Taking the Leap Read online

  But now, feeling oddly playful and flirtatious, possibly because I have every idea that Jenna is never going to be more than that hot, funny chick whose brother married my sister, I had replied to her with that sassy comeback.

  I thought you’d never text.

  I could have easily as said I never thought you’d text, and it would have been the same thing, but way less cute. I watch my phone screen for Jenna’s reply. She’s typing.

  “Sam, I need you to take care of getting Mrs. Winslow to the beauty parlor, okay?” My supervisor, Amy, pauses to look me over. “Sam?”

  Just because we aren’t forbidden from using our phones at work doesn’t mean it’s not frowned on if we’re caught with our attention on it instead of our jobs. I quickly slip my phone into the pocket of my uniform without taking the time to see what Jenna has answered. I feel the humming buzz of it against my thigh. I’m desperate to pull it out and look, but I give Amy my full attention. I need this job. Just as importantly, I like it. I don’t want to get in trouble.

  “Yep. I’m on it.” I give Amy a nod, then pause. “Something else?”

  “You look…different.”

  I’m not sure what she means, but self-consciously, I swipe a hand over my spiky hair. “Ermmm?”

  “No, nothing like that. Something on your face,” Amy says thoughtfully.

  I make a show of wiping my mouth. “Hope it’s not jelly.”

  Amy laughs. “You just look…brighter, today.”

  “Thanks? I think?” I’m not sure it’s a compliment, but I like Amy, and I’m sure she doesn’t mean it in a bad way.

  In Mrs. Winslow’s room, I find her already in her wheelchair. She’s staring out the window with her gnarled hands folded neatly in her lap. She doesn’t turn when I rap on the door and come through it.

  “Mrs. Winslow?”

  “You know, you’re one of the few who addresses me that way instead of calling me by my first name,” she says, still without looking at me.

  I move closer. “I’d be happy to call you by your first name if you like. But you’ve never told me to.”

  “It’s respectful.” She twists a little to face me. “I like that about you, Sam. You’re considerate.”

  I think about that for a second. “Is there someone on staff here who isn’t considerate and respectful? Because you should tell me if that’s the case.”

  Cornwall Manor has strict policies regarding how the staff are supposed to treat residents, but of course you always have the one or two who don’t think that applies to them. Mrs. Winslow shakes her head and gives me a small smile. She waves a hand, regally.

  “No, no. It’s not that. I don’t mind, really. But it’s something, isn’t it? The power of a name.”

  “Yes. I’d say so. Are you ready to go to your appointment?” I take hold of the chair’s handles and get ready to push.

  Mrs. Winslow twists a little. “Yes, dear. But let me ask you, do you think your name has anything to do with…you know?”

  For a second, I don’t, but then I laugh gently. “The fact I like girls? Because Sam is a boy’s name? I don’t think so. I mean, my parents gave me the name, and I am one hundred percent sure they would have preferred if I went the usual romantic route and dug dudes.”

  “Did they always call you Sam?”

  We push through the door and down the hall, heading for the beauty parlor. “They used to call me by my full name, Samera, but once I got to high school I made them stop.”

  “What would you have done if you’d had a different name? One that couldn’t be shortened to a boy’s name? Would you still have taken one?”

  I think about this as we get closer to the parlor. “Nah. I don’t want to be a man, Mrs. Winslow. I’m queer, not trans. I mean, I’m happy to be a woman.”

  “I see.” She nods and is silent for a moment before saying quietly, “I don’t understand what it would be like to feel as though you were not born into the right body. My goodness, this old thing is giving me pain after pain, nothing’s working right any longer, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It seems to me that feeling all right with the body you’re in is not just something to take for granted, Sam. It’s something to be grateful for. ”

  “It’s definitely something to be grateful for,” I tell her as we pull up in front of the beauty parlor doors. “And, here we go.”

  She twists a little to look at me again. “Everyone should be allowed to be who they feel they are. Love who they love. That’s what I think.”

  I give her a smile and let her pat my hand. The attendant for the beauty parlor greets her and wheels her inside, and I’m off to find my next task. But before I do, I slip my phone out of my pocket and check it eagerly for Jenna’s message.

  Thanks for connexing with me. *Leering winky face emoji*

  My fingers skip over the screen. My pleasure. I don’t use it very much.

  It’s the devil, comes her reply.

  Maybe we should just text each other, I type. Instead of tempting Satan.

  Maybe we could see each other more often in person. That might even be better.

  “Yes,” I mutter, too happy before I remember to rein myself in.

  I type quickly. When are you back in town?

  A long pause. Too long. Was I too forward? Damn it, I curse myself, I shouldn’t have made that jump. Except Jenna had opened the door, I was just walking through. I curse myself again for being too worried about it.

  Not due back until next month. Maybe we could meet halfway before then? Have dinner? Drinks?

  I vaguely remember Abby mentioning where, exactly, Jenna lives, but can’t pinpoint it. I know it’s about two hours away, which is kind of a long way to drive for just one date. But an hour’s drive, to spend a few with her? Yeah, I think with a grin. Yeah, sure. I could do that.

  I’m off Thursday and Friday, I type. Just tell me where and when.

  ❖

  Ten

  Jenna

  * * *

  I haven’t been this nervous about a date since…well, hell. Never, not that I can remember. Probably because I’ve never been unsure about how into me, or not, someone might be. I know it’s bitchy and arrogant to say it out loud, but guys usually make it pretty clear they think I’m hotter than fuck.

  Sam, though…Sam is…I shiver as I look at myself in the mirror, trying hard to see what she might see. I think of the picture of her with the woman who has to be her ex, and I know that I’m prettier than that, but does that matter? I turn my face from side to side, checking out my makeup. My hair. All the things I’d do for a date with a guy, I’ve done for Sam, but I’m totally not sure she’ll like it.

  Then I think, suddenly standing up straight, I shouldn’t care if she likes it or not. I feel good wearing winged liner and sparkly lip gloss, with my hair curled. I feel good in a cute dress and shoes. I feel good for myself, I realize, which is a lot different than putting all this on to impress someone.

  I still want to impress her, of course. I don’t know why I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since we first hung out, why that kiss, that tiny, simple kiss, has set me on fire. I don’t want to delve too deep into my reasons why, to be honest. If I have a habit of going after exactly the person who is the most wrong for me, I don’t want to face it.

  We’ve agreed to meet at Firestone’s, a really nice restaurant halfway between the two of us in a town known for its historical tourist attractions. I don’t care much about what ancient president slept in some old bed and breakfast, but the food at Firestone’s is supposed to be out of this world. I park in the garage and wait for her by the front door to the restaurant. I don’t pace only because the sidewalk is a little uneven, and I’m afraid I might trip and wipe out. That would be impressive, all right. Impressively uncool.

  Then, there she is. Sam comes around the corner, and she hasn’t yet seen me. My heart skips. My breath hitches. I start to smile, and I can’t stop.

  “Hey,” she says, sounding