“I don’t date strangers,” he’d told me. “How do I know if I like you if we aren’t friends first?”
That had really worked for me. I fell in love with him in that moment. We got married two years later, a week after high school graduation. Everyone said it was too fast, but I knew I’d found the best guy in the world. A few months later he got a great job with a military contractor in DC and we moved away from home. It had been so surreal to start married life that young, with no safety net apart from each other.
Northern Virginia was only a three-hour drive from Morgantown, but it might as well have been on a different planet. My parents had lived inside a progressive university bubble, but its borders were sharp and confined. It was not the place where I could find the real me, even in the more open-minded collegiate environment. The DC suburbs were full of people who made me feel normal and welcome, but there were bubbles in DC, too. Nick’s company was full of macho men with conservative wives. Nick loved it, but I cringed with every new party invitation.
Around the time I met Pen, the military industrial complex where Nick was thriving was in an uproar over the impending end of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. The conversations at Nick’s work functions made my skin crawl. Like how they’d have to have two sets of showers, one for the straight men, one for the gay men to keep the straight guys safe. I started spending more time with Pen and I relished having a friend that shared my worldview. Nick enjoyed his “time with the guys.” I don’t know when we stopped being each other’s best friend.
It was fine until I also realized that I wasn’t exactly straight. There wasn’t a lightning-bolt moment and I didn’t fall in love with someone else. I’d just met Pen at Riveter’s for drinks one night like usual and realized that I found several of the women at the bar attractive. That was it. A harmless attraction I had no intention of acting upon. The more I explored my own feelings, the queerer I’d felt. Finally I understood what was weird about me and it was so liberating.
When I realized that my newly understood orientation didn’t affect my love for my husband, I felt even better about it. I didn’t want to explore sex with women, I just knew this was an important part of who I was. So I shared that, including the assurance that I didn’t want anything in our marriage to change, with the most important person in my life. Nick’s reaction was nothing like I’d imagined.
“You’re a queer?” he’d shrieked.
I’d started using that word about myself in my head, but I’d never said it like that. He’d spat out the word like it tasted foul. The man I loved described me like I was trash, and the pain was unbearable. It hadn’t hurt as badly when my parents had died.
“Yeah. So?” I’d replied.
That’s when he’d started screaming. In the years since we’d moved to DC he had put on layers of muscle. All his work friends were ex-soldiers, ripped after years of mandatory physical training. He’d become obsessed with lifting weights, eager to fit in with this crowd he’d idolized. Now when he shouted at me the tendons in his neck stood out and his biceps rippled as he waved his arms. For the first time, I had been frightened of him. He’d stormed out of the house and I’d called Pen to my side.
She had such a different reaction to my revelation that I wondered if I’d dreamed Nick’s fury. It was like she’d known all along, but that it hadn’t been a big deal. When he came home early the next morning to find Pen asleep in an armchair while I slept on the couch, he’d been even more frightening. Pen roared back at his accusations, asking him where he’d spent his night, and he stormed out again. It took me months to discover that he’d been with another woman.
On days like this, when some little incident reminded me of him, I tortured myself wondering if he’d have left me for her anyway. He’d insisted that he hadn’t cheated until after that fight, but was it true? Why had it taken so little to lose him?
The chime of another Swingle notification pulled me out of my reverie. I swallowed hard against the sourness in my gut and turned my attention back to Charlie. Nick was in my past, but if I wanted to hang out with Pen next week, I needed Charlie to be part of my future.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Charlie and I eventually hit it off. They were so thoughtful and kind. I couldn’t help it, I loved being treated like a lady. Opening doors, pulling out chairs—all that stuff made me melt. I could tell from our conversations online that Charlie was that kind of person and I really, really liked it.
Maybe because they were old-fashioned and liked getting to know someone in person, they agreed to a face-to-face date really quickly. A few days after the first message, I was dropping hints. They picked up on them fast and we settled for an after-work coffee on Wednesday. I’m not sure who was happier to have plans with me, Charlie or Pen, but I had to admit I was more excited for the after party than the main event. I was sure Charlie and I would get along, so I had high hopes for finally having something to celebrate over drinks.
We decided to meet at Georgetown Cupcake for a coffee and treats. It was less formal than dinner and Charlie didn’t drink alcohol, so a bar was out. GC was trendy and packed as always, but they had decadent cupcakes and the coffee wasn’t bad. It was one of my favorites and Charlie confessed they had an overactive sweet tooth but had never been here. On paper it seemed like the perfect first date.
I arrived first and snagged a table before they filled up. I ordered for us both and did my best not to tear into my red velvet cupcake before they arrived. This was the first time I hadn’t been nervous for a date and I couldn’t figure out why. Then Charlie walked through the door and the moment I laid eyes on them I knew it wouldn’t work out.
They were hot, no doubt about it. With their crisp khakis and ironed button-up under a motorcycle jacket, they looked exactly the part. Their smile was dazzling and, when they crossed the room, I saw that explicitly gay walk Pen had talked about in Marlene. I liked that walk. I liked motorcycle jackets and androgyny and a touch of gray at the temples. I just didn’t feel any chemistry with Charlie. Worse, I could tell by the way they greeted me with a stiff hug and a forced cheeriness that they felt the same way.
