Chapter Twenty-Three
Skye lived in nearby Lorton, so we picked a restaurant there for dinner. Unlike the trendy spots in the city, Giorgio’s was a quaint little Italian place tucked away beside a subdivision. It reminded me of Layla’s, so I loved it immediately. The hostess gave me a warm smile and led me to a table fit snugly into the back corner. The ceiling was low, giving the table a cozy intimacy. It was a ridiculously charming spot and the perfect place for a first date with someone as deep and sensitive as Skye.
I chose the chair with a view of the front door and ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio while I waited. The waiter introduced himself and told me to catch his eye if I needed anything before Skye arrived. I sipped my wine and spied on the other tables to settle my nerves. Everyone here seemed to be on a date. Right next to me sat a man and woman in their seventies who couldn’t keep their eyes off each other.
I amused myself watching them go through the steps of their obviously well-known dance. They chatted so easily. I wondered what on earth they could have to talk about after so many years together. My parents had been deeply in love, but they never had the chance to grow old together. I never met any of my grandparents. My father’s parents hated my mother and blamed her for their son’s left-leaning political views so contrary to their own. They never came to visit any of us and, when they died, my father didn’t attend their funerals. My mother’s parents divorced young. She’d barely known her father and her mother had not been a kind woman. It had always been our little family against the world. All my school friends’ parents had been divorced or single parents. Pen’s mother had died when she was a teenager and her father never remarried. I’d met him a few times over the years, but he and Pen had little contact.
Laying it out like that, I realized how little contact I’d had with stable relationships. Maybe that’s why I craved one so much. Why I had married so young. Why I had latched on to the first person who came my way afterward. Why I put myself through this crucible for the slightest glimmer of happiness. I looked back to the door, hoping to see Skye there to rescue me from my gloomy thoughts. All I saw was a small congregation of servers at the hostess’s stand.
My phone buzzed and I checked it under the table.
Running about 15 min late. So sorry. Have a glass of wine and I’ll be there soon.
“Way ahead of you,” I mumbled and sipped my Pinot.
It wasn’t the best start, but I could excuse a little lateness. Not everyone could leave work early like me and Skye’s work seemed demanding. The waiter came by and I told him that my date was running late. He was kind, waving away my apology, and offered to bring me breadsticks to hold me over. I didn’t think I’d need them—fifteen minutes wasn’t a long time—but I agreed because he was kind. After he was gone, I did a quick Google search on content creators. It was hard to define the job, but it seemed like they made blog posts and handled social media for rich people.
I munched on a breadstick and wondered what could hold someone late at work as a content creator. Was there such a thing as a Twitter emergency? Did blogs have hard deadlines? It wasn’t the most charitable thought, but the elderly couple had woven their fingers together as they headed for the door like the happiest humans in the universe. I doubted that a love like that started with one of them showing up fifteen minutes late to their first date.
With them gone, I scanned the room to find something else to distract me. I was happy to see a lesbian couple leaning across their table toward each other as they talked. One was small and butch, wearing a pinstripe shirt and suspenders. She had the look of a woman who worked with her hands and took pride in dressing up. Her skin was several shades darker above her neckline than the almost rose-pink showing at her open collar. Her date was taller, her skin glowing a fine sienna in the low light. Her broad build filled her off-the-shoulder dress. Her hand rested on the table between them and I watched her gasp as her girlfriend stroked the palm with her fingertips.
“Would you like another?”
I’d been so intent on my people watching that I jumped at the question. My server was back and, more surprisingly, my glass was empty. I checked the time. It had been twenty minutes since Skye’s text and there was still no sign of them.
“Yes,” I said as I picked up my phone. “I will. Thank you.”
I texted Skye asking if everything was okay and, to my relief, I got an immediate response.
