by Sarina Bowen
But that day is a long way off. “Here, kitty-kitty!” I yell.
From a dark corner of the shop, I hear movement. But the cat doesn’t appear.
“Okay, well. I’m going to leave you some food.” There’s a stack of cans on the end of a worktable, and I open one of these and plop the food into a bowl on the floor. It smells disgusting. I don’t want to leave this can in Hamish’s waste basket, so I carry it outside with me and throw it in the dumpster.
I leave a minute later, after securing the big padlock on the exterior door.
“Sorry,” I say to May as I climb back into the truck. I point it toward the law school and then hit the button for the stereo. The cab fills with the easy sounds of a Black Keys song.
“Look,” May says after a couple of miles. She lays a hand on my arm. Her touch distracts me from the next couple words, but I get the gist of it. “You really didn’t have to go to this thing. I don’t know why I asked you for another favor. I’ll owe you for years at this rate.”
“It’s cool,” I say. May has no idea how guilty I feel for not telling her a whole week sooner about Daniela’s infidelity. “You can owe me, but I charge interest. Next year at this time you’ll owe me four favors.”
“If tonight is a disaster, the interest might accrue pretty fast.”
“Nah.” I glance at her and catch worry lines crossing her forehead. “What could honestly happen? If Daniela is an asshole, she’ll only make a fool of herself, not you.”
“Maybe,” May concedes. “But if Tracy tries to get under my skin, I’ll probably let her.”
“Pfft. I’ll just carry you out again. Nobody will even notice.”
May laughs. “Please tell me there’s no photographic evidence of that night. Does your bar have security cameras?”
“Only near the cash register,” I promise. “And Benito put an extra camera in the parking lot after Zara’s near miss.”
“Good idea.”
We lapse into silence again. But as we get nearer to the law school, I have to ask. “So—what’s the play, here? How jealous am I allowed to make Daniela?”
May turns to study me. “I hadn’t really thought about it like that. I really just wanted to have someone to stand next to.”
“Okay—so I’m arm candy. That’s super fun.”
She laughs. “You’re a good sport. But—swear to God—just your presence will irritate Daniela. You’re a man, and that will make her crabby.”
“Yeah? You rebel. Showing up with a man.”
“I know, it sounds ridiculous.”
“You used to date men, though, right?”
“Sure. And she hated that. She held it against me.”
“Why? Men are awesome.”
“Has anyone told you that you have very healthy self-esteem?”
“They don’t have to tell me because I already know. But now I’m curious. Why will Daniela lose her shit if you show up with a guy?”
“She’s…” May shakes her head. “She thinks bisexuality isn’t real. That when I say I’m bi, she thinks I’m just not butch enough to say the L word.”
“Hmm. You’re not very butch in that outfit, babydoll.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“So she thought you weren’t a real lesbian? Or that you weren’t willing to call yourself a lesbian? There’s a difference.”
May thinks that over. “The first one. She accused me of not being lesbian enough in bed.”
“What?” I laugh. “That membership card couldn’t be too hard to snag. I’d say if you smooch her cooch, you’re in the club.”
May howls, which is nice, because now I’ve got her laughing. The sound goes right to my balls. “Are you ever serious?” she asks eventually.
“Fuck no. But you’d better explain, okay? Tell me more about what sexual technique would convince Daniela that you’re a real lesbian. Feel free to go into a lot of detail.”
May smacks me in the arm. “You only want to perv on the lesbians. Just like a man. You know there’s porn for that, right?”
“You don’t say?”
She laughs again.
“But really—seems kinda wrong to tell your own girlfriend how to be a real lesbian.”
“It wasn’t cool, but I’m more angry with myself for putting up with it. She didn’t like what I like, which is fine. But she didn’t want me to like it either.”
Now I’m dying of curiosity. What could May Shipley like in bed that Daniela thought was wrong? “You’re into bondage?” Nah. Daniela probably invented bondage. “Foot fetish? Blindfolds? If you don’t tell me I’m gonna keep guessing.”
“So you can perv.”
“I’m in my happy place right now. You’re sitting over there showing me cleavage and talking about my favorite topic.”
“Sexual shaming?” Her voice is wry.
I stop at a stop sign and look at her. “May, swear to god—I’m sorry she gave you any shit at all. I’m just joking around with you right now, but it’s not cool that she made you feel bad and then cheated. You don’t deserve that.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes get red, and she turns away so I can’t see.
“Don’t cry, babe. Gonna make your super-hot makeup run. Can’t make the bitch jealous with raccoon eyes. Unless she has a thing for raccoons… Rawrrr.”
May laughs and carefully dabs at her eyes. “You kill me, Alec. Thanks for being such a good sport.”
It’s easy, though. Making her laugh feels like a victory.
“You know how some women say they aren’t criers?”
“I guess? Is that a thing?”
“Yeah. But I’m totally a crier. Always have been. I cry when we send the beef cow off to freezer camp or when Mom kills a chicken. I cry over babies and those sappy Super Bowl commercials with puppies and Clydesdales.”
“Buy stock in tissues?” I suggest. “There are worse habits.”
