Yak Read online

  We broke for lunch that night about an hour later. I was still steaming, Ed was still obnoxious, and Darla Mae was still embarrassed. It made for an interesting atmosphere. I could tell the others were confused, but I wasn’t about to enlighten them.

  I could also tell that Yak, for all her isolation, was picking up on the negative vibes in the room. When I didn’t have my usual anecdote for her as I glumly ate my lunch, she actually reached across the table and lightly touched my wrist.

  “Are you all right, Leni?”

  I swear it was the very first time she had ever initiated a conversation, and I practically fell out of my chair in shock. When I just stared at her in surprise, she tried again.

  “Is it Ed? Is he bothering you?”

  I didn’t answer her question, I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Do you wanna go for breakfast with me? We could go let someone else cook for us for a change.”

  As soon as I said the words, I knew they were dumb. No way was she going to say yes.

  But she surprised me. It wouldn’t be the last time, either.

  She didn’t even hesitate. “All right. As long as you promise not to smoke in the car.”

  I beamed. “No problem. I’ve got my mom’s van anyway, and she’d have my head if I smoked in there.”

  Seven a.m. could not come soon enough. I forgot all about the incident in the cooler and pretty much smiled and whistled my way through the rest of the shift.

  It damn near drove Ed crazy. He kept looking over at me like a bamboozled baboon—hmm, I like that. Bamboozled baboon—it suited him to a “T”. Anyway, I don’t doubt he figured I was up to something, and it wasn’t going to be something he’d like, but in truth I didn’t spare him a moment’s thought. All I had on my mind was that Yak was going out to breakfast with me.

  I never once stopped to analyze why I was so excited, but there was no denying that when seven a.m. finally arrived, I ripped off my apron and grabbed my coat like a kid hearing the school fire alarm during a geometry quiz.

  Yak was considerably more restrained—she wasn’t grinning like an idiot—but she seemed keen to get out of there too. She even helped me clear frost off the van windows, though I told her to go ahead and get in so she wouldn’t get cold. She just smiled at me and continued to scrape the windows with the edge of a credit card. When it was finally clear enough to see through the windshield, we jumped in.

  “So, where would you like to go for breakfast? Halloway’s Diner?” That was where I used to work, and aside from the Jester’s Court and Mickey D’s, it was one of the few places open this early.

  Yak shook her head. “I know a nicer place. Head toward Seventh Avenue.”

  I knew she lived on Seventh, so I figured she wanted to get changed before we went for breakfast. I wondered if she wanted to go into the city, and made quick plans to stop by my place to change first, too, desperately hoping that Mom would let me borrow her van for a few more hours.

  When I pulled into the driveway of the old Decker place, I was surprised at how good the yard looked, even in the early morning dreariness of mid-November. I hadn’t had occasion to be by this way for a few years, but the last time I’d driven past, I didn’t recall the lovely brick column and wrought iron fencing around the place, or the neatly landscaped flower gardens that ran along the front of the house.

  I wasn’t sure if I was to wait in the van for Yak, so I hesitated as she got out and started walking to the house, but then she looked back expectantly. Immediately I shut off the van and followed.

  The inside of the house turned out to be even more of a surprise than the outside. Even at this early hour, it was filled with light from the plenitude of windows and skylights. Though it was a small house, it gave the impression of size because of the minimum of furniture and abundant use of light colours. Overall, it was feminine without being flowery, and I instantly liked it. “Wow, Yak, this is a great—”

  She stopped me. “No. Not Yak. Not in here…not in my home…not to...”

  I looked at her curiously. “Okay. What should I call you then?”

  “My name is Aislin.” She smiled at me. “Though I’ll answer to ‘hey, you’, too.”

  I loved her smile. I wasn’t sure that I’d ever seen it before. “Hey, you, eh? That’s better than Yak?”

  Aislin’s smile faded and I felt like a heel.

  “Anything’s better than Yak.” She turned away. “Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a few moments.” Aislin walked down a short hall and turned into a room, shutting the door behind her.

