I hadn’t seen her before, and like always when meeting someone I wasn’t familiar with, I became tongue-tied. Though today, for some unfathomable reason, my awkward shyness was even worse. I had decided to come first thing in the morning before the big rush to the library started, but that meant that we were the only two people here and there was no crowd to hide in.

Her green eyes roamed up and down the stack of computer books I had placed on the counter from behind sophisticated, dark rimmed glasses, and her lips turned into a soft pout that made her look five years younger in the blink of an eye. Talk about eyes.

Mine flicked to the small badge with her name affixed to her knitted creamy-white vest while I wondered where Isabelle, the regular librarian, was. The vest looked expensive, if a little old-fashioned, but it fit her perfectly. The dark blue blouse shimmered through the loose knitting, the woolen fabric hugging her body. She was fit, nothing like pudgy, always sweaty Isabelle, who would, by now, have wrinkled her nose and complained about students always returning ‘her’ books at the last moment.

‘Ms. Henderson,’ the badge read, ‘Head Librarian.’ Her dark-brown curls shimmered perfectly in the light and made me think of expensive chocolate.

“...changing your major?”

I blushed crimson red. “Sorry,” I muttered. It wasn’t like me to space out like this. Or perhaps it was, but not often, and not around people.

“You’re changing your major?” If my inattention annoyed her, she covered it perfectly. The smile she sent me was warm.

“Uhm, yes. How do you know?”

“Well, let’s see.” She tilted her head slightly, an amused sparkle in her eyes, and these eyes seemed to look deep inside me. I felt my pulse speed up. There was something about her that shook me off balance.

She reached out with a well-manicured finger and traced the titles on book backs, and for the first time, I was able to guess her age. She had to be above forty, this I realized when I saw the small wrinkles on the back of her hand, even though her face didn’t appear a second older than thirty.

“All your books are on the required reading list. Here’s Stroustrup. Required reading for the first two years in computer lab, just like Wirth’s Algorithms and Data Structures here.” She poked the two rather worn looking books. “You might be starting third year, but then you wouldn’t have Basics of Economics here, which is only needed through first year.” She gifted me with an amused smirk. “Unless you failed that course. But nobody fails Economics.”

My blush intensified.

“And, if you were going into third year, there’d be Practical Applications of Finite Automata and some odd book on hardware, depending on the professor you had, in that stack. So, the only logical conclusion is that you’re changing your major. Now the only question left is, to what?”

“Oh, wow. You’re good!”

I think it was then that it happened, but it would me a long time to put my finger on it. When she looked directly into my eyes, her face aglow with a satisfied smile, a strange warmth filled my chest.

“Am I?” She held my gaze.

There was some undertone in her voice that I couldn’t pin-point, but then she straightened up and her face turned professional, and I felt like I had lost something. This was turning out to be the strangest day I ever had, and my emotions jumped all over the place.

“Literature,” I mumbled, trying to say something to bridge the awkward silence that suddenly tried to smother me. “I mean, my new major. I’m not good with that computer stuff. I guess not nerdy enough, at least that’s what I think when I look at Erin and Jen. They’re my roommates. Not that there’s anything wrong with them, but they do all this crazy stuff with their computers and I hardly understand… a… word...”

Mrs. Henderson’s eyes glowed with amusement, and I felt like sinking into the ground. “I’m rambling, sorry.” I had not the faintest idea what was going on with me. A part of me urged me to turn around and bolt, but something else held me rooted to the spot. I took a deep breath. ‘Act like a grown-up,’ I ordered myself.

A soft, melodic laugh filled the air. “You remind me of someone I know,” she told me, her head tilting once more. “Whatever people tell you, don’t change!”

There was a short moment when something incredibly warm seemed to radiate from her eyes. But at the same time, my knees wobbled and I grew light-headed. I had to have caught some kind of flu. I never felt this dizzy around strangers.

“So, let me guess,” she asked while she scanned the barcode stickers on the books, “Catcher and Jane Eyre?”

I silently nodded.

“Anything else?”

“The Turn of the Screw.”

“Ah, Professor Morrigan, then. She’s good. You’ll love it.”

“You know her?”

“We got our PhDs at the same time.”

“You’ve got a...? But you’re…” I clamped a hand over my mouth, realizing my verbal misstep and suddenly feeling an intense desire to die on the spot.

She didn’t appear flustered. In contrary. Another of those melodic laughs answered my outburst. “Just a librarian? Yes, it’s sometimes funny where life leads us.” Then she leaned closer, winking conspiratorially. “But can there be any better place to work at than one surrounded by books? Tens of thousands of wonderful worlds at your fingertips?”

My breath hitched. Warmth spread all over me. It had to be a flu bug. I blinked away the dizzy feeling.

“I… I guess not.” I didn’t have to lie. Reading had always been my one passion. Sure, I had shared all the hobbies that my friends had indulged in, like rollerblading, volleyball, riding, weaving friendship bracelets or doing each other’s hair, but when I had been alone, I tended to spend every moment of spare time cuddled on the couch or, if the weather allowed, on a low branch of my favorite tree, reading and dreaming. “You’re right,” I agreed once more, this time straightening my back and smiling at the fond memories of past times. “There’s no better place in the world!”

“Well, then what are you waiting for? Come along, let’s fetch your books.”

I gaped. “Really? Isabelle, I mean, Mrs. Freshwater, never let us touch the bookshelves.”

This time, her laugh sounded more like a giggle. “Knowing Bella, I’m not surprised that she doesn’t risk anybody touching her beloved books unnecessarily.”

“Bella?” What was it today that I spoke before thinking? I bit my lip, traipsing after Mrs. Henderson, who had stepped around the counter and led the way to the back, where hundreds of shelves held more books than I had ever seen at one place before. She wore a pencil skirt that matched her blouse and ended just below her knees. Creamy stockings covered toned, muscular calves, and with her one-inch heeled, matching blue sandals, she could have jumped right out of a fashion magazine. Or manager’s weekly.

