Forgetting Chuck Taylor

by Bailey Peters

  “Between working full-time, taking classes part-time, and volunteering, there hasn’t really been much time to date.” Taylor handed Eva the darts.

  There was something incredibly satisfying about knowing that someone with limited time still made time for her. Eva kept a goofy smile off her face by concentrating on the dartboard, keeping her vision and her hand aligned as she snapped her wrist back to make her throw.

  Each dart landed exactly where she hoped it would.

  The next round, Taylor hit the bullseye in the dead center but had her next dart miss the board completely. It hit the floor and bounced toward the bar. A guy seated at a nearby stool got up and moved after giving them an unnecessary dirty look. There was no way it would have actually hit him.

  “I don’t hear you talking smack anymore,” Eva smirked.

  “I’m just tricking you into thinking you’re going to beat me before I finish strong,” Taylor shot back. “But fair’s fair. Ask your question.”

  “If you did have time for a relationship, what would you look for in a partner?”

  Eva hoped her fishing wasn’t too obvious. When Taylor gave her a suspicious look and made Eva swear not to try to pull any matchmaking tricks, she knew she was safe on that front.

  Taylor paused a beat and took a sip of her beer. “Someone that looks at other people and can see past their flaws to their potential. Someone that can make me think and that can make me laugh. Someone that will promise never to dog-ear my books. Someone that’s not afraid of risk. ”

  Taylor had said someone who , every time. Not a man who.. . That might not mean anything, but maybe it did.

  “What about you?” Taylor asked.

  “I guess I’m looking for someone that makes me want to take risks.”

  Eva removed the beer from Taylor’s hand and sat it down on the table beside them. Then she cupped Taylor’s face in her hands and went in for the kiss. Given that this was her first and she was the one initiating, she went for simple and soft. Just a light brush.

  For a moment, everything was just as perfect as every black and white film fueled by romance promised a kiss should be. The spell was broken by a drunk man’s whistling, reminding Eva and Taylor of where they were. Not Hollywood or Casablanca, just a brewery in the south where they were surrounded by strangers in football jerseys and the whir of industrial fans.

  7

  Taylor

  Eva’s lips had tasted like chocolate malt and sugar. That, and a little bit of Heaven with a side of sticky lip gloss.

  It had taken Taylor every bit of restraint she had not to prolong the kiss, to grab Eva’s hand and take her to the parking lot where they could climb through the backdoor of her car and make out like teenagers until the windows fogged.

  That response probably had a lot to do with the fact that she hadn’t been kissed since she was a teenager. At twenty-three, that was a solid five years ago.

  She only pulled away from Eva because of the sound of a whistle.

  “I forgot to mention that I like someone that provides an element of surprise to my list. I definitely didn’t see that one coming.”

  If she’d had time to think about it beforehand, she’d have been nervous that she wouldn’t remember what to do with mouth or know where to put her hands. It was probably a good thing she’d been caught off guard. She didn’t have time to overthink things and mess them up.

  “I may have a few other tricks up my sleeve,” Eva said. Her voice was playful, but her cheeks were nearly the same shade as her red high heels. Taylor couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or embarrassment at the stir their PDA had clearly caused.

  “I’d love to see them. But maybe we just stick to your sweet darts skills while we’re still around them,” Taylor said, tipping her head toward the men that watched them with rapt attention in hopes the show wasn’t over.

  They resumed the game, but it felt impossible to concentrate after the kiss that had passed between them. Taylor was suddenly acutely aware of her breathing, her pulse, her proximity to Eva at every moment and just how tight Eva’s outfit was, accentuating every curve. Had Eva dressed like that for her?

  “If you beat me, it’s only because you’ve found a way to distract me,” Taylor said.

  “Consider me triumphant on all accounts, then,” Eva answered, making the final shot.

  * * *

  While thirty dollars wasn’t an exorbitant amount for a bar tab with tip, it was more of a splurge than Taylor could generally spring for—especially when she’d already paid a tiny sum only a week before on the bookbinding workshop. The time with Eva had been worth every cent. She just wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep it up. Hopefully, Eva also enjoyed things that were frugal or free.

  Taylor went online to search for cheap date ideas. Picnics in the park. Movie dates at theaters that showed second run films. Walks on the greenway. Board games. It was telling that she had to exert energy on trying to figure out what people did for fun. It had been so long.

  Taylor’s pennies had to be carefully budgeted. Money went to rent, gas, necessities, and tuition. There were also those pesky student fees every semester that covered her access to the campus amenities that she didn’t have time to use but still had to help pay for like the shiny new wellness center and the “free” programming at the student union. While her grades were exemplary, there weren’t a lot of people clamoring to award scholarships to felons and her conviction limited her eligibility for federal student aid.

  It also hampered other areas of her life. Hence her refusal to even consider the possibility of dating until the moment that Eva turned Taylor’s world upside down with a kiss.

  Being bisexual had never complicated life for her. She was who she was and the people in her life had accepted that about her with little to no question. There was even a GLBT group at her church growing up.

