Anika takes the long way home up soul mountain: A lesbian romance (Rosemont Duology Book 2) by Eliza Andrews

Author:Eliza Andrews [Andrews, Eliza]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Empty House Books
Published: 2017-08-03T22:00:00+00:00

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Inside the stuffy cabin are about a dozen more women, some of whom I recognize, some of whom I don’t. Three or four play a board game at the kitchen table; Lisa Vanderwerf sits on the couch, where she and a couple others are sipping glasses of wine and exchanging tips about potty training over the high synths of what I’m pretty sure is Hall & Oates.

I let Amy take me from group to group, introducing me to everyone, including the ones I should really remember but don’t. When I spot Grace Adler herself mixing a drink in the kitchen, I excuse myself from Amy to do the polite thing — go say hello and congratulate her on the upcoming marriage. Second marriage, that is.

Grace turns away from the counter just as I cross the threshold into the kitchen, and when she spots me, there’s this double-take of pure shock that crosses her face that she doesn’t even try to hide.

“Hey, Grace,” I say. “Congrats on the — ”

“Anika?” she says, not even letting me get my well-mannered congratulations out. “What are you doing here?”

Grace closes the distance between us in two long steps, goes up on her tiptoes to give me a hug, which I am a little slow in returning. After a quick, tight squeeze from Grace, with me awkwardly kinda patting her back, she releases me and looks me up and down.

“God, you look exactly the same as the last time I saw you. Except your hair is shorter.”

“Thanks… I think.”

She gives a rapid shake of her head. “Definitely thanks. You don’t look like you’ve aged a single day.”

“I have.” I think of Jenny. Of her children. Of finding Grace and Jenny in my apartment the day I found out she was pregnant. “Believe me.”

“So what are you doing here? — sorry, I didn’t mean like what are you doing at my bachelorette party, because, of course, I’m glad you’re here, I meant more like — ”

As usual, Grace Adler makes me feel as if I need to justify my presence.

“I’m here as Amy Ellis’s date,” I say.

Her mouth drops open — further shock — and she closes it again quickly as her eyes dart past me to I guess wherever Amy’s standing. “Amy Ellis? My Amy Ellis?”

You know how your stomach lurches right before you’re about to throw up, and a bunch of hot fucking stomach acid starts burning your throat? When Grace says “my Amy Ellis,” putting her stamp of ownership on the Tinkerbell Jane Lane I found in a British airport, I get that feeling for a quick second. I can’t say why exactly. Maybe because I’ve already started thinking of Amy as my Amy, not Grace’s Amy, not anybody else’s Amy.

Maybe it’s because this is the second time the catty redhead has ended up as one of the nearest-and-dearest of a girl I like.

“Yeah. That Amy Ellis.” I hope my distaste for Grace — and the fact that I almost just threw up on her — isn’t too noticeable.

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