There was something timeless and incredibly stylish about her.

“She’s my cousin’s wife. There aren’t many things she treasures more than her books.”

“Wha… Oh, yes. I can definitely see that.” Why was it so hard today to keep focused? I forced myself to pay attention to her words. The cog wheels in my brain slowly started up again. “Are you filling in for her?”

“Yes.” We turned a corner at row thirteen, and she headed towards the middle of the shelf to our left. “Her mother broke a leg, so she’s caring for her until she’s back on her feet. There, the Catcher.” She pulled a medium sized book from the shelf and held it out towards me.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I followed her further down the aisle and to the shelf on the opposite side.

“The doctors say it’ll heal completely, and Jessica, Bella’s mother, is taking it quite well. Here.”

“That’s good. Thank you.” I took Brontë’s novel from her hand, and for the flightiest of moments, my fingers brushed against hers. At the same time, a tingling heat shot through my body, and a gasp escaped me. My knees buckled, and the book hit the floor with a dry splat.

“Are you okay?” Mrs. Henderson sounded worried, and I felt strong fingers grip my arm above the elbow and steady me. Blurry grey spots danced before my eyes.

“I’m…” My breath was fast and shallow as if I had run a race. “I think I caught a bug.”

“Let’s get you somewhere where you can sit down.” She picked up Jane Eyre and gently guided me back to the open area and towards one of the small, round study tables.

With every step, I was incredibly aware of the fingers wrapped around my arm, and I felt hot and cold at the same time. I plopped down bonelessly onto the chair and rubbed my face. “I don’t know what’s going on with me,” I sighed. “I was fine earlier.”

“You take a breath while I fetch you a glass of water,” Mrs. Henderson told me, worry in her voice.

“Thank you.” My own voice was weak but grateful. I watched her hurry to the office in the back, then appear again with a large glass of water in her hand, and even though she moved quickly, every step was well-timed and elegant. She had class. I started to wonder where that word had suddenly come from, but then she was already there and pushing the glass into my trembling fingers. I took a sip, and when the cool liquid ran down my throat, I felt myself calm down.
She pulled another chair over - something Isabelle would never have allowed - and sat down next me, eyeing me critically. “Better?”

“Loads.” I closed my eyes for a moment and took another sip. “Thank you!”

“You do look better already, too. Let me quickly scan your books.”

The sliding doors to the library opened while she went to the counter, and a horde of students entered, giggling and whispering, all of them carrying slips of paper - probably the required reading for their eight o’clock lecture. Though my own habits were different, I was quite aware that the library wasn’t the place to be found this early in the morning for most of my fellow students.

I while later, I carried the empty glass back to Mrs. Henderson and fetched my books. She was still busy retrieving the books for the others, so I waved my thanks and answered her smile with one of my own.

A while later, I lay on my bed, trying to ignore the intermittent beeping and clicking noises emanating from Jen’s corner of the room and trying to make sense of what was happening with me, of what had happened to me. The dizziness and wobbly knees had gone as fast as they had come, and now all that was left was a strange, buzzing feeling in my guts that I couldn’t put my finger on.

* * * *

I found him outside next to the fountain, listening to rather heated discussion about modern poetry between a few of his classmates. It was a lovely, warm evening, and everyone wore shorts or short skirts. Jake’s hand, as always, sneaked around my back and came to rest on my butt cheek the moment I stepped into his reach.

“Hi, honey,” he greeted me before giving me the usual kiss.

The indignant part of me that abhorred his possessiveness roared up again, and I felt myself stiffen. Jake was a nice guy, really, and the first who had made it to a second date. He had a good sense of humor and a lot of patience with me, I knew that. Not that I was one of these high maintenance chicks like Betty Snyder from the room opposite ours, who changed her plans for the day faster than her boyfriend Greg could agree to them, or her roommate Cindy, who hadn’t been awarded her nickname of ‘Princess Cinderella’ for no reason.

But, at the same time, I knew that one of these days, Jake had to run out of patience. We had been together for four months now - not counting summer hols - and not progressed past kissing and a few, clothed touches.

He winked at me. “Didn’t see you in Morrigan’s lecture. Already skiving classes in the second week?”

I sighed. Jake was majoring in English lit too. That was, in fact, how I had met him. I had asked Professor Morrigan about changing subjects, and she had pointed me to Jake. My classes with her followed his this term, so we were bound to meet there.

“I wasn’t feeling well this morning, so I stayed in bed. I thought I was coming down with the flu, but I’m already feeling better.”

He did a mock jump backwards. “Hey, you could have told me before I kissed you!” He clamped a hand over his mouth in a dramatic gesture. “Now I’ll have to spend days in bed, suffering because of you!” Suddenly his eyes lit up. “Hey, since you’re responsible, you’ll have to keep me company in bed!”

I sighed again. He really was trying to be a good sport about it, but through all the layers of light-hearted banter, I could see that I was hurting him. It wasn’t fair, and I made a decision right there and then. “Jake,” I managed to say while looking into his eyes, but then I almost lost the nerve. ‘Not fair,’ I reminded myself and felt rather bad. “We need to talk.”

He caught the finality in my voice and froze. The discussion going on next to us faded into white noise, and a long silence stretched between us.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he asked with a strangled voice.

“Not here.” I looked around and saw some eyes turn away guiltily. “Walk around the pond with me?”

I watched him take a few deep breaths. “Yeah. Okay,” he finally agreed, but he didn’t try to put his arm around me while we started walking.

“So,” he broke the silence once we were out of sight of the others, “we need to talk?” He didn’t look at me.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” I admitted, kicking a pebble into the algae-covered pond and probably causing mayhem among the frog spawn. “Jake, I…” I realized that I had no idea how to put it into words.

“You’re breaking up with me.” He stopped, and I did as well.