  Coming out had been a nonevent. The next day, her grandmother made her cupcakes with rainbow stripes, the vanilla frosting dyed with food coloring. Grandma Scott made the same cupcakes every year during Pride month to remind Taylor just how much she was accepted and loved. It never failed to make Taylor get emotional. She wished everyone else came out to the same vocal show of support she experienced.

  Her court history, though? That was definitely complicated. No one was exactly going to throw you a party for coming off of probation.

  Being single meant that she didn’t have to worry about spending nonexistent money on gifts or dates or romantic weekends away. Being single also meant not having to disclose her history and wait to see if someone would find her worthy of being loved unconditionally despite everything or if they’d bristle at her past and dismiss her. It meant she didn’t have to meet someone’s parents and have to continuously prove she wasn’t a fuck up out to corrupt their sweet, perfect son or daughter.

  Most importantly, being single meant she wasn’t distracted from getting her life back on track. Work, school, and accruing good karma. That’s what her most valuable resource—time—needed to go. Once she had a degree in hand, a better standing in the community and a bigger paycheck, it would be so much easier to deal with everything else.

  Taylor was two hours deep into studying for her exam on programming in Java when she allowed herself a mental break long enough to pick up her phone and tap out a text.

  I had fun with you today. I’m not a huge romance reader, but from the little I’ve read what I can tell is that the best love stories are slow burns. I’m a sucker for a good friends to lovers trope. Is it okay if we take things slow?

  8

  Eva

  “Hey, girl,” Eva said, sliding into the seat beside Amanda’s at the nail salon and easing her feet into the steaming hot tub of eucalyptus soak. After a morning spent pounding the streets in her stilettos doing work errands, the suds felt heavenly.

  “Thanks for spending your lunch break with me.”

  The nail technician brought Eva a glass of bubbly and then slapped on gloves to
get to work.

  “Accepting your invitation was a no brainer. Especially given that it seems like every time we’re together there’s champagne involved,” Eva said, tilting her head back to savor the first sip and let the bubbles hit her tongue.

  “I thought that might help make up for the fact that this isn’t billable time,” Amanda teased.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re almost out of client territory now but you’re still stuck with me.”

  “Good,” Amanda said, fiddling with the remote for her massage chair. Eva followed suit and set the machine to start kneading her back with a firm and consistent force. There were knots in her shoulder blades that would require an actual masseuse to dissolve, but in the interim, she’d take what she could get. Her newest client was a histrionic woman with a shrill voice that sounded like claws against a chalkboard. Every time her name showed up on Eva’s cell phone, it made Eva’s entire body tense. The woman had the budget for a minimalist wedding but somehow expected the Taj Mahal. Eva could pull off a ceremony and reception that were elegant in their simplicity but she couldn’t pull off a five course tasting menu for less than twenty dollars per head. That was impossible.

  “I do have a little bit of business to talk with you, though.”

  “No wedding talk!”

  “No wedding talk. I was actually going to ask if anyone from your fiance’s restaurant might be interested in cooking for a private dinner?”

  “Like catering?”

  “Not exactly.” She explained what she knew of Erica’s situation from Taylor. “So our idea was that we could set up a romantic candlelight dinner for her parents at the community center after hours. We thought we could lure them there under the premise that they both needed to sign something related to Erica’s hours completed at the gym, but they’d find a romantic evening waiting for them instead. My friend and I were going to help Erica cook for them or get takeout to drop off, but the thought of having someone truly pamper them seemed more special than what I would be able to pull off.”

  “I love it. Consider it done!”

  Eva raised her eyebrows. “Shouldn’t you check in with hubby-to-be first?”

  Amanda gave her a devilish grin. “Isn’t part of the joy of newlywed life that you’re still in the honeymoon period where your partner is supposed to cave in and give you anything you want?”

  The nail technician started in on Eva’s calluses with a file. It was hard to stay still and not squirm when she was impossibly ticklish. While the technician worked, she hummed to herself, her eyes darting back and forth between Eva’s feet and a television that was set on local news. It was hard to tell how much the technician was paying attention to the conversation happening in front of her, if at all.

  She wanted to tell Amanda about Taylor but wasn’t so sure that she wanted to share with the technician by default. Then Eva remembered an important lesson she’d gleaned from listening to brides prattle on: the things that seem momentous or scandalous or at the very least interesting to you for others probably aren’t. She needed to get over herself.

  The last time Taylor had been a topic of conversation, Eva had been a bundle of nerves and had wanted to down her champagne to quell her panic. This time, she felt like she was drinking in celebration. She could sip instead of gulp.

  “I went on a date.”

  Amanda leaned in theatrically, or at least as much as she could given the arms of their massage chairs. “Go on.”

  “With Taylor.”

  “How did you know it was a date this time?”

  “Because I kissed her.”

  “It’s about damn time. I was hoping there would be a kiss at book club!”

  “As your many, many texts that night suggested. I remember.”

  “Do you have a picture of this mystery woman?”

  Eva grabbed her phone and went to the website for the branch of the library where Taylor worked.

