It had been easier to talk through the music because she hadn’t allowed herself to hear the lyrics. Now, in their shared silence, she could hear them all. She could hear her wife’s terrible singing voice trying to sing those lyrics to her as they did dishes. She could feel her wife pressed up against her when they’d danced to the song in the living room. The tears came slowly at first, but by the time the song ended, they were in full force, and she felt Sharon move underneath her. Expecting her to want to get away from a clearly broken woman, she went to sit up, but Sharon had only been reaching for a box of tissues on the table. She passed one to Debra and moved the box to the bed right next to them.
“Again?” Sharon asked her softly.
Debra nodded and pressed play. She held the tissue to her face and continued to cry until she just couldn’t cry anymore. Then, she stopped the song and wiped her face.
“Want to play a different song now?” Sharon asked, running her soothing hand through Debra’s hair.
“I wantyouto play one,” she replied with a sniffle. “I don’t want this to be all about me.”
“I will,” Sharon said. “But I’m okay going through all of yours first.”
“All of mine will probably make me cry,” she said with a little chuckle.
“I’m sure there’s a song you love that doesn’t make you cry. Just pick that one. We can do this all day, if we want, so there’s nothing stopping us from playing a hundred songs.”
“My dad and I used to listen to Queen together. He loved them and shared that with me.”
“I love Queen,” Sharon told her.
“No, you don’t.” Debra shook her head in disbelief.
“Want to check my phone? My mom loved playing them when she cooked dinner, so I grew up listening to them. My favorite isSomebody to Love.”
“That’s one of my favorites, too,” she shared. “Want to listen to it? I have it.”
“Yeah, let’s do it,” Sharon replied and kissed the top of her head before Debra pressed play.
CHAPTER 49
Sharon
Sharon listened to the song. It was one she’d planned to share with Debra anyway. It made her think of her mom, who loved to cook. She worked full-time and still cooked dinner every night. She’d always told Sharon that cooking was what she did to relax after a long day at work, so Sharon had believed it would be the same for her, but she hated cooking.
“I can’t do it,” she said in the middle of the song’s second play on Debra’s phone. “I read the recipe; I follow all the instructions; I call my mom and ask her what to do, and it still doesn’t taste the same, my kitchen is a disaster, and I feel like I’ve wasted an hour. I tried lasagna a few weeks ago, and after all of that work, it tasted the same or maybe worse than the kind I could’ve gotten in a box at the store and just put in the oven for an hour or something.”
“Not everyone is a cook, babe,” Debra said.
“I know. But what I don’t understand is how she’s able to do it with the same ingredients and steps, and it tastes amazing. Her kitchen wasn’t a disaster in the end.”
“You said she’s relaxed with cooking. Is it stressful for you?”
“Yes. I’m not a fan.”
“Well, that’s probably why, then. She’s relaxed while she cooks. You’re not.”
“How exactly does that make something taste better?” she asked with a laugh.
“I have no idea.” Debra laughed back before she turned off the song, moved the phone behind her, slipped her hand under Sharon’s shirt, and rested it on her abdomen. “I can cook,” she added.
“You can?”
“Yes. I can’t say it’s entirely relaxing, but I enjoy it most of the time, and I try to cook dinner at least four or five times a week.”
“Any chance I would be invited over for some of those dinners?”
“You can come over for dinner whenever you want.”
“And I could maybe stay over after?”
