Three-Way Split

by Elia Winters

  The audience laughed, taking the sheets of paper Mitchell was passing around. He moved smoothly through the crowd, making a few quiet jokes that Ben couldn’t hear, but people chuckled in response.

  “So.” He turned to Hannah. “You’ve got a hell of a something blue right there.”

  Hannah held up the small vibrator that fit in the palm of her hand, shaped sort of like a leaf, and began to describe it to the audience, explaining a bit about the type of vibrations, their intensity, and how people might use it. Then she turned back to Ben.

  “So what beer goes with this one?”

  Ben held up a bottle labeled with a river flowing through a mountain pass. “Well, we pride that company on their fine German engineering, so we had to go with a German-inspired beer. High quality, sharp and refreshing, just like you want from your sex toys as well.” He motioned Mitchell to come up, and Mitchell did. “Now, folks, if you’d like to try the German beer and feel this vibe, go ahead and line up. We’ll have two tables going at once.”

  Folks shifted, moving to the front of the room, and Ben started filling tiny cups as Mitchell took over giving out the samples. Mitchell slid into that role easily, confident in the product and in his one-on-one banter. As he and Hannah talked to people, he handed them tiny cups filled with their German beer until everyone had had some and held the vibe. Then Ben stepped up for the next pairing, and both Hannah and Mitchell moved smoothly back into their places.

  They moved efficiently through the list of five pairings, sharing tasting samples of all the beers, making small talk, demonstrating how the vibrators turned on and cycled through their settings. The focus shifted swiftly to sales, with both vibrators and six-packs flying off the shelves as the evening wore on.

  The next game, sex toy or kitchen gadget, was an equally big hit. Mitchell, with his deadpan delivery, was a hoot. When Mitchell held up a spiky Wartenberg wheel and asked Hannah if she thought it could double for sealing ravioli, Ben almost pissed himself. People laughed, they asked questions, they bought toys. By the time the evening came to a close, no one would doubt that the night had been a huge success.

  They had just finished loading the last of the boxes into Hannah’s trunk, and Ben opened his mouth to suggest going out to get a drink, when Mitchell let out a monumental sigh.

  “I am exhausted.” Mitchell slammed Hannah’s car trunk closed and leaned against it. “What a night, right?”

  Hannah slid up against him and elbowed him. “Come on. The night is young. It’s only…” She checked her phone. “Twelve thirty. Bars don’t close until two. Let’s go get a drink.” Awesome. Woman after his own heart.

  Mitchell made a face. “I was up at six.”

  “You don’t have to get up at six tomorrow, though.” Ben could be the voice of reason here. Mitchell needed to get some social time with them. “One drink wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Except it’s not going to be one drink, it’ll be two or three or four drinks, and then I’ll be up all night.” Mitchell folded his arms. “You two will have more fun without me, anyway.”

  “Bullshit.” Ben gave him a light shove. “It’s not the same without you. Right, Hannah?”

  “He’s right.” Hannah took his arm. “You don’t seem to believe us when we say we want you around. I’m developing a complex about it.”

  Mitchell made a great show of rolling his eyes. “Okay, fine, fine. One drink. Tell me where we’re going.”

  “Want to come unload product with me first?” Hannah batted her eyes up at him. “Then the Night Owl?”

  Mitchell sighed, but he was also starting to smile. “I think you only want me for my ability to lift heavy things.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  …

  With Hannah safely in her cab, Ben and Mitchell walked home, the streets silent now that it was after two in the morning. Their breath fogged in the cold night air, but with his steady buzz, he didn’t feel as cold as he had earlier. They turned down their street, right on the edge of town.

  “This is never gonna work.” Mitchell spoke aloud into the silence, his hands thrust in the pockets of his coat. He glanced over at Ben. “Right?”

  “What?” Mitchell could be talking about anything.

  “All of it.” Mitchell took a hand out of his pocket to wave his arm. “Us and Hannah. One of us is gonna fuck it up. Probably me.”

  “So don’t fuck it up.”