We made a game attempt at small talk for a little while. They thanked me for my choice in cupcake and coffee for them. I asked about their day at work. They were an architect at a firm in the city and was in the middle of a big project for the federal government. Charlie asked about my day. It was all very polite, but they didn’t hide that they would rather go home. Maybe it was the fact that I seemed to be trying harder than they were that annoyed me. Maybe it was yet another failed date. Whatever it was, my cool snapped.
“Okay,” I said in a voice even I could tell was confrontational. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure what…”
“I don’t want to play this game anymore. You are very sweet, so please don’t lie to me. This clearly isn’t working. What’s wrong?”
It showed well on their character that Charlie didn’t play dumb. “Honestly? I feel like you duped me into this date. You’re nothing like your profile.”
They looked sorry, but the words still stung. “That’s not true.”
It seemed desperate, I know, but I started defending myself out of pure instinct. I even pulled up my profile on my phone, listing the things that were true. Most of what I listed were the things Pen and I had changed after failed dates. I spent a lot of time telling them how the music section was very much me.
“Sure, you’re into all that stuff,” Charlie said, swirling their coffee cup. “But that’s not what you’re passionate about. They don’t drive you. What drives you?”
It’d been a long time since someone asked me that. Instead of shouting back an angry response and storming out which was, I’ll admit, my first instinct, I thought about it.
“’80s movies. John Hughes films that are problematic and ridiculous but remind me of a simpler time in my life.”
They didn’t say anything, and so I thought a little more.
&n
bsp; “Keeping a clean home. I love to tidy and listen to audiobooks while I work. Getting lost in a love story and pretending I’m Cinderella. I love antiques, but not the stuffy ones that smell like aged wood and moth balls. Refinished pieces that have life breathed back into them. Have you ever been to Lucketts Market?”
“Never heard of it.”
“I could spend my whole life wandering between those tents to find gorgeous things.”
I ran out of ideas and stared at my profile picture. It was the one of me at Wolf Trap, looking back over my shoulder and smiling at Pen. I was doing this all wrong. Maybe it was me. Maybe my lot in life was to be alone forever.
Charlie’s voice was soft and kind when they sat forward and asked, “Why didn’t you make that your profile?”
“My best friend helped me write it.” I looked up at Charlie and shrugged, more than a little embarrassed. “By writing it.”
“That’s your problem.”
“She knows me better than anyone else and she’s good at this sort of thing. I’m obviously terrible at it.”
“Maybe she knows you well, but the thing about other people, even ones who know us well, they love different parts of us than we love in ourselves. They cherish parts of us we don’t necessarily feel the same way about.”
I didn’t know if I believed them or not, but I knew the only savior for me now was made of red velvet.
I tore off a hunk of cupcake and shoved it into my mouth while Charlie continued, “One of my favorite projects was a sitting room for an eccentric couple. The walls were completely mirrored. There were several low couches and the walls all looked flat, but I put angles in certain places behind the mirrors. You could sit next to someone on the same couch and you would see something entirely different in the mirrored wall because of that one little angle. Two people could never have the same perspective.”
“What if they were sitting on the same cushion?”
Charlie smiled and I could tell they’d wanted me to ask that question. “The difference in height if you were sitting on someone’s lap would also change the view.”
“I have to say, I think that room would stress me out.”
“I loved designing it, but I hated being in it. I’m not the kind of person who wants to look at myself that much.”
There was a story there and I could see that this could have been an interesting date. Charlie was a fascinating person when they weren’t lecturing me about my dating profile. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.” Then, because they were encouraging me to be honest, I continued, “I’ve pretty much given up on online dating. I only tried again because my best friend pushed me to do it. We go out and talk about my dates after and I always have fun crying into my drink with her.”
“What’s your best friend’s name?”
“Penelope.” I laughed at the thought of her face twisting when I used her full name. “Pen. She always sees the best in me. She gets me.”
“How’d you meet?”
“At work. She’s in the office next door. I had a bad day—the worst day, really—and she was there for me even though she barely knew my name. That’s the sort of thing she does. She’s always willing to bend over backward for people.”
“I have a friend like that. He’s right about everything. It’s annoying.”
“Isn’t it?” We laughed together and then I just kept talking. I guess I wanted to talk about Pen. “She has this way of dropping a bombshell and then waiting for me to realize how right she is. She always follows it up by teasing me until I can laugh at my ridiculousness.”
“You see now why your profile doesn’t work? She loves you in a different way than you love yourself.”
I was about to agree when Charlie’s words echoed in my head and realized something was off. “You keep saying love. We’re just friends. Pen doesn’t love me.”
Charlie smirked. That was the only word for the smile they gave me, with one side of their mouth turning up in a knowing, almost pitying twitch. “Oh yeah she does. You haven’t read what she wrote in your profile, have you?”