  “Crap,” she said. “I was hoping there would be a picture of her up on the staff page of the website, but there isn’t one.”

  “Last name?” Amanda asked, whipping out her own phone and opening the Facebook app.

  “Scott.”

  Amanda tapped away at her phone and frowned.

  “It looks like she’s not on Facebook. Who doesn’t have a Facebook?”

  Plenty of people , Eva thought. She gave her friend a shrug. Given the amount that social media was cited in divorce documents, she was always glad when her clients shied away from Facebook and Instagram. There was too much room for secrecy and deception, too much temptation to draw attention and flattery from people you shouldn’t. Eva used Pinterest, LinkedIn, and Instagram, but they were all used exclusively for work. You wouldn’t find her personal life on the internet… not that there was much of a social life to share or photograph, anyway.

  “Describe her so I can see her,” Amanda said, closing her eyes.

  “Tall enough that I was grateful I was wearing heels when I went in for the kiss. Brunette hair, sort of tousled and wavy. Dresses more or less the opposite of me.”

  “Butch?”

  Eva shook her head. “No, I mean, casual. I know you think I come across a little too…”

  “Uptight?” Amanda offered.

  “I was going to go with professional, but yeah, that works.” They laughed. “Taylor’s overall vibe is pretty chill and laid back.”

  “Given your job, I think your life could probably use more of that.”

  “Preach, sister.”

  She left the nail salon that day feeling affirmed with fire engine red toes.

  * * *

  At home that night, Eva cozied up in her reading nook with an epic fantasy that would soon be overdue if she didn’t manage to finish it. Now that she was technically dating someone on staff at the library, she felt a bit more obligated to get things in on time. The book would also be a nice distraction from her cell phone. Taylor had asked to take things slowly, so Eva figured it was probably best not to blow her up with texts, regardless of how tempting that was.

  Eva knew wedding etiquette, but not dating etiquette. Amanda had given her some pointers but they all felt like instructions for a game: how often it was okay to call or text, how to come across as just a smidge hard to get, the list went on. She’d waited twenty-five years to plant a kiss on someone. She wasn’t especially eager to wait any longer than necessary for the next date. That said, she also wanted to respect Taylor’s wishes. No need to be pushy and scare her off.

  The fantasy failed to keep her interest. She was in more of a Candace Bushnell mood. She wanted adventure that involved romps in the sheets instead of fire breathing dragons and their telekinetic owners. She was thinking about a different type of heat. The type that traveled up your legs and found your pressure points, that washed over you at inopportune times and distracted you in the middle of consultation meetings with prospective clients. She’d been too shy to brave a second kiss when Taylor walked her to her car in the brewery lot days before, but she was still thinking about what it might have felt like if she did.

  After rereading the same page a handful of times, she gave up and pulled out her laptop. She opened a Google search page and typed in Taylor Scott . It felt a little invasive, but it seemed like anything someone might post about themselves online was fair game. Just because Taylor wasn’t on Facebook, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t show up anywhere else.

  She scrolled through the search results. Someone with Taylor’s same name was showing up with arrest records, but that was about the extent of her results. She changed her tactics and decided to narrow things down to a Google image search.

  The first picture that came up was unmistakably Taylor, but it looked like a mugshot. She bit her lip and clicked on the image. Maybe it was one of those joke photo booth shots they had at family reunions and bachelorette parties where the photo signs said stupid things like smooth criminal and drunk and disorderly .

  It took her to a page with Wake County m
ugshots. This was no joke photoshoot. It was incriminating.

  Taylor Scott. Charges: Larceny.

  Eva had been ready to embrace the unexpected, but this wasn’t exactly the type of surprise she had in mind.

  9

  Taylor

  Wednesdays were always Taylor’s busiest days. She started her morning by getting to the library an hour before it opened to process books that had been returned to the outside drop box overnight and began pulling books for the patrons that had requested holds online. Wednesdays were chock full of events. Taylor liked to check off the taskier items from her to do list before the throngs of mothers and children poured in for morning story time. From there, it would be a nonstop flutter of activity with workshops on finding the right reference materials for visiting high school kids and a book club meeting for seniors devoted to nonfiction around staying healthy and active past retirement.

  One of her favorite regulars, an ornery older gentleman named Dalton, had suggested the book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck for this month’s read. He’d been shot down and the rest of the group had selected the newest inspirational piece from Brené Brown instead. When it happened, he’d complained to her after all the other members left. “More vulnerability? That’s the last thing these old gals need. Next time give me a recommendation to help them toughen up instead,” he’d harrumphed. She’d just smiled and shrugged. He was always threatening to quit, but he’d endured books by Dr. Oz, a book on the science of aging co-authored by Cameron Diaz, and plenty of picks from Opera’s book club. If he’d already dutifully swallowed all of those texts down for discussion, this wasn’t going to be the one to finally break his patience and attendance. There were too many beautiful single women that showed up every month on the prowl for a second or third husband. All the same, she was looking forward to the cantankerous comments she knew he’d bring to the discussion for the sole purpose of pushing people’s buttons.