  Mitchell sighed. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this shit. Feelings? Romance? I don’t know.”

  “Hey, who’s talking about feelings and romance?” Ben tried to laugh, nudging Mitchell with his elbow. Mitchell stumbled, and Ben reached out to steady him as they turned onto their front walkway. “Yikes. You’re pretty far gone.”

  “A little bit.” Mitchell grinned. “I don’t drink much, you know.”

  “I know.”

  Mitchell squinted up at him. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  Ben froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. Mitchell was staring up at him like his statement was the most interesting puzzle, like maybe Ben could help him figure it out. All Ben could manage was “Oh,” a totally inadequate answer. Maybe Mitchell would be too drunk to remember he said this.

  “Come on. Let’s get inside. It’s cold out here.” The cold had to be the reason for Ben’s hands to shake so profoundly as he tried to fit the house key in the lock, finally managing on the third try.

  Mitchell didn’t ask anything else of him, walking past him into the living room. “Fuck the gym tomorrow,” he said, disappearing into his room and shutting the door behind him.

  Ben’s soberness came suddenly, like someone had dunked him in an ice bath. Mitchell wouldn’t remember this in the morning, surely. And even if he did, he probably wouldn’t bring it up again. This was their rule: they didn’t let feelings get involved. They were friends, they fucked, and they didn’t make a big deal out of it. But Mitchell, dropping a fucking L-bomb on their front steps in the middle of the night? That was completely uncalled-for.

  Whatever had happened these past few weeks with Hannah had clearly changed things, and breathless panic settled on him. Normally he could will those feelings away, but tonight they hung on. If he and Mitchell crossed this path, they weren’t going back. Shit, Mitchell was his bedrock. And now he was trying to change their deal? That was unfair, and it was terrifying, and it was both of those things precisely because he wanted it so fucking badly.

  He wanted all of it. He wanted Mitchell and Hannah, both of them, and he wanted love, and great sex, and stability, and two people to come home to. He wanted it so badly that he ached for it, and the depth of his own need took his breath away. If this was love, it was different than the love he had before, and he didn’t know how to process it.

  Unsettled, shaken, and feeling suddenly alone, Ben forced himself to go to bed. It would probably take him a long time to fall asleep.

  …

  Hannah was still pretty tipsy in the cab, but by the time she got into the house and took a shower, she had sobered up enough to look at her numbers. No way she could go to bed without knowing. The alcohol was wearing off, but the euphoria of a great evening stayed in her system. She had sold so much product. This had to be enough to cover her losses and tip her over into the black.

  Finally in pajamas, she pulled out her computer and sat down at the kitchen table, tossing aside today’s mail that she’d just brought in. She opened up the programs she used to track her sales, watching them populate with tonight’s figures, her spreadsheet automatically filling in where necessary. While it did so, she grabbed a cup of water to try to stave off tomorrow’s hangover. This felt good. Relaxing. Life was finally on the upswing. She flopped back into her kitchen chair again and scrolled down to her final results.

  Well, fuck. That was a damn good night. And if she kept up her steady sales, she could pull herself out of this hole by the end of the year.

  She punched the air, even thoug
h there wasn’t anybody around to see her, grinning about business for what felt like the first time in a while. She was feeling so good, she could open all the mail now rather than procrastinating about it. Bills, always bills, and in the bottom of the stack, a thick letter from the owner of the building where she rented space.

  She stared at it. This was going to be her lease renewal. With fumbling fingers and an increasing sense of dread, she tore it open and pulled out the contract.

  Just a few lines in, her heart stuttered in her chest. The language was formal, professional, all this “due to increasing interest rates and economic circumstances beyond our control,” blah, blah, blah—bottom line was they were raising her rent again.