“Sure. But I had this boyfriend in college who hated it. Whenever I’d cry, he’d get really uncomfortable. It was part of why I stopped dating men. I had this idea that being with a woman would just be easier—that she’d understand me like no man could.”
“And?”
“Daniela couldn’t stand crying, either.” May pulls a tissue out of her purse and blows her nose. “Next time I won’t pick a super-bitch and it might turn out okay.”
“Good plan, babe.” I hold up a hand and she high-fives it.
Chapter Six
May
Alec Rossi wears a conspiratorial smile on his handsome face as we enter the walnut-paneled antechamber outside the Brookner Room at the law school. “Can your arm candy take your coat, Miss Shipley?” He gives me a cheesy wink.
“But of course.” I shrug it off and hand it over. It’s fun watching Alec, and not just because of his handsome, chiseled face. He’s a marvel to me, because he seems so comfortable in his own skin. He’s cocky, but in a fun way. Like both of us are in on the joke.
“Hot damn,” he hisses as I bare my shoulders. “The view just keeps getting better.” Then he gives a low whistle.
He’s laying it on a little thick, but I sure don’t mind. His flattery is a lovely distraction. In my peripheral vision I can see Daniela’s dark, wavy hair. And if I’m not mistaken, her bulldog ex is there with her, wearing the same leather motorcycle jacket she wore in the bar.
If only I could have landed one good punch…
“Hey,” Alec says, snapping his fingers. “Eyes right here.” He smiles at me and then drops my coat onto a coat tree. “Stay loose, okay?” He places a hand on the juncture between my neck and my shoulder. The heat of his palm brings me back into the present. I look up into warm brown eyes. “Good girl,” he says quietly. “Now tell me—what happens next?”
If only I knew. My mind takes a little vacation for a moment as I process the lovely sensation of his touch on my bare skin. “Um… There’s a little ceremony. Last year’s graduates give a rose to the incoming class. A dean gives a really dull
speech. Then you’ll drink cheap wine, and I’ll drink water and pretend I’m not jealous.”
“Jealous of me with my wine, or jealous of She Who Will Not Be Named?”
“The first thing.”
He smiles, and then bends down to kiss my temple. And the feel of his lips on my skin makes me break out in goosebumps.
Holy cats! Shut up, body.
“Speaking of jealousy,” he whispers. “How high am I aiming here? Don’t look now, but she’s totally watching.”
We’re standing so close together that I can see the flecks of gold in his deep brown eyes. “I think you’re doing pretty well already,” I whisper back. “Let’s play it by ear.”
His smile is like a well-fed cat’s. “Okay. You lead this dance. I’ll follow.” He slips his hand into mine and squeezes.
Alec Rossi, ladies and gentlemen. Does he have the acting chops or what?
Feeling mildly self-conscious, I lead him over to the law school dean, Leslie Harper—or Dean Harpy to those on her bad side—and introduce him as “my friend, Alec.” No need to make this charade any more convincing.
“Lovely to meet you,” the dean says. “We’ll get started now, shall we?”
The law school is a tiny institution. Each class is only a hundred students, so this ceremony feels intimate. There are two rows of seats reserved for the graduates, and I lead Alec to the front and sit down at the end of the row, where I’m guaranteed not to have to stare at Daniela.
The dean takes the podium and welcomes everyone to this year’s rose ceremony. The speech that follows is just as boring as I’d promised. Or maybe I’m just distracted by the warmth of Alec’s palm against mine. He keeps our joined hands on his knee, his thumb stroking my palm occasionally. And every time he does that I lose my focus.
It’s…lovely. A little human contact, no strings attached. Instead of squirming my way through this experience, I’m enjoying Alec’s mildly inappropriate acting job. He clearly enjoys the game. Whenever I glance at him, warm brown eyes smile back.
The man should get an Academy Award. And I still haven’t baked him that pie I promised him for helping me move. Now I’ll owe him a second one at least.
When the speech is done, Dean Harper begins calling the names of recent graduates. Since not every graduate lives nearby, there are two dozen of us, and we’re each handed three or four roses to present.
Thanks to the alphabet, Daniela’s name comes up first. I make my face blank as she sashays across the stage, a grand smile on her face.
I wonder if she feels self-conscious tonight, like I do. The last time we were in a room full of these familiar faces, she and I were a couple. Do people wonder why we’ve turned up separately?
Maybe nobody cares or even notices. But I feel like a seventh-grader again, wondering if everybody’s looking at me.
And man, would I ever like a drink. Not that I’ll have one. I’ve been to AA meetings nearly every day since moving home again. It’s partly to appease my family’s worried glances, and partly because I recognize that upheavals—like breaking up with a no-good cheater—are a common cause of relapse in alcoholics.
But that won’t happen to me. Daniela can take away her love. She can take away our home and our future together. But I won’t let her take away my sobriety.
When Alec releases my hand, I realize my name has been called. I stand up and smile as the dean tells the audience that I’ve opened my own law practice in Montpelier.
People clap as I climb the steps onto the small stage, because they don’t know that my law practice is a desk in a tiny office that I share with my friend, Rita. And that I have very few clients yet.
