Helena walks over to the mailbox once she's home from work, noticing that it's hanging open and there's a bunch of letters and items inside. Nate walks in, but leaves the front door open for her.
A large packet is in there addressed to Adelaide. She finds it odd as the little girl never receives mail aside from a birthday card from out-of-state relatives. Upon closer inspection of the handwriting, Helena immediately recognizes the printing as well as the Univille, South Dakota postmark.
"Adelaide!" Helena cheerfully shouts upstairs.
She runs down the stairs at lightning speed, mindful not to brush her arm in a sling against the walls or knock into anything else en route to the kitchen. Adelaide peers her head around the corner with a grin. Outstretched in her hands, Helena dangles the packet in front of Adelaide. She reaches for it, but then Helena jokingly pulls it back and looks at her with a smile.
"Did you clean your room?"
"Yes."
"Homework?"
"In progress: 75 percent complete."
Helena smiles and hands her the large padded mailer. Adelaide takes it from her, looking at the return name and address. She smiles. "Thank you." She tears into the envelope and pulls out a small, wrapped rectangular item. Making quick work of the purple wrapping on the gift, faded cloth binding appears: The Wind in the Willows. It's an old copy, one of that probably came from Bering & Sons, Helena mentally notes. There are two envelopes in the packet, one marked "Adelaide" and the other marked "Helena." Adelaide passes Helena her envelope and waits for her to open it.
"No, you open yours first. I will look at mine later."
Little fingers open up the bright orange envelope to find a Get Well card. Adelaide grins when she sees it's signed by both Myka and Pete; Myka's neat cursive and Pete's silly scrawl. Helena looks over her shoulder to see what she's written.
You'll be up doing kenpo in no time! Wishing you a speedy recovery. Hugs from Myka & Pete
Adelaide smiles at the card and takes the book over to the couch to start reading. Helena watches her scurry over to read, curling up into a corner of the couch with her new distraction. She could tell her to get back upstairs to finish her homework, but this one time Helena relaxes and watches her read. Once she is engrossed in her book, Helena heads back into the kitchen to read the note. She hears the footsteps of Nate upstairs, probably getting changed or doing some housework with all his stomping around.
There is something firm in the envelope, she feels around before actually opening it. Upon opening, Helena pulls out of a gift card for the coffee shop they frequent. Her heart flutters for a moment, remembering touching Myka's hand, giving her a hug, watching her carry Adelaide into the house.
Attached to the card is a small Post-It note in Myka's writing: I miss us.
Seeing those three words in Myka's hand, Helena knows she is in love.
The good news is that we have landed and I got my cell phone out to go online and check my messages. There's a message from Helena wishing me a safe drive and one from Pete asking where he put his car keys. The captain says we'll be at the terminal in ten minutes; all I can do is let out a childish moan at the delay. I quickly reply to Pete's message, informing him I last saw his keys in the refrigerator (no idea why). For Helena, I take a moment to think about what I want to say. It's not like she knows I'm at the airport.
Running late today - should be there by 11:30.
Moments later, there is a chime on my phone letting me know there is a message from her.
How about we have coffee at the house then? A is kenpo, N is out of town.
I could easily think of a dozen excuses to not go back to that house. Sure, it would be nice to be somewhere private and quiet with her, no distractions from others. But alone, just the two of us.
Also, since when is it "the" house. Not "my" house or "our" house? The house.
The notification alert dings once more - it's a photo of two mugs together on a counter. No message, just a photo. I can't resist this.
I'm nervous. Again. Sitting on the tarmac at the airport is driving me crazy. My entire schedule was thrown off in this most recent trip to Wisconsin. Problems at the Warehouse topped off by a weather delay at the airport left me flying in the same day. Even though I have only been sitting in this seat for an hour, my back is killing me. It's probably due to the small child behind me who keeps kicking or kneeing my seat. I'm lucky to carry an entire bag of pain relief medication on me and find some ibuprofen because in my line of work, you never know when you're going to need it. After taking some, I l lean my head forward against the seat in front of me. Luckily, there is no one sitting there so I can freely bang my head against the cushioned headrest.
At least I am getting a good allotment of frequent flyer miles out of this. Not sure if I will ever get to use them though. Between those accumulated working at the Warehouse and my own weekend excursions, I will probably, no absolutely, never use all the points.