  Left to my own devices, I just stood and peered around, looking for clues to the enigma that was Ya...Aislin. The most unsurprising thing about the living room was the overloaded bookcases and stacks of books next to what was obviously her favourite reading chair tucked in a corner directly under one of the skylights.

  There were a number of framed photographs on top of the bookshelves. I was tempted to go look at them, but I still wasn’t clear on our plans and I didn’t want to take off my coat and shoes unless I’d been specifically invited.

  I didn’t have long to wait. Aislin was back in five minutes, dressed in jeans, an old sweater, and comfortable looking slippers.

  She looked surprised to see me still standing where she’d left me. “Aren’t you staying for breakfast?”

  Hastily I shucked my coat and kicked out of my heavy shoes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know we were eating here. I would’ve bought you breakfast, you know.”

  Her smile was back. “I know, but I thought it might be fun to make you breakfast today. How do waffles sound?”

  “Great.” I followed her into the kitchen. “Can I help?”

  Aislin shook her head. “No, my treat. You can make us breakfast some other time. Just have a seat and I’ll put the coffee on.”

  So I took one of the two chairs at the small table and watched Aislin. It occurred to me that of all the times I’d imagined a woman making breakfast for me, it had always been under far different circumstances. Yet I was perfectly content, with no expectations other than that I’d go home with a full belly.

  Then my brain clicked on what Aislin had just said. You can make us breakfast some other time. My eyes opened wide and my libido instantly kicked into overdrive. I was glad that her back was turned to me because I’m sure I turned three shades of red.

  Then good sense set in, and I realized she was just being polite. I was mildly disappointed, but also relieved. If my nerves were anything to go by, I clearly wasn’t ready. Still, part of my insubordinate brain wouldn’t let go of my mistaken first impression. I found myself looking at Aislin in a whole new light as she moved about the kitchen whipping up breakfast.

  My gaydar was an underdeveloped amoeba. I didn’t have a clue as to whether Aislin was gay or not. As far as I could see, she didn’t pay any attention to men or women, and there was certainly nothing apparent in what I’d seen of her house so far to indicate a significant other of either sex in her life.

  Hmm, I wonder if she has rainbow coloured towels in her bathroom...

  Lost in analytical thought, I missed her question.

  “Leni...Lennnniiii?”

  “Sorry. What?”

  She gave me an amused smile, like she could read me as easily as one of her books. “I asked if you prefer blueberries or cherries on your waffles. I’ve seen you inhale both in the Jester, but I don’t know which one is your preference.”

  “Blueberries, please.”

  As she turned back to the fridge, I grinned triumphantly. The only way she could know about my habit of noshing on cans of blueberry and cherries when I made muffins was if she’d been watching me at work. Maybe I shouldn’t have second guessed myself after all.

  Not that I was going to do anything about it. Aislin was way out of my league. She read thick books; I read the TV Guide. She had an undeniably exciting air of mystery and intrigue; I was a walking small town billboard, everything about my life and cha
racter right out in the open for anyone to see. She had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen and a slim, graceful figure that I couldn’t wrench my gaze from; I was a gawk, sticking out everywhere I shouldn’t and nowhere I should. It was a match made in Bizarro World.

  Yet once the door had been opened, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of Aislin “that way.” As she whipped up the batter with her usual deftness, I imagined those hands touching me with the same expertise.

  It didn’t take much imagining before I realized my mouth was astoundingly dry. Clearing my throat, I asked if the coffee was ready yet, even though I could hear it still perking.

  “Not quite. Would you like some juice to tide you over?”

  “Please.” She made to set her bowl down, but I stood up. “I can get it. In the fridge?”

  “Mmm hmm, and the glasses are in the cupboard to the left.”

  I followed her directions, taking down two small glasses and filling them with peach-mango juice. I set one beside her as she began to pour the batter onto the heated waffle iron, and was rewarded with another smile.

