Even Lovers Drown

Midday sun bathed Saylor's skin, washing away any excess anxiety and leaving her calmer. The light breeze that accompanied it only made her feel more content. She held her cell phone close to her ear, listening to her mother's voice pump through the speakers while her father grumbled in the background. Her daily call, earlier today than normal, right before eating lunch as opposed to right before the show. She needed to remind herself that her parents did care, that they loved her more than Katie claimed.

"And she hasn't contacted you at all?" her mother asked.

"She doesn't have the new number," Saylor answered.

The question had been asked daily, and Saylor gave the same answer each time. She was beginning to feel like a broken record. But she didn't get irritated. Her parents worried and wanted to make sure she was safe, so they asked if Katie contacted her everytime she called home. After three years of not talking to them because some woman told her not to, this wasn't the kind of information they felt she would share without some probing.

"I'm just making sure, sweetie. If she shows up at any show, you get security."

And, like everyday, her mother reminded her to get security in the event of an emergency, as if Saylor would forget over the course of twenty-four hours. She felt humoring them better than fighting them on their unnecessary daily questions. These daily questions and reminders showed how much her parents cared. She liked that they felt the need to protect her while she was miles away. She appreciated the comfort they brought her with silly questions.

"I will, mom."

"Good. Have you met any nice girls?"

Saylor hesitated at the break in routine. That wasn't part of the daily questions her parents had, but she recognized it from her days in college. The relatively passive code for "Are you dating?" had been something her mother asked her from the day she revealed her sexuality.

"I'm not ready yet."

"Why not?

"I just don't think I can date someone else. Not right now."

"Well, I think you should take advantage of being away and flirt a little bit. There's no harm in that. And it'll make you feel better."

"You sound like Davy."

He had told her to move on. Maybe not to flirt but it was advice with the same message. Move on, that's all they wanted for her. To meet someone who they felt she deserved, someone who made her feel like the most important person in the world, someone who loved her for who she was. They didn't think Katie filled those requirements.

"You should listen to him."

Should she? He had suggested she sleep with Blake in hopes of making her grow some comfort around the same sex. She didn't think fooling around was what her mother had in mind. But he had said just talking to Blake would be a progress, and making progress would make her feel better. Whether she flirted or not, simply having a comfortable conversation with Blake would raise her spirits.

"I might." Saylor glanced at the small Italian restaurant, through the window that gave her a perfect view of the table. Waiters swiftly handed out food to rumpus band members. One of those dishes was the pasta dish that Davy ordered for her while she was on the phone. "Hey, mom, I have to go eat. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Alright, sweetie. Your father and I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Be safe."

Saylor smiled at the concerned advice. She didn't feel suffocated by the attention. Three years, she had been starved of their affection. She had taken them for granted in college, but she would never make that mistake again. Her parents were trying to keep her safe, not suffocate her.

"Always."

With that, she pressed the "End Call" button and shoved the phone into the pocket of her sweatpants. Brushing her fingers through her hair in a last minute attempt to brush out the kinks, she walked across the parking lot, her steps brisk, eager. Italian food overthrew egg and cheese biscuits and hash browns, taking the role of king of her favorite foods.

She pushed through the worn brown doors. The comforting warmth of in-use kitchens encompassed her. Breads and pastas offered their scent to perfume the restaurant, making Saylor's mouth water. Letting the door shut behind her, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, indulging in the soothing atmosphere.

Blake looked toward the restaurant doors, eyes catching on the woman she had been waiting anxiously for. Saylor stood near the hostess podium, making no efforts to find their table. She kept still, her green eyes closed and her shoulders lax. Her hair formed messy, cascading red streams past her shoulders. Comfortable, content, absolutely beautiful.

She glanced at Davy, who didn't seem to care if his sister had even made it into the restaurant, then turned her fervent eyes back to Saylor. If Davy wasn't going to call her over to the table, Blake would. She stood from her seat, the eyes of those around her gluing to her and making her feel a tinge of nervousness.

"Saylor," she called.

Saylor's head snapped in her direction, eyes open. Shocked out of the calm she had developed, fright swam in her green eyes and Blake almost regretted being the one to snap her out of it. The fear disappeared quickly, but the calm didn't return. Blake gave a quick wave, indicating that this was the table she was supposed eat at, and sat back down.