I nodded silently, fighting the tears that started to blur my vision and hating that whatever I said would hurt him.

“Who?”

I looked up at him, startled. “Who?”

“Who did you meet? Who are you going out with?” I had to strain my ears to hear him.

“Oh. Nobody.”

He looked doubtful.

“Really, I swear. I just - I realized today that I wasn’t being truthful to us both. I really like you, Jake, but…”

“But you don’t love me?”

Did I see a glimmer of hope in his eyes? It couldn’t be, could it? I nodded, biting my lip.

His voice started to sound raw. “It doesn’t need to be love, Molly. Let’s just have fun, see where it goes, give it time…”

“No!” I jumped at the force in my own voice. Quieter, I repeated, “No. I’m sorry. It wouldn’t be right. I like you, and your humor, and I enjoyed it when you held me after a hard day, but it isn’t enough to be together.” I swallowed down the lump that tried to stay lodged in my throat. “If there was something, just a spark, I’d try, but…”

His jaw worked and his hands clenched. I could see the hurt in his brown eyes.

“Can I - can we try something, just to be sure?” He sounded choked up, but he stepped closer.

When he leaned forward, I knew what he had in mind. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps there was a little something, just a tiny spark. “Okay,” I whispered back.

Then his lips were on mine, slightly cooler than mine, the soft and firm touch of lips. But there was nothing else. After a few seconds, he broke the chaste kiss and looked at me expectantly. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

“Nothing?” he asked, almost pleading.

“Nothing.”

“Well, at least it isn’t for someone else,” he joked.

Somehow, we had started walking again. A bunch of ducks landed noisily in the pond and started quacking, distracting us for a minute. I almost smiled at their innocent exuberance.

“You’re taking this awfully well,” I observed.

The gravel crunched under our shoes, and a gnat bit my arm. I swiped it away and rubbed the itching spot.

“It’s because it hasn’t really sunk in yet,” he replied. “Just wait until it does. Then I’ll find a secluded spot where nobody can see or hear manly me bawl his eyes out. After that, I’m going to go into town and get pissed enough so I don’t remember my own name, and the day after I’m going to be so hungover that I can blame every miserable moment on the drinking.”

“Jake!” I protested, coming to a halt.

“What?” He stopped a few feet away, but his eyes never left the ground.

“That won’t make it better.”

The tip of his shoe painted a circle in the gravel. “But it’ll make it different, at least.” I thought I glimpsed a tear. He turned around and started walking again, and a lance of pain speared my heart.

“Jake?”

“What?” He didn’t turn around this time.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m too.” He took another step.

“Wait!” God, this was hard. I couldn’t imagine how hard it had to be for him. “You’re a wonderful person. I hope you find someone who deserves you.”

The sound of his footsteps slowly faded, and I plopped down onto the strip of grass next the the path, not caring that my skirt was getting moist and dirty. The ducks fled from my choked sobs and swam to the other side of the pond. The sun set down behind the trees with beautiful layers of violet, red and ocher, and I felt incredibly guilty.

* * * *

Somehow it was as if my rambunctious roommates had taken my breakup with Jake as a signal to become even more obnoxious. At least, it felt like that - even though I knew that they were just doing their thing and delving into the fascination of computers and the internet all the way. But what I needed was solitude, and I wasn’t getting that in our room, which had been turned into Central Nerdistan.

So I found myself increasingly often hiding myself away in the remote corner of the library’s reading room. At first, it was only to do my homework in silence, but lately, it had become my second home. Mrs. Henderson even turned a blind eye when I dug a sandwich or drink out of my bag, and when nobody else was there, she sometimes sat down with me and we made small talk.

I loved these talks. She was educated and quick-witted, and when I had had a bad day with my lectures, she always managed to cheer me up and find something to compliment me for. My tongue-tied moments grew fewer and fewer - even though I still had these dizzy, lighthearted flashes every so often - and I started to regard her as a friend.

We analyzed the famous writers and poets and made fun about them. We both agreed that Hemingway was way overrated and Stephen King just not our kind of thing. We had a giggling fit when we realized that we both had played Tom Sawyer painting his aunt’s fence in grammar school, and we spent hours reciting stanzas from Old English poetry and swooning over the flowery words.

Every time I watched her deal with the other students in her open, friendly and self-assured way, I caught my heartbeat speed up. I came to a suspicion, but one I struggled with a lot, and one I didn’t dare to put into words, not even to myself - until, that is, that fateful Sunday afternoon.

* * * *

The library was closed on Sundays and everyone was out and about on sunny November weekends to catch the last real rays of sun in the year, so I had no place of retreat on campus. Mirella, one of my new classmates, had told me about this lovely bookshop/cafe combo called ‘The Olde Bookhouse’ hidden in a side street downtown, and it was the perfect time to explore it. Erin and Jen had what had to be half of the Informatics year assembled in our dorm, watching IT Crowd, shouting and laughing loud enough that you couldn’t hear your own words.

The cafe was lovely. Everything was made from dark, reddish, gleaming cherry wood. The chairs were comfy and had thick cushions, and every edge was smoothed. Boards filled with books ran around all four walls, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of Italian coffee and freshly baked cheesecake.

I sat down in a chair in the corner and ordered, of course, cheesecake - with whipped cream, yes, even though I’d have to run an extra mile next morning - and a cappuccino, and pulled out A Song of Ice and Fire, feeling naughtily indulgent by deviating from our subscribed reading list like this.

Then I noticed her. She was leaning back in a chair a few tables down, and could see her profile. Mrs. Henderson’s eyes were riveted to the book in front of her, but I couldn’t make out the title, just the white of its cover and that it had a reddish title above a picture of a woman.

The waitress brought my cake and drink, and I thanked her absentmindedly. Mrs. Henderson’s eyes widened for an instant, then a soft smile spread over her lips. I was fascinated by the emotions playing over her face as she read in deep concentration, and I wondered in which magical world she was right now. God, she looked so engrossed, almost ethereal in her beauty.

