You can kiss a hundred boys...
"Hi, Bree! What a pleasant surprise, I wasn’t expecting you. Ah, did you come for your blender? I’ll go get it now. Come in while you wait." She either chose to ignore my red-rimmed eyes or was simply too absorbed in the frantic search for my blender. Either way, I was grateful she let me in, grateful for her presence.
The emptiness that had settled in my chest since the catastrophic news didn’t seem so painful with her around. Truth be told, nothing did; all my worries felt light and manageable by her side.
Sitting on the sofa, I listened to the sounds of my friend rummaging in the kitchen. I had time to notice the incredible cleaning job she had done since the Scavo kids had made quite the mess. The apple juice stains, however, were now gone. As were the empty trays, half-finished champagne glasses, and the solitary coat with no owner.
Everything was different, yet somehow the same. The same house, the same chairs, the same woman.
My thoughts were interrupted by Katherine’s sudden entrance into the living room. She carried two steaming cups of tea, my blender, and a radiant smile.
"Here you go, thank you so much, dear. Well, I couldn’t help but notice Andrew’s car outside. What a wonderful surprise his arrival must have been! I thought he was coming later. Wait—what are you doing here instead of being with your son?" She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, waiting for a response.
"Well, Katherine, that’s the reason I came. Um… Andrew brought some… unfortunate news. And, well..."
"Oh no, I hope everything’s all right. Do you want to talk about it?" The concern in her gaze and her hand on my shoulder threw me off, but I made an effort to string my words together.
"Yes, no, it’s just… Danielle… You know, she’s a problematic girl, and she’s asked me… She’s asked me not to contact her." My voice broke as I said the last words. Tears threatened to return, but with great effort, I kept my composure.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure what made me share the problems weighing on me. I had always been a reserved woman, always trying to solve my issues on my own. But here, with her, just us. It was this undeniable feeling of familiarity, the flame that had ignited in my heart upon seeing her. Her gaze could make me speak, laugh, murmur...
And she had torn down all my shields. Shields I had built since childhood, shields none of my husbands had been able to penetrate. Yet she—she, in a single year, had accomplished what no one else had, what my lovers had tried to do.
A feeling that surpassed even my fervent faith in Christ. A feeling that made me question my beliefs, my way of life, my very self.
I was not just any woman; I was Bree Van de Kamp, the model neighbor. The organizer of the neighborhood’s best parties, the county’s best cook, the perfect Christian.
"Oh, Bree, I’m so sorry." The hand on my shoulder began to move up and down my arm. Each motion turned my grief into warmth. I couldn’t take it anymore.
"I… I have to go." My face was flushed, and my hands were trembling.
I started walking toward the door, hand on the doorknob, but an unexpected shout made me turn, startled.
"BREE VAN DE KAMP. I’ve had enough. I’m sorry, but these past few weeks have been a nightmare. You don’t talk to me like you used to; you don’t look me in the eye. You shy away from my touch and disappear without explanation. Like yesterday, at the party..."
That was the breaking point, the needle that popped the bubble. With determined steps, I let go of the doorknob, walked over, grabbed her face firmly, and planted a kiss on her red lips. Our hands frantically sought each other’s skin, our tongues moving in an accelerated rhythm. Her skin was soft under my touch, her hands warm on my neck. Her body against mine—or perhaps mine against hers—became one. All I could hear were our hearts, synchronized, pounding quickly, transcending our bodies and desires.
After a few seconds, or perhaps hours, of frenzy, I pulled away.
"What have I done?" I exclaimed. And I fled her house.