Poison Flowers (3 page)

A vision of her father wrestling a huge swordfish filled Marya’s mind and she had to grin. Her thin, bookish father was not what one would call the athletic type. Her mother saw her grin and seemed to understand the reason for it.

“Oh, most of it is throwing in the line long enough to get sunburned and then drinking beer with his buddies over at Randy’s pub after dark. He doesn’t struggle too hard.”

They laughed together and fell into a companionable silence. Her mother rose and fetched another cup of tea, mint this time; Marya could tell by the faint aroma that carried to her as her mother reclaimed her seat.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her mother watched her with sad eyes, her mouth pressed into a tight line.

Hating the fact that she had helped cause the faint worry lines now marring that dear, familiar face, Marya had a sudden revelation about the responsibilities of parenting. She wondered if she would ever feel ready for such a monumental task. She sighed, trying to bring her mind back to the question.

“There’s not so much to tell, Mom. We just weren’t getting along. She started seeing other people. That’s all. It happens all the time.”

Her mother studied her. “Tell me this, Marya. What is it you want from a relationship?”

She thought about the unexpected question. “I don’t know. I want someone who gets me, I guess. And a meeting of the minds, the soul. Most of the people I’ve been with can’t see beyond their own noses, don’t understand that there’s a bigger picture out there.” She paused a handful of seconds before continuing.

“And then there’s chemistry. I want to have intense chemistry with someone. I also need a certain amount of touching, close physical contact. I feel lost when I’m not touched a lot in a relationship.”

“Do you mean sex? What?”

Marya blushed. “Sure, that too, but I need other stuff as well—kissing, cuddling, you know. There’s a certain level of intimacy that I can’t find…and really can’t seem to achieve even in myself when relating to others. I suppose it’s actually a matter of trusting someone.”

Her mom nodded acceptance, and after a moment, Marya continued.

“Did you ever see the movie
Touching Hearts
?”

Her mother shook her head and leaned in to sip her tea.

“I guess you haven’t.” Marya laughed with some embarrassment. “It’s made more for people like me. But it’s about these two women who fall in love. I don’t need to tell you the whole story because it was the scenes of the women together that touched me. I dreamed about it for days afterward. Their need spoke to me, they really needed one another in so many ways. Their closeness was incredible.”

She broke off. How could she express in words the deep feelings the movie had spawned in her? She looked at her mother helplessly. Luckily, she seemed to understand.

“You mean there was an unusual tenderness between the two of them and that’s what you’d like to have.”

Marya nodded slowly, doubtfully, knowing it was not as simple as that.

Her mother took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. “Well, I think we all want that at one time or another, especially when we’re young. But as time passes…”

“As time passes, what?” Marya asked dully after many moments had passed.

“We grow up and realize that romance books or movies are the only places where such tenderness and love exist.”

She raised her gaze to Marya’s. “I’m sorry, honey. Other things grow in importance, such as building a family and careers. Most women get what they need from their children, others from closeness with their women friends.”

Doubt washed over Marya. Had she subconsciously, or even consciously, allowed her relationship with Kim to end because of an impossible dream? No. Thinking of her split with Kim always brought a certain amount of regret, but deep inside she knew she’d made the right decision. But her mother, had
she
given up? Settled for less?

“I can’t believe that, Mom. I know it’s out there and I can find it. The right person just needs to come along, that’s all.”

Her mother nodded. “I can’t find fault with what happened between you and Kim. I hope this will be another chance for you.”

Marya knew what she meant without her spelling it out. She wanted Marya to try dating men again as she had in high school.

“It’s still early,” she replied, trying to lighten her deliberate sidestep, “but I feel happier already. I mean, look, I’m in the process of moving to a new town, and day after tomorrow I’m going to see your Mr. Bush and knock this town back on its heels with my writing panache.”

“Confident cuss,” her mother muttered, standing. “Let’s see about unpacking your car. Do you still have your Asian antimaterialism fetish?”