My body jerked. My eyes widened, and blood rushed in my ears, drowning out all noises in the cafe. What… Time seemed to freeze around me, but then I felt my wrist hit something hard and it toppled. My cup! The coffee spilled over the table, the spoon toppled over the edge of the table and clanked loud on the floor. I yelped, jumping backwards and making the chair legs screech noisily over the hardwood floor.

“Fuck!” I swore, picking a bunch of paper napkin from the box in the middle of the table and trying to stem the flood of cappuccino before it could drip onto the floor. In the blink of an eye, the waitress was also there, armed with a big cloth and dabbing at the spilt beverage.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped, “I…”

“Hey, no harm done,” she placated me. “It happens. Should I bring you a fresh one? Probably another cake too?”

The coffee had spilt onto the plate, so the cake and cream looked like two dirty icebergs in a brownish sea.

“Uhm…” I glanced towards Mrs. Henderson’s place, but with a knot in my stomach, I noticed that she was gone. Both her purse and jacket were gone too, so she hadn’t gone to the restroom. “No, thanks,” I finally told the waitress. My hands still trembled. “I’ll just pay.”

“But you didn’t even touch any of it,” she protested softly. “You’ve got to try the cheesecake! It’s incredible!” The way her eyes glowed, I was pretty sure that this wasn’t just a sales pitch.

“Next time,” I promised, handing her a ten dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

“But that’s too much!”

“Not if you count the mess I made,” I told her with a nervous chuckle and gestured to the sticky moisture on the table. Then I glimpsed something white across the room from the corner of my eyes. “The woman who sat there, Mrs. Henderson, she left her book. Is she here often?”

The waitress - her nameplate read Alice - shrugged. “I don’t work that often, but I can’t say I’ve seen her before.”

“Is it okay if I take her book to give it back to her? She works at the college, so I can drop it at her workplace.”

“But of course. If she comes back and asks, who can I tell her has it?”

“Molly. Molly Miller.” I could see her jaw muscles work for a second as she bit down a probably not-really-funny comment, but she thankfully kept it to herself.

“I’ll be on my way then,” I declared, slipping into my jacket, picking up my bag and heading over to the table Mrs. Henderson had occupied. The book title, even though it reeked of cheesy romance, was somehow intriguing: ‘Cupid’s a Girl’

The young woman - strike that, the girl my age - on the front page winked coyly at me, softly biting down on her index finger, and I was pretty sure that the nighty she was wearing and of which I could only see the shoulder part was completely see-through. I stowed it in my back and waved goodbye to Alice.

On my walk back, it was getting almost impossibly hard not to think about the elephant in the room, but I somehow managed to steer my thoughts towards academic topics. I had a test coming up and needed to do a comparative analysis of Jane Eyre and Wide Sargossa Sea, and at this moment, I was grateful for that.

I came home to a thankfully silent dorm room. A hastily scribbled post-it announced that they had all moved their party to a club in town, and after I had collected the empty pizza boxes and chips bags in a larger garbage bag, I plopped down on my bed, suddenly feeling strangely exhausted.

I almost took a nap - but only almost, because I suddenly remembered Mrs. Henderson’s book and my curiosity peaked.

The first ten pages were the usual setup - successful business woman moves to another town, successful business woman makes enemies at her job, successful business woman meets someone at work - but it was well-written and had all the details to make the characters palpable. The main character, Joanne, was likeable, despite - or because of - her hidden insecurities. Then she met Charlie from accounting at work, and they both found out that someone had to be embezzling money.

Over dinner at Joanne’s home, they managed to piece together the puzzle of who-done-it while growing more and more attracted towards each other. It was well-paced, their banter was fun and intriguing, and I found myself urging them both on give the charade and admit their attraction.

Then, finally, they did. I turned the page, sure that a juicy bedroom scene was awaiting me, but the next words washed over me like a bucket-full of ice water. Joanne - I re-read the sentence, and my heart started to pound against my chest - Joanne gently caressed Charlie’s firm breasts - yes, breasts, and I had no idea how I had not realized that was a woman for fifty pages - before leaning down and capturing one of her lover’s beautiful, pink, erect nipples with her lips.

I snapped the book shut. My breathing raced, and the dizzy feeling was back full force. If Mrs. Henderson was reading that kind of book, she was… what? Lesbian? Bi? Or did she read it just out of academic interest. I remembered the concentration in her eyes and the hundreds of emotions on her face, and, somehow, I was absolutely sure that I knew which paragraph she had been reading when that beautiful smile had played over her lips.

My fingers shook when I opened the book again. A part of me felt terrified somehow. My body was hot, far too hot given the temperature in the room, but I could no longer blame it on some non-existent flu bug. I started to re-read that paragraph, and my fingers grew clammy.

Somehow, my mind started playing tricks on me, because while I read through what happened in the bedroom, while I drank in the soft touches and burning passion, Joanne’s creamy breasts became Mrs. Henderson’s, and Charlie’s lips and fingers became… mine. And it wasn’t repulsive, not the slightest bit.

But it was too much to think about, so I kept on reading. The story was sweet. There were a lot of misunderstandings, meddling family members and co-workers, and I caught myself almost biting my nails more than once.

Time flew by, but I was sucked into the story, and when Charlie finally caught up to Joanne, who had fled in misplaced guilt, on the other side of the country and they made love on the beach at the first light of dawn, my hand found its way between my thighs and discovered a warm coating of moist arousal.

That night, I fell asleep muttering Mrs. Henderson’s name, adrift in waves of blissful release.

* * * *

“I don’t know what’s up with you, but whatever it is, you either get it resolved or leave us alone!” Erin wasn’t someone easily riled up, but the way she stalked towards me, eyes aglow with annoyance, I knew I had overstepped the line.