  “Would you like me to set the table, Aislin?” Though she had her head tilted down and her hair swinging forward, I saw her face glow with pleasure as she heard me use her name.

  “That would be great.” She directed me in the finding of things, and I greedily absorbed the mundane details of her life as I went through her cupboards and drawers taking out what we needed.

  She was neat—no surprise there. Everything had to be in order in the Jester’s kitchen, too, and several times I’d heard her chastise Ed for his slovenly ways.

  She was either sentimental or thrifty, judging by the age of her dishes and utensils, though none were in bad shape. Plus she mentioned that the waffle iron was originally her grandmother’s.

  She lived alone. I came to that conclusion partly based on wishful thinking and partly because she didn’t even have enough dishes to fill her cupboards. At my parents’ house, there were so many dishes that finding a place to put things after they came out of the dishwasher was always a struggle.

  By the time I had the table set, I felt like a distaff and dyke Sherlock Holmes. If I ever worked up the nerve to ask her out on a date, I was almost a hundred per cent certain that I wouldn’t be stepping on anyone’s toes.

  It wasn’t long before Aislin set breakfast in front of me—a cup of coffee and a plate of golden waffles covered with warm blueberries, syrup, and whipped cream dusted with cinnamon. I waited for her to return with the same for herself before digging in.

  When I finally stopped eating long enough to take a swallow of my coffee, I wasn’t even surprised that she had made it exactly the way I liked it—triple sugar, triple cream. I was torn between wanting to thank her for her thoughtfulness and not wanting to embarrass her by noting that the only way she could’ve known how I took it was through surreptitious observation. So I contented myself with a grateful smile as I drained most of the cup on the first gulp.

  I was finished before Aislin was even halfway through her breakfast, and without asking, I fetched the coffee pot and filled our cups again. We chatted over our breakfast—about local politics, the pothole on Greenway Avenue that had almost swallowed a city bus last week, about everything and anything except Jester’s Court and our colleagues there.

  Perhaps it was because I felt so increasingly comfortable with her. Maybe it was the way we both pushed our empty plates out of the way and lingered over our coffee as if we’d done this a thousand times before, or it could just be because I’m an idiot, but eventually I couldn’t help it. I posed the question. “Aislin, why are they all afraid of you?”

  She didn’t try to pretend she didn’t know what I meant. She just gave me a long, inscrutable look over the edge of her coffee cup. I’d just about given up on her answering me, when she finally spoke. “I think the more important question to me is: why aren’t you?”

  I blinked in surprise. It had never even occurred to me to be afraid of Aislin. “Why would I be?”

  “Why are they?

  “That’s what I want to know.” I know the frustration was evident in my voice, because Aislin sighed and set her coffee down.

  “I’m sorry, Leni. I’m really not trying to be obtuse, or make you angry. I guess…I suppose I’m afraid.”

  “Why? I would never hurt you.”

  She wouldn’t meet my eyes, and that stung. Did she really think I would turn on her like the others? I moved without thinking and, not quite daring to take her hand, wrapped my fingers around her wrist.

  “Look, I have no idea what’s going on, but I’d like to be your friend, if you’re okay with that. And it would help if I had a clue what the hell was making everyone nuts at work.”

  Aislin seemed to consider that thoroughly before apparently coming to a decision. “Let’s go into the living room.”

  She settled at one end of the small couch and I took the other, twisting to face her.

  With a deep sigh she began to talk, sometimes meeting my eyes, more of the time staring off into the distance as if she were seeing the events all over again. “I guess it would probably be easiest if I started back a few years—thirteen years to be exact. I was fourteen, and school was a nightmare because I had skipped a couple of grades and didn’t fit in socially with the kids I was in class with. There was one girl in particular whose mission in life seemed to be to make me miserable. She lost no opportunity to torment me, until it got so bad that I’d break out in a cold sweat just walking into a room if she was already there. I was losing sleep, losing weight, and my grades were slipping badly. I thought I was going to break, literally, but then one day in algebra, it happened.”