Things feel better between the two of us. The first couple of visits, Helena hardly said much. We just drank our coffee, had a snack and went on our merry way. Last time though, when Adelaide got hurt, she came undone a little bit. I got to see more of the Helena that I fondly remember, know and, yes, love. Ever since I visited a month ago, she has been sending me texts, e-mails and silly photos; usually of Adelaide's recovery, but also of local sights, items of interest and occasionally, herself. I've felt better about our relationship as well and have also been sending her more messages and photos. Much of the time it's Pete being goofy, but he'll sometimes take a candid picture of me and send it to her from my phone.
Despite all of the progress we have made, I'm still scared when I pull up to the house. I'm never scared. I'd rather spend a day investigating a tentacle monster than be at this place for coffee. Adelaide is at kenpo (albeit in a non-participatory capacity) and then a birthday party/sleepover with her friends. Nate is...somewhere, Helena didn't elaborate. It's nerve wracking the mere thought of being alone with her in the house, but it's also thrilling.
Maybe this is what I want. To truly have her to myself, even if it's only for a little bit.
I've noticed that she never really goes into much detail about him, what he does, where he goes. At least this when he's out of town. After that initial discussion as to her newfound family a few months ago, Helena is reluctant to bring up Nate to me. She will talk at length and lovingly about Adelaide, but not him. I am perfectly fine with that.
I knock on the door and wait...and wait. She's there, casually leaning against the door frame once she opens it. Yoga pants, tight v-neck t-shirt, barefoot. I would have said she was exercising, but she's not at all sweaty or out of breath. Every curve of her body is accentuated and all I can do is stand here, try to look at her face and strongly avoid having my eyes trail lower and lower and lower...
"Hi." I give her a quick wave and tuck my hand back into my back pocket, trying to make it obvious that I haven't been scanning her body up and down for a good couple of seconds.
"Hi." Helena is smiling and cheerful, not at all rushing like she usually does during our coffee get-togethers. "Come in, come in." I walk into the house and stand in the entryway as she shuts and locks the front door. "How are you?" Helena moves towards me for a hug and holds out her arms. I comfortably lean into them and instantly feel at ease. All of my cares and worries are gone with just the touch of her hand.
"I'm okay," I reply as she embraces me. I put my arms low, around her waist, and rest my hands against the dip in her back. As I rub the area above the waist of her pants, I hear the faintest hum of delight from Helena. Her head rests on my shoulder and she sighs, then lets go of me. "Before I forget, I received a lovely thank you card from Adelaide a couple days ago."
"That was incredibly sweet of you."
I smile to myself: she thinks I'm sweet. "Nothing worse than an active child who gets injured like that and can't participate in sports and playing outdoors."
"Agreed. She's been doing a lot of reading, actually." Helena looks over towards the window and patio, quickly changing the subject back to our coffee drinking. "It's really nice out today. You want to have coffee outside on the patio?"
"Sounds good." I reply. We both walk into the kitchen towards the coffee maker. Helena opens up a drawer filled with many pods of different flavors of coffee, then switches it on and allows it to heat up. I note the two matching mugs from the photo on the counter which she then places closer to the machine.
"I love these things." Helena says with a grin. I return the smile, but it's just another reminder that I missed out on seeing her use one of these machines for the first time. They only really became popular after she was debronzed, but still it would have been wonderful to see her reaction. It was always a joy to watch her experience new gadgets each time. This could have been one of those new technological items we could have learned how to use together.
I pick out a pod of dark roast, which Helena puts on for me. We both stand silently, shoulder-to-shoulder, watching the machine dole out the beverage.
"Oh, there's some pound cake too."
I'd almost forgot about her new-found cooking and baking abilities. It's a shame that she never did that back at the Warehouse; she could have easily kept Pete quiet and sated a majority of the time with delicious things. "You made that?"
"Yes. I am slowly chipping away at the stereotype of horrendous English cooking that seems to have permeated your culture in the past hundred years."
"Our culture? I'm pretty sure the entire world thinks that." I snicker. "Besides, your national dish is now Chicken Tikka Masala."
Without thinking, I mutter, "You ought to watch Nigella. She's British and pretty cu-" I stop myself when I realize that I am talking about how attractive another woman is and making what can best be described as an offensive "large breasts" gesture with my own hands. My subconscious is certainly going to get the best of me one of these days. As coolly as possible, I place my hands on the counter in front of me and keep them steady without drawing even more attention to myself. Helena, unfortunately, doesn't miss what I've said or motioned as she's standing next to me with another one of those huge grins I've now become accustomed to seeing. "I'll be outside." I quickly say, practically running towards the patio door without my coffee.