I took a step backwards, bumping against the wall, and caved. “I’m sorry, Erin! I didn’t mean to snap. I know I haven’t been easy to be around lately.”

Her eyes softened. “No, you haven’t. I don’t have a clue what it is about, but you have to get a grip on yourself, girl.”

I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, legs drawn to my chest, and she sat down next to me.

“Hey, Mols.” Erin always shortened people’s names, and even though I wasn’t fond of it, I had long since given up protesting. “I don’t know who you’re pining for, but I recognize love-sick when I see it. You should tell him.”

“I know,” I admitted, gritting my teeth. “It’s just that…”

“Yes?”

The silence stretched. “Forget it. I’m being silly.”

Her hand on my shoulder stopped me from getting up. “I’m here if you need to talk, Mols, anytime.”

“I… thank you.” No way I was ready to talk to her about it, even though I had nearly slipped up. “I guess I just need to act like a big girl and face the music, whichever tune it plays.”

“Whoever he is, you’re going to rock his world.”

Her world. Only that she was twice my age and had a PhD. To her, I was probably nothing more than a silly girl with a crush. “I’ll try.”

The last few weeks had been hard. The morning after I had read Mrs. Henderson’s book had greeted me with a wave of panic, because the hard light of the day crumbled my self-image to dust. Romantic excitement gave way to self-doubt and shocking realization.

Suddenly, my feeling - or non-feelings - for Jake made absolute sense, and it dawned on me that any plans of a happy upper class family with a loving husband and lovely, messy-haired kids that I had harbored in the back of my mind were moot.

Family. My parents had argued endlessly about me changing my major to something ‘without future.’ I didn’t dare imagine their reaction when I told them that all their dreams of an heir to keep up family traditions were going down the drain. I remembered a discussion over Sunday lunch where mum, nose wrinkled and voice all exasperated, told my dad that Bobbie Jenkins from two streets down had turned out gay, and it had sounded like he had contracted an unmentionable disease. My dad’s reply had been, “Poor Anthony and Martha,” which were his parents. So much for any tolerance I could expect.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mrs. Henderson, beautiful, intelligent Mrs. Henderson. If I did manage to think of something else for part of the day - usually studying, but that became increasingly difficult too - she followed me into my dreams. Into raunchy, indecent dreams, that is, and more than once I woke up in the middle of the night with my heart beating like mad and my thighs so wet that I thought for a moment I had peed myself.

I hadn’t been to the library once. I knew I should return her book, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. At first, I could have pretended that I hadn’t opened it, but not after all this time.

* * * *

Christmas break was already close. Mrs. Henderson would return to whatever she did normally and Isabella would be back from caring for her mum. There were only three days left, and if Mrs. Henderson had been back at the cafe, she knew that I had her book. Despite all my inner turmoil, I couldn’t bear the thought that she’d think of me as a thief.

So that’s how I traipsed into the deserted library on that snowy December morning, just shy of seven am. She was sorting piles of books into boxes and didn’t notice me at first.

I had dressed up. I mean, really dressed up, even though I knew it was silly. I wore my violet knit dress, form hugging and reaching halfway down my thighs, and black, opaque stockings. My ankle boots with the fake fur seam matched the color of the dress perfectly, and I had down my blonde hair in ringlets. It was the first time I was wearing makeup in the library, and I prayed that I hadn’t overdone it.

When she looked up from her work, she appeared startled, but only for a moment, then a wide smile spread on her lips and she waved at me. “Hello Molly! Such a nice surprise this early in the morning. I haven’t seen you for ages. Wow, you look pretty today. Are you going on a date?”

Somehow, my feet stopped touching the floor. My heart fluttered in my chest. “Hi, Mrs. Henderson.” I crossed the last few steps to the counter and pulled the book from my shoulder bag. My cheeks exploded with color, but I had to go through with it. “I need to give something back to you.” I placed it gently onto the counter. “You left it in the cafe.”

She looked down at it, then back at me. There was a guarded expression in her eyes, not one I had seen before.

“I read it,” I blurted out, and the expression intensified, almost as if a wall was going up in front of her. “I mean…” I noticed her grip the edge of the counter and saw her knuckles turn white. “I mean I liked it. Loved it.” I was making a fool out of myself, and I was panting. How pathetic could I get?

“You…” There was still a hint of wariness in her eyes, but the wall had retreated.

“Loved it.” My heartbeat slowed down a little. “God, it’s incredibly sweet.”

The smile that tugged up the corner of her mouth was like a sunrise. “Really? It’s a bit… unconventional, don’t you think?” She leaned onto the counter and the tension left her shoulders.

“Huh? Uhm, yes. It’s the first time that I’ve read a…” There it was, the L word.

“Lesbian romance?” Mrs. Henderson apparently had less trouble voicing it.

I nodded, but then that guarded expression creeped back into her eyes, and I knew that I had to say something to break through her fears. I hadn’t thought about what being a lesbian could, or would, mean to her, especially in academic surroundings.

My hands trembled. I tried to look into her eyes, but I couldn’t manage. It took all I had to keep my voice above a whisper. “I learned something about me when I read the book. I…” My voice faded and I had to clear my throat, but it kept sounding scratchy. “I realized that I’m… a lesbian… myself.” God. This was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life. Yet, the moment that I said those words, a huge load toppled from my shoulders, and the relief washed over me in waves. Somehow, a flood of tears made its way down my cheeks, but it didn’t deter me. “Thank you!”

Even through the veil of tears I saw her race around the counter, and a second later I was pulled into the tightest hug I had ever felt.

It was glorious. While my body still fought with the intensity of my emotions and trembled and sniffled, feeling her against me like this, her chest tight against mine, our hips touching, made my heart soar. A dam inside me had broken, and had I been able to speak, I would have shouted my love for her. Instead, I let myself be held by her and cherished every second.

