The Lovers by Eden Bradley

who has been so good to me, I can’t tell anyone.
    â€œViviane.” I pause, waiting for her to put the cup down and really look at me. “Something has happened, with Audrey.”
    She nods, her shoulder-length black hair swinging. The sunlight makes the purple streaks blaze like fire. “Okay.”
    â€œThat’s it? Just ‘okay’?”
    â€œYou’re both big girls. I’ve been with other women before. I’m hardly going to judge you.”
    â€œNo, I never thought…I didn’t think you would. I just don’t know how to talk about it yet. I don’t know how to even think about it.”
    â€œYou don’t have to tell me anything, Tina. I shouldn’t have pressed you. I’m sorry, babe. I’m just concerned for you, that’s all. I don’t want to see you hurting. But you do your thing. No one has to report in around here. Okay?”
    â€œOkay. Okay.”
    â€œWe’re all a little tired today. Too much sun, maybe. Why don’t you lie down for a while.”
    â€œYes, I’ll do that.”
    She drops the towel and gives my hand a quick squeeze. “Dinner is at seven. Skip lunch, if you like. Or come up and help yourself whenever. There’s plenty of sandwich stuff. I’m going to let everyone do their own thing this afternoon.”
    I nod and watch her walk out of the kitchen, then turn and do the same, heading through the front door, then making my way over the short gravel path to my cottage. The sound of laughter stops me short, and I stand for a moment, listening to Jack and Audrey in his cottage.
    I do not want to hear this.
    I move past, swing the blue door to my cottage open, and retreat inside. I strip my sandy clothes off and lie down on top of the crisp blue-and-white quilt, and let the ocean drown out the sounds of Audrey and Jack together. But my heart is beating in my chest in an uneven rhythm, as though something inside me has chipped, just like the cup I dropped into the sink. Only I am not so easily replaced. And I hope, not so easily forgotten.
    I feel more invisible than ever.
    Â 
    I was certain I would lie awake in my bed, straining to hear Audrey with Jack. Or Jack with Audrey. I’m still not clear on which scenario bothers me more. Ridiculous. But I must have fallen right to sleep feeling sorry for myself; I don’t remember. Now I’m awake and stiff from having slept in a bad position, facedown in the pillows, on top of the covers. The room is growing dark, and it’s chilly and damp. I’m still wearing the same clothes I put on this morning. The cuffs of my pants are crusted with sand and salt. I roll over onto my side and stretch, yawning, my eyes focusing on a few grains of sand scattered over the quilt, barely visible in the fading light, but if I narrow my eyes I can see that some are dark in color, some nearly clear, like tiny bits of crystal.
    I am still trying not to listen, but I do, anyway. All I catch is the usual dull roar of the surf and the thoughts racing through my head: What is the nature of Jack and Audrey’s relationship? What does it mean for me? Was I nothing more than a few hours of pleasure for her, if even that? Is this something she does all the time? Maybe they have an agreement about her sleeping with women?
    Why do I care so damn much?
    Part of it, I think, is that being with her was ultimately as much about connecting with her on some deeper level as it was about the chemistry. Which was, undeniably, intense. It still is.
    Maybe I just need to be happy with this experience and move on.
    Right. Because all my years in therapy have shown me how great I am at moving on.
    I sigh, roll into a sitting position. I’m hungry, but I don’t feel like going up to the house, seeing anyone. I don’t want to see Audrey and Jack there, happy together. I don’t want to not see them there and imagine them still together in his cottage. In his bed.
    I am