After dinner they clear the table and move the dishes to the sink. Verdene washes the plates and Margot dries them. They settle in each other’s company, pleasantly full and mindful of their tasks. “I’ll get that,” Verdene says when Margot picks up a small Dutch pot—the one that was used to cook the potatoes.
Margot continues to dry the inside of it like she has been doing to the others. Verdene almost grabs the dish towel. “Just leave it. It dries on its own.”
“It’s just a pot,” Margot says.
“Not just any pot. My mother left me that pot. Margot, please. Respect my wishes.”
“Are you choosing her over me?” Margot asks, startled.
“This is not about choosing. This is about accepting certain things about me. If you care about me like I care about you, then you respect my wishes.”
Margot picks up the towel that Verdene had taken from her and begins to dry the utensils. She doesn’t say anything for a while. Verdene senses her resentment and pulls her close. “When I returned to Jamaica, I didn’t know what I would do. I didn’t even know why I agreed to come back. All those years that I was in London, I hardly spoke to my mother, fearing the disappointment in her voice. I felt guilty when she passed. I felt I owed it to her to be here. But then I got here, and there you were. The universe was trying to tell me that love lives here.”
Margot rests her weight on Verdene, who leans against the kitchen sink, each soothed by the beating of the other woman’s heart. Suddenly Margot cannot bear to go another night resisting her impulses. She lifts her face and holds Verdene’s gaze, hoping her eyes have a look that confesses that her body is warm and impatient under her dress. They kiss deeply, fervidly, as though it is the one thing they have been denied. Verdene carefully undoes Margot’s dress as if any swift movement might change Margot’s mind and send her running again. But Margot surprises Verdene by gently holding her hands, lowering them, and shaking her head. Without a word, she undresses Verdene, untying the bows on the front of her nightgown. One of the bows knots, and they smile as Margot uses her nails to meticulously unknot it. The nightgown slides to Verdene’s feet in a lilac pool. Margot then peels Verdene’s underwear down her hips and it joins her nightgown around her ankles. When they are both naked, Margot steps out of the circle of her dress and stands back. Verdene—with her hands at her sides, the small risings of her breasts, the faint ripple of flesh on her stomach, and the trimmed triangular crease between her legs—is beautiful and desirable just standing there. In all the years Margot has seduced others, she has never been fully aware, fully invested in savoring every moment of intimacy. Before Verdene looks away, flushed as though anticipating Margot’s refusal, Margot pulls her close. Verdene opens her mouth wider to receive Margot’s tongue. They walk to the bedroom, their mouths together still and hips joined. Margot glances at the window—at the black patch of night, at Miss Ella’s turned picture frame. A flit of panic nearly stops her in her tracks and almost prompts her to reach for the light switch. But with Verdene’s slow, controlled caress, a current of pure pleasure washes over Margot and she collapses onto the bed, on top of Verdene. Margot quickly forgets about the window and Miss Ella and the lights, and shudders when Verdene, rolling her over, one by one takes her breasts into her mouth, which eventually wanders to the meeting of her hips. Margot pulls Verdene between her impatient thighs and arches her back to receive not only the thrill of Verdene’s body, but a deeper understanding of what it means to feel connected to a whole person. She lets out a joyous cry, surprised by this new, alien feeling—one that has surpassed the ripple of pleasure that comes from Verdene’s deliberate, measured strokes; and plunges her into the molten depths of possession.