Slowly, my trembles ebbed, and we slowly extricated ourselves. Her hands stayed on my hips, and she looked me up and down while I rubbed my eyes and pulled a hanky from my pocket to blow my nose.

“Come with me,” she prompted, putting a hand on my lower back and steering me around the counter and through the door to the office. A little later I found myself on a comfy couch and with a cup of steaming hot cocoa in my hand that she had apparently magicked into existence. Or prepared while I was busy blowing my nose and wiping away streaks of mascara. Though I liked the first explanation more. I giggled.

The couch dipped next to me, and I found her looking at me with an amazed expression. “You’re really something, Molly Miller,” she told me with a tone that sent goosebumps up my spine.

“How?” I asked, surprised. “I never told you… oh! Silly me.” Of course she knew my full name. It was on my library card, and she read it every time she scanned a book for me.

“You really found out through the book?”

God, how I loved to hear her voice. “Mhm.” I nodded. “In a way. I think deep inside I knew something was different. But… when I read the book, it was the first time that I allowed myself to feel that way.” I saw her open her mouth, but there was something that needed to be said before I could get second thoughts. My mouth grew dry, but I had to press on. “It was the first time that I acknowledged that I’ve fallen in love with a woman.”

There was a short pause. I could almost see the wheels spin in Mrs. Henderson’s head, and my choice of words didn’t go unnoticed. She gave me a coy grin. “And who is the lucky… woman?”

The floor dropped from under me. I felt like falling and spinning, but with the last air in my lungs I gasped my answer. “You.”

The trembling was back, tenfold. She stared into my eyes, her own full of wonder, disbelief - and something else, something I couldn’t identify. I thought the world would explode when she reached out with a hand that trembled just as hard as mine and brushed a stray ringlet of hair from my face. I forgot to breathe. Where she touched my cheek, burning fire flared up and burned its way, all through my body, until it reached my heart.

“Mrs. Henderson…”

“Joanne.”

My breath hitched, but at least I was breathing again. “Joanne? Like in…” The images of that night came back and assaulted me with their intensity. My chest heaved. “Oh god, please,” I begged when she stared at me, frozen in her position, her hand halfway pulled back. “Say something, Joanne!”

Before, my heart had been pulsing with love. Now, desire had welled up and joined in the rhythm, and I wasn’t sure I could bear it much longer before it tore me apart.

The look in her eyes changed, and then they widened. Like an avalanche, something feral broke through, and by god, her emerald eyes glowed and filled my world.

Her lips were upon mine, soft and smooth and making sparkles dance over mine, which parted willingly. I was swept away, losing myself in sensations so powerful that I turned into a gasping, moaning bundle of joy, and like loving butterflies, our tongues danced around each other’s.

I had never felt like this before, and I clutched my arms around Mrs. Henderson - Joanne - like I was drowning.

We had to come up for air though.

Joanne jumped backwards as if burned. “Oh god,” she gasped. “What am I doing?”

“Joanne?” I gripped her wrists. “What - what’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be doing this!” The wall in front of her went up again.

“I don’t understand?” She looked incredible, flushed like this, her lips full and dark. I needed her to touch me and kiss me.

“I - we - I…” It was the first time I heard her struggle for words. “I’m twice your age. I’ll be gone from here on New Year’s Day. I - I can’t take advantage of you. You’re young, you just discovered this part of you. You should have someone who can be here for you. Things will get hard. Being… different… is not something the people around will just accept.”

“I don’t care!” I tried to pull her close, but she yanked her arms away and retreated across the room, leaning onto her desk with her back to me.

“Please, Molly!” She sounded choked. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Please!”

* * * *

Perhaps I should have stayed and tried to convince her. Who knows? I certainly didn’t, and even in hindsight, I couldn’t tell. What I could tell was that I had never felt as miserable in my life. I stayed in bed for the last two days before Christmas break, with the support of my roommates who fetched me pizzas, cherry cheesecakes and chocolate sundaes and kept me company in the evenings, even though I was far from talkative.

Then, when it was time to go home, I called my parents and made up having the flu and not wanting to infect anyone. With the amount of crying I had been doing, it wasn’t hard to sound choked up and sick. I had to argue even longer to prevent them from coming to take care of me or bring me home with their car, but they finally believed my assurances that no, I wasn’t going to die on them and yes, I’d be home for the next break.

In a moment of weakness, I had given into Erin’s constant needling about my love interest and admitted that he was a she and quite a bit older than me. Erin took it in stride, and I learned that her sister was a lesbian. She didn’t stop trying to get a name, but one afternoon she returned from shopping with a stack of books for me and a bunch of brochures with a rainbow on the front.

“You’re a wonderful friend,” I told her, squeezing her hand.

“You can hug me if you want,” she answered, then winked. “As long as all you squeeze of me is my hand.”

I spent Christmas days in the Olde Bookhouse, reading the books Erin had bought for me and feeling equally exhilarated about learning so much about what was awaiting me and terrified by it. I made mental lists of people I knew I could tell, those I thought I could tell, and finally, those I didn’t think would cope well. The last one was by far the longest.

Alice worked each day over the holidays, and I blushed madly the first time she approached me to get my order. “Cheesecake with whipped cream and a cappuccino?” she inquired with a wink, and I contemplated just sliding under the table.

“Uhm, yes, please,” I said instead and earned another wink.

She came back with my cheesecake and a mountain of whipped cream that threatened to topple off the plate.

“Wow. That’s… a lot of cream.”

Her eyes glinted. “It’s Christmas. One can’t have enough sweetness on Christmas, don’t you think?”

There was something in her eyes, but I didn’t really catch it. So I agreed and scooped up a big spoonful of cream. She grinned brightly and nodded before heading to another table where an older man had been waving for a good minute.

It was only when I got back to my room on the evening of Boxing Day when it occurred to me that Alice’s little extra treats whenever she served me may have been motivated by more than just Christmas spirit.