Five minutes later, Helena joins me outside, carrying our coffees along with that delicious-looking pound cake and her drink. I'm sitting in a chair looking out at the green trees and flowers in the yard, thinking I'm done and utterly embarrassed.
"You know, it's perfectly alright, Myka." Helena takes the seat next to me rather than across from me.
"What is?" I squeak out. I think I know what she wants to say, but I am eager to hear her spell it out for me.
She doesn't reply to me straight away, instead taking a sip of her coffee. Helena moves slowly and takes all the time in the world to raise and lower her drink then relax back in her chair. "Your attraction to women."
Some of the embarrassment is coming back. No, wait, I am fully embarrassed at being informed by someone alive during the birth of the telegraph, blue jeans and peanut butter as well as the Unifications of Germany and Italy that it's alright for me to be attracted to someone of the same sex. Sitting here with the woman I have been in love with for so long, essentially the only person I have honestly loved in my entire life. I'm flabbergasted we're actually having this conversation after so many years.
"Thanks. It's...complicated." I say then take a long gulp of my coffee.
"People say that a lot these days."
"What?"
"The complicated thing. In general. Not solely in regards to one's sexuality. Suppose I do hear it fairly often when referencing one's romantic status or sexual orientation." she says with a wink. Helena reaches for a knife to cut into the pound cake. "Would you like a slice?"
I nod my head. I am more than eager to try some of Helena's cooking and baking. I almost forget that I was supposed to have something to eat with that ibuprofen I took when the plane landed. She cuts into the cake and places a slice on a paper napkin for me. Switching between questions on baking and breasts puts my brain in a tizzy.
"I've lain with a woman before." She says it so matter-of-factly too as she hands me the pound cake. "Well, several times, back during the days of Warehouse 12 though. You?"
I nearly choke on my drink and liquid goes down the wrong pipe as I repeatedly cough. Helena sort of chuckles at my inability to drink properly, but I am too busy coughing to hear the laughter. When I woke up this morning, I did not imagine myself talking to Helena about lesbian sex or other matters of sexual preference. Of course this isn't news to me about her and other women, it's merely the fact that she brings this up in her boyfriend's house.
"I love being with a woman." Right, I am fairly certain she is just trying to rile me up now. "The lengthy hair, the curvy hips, the smoothness, the softness...breasts." Helena's eyes trail over my body, looking at my cleavage. She's eyeing me; completely looking me up and down until she finally returns to look at my breasts for an extended glare en route to my eyes. She's not even trying to hide it either. I'm not sure if I'm regretting or quietly high-fiving myself for wearing such a low-cut shirt.
"Hmm, based upon what you had previously mentioned, if you have a type then it would be dark-haired, dark-eyed women with an English accent and talented hands?" Helena is extremely flirty today. It's easier to not answer that one. All I can do is raise my eyebrow in her direction and say nothing.
Why is she doing this to me? This is the Helena I remember before the hologram, before the Minoan Trident. This is the playful, cheerful woman with whom I fell so madly in love. Maybe...
"And voluptuous."
Will this embarrassment ever end? Fine, time to turn the tables.
"What's your type then? Uh, with women?"
Helena pauses and says nothing. Finally, I've got her speechless, even if for the moment she needs to think of her reply. She sips her coffee first then places the mug back on the table. "I do love a woman with brown curls, pretty eyes. And an adorable American accent. Not to forget, most importantly, a deeply-rooted love of literature is essential." Her confession comes out strong and confident at the beginning. By the time she mentions literature, her tone becomes quieter and she speaks slowly.
My hearts beats so loudly Helena can probably hear it at her seat. "Myka..." Helena can't finish. She stares at me and I'm uncertain if it's pity or love I see looking back at me. That's why she's hiding behind all of the flirtations. I reach my hand across the table. That look though: it says she's stuck, uncertain where this is going. I'm making her choose.
"It's alright, Helena."
"I don't know what to do." She admits with tears in her eyes. There have only been a few times Helena has not known what to do. It pains me when she says this. The Helena who doesn't know what to do is scared. She's scared of her choices, her desires and her needs. Say goodbye to all her cockiness. Underneath all of that bravado, when she's uncertain of herself like this, that is when I love her the most. It's her moment of panic that brings her to her moment of clarity. It's where she shines brightest.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"You're the first person to have ever asked me that."
