Chapter 2: Oh, Evangeline

We met every day.

Anastasia was like a dream to me, better than any other girl I met at that damned country club. She was real. A person I could relate to and trust without worrying about her turning her back on me.

We kept meeting, we kept talking, and I learnt so much about her that it was as though half my soul weighed her hands. I learnt that her favourite animal was as I had assumed, a bird; the house sparrow. And I learnt that she wrote poetry when she was bored; she let me read some and I couldn't stop crying. She also told me about her two closest friends; her cousin, who was still back in France, Marie; and Lillian, an honour student at the National Academy of Music, whose parents worked for Anastasia whenever they were in their spring house. In addition to that, I learned that Anastasia only visited Britain during spring, which was when her father would reveal his spring collection - supposedly the most important of all the yearly fashion collections.

I learnt so much that I would stay up at night thinking over her story, piecing together everything she told into the rest of the puzzle that had clicked together so far. My mind would lull over the way her hazel eyes would shimmer, the way her chestnut hair would blow with the breeze, the way her dimples would pinch her cheeks, and the way her little button nose would squeeze when she smiled for hours, the images repeating over and over. If I could paint, she would be my muse, but I've never been much experienced with a paintbrush or a pencil.

So, remembering that today would be her last day at the country club sent pain rattling through my chest. It was like someone had stabbed me with such a notion as our separation.

If today is going to be the last day I will see her, for months, then I am going to have the best day ever to celebrate. I was going to bring a picnic blanket and some of the sweet treats Mum had helped me bake, sneaking some of Mum's special chardonnay for us to sip on sneakily behind trees. Hopefully, we can sneak some books down to have as well.

"What are you packing, dear?" Mum inquired as she walked past me, moving towards the hallway mirror to hang her earrings. I explained everything - minus the chardonnay, because that would be our little secret - to her, and she chuckled sweetly for a moment. "I'd almost assumed you were planning to go on a date there dear. If you hadn't mentioned Anastasia, well, I would've assumed you were talking about a boyfriend!"

My heart seemed to skip a beat and my breath caught in my throat, butterflies filling my stomach as I gulped down my worries and chuckled along with my mother. I reminded her that we were just friends, but a nagging voice tugged the thought back to the front of my mind without a moment to spare. Pushing everything down didn't work; not whilst we were in the car; not whilst we waited for the Arquettes to arrive; not whilst Anastasia and I wandered off towards the surrounding forest; and most definitely not whilst we sat oh so close to one another, taking long sips of chardonnay and listening to slow jazz on the radio.

"You're quiet…" Anastasia muttered after a slow sip from her flute glass. Her glass rested against the plumpness of her apricot lips, only worsening the mess of my mind. But I nodded, taking another long swig of the burning alcohol, hoping it would help me avoid the conversation.

"I think I know why, but I can't be sure when you seem to be avoiding me. Could you talk to me please?" Anastasia seemed to lean closer towards me, her voice pleading. Something inside me called out, her eyes waiting for mine the moment I turned around. Her hand pulled my face towards hers, soft fingertips sending an unnervingly pleasureful hum through my skin. Watching the grass seemed safer than those eyes, but the temptation was stronger than anyone could manage. There was no way I could resist.

Slowly, my eyes turned up, catching soft pools of adoration and need.

"S'il te plaît chérie, laisse-moi," Her voice drew me closer, the bitter remnants of chardonnay seeping into my nostrils. Her hand reached to the back of my neck to pull me closer, succubine breath fanning my face.

"Anastasia…" The sounds were broken and garbled, riddled with a few too many emotions for me to handle. Those glimmering irises flicked away from me for a moment, and a second later she was back where she was sitting earlier, possibly even further away from memory. With a quick search, the crunch of dead leaves along the ground showed me the lost golfer, searching obliviously for a lost ball from a stray shot. We each straightened and continued light chatter, doing anything we could to seem normal.

"That… phrase you said… just then, what did it mean?" I plead with my softest voice, curling into myself with insecurity. Anastasia poured herself another glass of chardonnay, sculling the glass in one go before breathing a heavy sigh.

"'Please darling, let me'…" She murmured. I think the alcohol was fuzzing up our brains, thoughts louder than my sister when she didn't get her way.

Confidence coursed through my veins the more alcohol leaked into them, taking over me as the golfer left and my legs carried me over soft grass and rough leaves towards Anastasia. My body flung over her lap, arms tenderly around her neck and forehead laying against hers. The space was static, filled with nothing but the silence she so greatly hated.