But, at the forefront of my mind wasn’t Alice. Even though I wasn’t too miserable to leave the room anymore, there weren’t five consecutive minutes where I didn’t think of Joanne. I had to see her, but the library was already closed for the holidays, and in a few days, she would be gone for good.

Then, on New Year’s Eve, luck was on my side. I was just returning from a walk around the pond when I saw Professor Morrigan stride across the courtyard, and before I could think about what exactly I was going to say to her, I heard myself shouting her name.

She stopped instantly, a surprised look on her face.

“Professor Morrigan,” I gasped, having sprinted the last hundred feet, “oh god, you’re my savior. I - I need Mrs. Henderson’s address, but I know nobody else who’d tell me.”

She eyed me warily. “What exactly would you need her address for, Miss Miller?”

“I…” I chewed on my lip, but only one idea sprang to my mind. “I need to give her back a book. I was sick the last two days before break, and she said she’s going to go home tomorrow…”

“I’m sure that you can give the book to Isabelle as well. She’ll be back once term starts again.” She turned to walk away, obviously in a hurry, but I gripped her arm.

“Please, Professor Morrigan. It’s a private book, not one from the library.”

I felt her stiffen, and I hastily withdrew my hand. She didn’t appear anymore trusting. “And, pray tell, what book would Joanne have loaned you?”

My heart thumped against my ribcage, and I hid my trembling hands behind my back. This was my one chance to get Joanne’s address, and I had to take a gamble. I prayed that Professor Morrigan knew about Joanne’s lifestyle.

“Cupid’s a Girl. That’s the title. It’s…” I had to struggle to keep my breathing even. “...a lesbian novel.”

Something in her eyes shifted, and I almost broke into relieved giggles. It became even harder to stay motionless when she pulled a small notepad and a pen from her purse, tore out a page and scribbled down an address. “Don’t make me rue this, Miss Miller,” she told me with a stern look before she handed over the sheet, but I thought I saw something soft in her eyes.

“You won’t, I promise! Thank you so much, Professor Morrigan. Have a wonderful new year!”

“You too, Miss Miller.”

I thought I saw a small smile on her lips, but then she had already turned around, and all I could do was force myself to keep from skipping on my way to the dorms.

* * * *

You can’t get a taxi on New Year’s Eve. That was the one thing I learned. At first, I had believed the friendly voice telling me to try again in a half hour. But the hand of the clock spun and spun, and no taxi was available.

I had put on the violet dress again, together with a dark grey cloak. It was snowing in spades, and my ankle boots were soon soggy from wading through the mud. Not only that you couldn’t get a taxi, nobody cared about clearing the snow from the sidewalks. My cloak wasn’t waterproof, but then, I had thought that I’d ride at least most of the way in a car.

Joanne’s flat was on the remote side of the town, and I had been walking for hours. My feet hurt and my face was freezing by the time I got there. I prayed to god that she was home. I should have thought about it first, but in all my desperation, I had totally forgotten that she might have plans for New Year’s Eve and be out somewhere in the city.

The door to her house was slightly ajar. Second floor, the note from Professor Morrigan read. It was one of these old, colonial style houses with deep, low stairs that creaked awfully, but I barely noticed them because my heartbeat drowned out everything else.

Then I was there. The door to her flat was modern. I couldn’t tell if there was light behind it, and the small noises I heard could have come from every single one of the flats on the floor. A golden doorbell was mounted on the wall, next to plate where flowery letters spelled ‘J. Henderson.’

‘God, let her be home,’ I prayed, and then I pushed the button and a muffled chime sounded.

I hadn’t heard footsteps. Suddenly, the door swung open, and then she stood before me, clad in a dark red terry-cloth bathrobe, her hair as dripping wet as mine and plastered to her head, and her eyes were wide and full of disbelief. To me, she looked like an angel.

“Molly? What are you doing… god, you’re wet through and through. You’ll catch your death! Come in, quickly!”

The flat wasn’t big, but it had an open space that served as kitchen, dining- and living room, and one of the walls had an open fireplace where flames were dancing merrily on a bunch of logs. The warmth quickly broke through the cold from outside, and I realized how every piece of fabric clung wetly to my body.

Joanne guided me in front of the fireplace, mindless of the wet trail I left on her hardwood floor, and once there, pulled the cloak from me. I shivered.

“Why?” she asked quietly, but when I didn’t immediately answer, she went back into the small anteroom and hung up my cloak.

“I needed to see you again,” I confessed, barely above a whisper, “even if it is the last time.”

I wasn’t sure if she had heard me. “God, girl, you’re soaked to your skin. We need to get you out of these wet clothes. You can go into the bathroom and I’ll…”

I don’t know what prompted me, but when she had said ‘out of these wet clothes’, it was as if a light had been lit. I turned towards her. The knit dress slid easily down my body. Her words trailed off. My stockings tried to cling to my legs, but I pulled them off and righted myself.

She was frozen on the spot. I recognized that emotion in her eyes now, the one I had never been able to pin-point, because I felt it just as strong inside myself, churning and bubbling. Desire. My bra tumbled to the floor and she gasped. My nipples were hard like rocks, and it wasn’t because of the cold.

“I need you, Joanne,” I whispered while I pulled down my panties, praying that I didn’t appear awkward. “I need you more than I’ve ever need anything or anybody.” And then I stood naked in front of her, trembling like mad.

I watched her swallow hard. Her hands shook. She tried to take a step towards me, then halted, then tried again.

I saw the battle that raged behind her eyes. “Do you have a lover? God, tell me if you have!” Yes, I need her, but I couldn’t - wouldn’t - make her choose.

“No!” she gasped and exploded into motion. Her hands cupped my cheeks. A tear trickled down her cheek. “But I’ve got a son at home, a son I need to return to, a whole life to return to. I’m afraid…” Another tear joined the first one.