“Not…everything.”
“You should. Pay particular attention to the ‘how would your best friend describe you’ answer.”
Charlie stood up while I tapped around on my phone, finding the section of my profile that I couldn’t answer and led Pen to write everything. They took their time sliding their arms into their coat and finishing their coffee. When I finally found it, I was too afraid to start reading. I didn’t want it to prove their point, but part of me kinda wanted them to be right. I took a deep breath and scrolled down.
My best friend would say that I am too beautiful a soul for the way the world has treated me. I would roll my eyes and say something sarcastic, but I would secretly hope she’s right. That there is someone out there who would love me in the whole, unabashed way I love other people.
I looked up slowly, my ears buzzing. Charlie’s face was kind and without a hint of sadness. They knelt beside me and put their hand on mine. I hadn’t realized how much it was shaking until their touch settled the movement.
“She loves you, and, more to the point, you love her. Goodnight, Kieran.”
The words popped in my mind like a child’s bubbles, leaving a soapy film over my brain and making it hard to string thoughts together. It couldn’t be true, could it? I searched for a reason to deny the claim as Charlie retreated, but my mind still wasn’t working. All I could think about was the way my heart had pounded when Pen had held me as I cried. The way she’d kissed my eyebrow and how it had made me feel whole for the first time in forever. I sat there for who knows how long, churning over the possibilities. In the end, the only clear thought I could form forced me to my feet and out the door.
I needed to get to Riveter’s.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I caught a cab and set my mind loose to wander as we inched down M Street. I assumed it would find its way back through the brain fog by the time we turned onto 14th, but it didn’t. Charlie’s words echoed and the sound of the traffic dimmed and roared like a poorly tuned radio. We’d been sitting outside Riveter’s for a full minute before the cabbie finally snapped at me to get out.
Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the nearly empty bar, Abby sliding a glass of Rosé toward me. I managed to thank her, but she was already gone. The sound of my own voice broke the spell and I finally analyzed what Charlie had said. Was it really possible that Pen was in love with me?
We’d been friends for so long, it seemed ridiculous. Could two best friends turn that into something more? We knew all each other’s faults. We’d shared things with each other that we’d never shared with anyone else. Didn’t that sort of honesty make intimacy impossible?
There was also the little detail that she’d never made a pass at me, but that only proved she didn’t want to have a one-night stand. Of course, I had been married when we first met. Pen didn’t have a lot of boundaries when it came to sex, but she respected relationships even if she never wanted to be in one. After Nick there was Alex. But Alex had been gone for a long time and still Pen hadn’t made a move. She would have said something if she wanted to be with me, wouldn’t she? Except she didn’t do relationships so this whole thing was moot. She couldn’t love me because she didn’t do love. Did she?
I couldn’t get anywhere with that, so I was forced to look at the rest of what Charlie said. The part where I loved Pen, too. That should have been easier to refute, but somehow I couldn’t come up with any evidence against it. When I was sad, I wanted to be around Pen because she made me feel better. When I was happy, I wanted to be around Pen because she was the only one I wanted to share it with. Then there was how I felt recently when she hugged me. If it hadn’t been Pen, I would have said that feeling had been attraction. More than attraction. Desire. I stopped my wineglass halfway to my mouth, dwelling on the feeling of Pen pulling me close.
“You okay, Kieran?”
Abby’s voice came from a long way off and
I fought to focus on her face. “What?”
“You shivered. Like a whole body, top of your head to tip of your toes shiver they do in the movies. You cold?”
No, the last thing I was feeling at the moment was cold. Quite the opposite. I was warm in places I certainly wasn’t going to tell Abby about. My voice came out as a squeak. “No. Um…no, thank you, I’m fine.”
She raised an eyebrow, “If you say so.”
I didn’t want her asking any more questions, so I changed the subject. “How’d the show at Workhouse go?”
She shrugged and rearranged some glassware. Her voice was nonchalant, but there was a tightness around her eyes. “Not the crowd for my work. Abstract doesn’t really sell in Lorton.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Because I couldn’t seem to get my mind off Pen’s hug that night, I said, “And sorry to drag you away from your table. I was kinda a mess that night.”
“No need to apologize. I’m just glad Penelope was there for you.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, my eyes slipping out of focus as I remembered her lips on my skin.
“Want me to refill that?”
“What?”
She pointed at my glass, still hovering in midair. It was empty. As I stared through it, I watched the front door open and Pen march through. Her phone was to her ear and her face was a mask of concentration. I saw the answers to all my questions in the way her brows furrowed and her mouth moved in a perfect, graceful arc.
Charlie had been right.
I had it bad.
“I’ll take two, thanks Abby.”
Pen ended her call and threw herself onto the barstool. My hand shook on my glass.
“Can you believe it? That couple looking at townhouses in Woodbridge? Thanks Abby, you’re a doll.” Pen took a sip of her Rosé and winked at Abby before she continued, “Now all of a sudden they want to look in Culpeper. Culpeper! Drove all the way down there today and of course they love it. It’s in the middle of nowhere!”
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