that. She didn’t have a lot of money, and she knew I wasn’t into expensive things anyway, but she did like to bring me little gifts. The kaleidoscope was a perfect present. It was a nice one.