"I'm so scared," It was barely above a whisper, feeling as though tears were going to burn through my cheeks. But, if neither of us spoke then tears were sure to burn hers, and that cannot happen. "I'm scared because I know it's wrong, but I want it so badly without even noticing," A rough laugh tumbled out of my throat, flustering me just a bit. "I lay awake thinking about you and butterflies fill my stomach whenever we're together. My Mum joked about me talking about a boyfriend when I was talking about you." Anastasia was smiling stupidly, holding my waist with a protectiveness that sent me spinning.

"If I kiss you," I start again, hands balling up the back of her dress as tears drip from my cheeks onto hers. "I'm not sure I'll be able to stay. Please, you need to know if I ever disappear, it isn't because of you. I am just so fucking scared." Anastasia nodded, a sadness shifting over her eyes for a moment.

I was going to hurt her, I'm sure of it. But we both crave it so bad that nothing could hold us apart from each other.

"Say something in French, I love your accent when you do that," The laugh that follows rings out with all the humour that we would usually have, reminding me of all the fun we were leaving behind.

"Okay…" She started, licking her lips and wiggling her hips for a moment before settling again. "Si tu me laissais t'aimer, je pourrais te montrer un million de vies pleines d'amour et de bonheur. That means, 'If you would let me love you, I could show you a million lives full of love and happiness'. One of my favourite lines of poetry." Her smile was something so sad that not a single thought passed before my lips plunged to hers, hungry and feasting for the first time. Her head fell back, giving me freedom to her lips and face.

And, as my greed took the wheel, I took every opportunity she offered, leaving kisses along her forehead and cheeks, caressing her fringe with my ring finger and tasting heaven on her lips for the first time. Her cheeks flushed bright, the colour splotching its way across her chest and arms as warmth bled through her body. The gloss of my lips trailed around her face, highlighting everything I loved about this girl.

It was unfair – no – wrong to take so much and leave so little, but humans are greedy creatures.

And a greedy creature I am.

Pulling away, her face etched into my memory, praying God would bless me with just one miracle and let me keep her there. My family may never find me in heaven, but I will be dancing with Anastasia around Hell for eternity, smiling and thanking him all day long.

"You taste horrible," She joked, sarcasm bleeding between us, laughing ridiculously at the crude comment. "But I'll blame the chardonnay to save your ego, mon amour," I giggled at the nickname, her arms snaking tighter around my waist just to start tickling me. Thrashing around, laughing boisterously and carefree, we enjoyed the moment.

There was no need to grieve our lost relationship, not on our last day together, instead enjoying one another's presence for the final time.

We celebrated the relationship we were allowed to have; the friendship that would hide our romance, and protect us from judgement. History books may remember us as good friends but our hearts would remember the story.

If we have a story.

When we got called to go home, the booze had well worn off, leaving us sober and in perfect mind to lie about the events of the afternoon. Neither of us could tell anyone what had happened, neither of us could afford such backlash.

We were rich with money, yet poor with acceptance.

And, during the car ride home, that reality came crashing over me, the dread of everything sitting heavy on my shoulders. God had forsaken my soul, I was sure, but is it possible to survive with such a truth weighing over me? I'm not sure if I'd survive never seeing my family again, that would always be a mystery. I'm not even sure I could live a lie, even though my life would be so much simpler.

As inviting as our life together may be, and as much as she had captured my heart and soul, fear dropped in my stomach at the heartbreak that will sit on her soul.

"Darling," Mum started, worry blooming through her face, "you've been quiet since the country club. Is it Anastasia leaving? Because we could organise visits if you would like–" Her sentence ended pointedly as my body tensed and lips thinned, sensing my discomfort automatically - as she often does. Maybe because I rejected her worry, or maybe because the idea of seeing her again through the year seemed to leave butterflies fluttering through my stomach, but something felt so irrevocably wrong inside me at her mention. Mum understood me completely, eyes glazed with memories.

"Do you wanna talk when we get home? Some girl talk?" To me, her minor implications made total sense, but Dad only absorbed 'girl talk' and left that conversation for someone with a stronger stomach. Mum raised her eyebrows, body turned against the seat awkwardly, staring. My thumbs twiddled more the closer we grew to the door, nodding along distractedly.

