Page 69 of Saving Graces
“I’m in country music,” she said, her voice rigid. “Do you know what that means or did you literally not pay attention to what just happened to the Dixie Chicks? You think I can just blithely walk around saying whatever I want? Do you think the label would even let me?”
“Do you even know what it would mean for the young queer people I see, to be able to look up and know you were one of them?” Rosalie countered. “Sucks for them that holding onto your passing privilege and this big pile of cash is more important to you.”
She stalked out, unable to stand the way she’d just made Savannah’s face crumple.
She seethed all the way to her car. And then she crumpled too. It wasn’t Savannah’s fault that the game was rigged, that homophobia existed or that country music hated strong women. It also wasn’t Savannah’s fault that Rosalie hated her fiance with a fiery passion. And it certainly wasn’t Savannah’s fault that part of Rosalie’s hate was still wrapped up with a twist of jealousy.
She drove home crying. She parked her car and took the stairs to her little apartment, comparing it in her mind to the vast estate she’d just left. Maybe their friendship really was doomed.
She called her girlfriend and vented, but refused her offer to come over. She could hear the exasperation in Sam’s voice as she accused Rosalie of shutting her out, even though she had literally just called her to confide. She got off the phone feeling even worse than before. Eventually, she got into her pajamas and grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge, staring blindly at the television screen over a bowl of cold ramen. Then she frowned and turned down the TV. Someone was knocking at her door.
Rosalie opened the door and froze. She and Savannah blinked at each other for a moment. Then she pulled the whole strange shiny new version of her old friend into her arms and they held each other, both crying.
“I’m sorry,” Rosalie said into Savannah’s hair. God, she even smelled expensive now.
“No, you’re right,” Savannah wept. “You’re right about all of it.”
Rosalie pulled her inside her apartment and sat her down on the couch. She waved her hand toward the empty bowl on the coffee table. “My housekeeper and my butler are both away right now.”
Savannah snorted out a laugh and rolled her eyes. “Shut up. You’re literally the worst.”
“I do still love you,” Rosalie said, “even though you’re a bazillionaire and your teeth probably glow in the dark now.”
Savannah laughed, shoving her with her foot.
“I love you back, even though you’re a self-righteous, high-and-mighty pain in the ass.” They smiled at each other. “Anyway,” Savannah said, her face going serious, “I have an idea.”
“Oh?”
And that was how the Rachel Carlson Centre came into being.
Rosalie flinched when Savannah suggested the name.
“Like a memorial,” she said flatly.
Savannah shook her head.
“Like a homing beacon,” she said.
“A bat signal just for trans people?” Rosalie asked, smiling. “I’m pretty sure Rachel would love that.”
Chapter Nineteen
Snow fell all through the night, lying thick on the lush grounds of the mansion in Vermont. Kinsey was still curled deep into the warm blankets when a knock sounded on the guestroom door. She rubbed her eyes.
Mornings had never featured in her hookups with Rosalie, but it made some kind of sense that leaving Rosalie to stew for the night was exactly the kind of thing that would draw her in closer. She wondered exactly what Rosalie was going to say to get Kinsey back in her bed again. Or maybe - Kinsey’s heart rate started to speed up - Rosalie had finally worked out what it was she actually wanted.
“Come in,” she said softly, pulling herself to sit up in bed, and to her surprise, it was Cassidy who entered, closing the door behind her. “Hey,” Kinsey said, frowning in the low light streaming in around the curtains. Cassidy came all the way over and sat on her bed. Kinsey realized, with alarm, that she was crying.
“Hey,” Cassidy said, her voice small. Kinsey pushed back the covers and quickly pulled her in to hug her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, as for the second time in less than twenty-four hours she held a crying woman against her shoulder. Cassidy cried harder. “Oh honey,” Kinsey said, holding her tightly.
After a minute, Cassidy pulled back.“Lane dumped me.”
“What?”
“I mean, they didn’t break up with me exactly, but they said they wanted a break.”