Her fingers burned on my skin. “I don’t care. Fuck, I do care, but I understand.” I brushed my fingertips over her cheeks, astounded by softness of her skin. My fingers prickled. “Can you give me just this night?”

“I don’t want you pining for something you can’t have, you silly, wonderful girl.” Her thumb caressed my lips and made them tremble.

“I already do.” I gave her thumb a soft kiss and butterflies swirled around in my stomach. “‘Tis better to have loved and lost,” I whispered, and her eyes widened.

“..than never to have loved at all,” she solemnly completed Lord Tennyson’s most famous lines. “You know that this was written with a different premise.” A soft smiled played over her lips.

“But it doesn’t change their truth. Please, Joanne, love me! Make love to me!”

“Molly?” Her voice trembled.

“Joanne?”

“Every single day since I saw you, I dreamed of you. I knew it would be wrong, but I couldn’t stop it. When you brought back my book…” More tears wetted her cheeks.

My breath grew ragged while I clung to her words. This was a turning point, I felt it, and whatever decision she made, it would be final.

“God,” she gasped, “you were so beautiful! So incredibly, wonderfully beautiful! You still are. How - how can I not love you?”

She kissed me. Kissed me like there was no tomorrow, and I answered her kisses with the same fervor. Suddenly, she was naked too, and I think it was me who all but ripped the robe from her, but such details are hazy. We explored each other’s lips and tongues, then I got more daring and sucked lightly on that incredibly soft patch of skin over her collarbone. She, in turn, squeezed my bum cheek, and I gasped into her shoulder.

I had never before felt something so incredible and intimate. She smelled of cinnamon and herbs, and her skin tasted like the sweetest honey. My senses were overwhelmed, and we toppled onto the floor, our giggles full of need.

“Joanne,” I whispered her name, but something warm and wet travelled down my tummy, and when I realized it was her mouth, and that mouth, without the tiniest bit of shyness, kissed the heat between my legs, I shouted her name. A muffled, satisfied giggle filled the air, then her tongue caressed the insides of my folds, painting a hot trail of desire right in my center, and I spread my legs and moaned her name. A finger slipped slowly inside me, and my heart tried to jump from my chest in joyful pleasure. “Oh god!” I cried out. “Oh god, yes, Joanne!” My butt lifted into the air, but her mouth and fingers never lost touch.

I spiralled upwards, higher and higher, moaning her name, until I exploded in blissful release.

I slowly got back my breath and found myself rolled up into a ball, with my thighs clenched hard around Joanne’s shoulders. “Oh god,” I gasped, releasing her, “did I hurt you?”

Instead of the dreaded pained moan, a giggle like wind chimes rang through the air. “No, Molly,” she told me softly, and the fingertip she ran over the inside of my thigh made sparkles dance on my skin, “you didn’t hurt me. You made me happy.”

She crawled up to me, and we kissed once more, now less urgent, a lot more tenderly, but no less intense.

“I want to do the same for you,” I whispered into her ear, “that, and so much more. Teach me.”

She was beautiful when she came. My chin was drenched with her nectar and her hips rocked while my lips sucked the most wonderful climax from her clit. Her hands were buried in my hair, and her face had an ethereal expression of almost painful pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered into her ear, gently rubbing my nipples against hers and basking in the soft moans of delight that came from her lips.

Later, she straddled me, holding up one of my legs, and we gyrated our slippery, needy pussies against each other. The air whistled through our teeth while we climbed towards release hand in hand, and then popping sounds filled the air and the room was bathed in flickering, colored light.

We came together at the turn of the year, and our hearts beat in time with each other’s. It was a magical moment, and we both cried while we kissed and rode out the wonderful little aftershocks.

* * * *

I threw a stone into the pond, but it made barely a splash. Joanna had been right, it was incredibly hard to let go. It had been eight weeks now, and I still missed her so much.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement, and I almost gasped when I saw that I wasn’t alone on the bench anymore. A girl a few years older than me had sat down next to me, but I had been so deep in thought that I had completely missed it.

She wore a runner’s outfit, skin-tight black pants and a loose, dark grey sweater. Her blonde hair was done up in a ponytail, but she wasn’t sweating or panting the slightest bit.

“I’m Pat. Patricia, but everyone calls me Pat.” She held out her hand.

I hesitantly took it. “I’m…”

“...Molly, I know. Erin told me I could find you here.”

I eyed her warily. "Should I know you?" I was sure I had never seen her before.

“Joanne called me and asked me to see if you’re alright.”

I couldn’t hide the stab of pain at hearing her name. “I’m alright, really,” I answered, though probably not very convincing.

Pat sighed. “It hurts, huh? Do you have someone with who you can talk about it?”

I threw another stone and nodded. “Erin. Her sister’s gay too.”

“That’s good. But if you need someone else to talk to, just a place to hang out or if you want to meet like minded people, call me or simply drop by.”

When she didn’t continue, I looked over and saw her hold out a business card with a rainbow in the corner. I took it and gave it a glance. “Rainbow Center? So, everybody there’s…”

“Lesbian, Gay, Queer, Transgender, Bisexual, and probably a thousand things in between. The one thing you can sure of, nobody there will judge you.”

I thought back to last week. Jen had overheard one of my talks with Erin and totally freaked, throwing accusations of ‘ogling her’ my way. Erin had calmed her down enough to keep her from blabbing to everyone else, but she had switched rooms and started to ignore me whenever we met. It was probably only a question of time until her tongue loosened.

“Thank you, Pat. I may need a safe place soon.”

“Everybody needs one.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Call any time, even if its the middle of the night.”

For the first time in weeks, a true smile spread over my lips. “I will.”

“Take care. See you soon.”

“You too.”

She was gone as quickly as she had come. I looked down at the card. Eight weeks. Perhaps I should go down to the Olde Bookhouse one of these days. Alice had told me that she worked every Sunday until summer. “Alice.” The name flowed easily over my lips, and I thought I felt a tiny spark in my chest.