a letter and a kiss
But I couldn’t bring myself to leave my house; I didn’t dare face her, unsure of what I might do with her standing in front of me. I was terrified of losing control to my impulses, of making this already complicated situation worse. So, the most reasonable option at the time seemed to be writing her a brief letter where I could express myself clearly, without the risk of getting lost in her eyes, in her thighs...
I went up to my room, closed the door gently, and began the task that, unbeknownst to me at the time, would take hours.
"My dearest Katherine,
I’m not sure how to approach this situation—I’m not sure of anything. This afternoon, at your house, I was vulnerable and… I gave in to an unknown, primal impulse. As ashamed as I am to admit it, I enjoyed the moment, and I know full well you did too. I don’t know how you feel about what happened, so I can’t speak for both of us, but as far as I’m concerned, it was a small accident, nothing more.
I don’t think we should throw our good reputations away. For that reason, and in my opinion, this incident should remain between us. Imagine the scandal it would cause in the neighborhood if this got out! Not to mention that I’m married—a separate issue altogether.
It seems reasonable to keep our distance for a while, at least until things settle down. Until then, my best wishes,
Bree"
After hours of erasing, crossing out, crumpling, and tossing drafts, I had finally completed a perfect letter—respectful and direct. To avoid running into Katherine, I asked Andrew, with the utmost discretion, to slip the envelope under her door. Feeling satisfied, I decided the best thing to do was head to the temple to say some prayers.
However, upon entering the empty church, I wasn’t overcome by the familiar sense of calm I usually felt when stepping into the space. I couldn’t align my soul with God; I couldn’t receive communion. After the service ended, I remained seated on the pew, motionless, mentally begging for a sign, a touch from God, something to tell me He was there.
But I couldn’t feel Him. Because amidst my extensive and torturous reflections, a small, weak voice whispered. Its faint thread of sound questioned God’s love, the Bible, the gospels. I had always considered homosexuality a sin, without giving it much thought, but… why? Where exactly was sodomy forbidden? Where did the Testaments mention the sin of love between equals?
At the time, I attributed these doubts to pure personal greed, a way to justify my sin. However, the more I thought about it, the stronger they became. It made more and more sense that the prohibition of homosexual relationships was a medieval way of subjugating women to men, of controlling the population. That ignoring such relationships in nature perpetuated the narrative of "homosexuality = unnatural." I had blindly believed these ideas from the moment they were introduced to me, but now, upon critical review, I began to see flaws in the preachers’ logic.
I returned home. After parking the car and preparing to enter my house to make dinner, furious footsteps and harsh whispers brought me to an abrupt halt. But after identifying the source of the sounds, my first instinct was to run. Because it was Katherine approaching, holding my letter in one hand and clenching the other into a fist. Her furrowed brow and tearful eyes were the only reason I couldn’t move.
“‘My dearest Katherine’?! ‘Unknown impulse’? What’s your problem?!” She was sobbing profusely and yelling at the top of her lungs.
“Katherine, lower your voice, for heaven’s sake—everyone will hear you!”
“Oh, oh, that’s true. What a tragedy! What a horror! I tremble at the mere thought of people finding out about this.” Sarcastic and sharp, as always.
“Hey, hey, let’s go to your house and talk about it, okay?” I tried to calm her down while glancing nervously at my house, worried that Orson might see or hear us.
“What for? So you can run away again? Oh no, no, Mrs. Van de Kamp, we’re going to talk about this here and now.”
I grabbed her firmly by the arm and dragged her into my garage as she protested and struggled. Once inside, I said:
“Fine, okay. I admit the letter wasn’t the best idea, but… give me a break!”
“Oh sure, Bree, because you’re the only one affected by this situation. Am I wrong?” She looked at me, demanding answers.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I know I’m being selfish, but I…”
“But what? You don’t feel anything for me? Because your letter made that pretty clear.”
“No, it’s not that, but…”
“You don’t want anyone to find out? You don’t want your precious God to punish you? You don’t want to hurt Orson? Tell me, Bree, enlighten me.”
“KATHERINE, LISTEN!” I was crying as I uttered the following words. “No, I don’t want anyone to find out. No, I don’t want God to punish me. No, I don’t want to hurt Orson. What I feel for you is strong, very strong—maybe the only real emotion I’ve felt in years. But no, simply no. This… this has no future. We can’t be together. I don’t want to deal with the neighborhood rumors, the gossiping old ladies, or social rejection.”
“Bree…”
“No, no! This is too much for me, Katherine. It’s hard for me to look at you; it’s hard for me to touch you. Every word out of your mouth makes my heart race. Your sharp remarks, the look of concentration you get while cooking, your eyes when you look at your daughter… You drive me absolutely crazy, Katherine Mayfair, and we can’t be together—ever.”
She gently took hold of my face, giving me time to pull away. But I didn’t resist when her lips brushed against mine. Unlike our first kiss—passionate and raw—this one was like the caress of a spring sun. We held each other tightly as our mouths melded softly. Her hand tenderly stroked the back of my neck; mine rested on her hip. Finally, we broke apart.
“I’m not going to fight for what I feel for you, Bree."