  All Hannah’s positivity evaporated with whatever residual buzz she’d still had from the bar. Shit. Fucking shit. Goddamned motherfucking shit. She wasn’t going to be able to break even at these new rates. Even with this boost in sales pulling her out of the hole, she was just going to turn a profit with the old rent, not to mention this new rent. Even though she knew what the results would be, she scrabbled for a scrap piece of paper and found a torn-open envelope, then started putting down the numbers by hand, adding them up like she might somehow do it better than the computer. The proof stared her right in the face. Jesus. If she signed this new lease, with the rent change taking effect on the first of the year, she was going to be out of business by March.

  She was going to have to move, and she couldn’t even do that. She looked at the rental listings all the time, and every place in town was out of her price range, except for one spot owned by the church, which had emphatically turned her down when she’d inquired about a leasing opportunity last year. Her pleasant feeling was gone, replaced by something sick and sour in her stomach. Christ. How was she going to make ends meet?

  The hot press of tears in her eyes made her angry. What the fuck was she doing crying? Crying was absolute shit. She swiped the tears from her eyes. Okay. So she needed a next step. She had to have a next step. She always did this independently, and she could do that now. After a few mediocre attempts to deep breathe her way into calmness, she finally gave in and let the tears come. How could she be so stupid? Most businesses failed. She knew that when she applied for the loan to rent Yes, Please in the first place. She’d told herself that she was smart; she took business classes, read everything she could find, launched into this endeavor with both feet firmly on the ground. She was a person who got things done. Now, though, she was a mess. She was going to lose her business and do what? Get a job somewhere? What could she do? She had worked a string of shit jobs, and nothing suited her. She loved running her own business, but apparently she sucked at that, too. Maybe the only thing she was actually good at was fucking. God, how pathetic. Everyone who had doubted her, everyone who had told her not to get her hopes up, they seemed to gather in the empty space around her like ghosts. At the center of it all, her own self-doubt, her self-loathing, that tiny voice inside her reminding her that she’d never done anything worthwhile in her life.

  Hannah put her head down and gave in to the self-pity for a few minutes of horrible, racking sobs, the kind that burned her face and left her feeling sore and swollen all over. They subsided eventually, leaving her with sniffles and a wrung-out feeling of exhaustion. Fuck this. She had to move forward in some way. Maybe she’d look at this again in the morning and somehow things would be better.

  Yeah, right.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lori was all snark as Hannah let her into the house. “You know, I was starting to think you had left me for all these guys you’re fucking.”

  “It hasn’t been that long,” Hannah said weakly as Lori blustered past. Lori hung up her coat and pulled off the tall black boots she liked to wear, immediately flopping down on the sofa once she was free of her fall layers. Hannah went into the kitchen and grabbed the plate of cheese and crackers she’d put together that evening after work.

  “You giving me fancy party snacks now?” Lori took the tray and the can of seltzer Hannah gave her.

  “It’s cheese and crackers. Literally not fancy.” Hannah sank into the chair across from Lori.

  “Easy. I’m just joking around with you.” Lori picked up a piece of cheese and a cracker and made a tiny open-faced sandwich, which she popped whole into her mouth and chewed. “What’s with the long face? Fall Festival was a success, right?”

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” The dilemma of how much to burden Lori with her business shit was always a delicate balancing act. She didn’t want to weight their friendship with too many problems, so while Lori was a good sounding board, Hannah was also capable of getting these things worked out on her own eventually.

  Usually.

  When she wasn’t dealing with business-ending shit.

  Lori’s expression indicated she wasn’t fooled, but instead of pressing it, she changed the subject. Small miracles. “I wanted to ask you something.” She shifted on her couch. “I’ve got a project happening for my thesis. I was hoping you could help me out.”

  Anything to not talk about her business. “What is it?”

  “I’m doing a polyamory workshop. I’ve got a couple coming out who have experience coaching and mentoring polyam groups, and we’re hoping to have a session locally.” Lori gestured to Hannah. “I thought you could come. You and the guys.”

  “Oh.” Hannah hadn’t seen the guys since Saturday night, although they’d been talking steadily on the group chat in the few days since. She had used the excuse of being busy to avoid seeing them until she’d figured out what to do about this business thing, since she wouldn’t be able to hide her sadness in person. The light, funny group chat had been a balm to her high levels of stress. This workshop, though, was something she probably shouldn’t turn down.