Five minutes away
An apology would have been nice, but they were probably pulling into the parking lot if they were that close. I checked my outfit to make sure I looked perfect for their arrival. Like the woman across the restaurant, I’d chosen an off-the-shoulder dress for the evening. If only I could fill it out as well as she did. Still, it was simple and elegant without being too dressy. I wondered now, however, if I looked like I was trying too hard. This date seemed far more casual in Skye’s estimation than it was in mine. Maybe I was putting too much pressure on this.
Ten minutes after Skye’s text I stopped watching the door. The group of servers was still there and I caught a few pitying looks my way. There was definitely whispering. I turned my attention back to the lesbian couple, but they were looking at me, too. I caught a sad little shake of the head from the butch.
Just like that, I crumpled. Like any woman, I’d learned long ago how to keep my face neutral while I wept inside, but it was harder this time. With a jolt I realized I’d never been stood up before. Not surprising when one had such a limited dating experience, but it pained me to realize that’s what was happening. Skye’s texts said they were coming, but it was hard to believe them.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t stand up and saunter out, my head held high. The wine and the humiliation combined to paralyze my legs. If I tried to leave now the whole restaurant would see me stumble and that would be much worse than sitting still. Besides, there was a chance that Skye would still show.
Fifteen minutes later, the lesbian couple left. They both looked over at me while they walked out, the butch’s hand resting on her girlfriend’s lower back. People at other tables were looking at me now, too. The servers weren’t hiding their stares and whispers anymore. No one was laughing, so there was a tiny glimmer of hope, but I decided that it was time I gather up my dignity and leave. When my waiter passed close a moment later, I asked for the check.
He arrived with my bill—he’d only charged me for one glass of wine which felt as much like pity as kindness—when the door crashed open and Skye charged in. The cluster of servers stood and stared, not sure how to handle this particular arrival, while Skye scanned the small room. It took them a ridiculously long time to spot me. They stumbled into an empty chair in their haste to cross the room.
“Kieran, I am so…” They collapsed into a chair and slid half out of it. “I’m s’ sorry. I’m late.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I replied in the flattest voice I could manage. The waiter was still standing at my elbow, apparently frozen in place by the turn of events.
“I’m sorry.” Skye slid on the chair a little more, grabbing at the tablecloth in an attempt to steady themselves. “Lemme make it up t’you.”
The words slurred at the edges and brought the smell of bourbon across the table. I looked more closely at Skye and noticed a few details I’d missed. They were wearing a tailored jacket and a buttoned shirt open at the throat, but the shirt collar was wrapped over the jacket collar in more than one place. The tail of the shirt was peeking out of their jeans and their hair was mussed in odd places.
“Are you drunk?” I demanded in a loud whisper.
“No!” After a beat they turned bright red and stammered, “A little?”
“Did you drive here in that state?”
“No. Took’n Uber.”
“Then you can take an Uber home.”
The waiter finally came to his senses and turned to leave. In a flash Skye’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “Wait. We wanna order. I’ll have a glass of wha’ th�
� lady’s having.”
“If you would be so kind as to let go of me,” the waiter said, an edge of anger in his voice.
Skye dropped the waiter’s hand immediately and I saw the red imprint on his arm. They slunk back into their chair and mumbled another apology. He left without a word and I prayed he wasn’t actually getting that glass of wine.
“I cannot believe you…” I stopped and lowered my voice, leaning across the table so I could speak to Skye without embarrassing myself any further. “Why did you even come here? You’re an hour late and drunk. What on earth…”
“Lemme esplain.” Skye swallowed, trying to shake the slur out of their voice. How much had they had to drink? “I’s working.”
“You were drinking.”
“It was a work func-tion. I couldn’ get out of it. It was a dinner, but I was gonna leave early so I di’n’t order any food. I shouldn’ve had the wine either.”
“You don’t smell like wine.”
“Had a drink wi’ my boss.” Their eyes narrowed and the red that had appeared in their cheeks and neck was getting brighter. “I’ve a career to maintain.”
“You could have rescheduled with me.”
“I di’n’t want…” They met my eye and I knew they were lying. They turned abruptly, looking over their shoulder. “Where’s th’ waiter. I’ll take ‘at glass of wine now.”