"And I will always ask you what you want, Helena."
She wipes tears from her face. I hate to see her cry like this and to see her so sad. This is a strong, beautiful, caring woman who has too infrequently in her life been asked what she wants. It's the reason she doesn't know what to do. It's why she can't be honest with me, or herself, for that matter. She can flirt, but truthfully it's a mask for her actual desires. It's exactly the reason why she's in the situation she's in. "I want to know what I am to you."
Without thinking, I blurt out, "You're my one." I don't mean for it to come out so brashly. Or so quickly.
"Sorry?"
"My one."
"But, I already know. Isn't there someone-"
I cut her off before "else" can be added to her statement. "No, just - there's only you. There will only ever be you."
She doesn't know how to respond, only looks at me and faintly smiles. Her hand reaches up to my cheek and caresses it with her thumb. My eyes shut instantly upon contact with her. With only this simple touch of her hand, I am completely happy.
"I'm not...more?"
I don't know how to respond to that. Part of me still says more, more, more. Perhaps more than any other moment we've spent together, I know now that she wants more, especially after our incredibly flirty coffee rendez-vous. I desperately want us, but how could I be more to her? She's with...him...and there's his daughter. Helena is taken aback, her hand leaves the comfort of my face and I immediately reach my hand up to keep hers where it has been.
Is this it? Do I tell her? Do I stop hiding from my truth? Our truth?
"Helena, I..." Once more, I trail off with my thoughts. I want to be honest with her. Everything is just accumulating inside me and it's getting too difficult to be less than honest with her. "I want us."
With my free hand, I angle my chair and reach behind her tilted head to pull her towards me. I can see in her eyes that the fear is gone. There are only smiles, the happiest of thoughts. I tell myself, I am going to kiss this woman, I am going to explore every inch of her mouth with my own. I am going to hold her and tell her that we have as good a shot as any other couple in the world, if not better considering our lives. I have been waiting my whole life to kiss someone like her with all of my heart and all of my passion.
Our lips tentatively collide and she's soft. So soft. She's sweet. She's tender. She tastes of coffee. She's perfect. Helena quickly pounces from her seat directly onto my lap, wanting more contact with me. We're as pressed together as we can be in a patio chair, but definitely not close enough. I remove my hand from her head and instead direct it under the seam of the waist of her yoga pants, touching her skin against my hand and pulling her into me as close as I can. Helena doesn't seem to mind my wandering hand as she moans into my mouth.
When she lets go, I whisper, "You are my one. My one and only."
Her hand creeps up the front of my shirt, crawling underneath it towards my breasts. I sigh into her mouth as she pinches my nipple above my bra and then smooths the palm of her hand over my breast to touch me. Helena doesn't stop kissing me or running the fingers from the unoccupied hand through my curls. Her hands are meant for my breasts and expertly palm, squeeze and tease me so. I love that she instinctively knows what to do with my body.
After a minute of Helena touching me, my hand wanders towards the front of her yoga pants and it's dipping lower, just along her hipbone. I have no idea why I go there rather than her breasts; I just want to be there, inside her. She has nothing else on underneath, so my hand can freely dip lower and lower. I have this rational (or perhaps it's irrational) need to be inside her, claim her as mine and feel her clench and spasm tightly around my fingers. Scream my name as her limbs give out. How did I ever get so territorial? My hands don't wander too much lower; this is fast, even for me.
Her lips unglue themselves from me for a moment as Helena moans, significantly louder this time, as my hand trails against her skin. She presses her cheek against mine so that her beautiful lips are next to my ear.
"You are making me very wet, Myka." Her breath lingers, her words repeatedly ring through my head, her fingers don't cease caressing my shoulder.
We're making out on the patio like a couple of teenagers who can't do what they're doing indoors in the line of sight of their parents. I suppose we could be doing this inside, but truthfully I can't be romantic there in that house, well at least not surrounded by photos of a smiling boyfriend and his daughter. That's when I realize we are outside. In front of nosy neighbors in a cul-de-sac, in Wisconsin suburbs. What the hell am I doing?
I stop kissing her and as gracefully as possible remove my hands from her pants. Her breath hitches as I put my hands directly on her hips. "I need you to be certain what you want."
"Stay the weekend."
How can I resist...