Jillian was standing outside, her nanny standing curtly behind her with a blank look. Jillian's eyes lit up, the childish excitement bringing about a distraction from my misery. Sliding out of the car, Jillian rushed towards me, her small arms struggling to wrap around my much larger body. She pulled the rock of fear out of its depth, launching any sense of disconnect laying lonely on the other side of the lawn.

"How was your day, Evvie?" Jillie pressed enthusiastically, her cheeks youthfully rosy and covered in the same freckles that adorn my face; Anastasia loves my freckles, she doted on them constantly as we talked. My head grew woozy thinking like that in the open air, but thanks to Jillian's young age, she could never understand the emotions that were playing across my face.

"What did you do? Was lunch nice? Did you go swimming? It's much warmer today. What about Anastasia, did you see her and tell her goodbye to me like you said you would? Are you going back again next week or is Mum and Dad sending you back to school? I think school is pretty fun and you're missing out." Jillie kept rambling on, her questions constant, leaving little to no room for doubt or depression.

When Mum managed to fend her off - which took ages because Jillian loves to talk and I can never say no to her - we found ourselves sitting in complete silence, hand in hand, letting all the words go unsaid – yet understood.

That's the one thing I could never fault about Mum: her emotional intelligence. She never needed anything but a look to understand what was happening. She knew that her comment affected me. She knew something had happened while Anastasia and I were off in our own world. She knew everything; she deciphered every muscle movement and every emotion that my eyes flicked through. She always notices, and that's what makes her a great mother.

"You love her, don't you…?" Mum murmured, staying quiet for my sake. I nodded, although hesitantly, shoulders shaking as tears pushed behind my eyelids. "But… You don't want to? Or do you think we won't love you if you do?" Her heart seemed to search for mine, concern filling her eyes as she searched for anything other than my tears.

"I-" My body flinched at the crack, a single tear sliding down my cheek like the lava that destroyed Pompeii. It burned, more because of the anguish than the near-Summer temperatures. "I can't." Mum understood straight away – Mum always understands. She didn't want to convince me otherwise – she understood her limits – so, instead, she just listened. She listened to the tears I shed and the sobs I choked; listened to the shake of my shoulders and the tremble of my hands; listened to the shudder of my spine and the jitter of my jaw.

She held me tight, rubbing my shuddering back and shaking shoulder, massaging out the jitter in my jaw and trembling in my hands, doing her best to get me ready to go back out into the house as though nothing had happened. She whispered sweet words, telling me how happy and how proud she was of me. As my breathing calmed down and the tears came to a halt, she pulled away, assessing me as best she could before determining I would be okay without her help.

"I'll go down to start dinner, if Jillie asks anything just say you're tired. If your father asks anything… Oh, who am I kidding, he won't care or notice." Mum pressed gentle kisses to my forehead, her thumb wiping away a stray tear as she walked out of the room. My hands clenched and unclenched, my breaths shaky but controlled as my brain and body fought to remain composed.

I can control myself. I can forget her. I can be normal. I'm sure I can be normal.

Slowly, my body left the bed, standing tall as my periwinkle dress swayed and I confidently strode out of the room and towards Jillian's. She's just the pick-me-up I need, she always is. Her blissful ignorance of the struggles of the world gave me a space to just… be.

"Evvie!" Her voice rang out like a calming melody, the safety of her plush toys and blank dolls already having its effect. My shoulders relaxed and a smile came rushing back to my face, ready to start forgetting my sorrows.

Returning to the country club, a familiar twist formed in my stomach. But she wasn't going to be here to greet me, she wasn't going to sit under the shade of trees to escape the heat or run through the fields with me to warm up. She was back in France, far enough away that I could survive a day without thinking about her.

But, with no one to play and talk with, and no good books to read without leaving a knife in my heart, I had no choice but to reach out to the only other kid I knew; Andrew.

I don't like him as a person – I don't think anyone does – but talking to him might help solve my problem. He has openly liked me since we started at this country club, and I need to feel semi-normal after everything that happened with Anastasia. Did I like him? No, and a feeling of desperate regret already sat over my head, but there was no other option. I need people to see me as the girl they always known, not some queer who abandoned the path of God just for love; that can never happen.

"Andrew…" I tried to remain soft and innocent, just flustered enough for him to believe the story that I had so carefully sewn that morning. "We've known each other for quite some time now, right?" He nodded, expectation dawning on his face as he laid back further in his seat. "And… from what I've heard… you like me?" I paused, hoping my silence was enough to convince him I had nothing to say. That wasn't true though, there is a precise plan to every word that leaves my mouth, down to the syllable.