I slipped cash into the binder with my bill and stood. “You’ve had enough and so have I.”
As I passed, Skye reached for my hand, but I knew to avoid the contact. When I whipped my hand out of their reach they said, “Please, Kieran. I ‘s nervous.”
That stopped me. “What?”
“I ‘s nervous to meet you.” They slid out of the chair and for a heart stopping moment I thought they’d passed out, but they stood shakily and took a deep, settling breath. “Your messages were so witty and I could n-never match that.”
“You did! Your first message to me was perfect.”
“It took me a f-full day to write it!” They grabbed at their hair like a person at the extremity of frustration. “I worked on it all night and all day and then you responded back in like five minutes. How c’n I compete with that?”
“Don’t you do that for a living? Isn’t that what you do as a content creator?”
“I write snarky Tweets for boring musicians and desperate housewives. It makes me…no wait…it takes me hours to write two hun’red-eighty characters!”
I could have spared them some shame by coming clean about Pen’s help, but Skye chose that moment to lunge at me for a kiss. The waiter hadn’t gone far. When I squealed at Skye’s movement, he was there with an arm around my date, pulling them away.
“Gimme ‘nother chance! Please?” Skye bellowed.
The waiter looked at me and I shook my head, so he held on to Skye as I ran from the restaurant.
Chapter Twenty-Four
After two glasses of wine, I decided to leave my car at the restaurant and take an Uber to meet Pen. She was cruising at nearby Workhouse Arts Center, which was holding a Pride Month market featuring queer artists. Abby had invited the regulars from Riveter’s since she was exhibiting her paintings there, and Pen had decided it would be a hot spot for the artsy Northern Virginia lesbian population. I requested a quiet ride and hunkered in the back seat. My mood swerved from angry to embarrassed to sad. Had the journey been longer, perhaps I would have landed on one emotion, but it was only a few miles to the gallery.
It was packed and I had a moment of panic, worried that the queer couple I’d watched at the restaurant would be ending their night out here. They had been the first to recognize I was being stood up and I didn’t think I could face them again. For a heartbeat, I considered turning around and heading back home, but I needed Pen more than I needed my pride. Humiliation had already happened, and if the couple was there, nothing would change.
Workhouse Arts Center had originally been a prison complex, but the living quarters were repurposed into art studios in the early 2000s. Six buildings holding more than one hundred studio spaces now surrounded a courtyard that was often transformed into an open-air market and exhibition space.
I stormed into the crowd, seeking but not seeing in my anger. I sought out the darkest corners and the most secluded studios because I knew I’d find Pen in one of them. I was right.
She was standing in the dimly lit corner where two buildings met, a lithe twenty-something blonde plastered all over her, trying to see how far down Pen’s throat her tongue would fit. I leaned against a brick column nearby and tapped my foot. When they came up for air Pen looked my way with a lopsided grin. The woman giggled and dropped back down onto her heels. She had been on tiptoe, her exposed cleavage as close as she could get it to Pen’s chin.
I turned an apologetic smile on the woman and tried to be nice, I really did, but I was back in a wave of anger. The words came out before my brain could stop them. “I’m sorry to be a bitch, but can you fuck off? I need to talk to Penelope.”
The blonde blinked at me and it looked like she was trying to figure out who Penelope was. It took an eternity for the penny to drop. When it did, she whipped her head around to stare at Pen.
“You said you were single!”
It probably didn’t help matters that Pen laughed and said, “I am.”
“Bullshit. You’re a lying…” Her tirade was interrupted by a botched attempt to disentangle herself from Pen’s legs. Pen wasn’t stopping her, but she still had a hard time removing her ankle hooked around Pen’s. She finally got free, adjusted her skirt and stormed off, shouting over her shoulder, “Bitch!”
“Come on, Kieran. I was totally gonna score with that one.”
My sad mood kicked in as the blonde disappeared into the crowd. “I’m such an asshole.”