"Let me guess," Davy said from his seat across the table, "still trying to woo Saylor?"

Blake snatched her napkin from the table and smoothed it over her lap. "I'm not taking your advice anymore."

Saylor appeared behind Davy's chair, drawing Blake's attention away from Davy's disbelieving eyebrow raise. She couldn't stop the smile from stretching across her lips, far too excited about Saylor's existence than she should have been Perhaps her nerves were getting the best of her, sending her into a jittery mess that she mistook for excitement. Perhaps her conversation with Reese made the light of realization so bright that Blake couldn't help being excited. Or perhaps getting another chance to get to know Saylor after her many screw-ups had her excited. Regardless, Saylor didn't seem to notice Blake's reaction, busy mumbling a quiet "hi" to her older sibling and searching the table for her food.

"Saylor," she said. Saylor's eyes snapped to Blake. "I saved you a seat." She motioned to the spot next to her where Saylor's food had been placed at her request.

Blake waited, nearly holding her breath, for Saylor's reaction to being placed next to her. The seat she saved was hardly the last seat available. There were at least three scattered along the long table, one of which was next to Davy and directly across from Blake. But Blake didn't want her to sit across from her, next to Davy, who would only send Blake disapproving glances at her tactics. She wanted Saylor to sit next to her so they could talk quietly to each other. Less potential for interruptions, for someone to butt in and ruin everything.

Saylor looked from Blake to the seat next to her, warily eyeing the spot. Steam rose from the pasta on the table. The delicious noodles coated in red sauce, cheese, and spices unique to the restaurant tempted her, and the slice of bread dipped slightly in the sauce due to the lack of room on the plate was almost the deciding factor. That was her food, there was no denying that, begging her to sit down and eat.

But the burst of anxiety kept her from strutting confidently around the table and taking the spot. At the tightly packed table, she would be sandwiched against Blake, so close physical contact wouldn't be avoidable. Accidental as the touches would be, Saylor couldn't give them the opportunity to be initiated.

Saylor looked back at Blake. Innocent hope radiated from her blue eyes and the small upward tug of her lips. The request hidden in Blake's statement hadn't been with the intention of making her uncomfortable or stealing inappropriate touches at the close proximity. But Saylor couldn't sit next to her and risk panicking everytime Blake's arm brushed against her.

Blake's heart fell into the pit of her stomach as Saylor pulled out the empty chair next to Davy and sat. Beside her, Sage choked back a laugh, a minor stab at Blake's confidence. A small setback. Saylor was still sitting close enough to her so they could talk. There was just more potential for random comments thrown in by her band mates. Blake shouldn't have felt bad. Yet, for some reason, her mind contradicted all logic, making her feel terrible over Saylor's decision to sit next to Davy over her.

"Um, here's your food." Blake grabbed the plate of pasta and handed it across the table to Saylor.

"Thanks," Saylor mumbled, grabbing the plate and placing it in front of her.

An awkward silence settled over them, deafening even in the noisy room. People around them talked freely while they enjoyed their meals. Saylor couldn't manage to look in Blake's direction. Blake was no better, eyes darting around the restaurant, only occasionally settling on Saylor.

Blake sighed, letting her eyes drift to Saylor. She wouldn't get anywhere if this silence continued.

"So," Blake said, forcing Saylor's eyes to her, "you like pasta?"

"I like Italian," Saylor answered.

"That's cool."

The awkward silence settled upon them again. Saylor idly moved the pasta around on her plate with her fork. This was her opportunity to give Blake the chance her mother and brother had been pushing her to. She told them she would think about it, was leaning toward giving it a shot, knew she would feel accomplished despite the nerves upsetting her stomach at the thought of talking to Blake. She hadn't sat next to her, an action Saylor felt guilt over, the very least she could do was attempt to talk to her.

Because, despite her irrational bout of fear around Blake, she did want to give the not-as-self-assured Blake a chance. How else would she find out if the apology letter and chocolate had been meaningless, a ploy to draw her in and hurt her?

Saylor took a deep breath, calming her nerves before asking, "What type of food do you like?"