shaky hands, each occupied. one with a cigarette, the other with her rocks glass. she has, quite intentionally, avoided looking at jane squarely. there is the fear, however irrational, that if blanche looks at her longer than glancing she might disappear. ghosts can only be seen out of the corner of one’s eye after all.
they mirror each other. blanche is balanced against the lip of a desk. her desk. the last time they saw each other blanche didn’t have anything of her own. not a house, not a desk, not even a dress that wasn’t borrowed or bought with someone else’s money. now she has her own apartment. sweet and small and only two rooms. a far-cry from belle reve but hers, absolutely and indefinitely.
i missed you, sits uncomfortably on the tip of her tongue but she can’t bring herself to say it yet so she washes it down with a pull from her glass too generous to be called a sip. “you should have phoned,” it comes out small and high, almost like a sigh. finally she flicks her eyes up to shyly meet jane’s. still lovely, still jane. she feels her eyes well and she drains her glass to keep from crying. “i didn’t know whether or not — it was a terrible thing you did.” her voice is still wavering, she stares down into her empty cup. “to leave without telling me where you were going. i was frightened.” crying outright now, she wipes at her cheek with the back of her wrist. her breath hitches messily. “i missed you.”
it was a terrible thing, even more terrible was that jane was only feeling terrible about it now, when confronted with tears. blanche downs her entire drink, too fast, and jane gives this soft, displeased sound as she stands, cigarette abandoned at first chance so she can approach and place her calloused palms on either side of blanche’s slim jaw. “i told you, i owed you better than that. and calling would have been worse, i’m shit on the phone.”
she watches her cry for only a moment longer, before she leans in to kiss the wet trails down blanche’s cheeks, then pulls back to look at her again. as if to study the raw emotion, to finally understand it. “i’m sorry i cocked up,” she smiles, “but i’m not sorry that you did so well after I left. i like your place. you’ve got picture on the walls, which means you’ve come further than i have.”
but it’s still strange, it’s still wrong, like jane doesn’t quite fit here anymore. so she takes the glass from blanche’s hand, sets it aside, and lets her fingers tangle though that wavy, oceanic hair. “i missed you too. i missed your voice.” it’s terrifically honest, and though jane’s own eyes are welling with tears in reply to blanche’s own, she’s not upset, because blanche is real and warm and beautiful and there. “may i apologize properly with a dinner i think i promised you a few years ago?”
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