Marya laughed at the novel terminology as she joined her. “Yep, all my worldly possessions are packed into six large boxes. I tried for five, but my books kept interfering.”

“Oh.” Her mother stopped so suddenly that Marya bumped into her back, almost shoving her through the kitchen door and into the cool, ocean-brushed evening outside. “I checked around about your classes. There are two karate houses out on the main road in Myrtle Beach, but I’m warning you, they’re probably pretty expensive and I wouldn’t trust some of those guys as far as I could throw them. Know what I mean?”

Marya nodded and they resumed their journey outside. “Instructors concerned only with the tournament circuit and what trophies they can bring home, right?”

“Absolutely. Not to mention the fact that one of them looks like an Elvis Presley clone.”

Marya laughed and opened the door on the driver’s side.

“There is one alternative, though.”

Marya stilled and peered at her mother, concerned by her tone.

“There is an actual taekwondo class here in Marstown,” she said slowly.

“Okay, what’s wrong with it?”

She smiled a funny smile, one-half of her mouth tilted down in dislike. “Nothing so terrible. It’s run by Dorcas Wood.”

Marya lifted a box and maneuvered it, and her body, out from behind the Trooper’s heavy door. “So, what’s a Dorcas Wood?”

“She’s an…unusual lady who lives over on the knoll. She seems nice enough, though she’s something of a hermit.”

“But she teaches the martial art, taekwondo, right?” Marya called this back over her shoulder as she moved inside with the box.

Her mother was close behind so she waited, holding the door for her.

The two moved silently along the long hallway that stretched off the kitchen. The guest room was at the end.

“Thanks for the great room, Mom,” Marya said.

“Well, it’s a little musty, but I’ve aired it for you. I think you’ll be comfortable. You even have your own bathroom.”

Marya nodded as she placed the box on the soft floral counterpane. “It’s nice you letting me stay here. Are you sure I won’t be putting you and Dad out?”

“You’ll always have a home with us,” her mother said with a genuine smile of fondness. Marya’s heart swelled and sudden tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away and hurried back outside to get a second carton.

“So which is the lesser of two evils then, in your opinion,” she asked as they met at the car. “Should I go with the Elvis guy or this weird woman?”

“The images you conjure in someone’s head,” her mother replied with a low laugh. “I guess Miss Wood is about as good as any. She’s cheaper, only sixty a month, and close by, here in town. What do
you
think?”

She struggled with a box of books.

“Here, I’ll get that one. You get the striped one, over there. I don’t know. She’s probably pretty good. Women who go into martial arts have to be or they don’t open their own schools. Is she a master?”

“Marya, I don’t know about that stuff, you know that.”

She disappeared inside the house. Marya lifted the box of books with difficulty but finally managed to swing the box onto one hip and shuffle it to the door. Her mom, arms now empty, held the door open for her.

“What are the hours like?” she queried when they met at the car for the final load. “Can I go anytime?”

Her mom nodded. “The cost covers unlimited access and she’s open from six in the morning until eight at night.”

Her mother held the door for her this time since the burden she was holding was smaller and less awkward.

“Okay, I’m sold. I’ll sign up when I’m in town Monday. Now, what’s for dinner, I’m hungry.”

“Oh no, you’re still a bottomless pit. Your father warned me, but I didn’t believe him. I figured you had outgrown it,” her mother said with a deep sigh.

“Mom! Me outgrow your wonderful stir-fry, your layered salad…your homemade apple pie? No way!”

Her mother set the box she carried on Marya’s bed and reached to muss her hair. “It’s good to have you home, pumpkin.”

Marya pulled her mother into a full body hug. “It’s good to be here.”

Later that evening, finally alone, Marya stepped into a hot shower and let the grit from the road leave her body as she tried to relax and focus. Her thoughts proved uncooperative, however, and after getting soap in her eyes for the second time, she gave up, stilled and watched sudsy water flow into the drain as thoughts rushed through her.