  I was hanging on Aislin’s every word, entranced as much by her voice as her story. “What happened?”

  “Holly—her name was Holly—had been sitting behind me, periodically jabbing me with her pencil when the teacher’s back was turned. Suddenly I couldn’t take any more. I was about to whirl around and hit her, when her desk suddenly fell apart and she dropped to the floor.”

  “It fell apart?”

  “Not just ‘fell’, Leni. That desk flew apart at the seams, like all the screws had been yanked out. Holly wasn’t badly hurt, more embarrassed than anything else, but it sure shook her up. Still, it didn’t take long before she was back to her old tricks, but this time every time she’d open her mouth to bully me, she’d get hurt. Never badly, but she’d do things like run into her own locker or fall over a chair she hadn’t seen in her path, or drop her book bag on her toes.”

  I’m pretty sure I was gaping at her, because she gave me this sheepish look.

  “I know it sounds weird, believe me I do. Finally Holly made the connection and decided that I was doing these things to her.”

  “Were you?”

  “Not consciously, but there was a connection. The thing is that everyone else started to put things together, too, and if I’d thought it was lonely before, it was virtually solitary confinement after that. Nobody, not even the teachers, would come within ten feet of me, let alone talk to me unless they absolutely had to.”

  I instantly forgot the strangeness of what I was hearing and responded to the sadness in her voice. “Damn, Aislin, I’m so sorry. That’s a helluva way to go through school.”

  Aislin shrugged, but it wasn’t hard to read the pain in her eyes. “I guess it was better than their bullying.” She didn’t sound convinced or convincing. “At least I was able to concentrate on my schoolwork again and get my grades back up. I was out of there for good in eighteen months.”

  “What did you do after graduation? Did you go on to university?” I could feel my insecurities raising their ugly heads, and I half-hoped the answer would be no. What if she was too intelligent to be interested in me? I mean, there was little question that she was smarter than me, but if she were highly educated too, it was going to be tough to keep her interest.

  Much to my relief, she shook her head. “No. My pare
nts knew what a tough time I’d had through high school because of my age, so they wouldn’t let me go on to post-secondary right away.”

  “So you stayed with your family for a few more years?”

  Aislin’s head dropped, and her shoulders slumped. I was puzzled by the despondence in her body language. What had I said? “I’m sorry, Aislin. Did I put my foot in my mouth again? Unfortunately I do that on a regular basis.”

  There was no answer and I began to worry. What the hell had I said? I just asked about her family.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I inched closer. “Aislin?” It occurred to me what the trouble might be. “Um, did your family reject you?”

  “Reject me?”

  “Yeah...” I hesitated, then in my usual delicate fashion, jumped into the deep end without a life jacket. “You know, if you were gay like me, maybe they couldn’t handle it or something.”

  At that, she raised her head and gave me a pained smile. “No, they didn’t reject me for being gay.”

  Intent on confirmation, I blundered on. “But you are gay, then? Like me?”

  “Technically, not that it matters much one way or another.”

  I’d have shouted for sheer joy if she hadn’t looked so sad. “Okay, so if it wasn’t that, what happened?”

  Aislin leaned wearily back against the cushions propped behind her back. “The same thing that happened in school. When my younger brother made me angry, he’d have accidents. Nothing major, but he became so scared of me, he hid in his room whenever we were both home. My parents finally had to send him to live with our aunt and uncle. And they were so careful around me that it just about drove me crazy. I left.” Her gaze moved to the framed photographs. “I love them and I stay in touch by phone and e-mail, but I rarely go home. It’s too hard on them.” Her voice dropped away to a whisper. “I miss them.”

  “Jesus.” I couldn’t even imagine not being around my family—laughing, teasing, rough-housing. Love and injured feelings went hand in hand in the raucous clan that lived in my home. It had always been that way, and none of us would’ve changed a thing. “Aislin—”