  “I can ask. What’s it like?”

  “It’s going to be discussions about common issues in polyamory, ways to communicate better, pitfalls people don’t usually think of.”

  That sounded serious. “We’re not really polyamorous. We’re not in any kind of romantic relationship. It’s really just sex.” She said it, but she knew it wasn’t true. They cared about each other, and everyone knew it, even though they usually just talked around whatever was blossoming between them.

  Lori raised an eyebrow, and damn, she looked like she wanted to argue, but after a moment of silent judgment, she just shrugged. “Still. I’m not sure how many people are going to show up. Most of the people who I’ve asked to attend are folks from my thesis research. They’re people who have been doing polyam for years. I need some new people, too. Or people who are interested. Or might be interested. I really want to fill the room.”

  “Where are you having it?”

  “The library offered me a room, but I was hoping for a space where we could have a little more privacy, so I’m still looking.” Lori crossed her legs. “I thought about your shop, maybe bring you some extra business, but I don’t think you have the space.”

  “I don’t.” Hannah thought back to her conversation with Mitchell a few weeks ago. “The pub has an event room upstairs. Maybe you could have it there.”

  Lori perked up. “Can you ask? I want to set it up next week. Midweek, probably, so I don’t take up people’s weekend. We’re getting close to Halloween.”

  “Sure. I can ask.” Even thinking about time passing raised Hannah’s stress levels. Each week that passed was a week her business got closer to its end, and she’d been living with a sense of general sickness for days.

  Lori eyed her. “Thank you. Now. What’s really up with you?”

  Hannah grimaced. She could tell Lori, and Lori would listen, and maybe give her some advice, but…damn, she was not ready to get input yet. She wanted to fix it herself. She had plans to talk to the building owner this week, ask about the possibility of a lower rent payment next year, negotiate the terms of the lease. “I’m not really ready to talk about it yet.”

  Lori’s raised eyebrows said
everything she needed to say, but bless her, she didn’t pry. “All right. I’m not pushing. You want to talk, you tell me.”

  “Thanks.” There had to be some other topic of relevant conversation. “Why don’t you tell me about you instead? What’s happening at the paper?”

  Lori let out a mighty sigh, the kind of sigh that indicated there was going to be A Significant Story coming, and that was a kind of relief. Lori’s stories were always interesting: anyone studying any kind of psychology field for a PhD tended to have some thoughtful analysis of their own and others’ behavior, although in Lori’s case, it was mostly about others’ behavior.

  “You have something stronger than this seltzer?” She held up the half-empty can.

  Hannah brought them each a small glass of tequila, the acrid smell comforting as she brought it up to her lips. Tequila burned all over, and she held that first sip in her mouth enough to swirl every flavor around and spread that numbing burn into all her senses. Of course, tequila reminded her of celebrating with Ben and Mitchell the other night after the Fall Festival, celebrations she’d tried to forget in the intervening days. There was actually nothing there for her to celebrate.

  With both of them holding their glasses and the environment suitably settled, Lori let out another sigh and looked across the space between them. “I’ve been thinking about leaving the paper.”

  “What? Why? You love the paper.”

  “Correction. I used to love the paper.” Lori held up a finger like a teacher giving a word of wisdom, then took another sip of her tequila. “Fuck, that is good.”

  “How long have you been thinking about this?”

  “Just this week. I don’t know. I don’t want to rush into anything. I’ve been there for a few years now, and I’ve got a good gig, but it’s so…” Lori made a face, wrinkling her nose, and then waved her hand in some kind of vague gesture. “It’s so small-town.”

  Hannah raised an eyebrow. “You live in Mapleton. We are a small town. The Valley Voice is a small-town paper.” Lori was usually good about moderating her expectations, but damn. She couldn’t expect the small town they were in to have a big-city paper. “You’ve been happy there for years. What’s changed?”