Guilt had nagged at her periodically during the pleasant dinner of leftovers she had shared with her parents. What right had she to bring her unconventional self here and turn their lives upside down again?

Coming out to her parents when she was sixteen had been one of the most difficult moments of her life—and of theirs, she was beginning to understand. She had not realized until much later the long-term price she had asked them to pay, the dreams her announcement had shattered. There would be no grandchildren, no prideful recounting of romantic coups, no handsome, successful son-in-law to parade before their friends. Instead there was just the harsh reality of the nonchild, a daughter who existed but had to be spoken of circumspectly because of her very different lifestyle.

In her youthful bliss, Marya had seen their shock and their pain, but it did not diminish the excitement she had experienced in discovering who she was once and for all, in realizing she did not have to follow the paths of her peers. A newly formed gay and lesbian youth group at her high school helped her understand that it was okay to be the way she was, that she could love women the rest of her life if she so desired. The thought had made her giddy, banishing the self-doubt and self-abasement that had gone hand in hand with recognizing the differences between herself and other young women, heterosexual women, her own age.

By the time she went to college, however, she began to see that the lifestyle she had gleefully followed was fraught with perils, often more so than more conventional lifestyles. Hearing of lesbian sisters beaten and raped dampened some of her flamboyance and made her much more conservative in her mannerisms, even her attitudes. She was one of the lucky ones—she had never been physically attacked for her romantic choices—but as she set off into her career she realized that family friends had begun questioning her single status.

Her parents, of course, had been the ones forced to deal with the curious inquiries. When this awareness dawned on her one day, she was aghast, wondering how best to make things up to them. She couldn’t find a way. All she could do was love them and accept the rare, unconditional love they eventually re-offered her. Not really a fair trade, all things considered.

Still, when she had happened upon an advertisement in a trade journal for a reporting job in Seattle, she leapt at the opportunity. Putting a continent between her parents and herself had seemed like a good idea then, a way to lead her own life without complicating theirs so much. Ten years later, she did not regret the move. What she did regret was allowing herself, in this moment of weakness, to come back into her parents’ life and disrupt the beautiful retirement they’d set up for themselves.

Someone standing on the sidelines and observing their small family unit would probably think all was well. A daughter, though, could pick up the subtle nuances of her father’s discomfort when her ex-lover was mentioned in passing, would notice the careful omission of inquiry into personal affairs.

Marya went into the bedroom and looked at her wet, bedraggled self in the mirror. Yes, the guilt was back and in spades. For their sake, she needed to find a place of her own and soon.

Besides, what would happen if she met someone new here in Marstown? She couldn’t go back to those high school years when she had lived the lie of being the proper friend to girls she was attracted to. When she’d pulled her caressing hands from other girls although she’d wanted more. When she’d never kissed the soft lips she yearned for, quaking inside as she imagined how they would feel against hers.

She had lied to herself and others then because she had cherished the closeness of her family. An only child, born to her parents late in their lives, she had always depended on them, emotionally, physically, psychologically. This issue of lesbianism, this love of other women, had driven a wedge between them, but she couldn’t lie anymore, couldn’t deny the reality of who she was. Doing so just left her feeling shuttered, off balance.

Glancing at the clock, she pushed these introspective thoughts away and put herself into forward motion again. She prepared for bed, the thoughts beating inside her brain fluttering like the moth flapping helplessly on the other side of the window glass.

Things didn’t get any better when she slipped into the guestroom’s hard, seldom-used bed. Unable to sleep, she found herself reliving the traumatic moments that had changed her life and brought her back into her parents’ home.

***

Kim’s bags had been packed by the time she got home from the gym, she remembered. Placed neatly beside the front door, they fairly hummed with purposeful intent. She had closed the door and sighed, raking her eyes across the flawlessly matched suitcases. She despised the fact that the first thought that had invaded her mind was a hateful one: Whose arms were going to hold Kim tonight?