He nodded his head, his confident facade falling away with the dawn that he may just get what he wants – again.

"So, would you be interested in… in dating me?" He got his way, pride written all over his smug face. He leaned forward, arms resting on the table in typical male fashion. My hands stayed in my lap, not wanting to touch him unnecessarily, but he reached out to grab them anyway. Andrew pulled them towards the middle of the table, fat sausage fingers rubbing across the back of my thumbs. His palms were sweaty and knuckles hairy, fingers uncleaned and disgusting. I had to stop myself from gagging at the texture of his hands alone.

"I would happily be your boyfriend." It was a statement that sent waves of discomfort through my body, sickening me to my stomach. "But rules; nothing explicit, it has to be saved until marriage. And if you've ever been with anyone I have to know now. If you are out with your friends, I have to join you. And you have to come to my church every Sunday, I don't want you going to yours anymore. And you have to pray with me before we have dates to remember that God is watching us at all times," The rules sickened me. It was controlling, like we had passed into a time long forgotten, but at least that wouldn't leave me any time to think or worry about Anastasia.

So I agreed, understanding it was likely my only chance at any relationship, no matter how much I despised it. He let go of my hands, the fresh air feeling much better than his greasy, disgusting hands.

"These are the rules my father had for my mother before she passed, so you should find them very easy to follow. I'll see you tomorrow, your mother seems to be calling you," I stood up swiftly, my urge to get out of there as quickly as possible consuming my mind. Spiders were crawling along my bones, worms wiggling through my capillaries and maggots squirming behind my eyes. Just moments later, Mum was by my side, my legs practically sprinting full force to get away from him.

"Is this your rebound?" She prodded, arms crossed sternly but body leaning comfortably. "Or is this how you plan to forget about all the feelings you want to ignore?" The shame drowned me, leaving me a deep sea diver without any gear; suffocating in shadows, crushed by pressure, hunted by monsters, with only a pocket-full of people who would even think to save me. Mum's face softened, understanding seeping through her pores and replacing the dismay. Her eyes passed over me, gathering everything they could on their way along.

"You don't need to feel ashamed darling, I understand." Her arm wrapped around my back, pulling me in for a polite hug and placing a soft kiss on my curls. "Come along, let us convince your father to go home. You looked unbelievably uncomfortable in there." We laughed together, Mum understanding everything about my feelings. She experienced everything first-hand; holding onto the hand that syphoned away every ounce of life you had left, but acting as though it was all you ever wanted in life. She understood everything.

Making our way to Dad, Mum chattered about her life when she was around my age. She told me about how, back then, just as the First World War was drawing to an end, Mum was constantly around women and girls. Her father, Grandpa, was enlisted, as was our Uncle Henry, meaning Mum was around her Grandmother, and all her friends and their nannies. She started to forget what it was like to be around men, and she forgot how she was supposed to feel about them. Mum was home-taught, her governess being a young, kind woman, who encouraged Mum to remain abstinent and engage as little as possible with men. Over the years, seeing her governess every day – the young, beautiful, incredibly intelligent governess – meant that she started to blur the lines between adoration and affection.

It wasn't the same, since she married my Dad and had two children with him. But she understood what was happening in my heart, because she dealt with it not so long ago. That's why she understands my eagerness to forget.

"Your story may end differently Evvie. We live in a time now where many will ridicule you, but many will accept you, now more than any before you. I didn't have the option, no one would've let me continue feeling that way so," Her eyes glassed over as they met Dad's, our slow walk falling to a stop as memories seemed to rush through her mind, previously hidden underneath the rest of her life. "I stopped. You don't have to. But, I won't tell you it's a bad idea, that's something I can't decide for you." Our sights remained on one another for a beat, the same sadness filming over both our eyes, an understanding swaying loosely between us.

"Let us go talk to your father and say our goodbyes, yeah? I feel like we've both had too many difficult decisions and maddening memories today." Mum's hand rested at the small of my back, the ribbon of my belt falling loose as her fingers pulled and twisted the satin. I swear she mumbled something along the lines of, "I need something stronger than sweet tea.", but Mum would never admit to such a comment.

However, if she did admit it, I'd let her know, "Me too, Mum."