Pen didn’t seem the least bit phased, but when she put a warm hand on my shoulder I lost it completely. One minute I was fine, the next minute I was a blubbering, sobbing mess right there in the open-air gallery. My humiliation was truly complete.
“Penelope Anne Chase,” shouted a familiar voice.
I looked up in time to see our favorite bartender storming over from her place behind a nearby table. Abby wore a paint-speckled apron and a nametag identifying her as a vendor. I’d expected to see her here, but I certainly didn’t want to cry in front of her. I turned to the wall and tried to quiet my sobbing against the bricks.
“What the hell did you do to Kieran?” I heard Abby growl over my sobs.
“Nothing! It wasn’t me!”
Abby’s anger became a flood of mumbled curses and threats. Her hand, weighed down with at least six elaborate rings, landed next to Pen’s on my shoulder.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” She asked me in a cooing voice. “What happened?”
I couldn’t answer through my hiccupping sobs, so Pen leaned close and told Abby that she guessed my date hadn’t gone well. Abby made several consoling sounds but stopped short of saying, “Again?” With my tears explained, she apparently felt safe leaving me with my best friend. I thought my crying would stop, then I remembered the servers staring at me as Skye tumbled into the restaurant and the whole thing started again.
Pen’s hard-soled shoes scraped along the concrete and then her arms were around me. The air I’d been gulping suddenly smelled like lavender and sandalwood. Breathing was a lot easier when the air smelled so sweet. The night was chilly and my exposed shoulders were like ice, but I didn’t notice until Pen’s cheek pressed into one. It warmed me through to my broken heart, which managed to beat at a steadier rhythm. I fell into her embrace, allowing her to pull me into the circle of her arms. People were probably staring, but I didn’t care. The only thing I cared about was Pen soothing all the battered parts of me.
“Better?” she whispered against the top of my head.
It wasn’t. Not really. I could crawl away from here tonight and still feel like shit. The only place it was okay was here where she hugged me and listened a
bout my terrible night and, if I was lucky, teased me about it until it didn’t hurt so badly. If I said I was better now, I’d lose the comfort of her arms around me and I wasn’t strong enough for that yet. Then again, I thought as a tear rolled down my cheek onto her shoulder, my mascara was doing nothing for her beige jacket.
“Oh god, Pen!” I shot up straight and saw the stain. She’d never be able to get it out. “Your jacket. I’m so sorry.”
She looked at the smear of makeup and laughed, turning those kind eyes on me and making me feel warm all over again. “Don’t worry. I know a good dry cleaner.”
I couldn’t open my mouth because tears were threatening again. I pressed my lips together and swallowed a sob. She led me to a nearby metal bench and sat so close her hip was touching mine.
“Hey,” Pen said, taking my hands in hers. “I can still sleep with that chick. You don’t have to cry.” She winked. “It’ll be fine.”
My guffaw was as abrupt as it was unexpected. Leave it to Pen to make me laugh on a night like tonight. Still, the tears were threatening and all I wanted were Pen’s arms around me again. I curled into her embrace without the slightest protest. She wrapped me up and pressed her cheek against the top of my head. I closed my eyes and took a long, slow breath. As I let it out, lips pressed against my forehead and then my eyebrow.
I could feel Pen’s lips against my forehead. I could feel how gentle and strong they were against my eyebrow. She left them pressed against each spot for the space of two heartbeats. I held my breath each time, worried I’d sob again and scare her off. I’d thought the band of her arms around me was bliss, but it was nothing compared to this.
In an instant, the whole world felt right again. It was warm and soft and smelled good. The sounds of the party—the voices and music—all faded into a distant hum as I curled tighter into Pen’s arms. I slipped my hands under her jacket and up her back, gripping hard at her shoulders. My hands were cold against her warm shirt and I felt her sharp intake of breath against my cheek. When I tried to pull my hands away, she squeezed me tighter. Sooner than I would have liked, the world around us came back to life.
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