The only drama at work happens when the printer gets jammed.
But my plastic smile is fixed in place as I take four roses from the dean and present them to four shiny new first-year law students.
I was like them once—ready to shape the world. When I accepted a rose on this stage four years ago, things were looking up. My father’s death wasn’t so recent or so raw. I was starting a new career, and I felt optimistic.
It had been before I’d figured out that alcohol was my Achilles’ heel. Before Lark’s trauma, and before the mortifying moment when my best friend learned the truth—that I’d been a little bit in love with her for years. And it was before the difficult autumn when Lark finally fell in love with a man, as I always knew she would.
This adulting thing has been much harder than I thought it would be.
I can feel Daniela’s gaze on my back, and I wonder if she even misses me.
* * *
After the ceremony, we file out into the lobby for the cocktail hour. Alec’s hand rests at the small of my back as we follow the crowd toward the makeshift bar area.
It suddenly occurs to me that we could just skip this part. We could sneak right out those double doors, and I could treat Alec to a burger somewhere to thank him for his service. I could spare myself any further discomfort.
“Oh, no way!” he says as I’m about to make this suggestion. “That bartender—Connor—is my Sunday and Tuesday guy! Mind if I say hello?”
“Not at all.”
We maneuver between the bodies toward the bar, where Alec slaps a redhead on the back. “Look who’s moonlighting!”
“It cannae be moonlighting if you give me the wee hours of Sunday and Tuesday!” the kid complains in accented English. Irish? No—Scottish.
“Just fuckin’ with you,” Alec insists.
“’Ave an ale and shut yer trap, then?” Connor passes Alec a beer, which he takes.
“What do you have that’s nonalcoholic?” Alec asks.
“Whit’s the use a’ that?”
Alec punches his arm. “Be nice. The lady doesn’t drink.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” he says, offering a hand. “I’m Connor.”
“May.”
“There’s a pretty name!”
“I hate it,” I say truthfully.
“Why?” Alec asks.
“It’s so bland. And unimaginative.”
“Let me guess—your birthday is in May?” Connor asks.
“You got it. My older brother is August, but he goes by his middle name—Griffin. And then after me there were a set of twins. And they couldn’t name them both ‘July’ so they got nice normal names instead.”
Both Alec and Connor laugh, and I use the distraction to stare at Alec’s handsome face. When he laughs or speaks, his shoulders move, as if life is just too entertaining to stay still. And those brown eyes dance whenever he’s in conversation.
The bartender pours two glasses of wine for another couple before turning back to us again. “Ah, Alec. May cannae be your date tonight. She is far too pretty fer you!”
Alec grumbles about maybe reducing his pay.
But we all know Alec could have any woman in town if he wanted a girlfriend. He’s as charming as he is hot. Women and men alike seem to flock to him.
And at six-two or three, he’s a tall man. That goes a long way with me because I’m five-eleven. And change. But even in the low heels I’m wearing, Alec is taller. I have to look up to see his handsome face and dancing brown eyes. And those lashes—so thick they look suspiciously dark, as though he’d lined them.
And now I’m staring, damn it.
“We have the sodas and the water,” the bartender is saying.
“Come on,” Alec insists. “You can do better than that. Let’s make the lady a mocktail. Got any ginger beer?”
“Um…” Connor chuckles. “Hang on.” He sets down a bar mop and trots off toward the kitchen.
Alec grins, and suddenly I feel very self-conscious, like I don’t know where to rest my gaze. I can’t look at Daniela, because that way lies the abyss. I can’t ogle Alec, because I don’t want to be a creeper.
I don’t look at all those open bottles of wine. Although they’re beckoning.
“So,” Alec says, his voice low. “You never finished telling me why Daniela thinks
you aren’t woman enough for her.”
“Maybe that’s private,” I whisper.
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “On the other hand, it sounds like a fun story. And she’ll know we’re talking about her. People have a sense for that. And she kinda deserves it.”
“She does,” I agree. “But it’s not the right conversation for a crowded room.”
“Really.” His eyes flare. “That only makes me more curious. How were you not lesbian enough for her?”
“This is really turning you on, isn’t it?” I tease. “Lesbian sex talk?”
He gives me another playful shrug. “There are worse topics. Besides—I’ve always thought women were less weird about this stuff. Like—it’s dudes who always compare dick sizes. Burst my bubble—aren’t women above all that? Or was she secretly comparing boobs and feeling inadequate?” His eyes take a brief trip into my cleavage and then return to my face.
It’s not subtle. And suddenly my head is full of lesbians comparing their boobs, and I actually giggle like a school girl. “No, geez. Boobs are nice in every shape and size.”
“No kidding.” Alec licks his lips. “So what’s her damage?”
“It’s not a body thing,” I whisper. “Okay—it is a body thing. She thinks it’s not cool to enjoy…” I stop myself.
“What?” he whispers back. “Spanking? Choking?”
“No! Penetration,” I hiss. “She felt threatened by my vibrator. As if needing that meant I wasn’t one of the tribe.”
Alec’s jaw drops. “No way. You wild woman, you.”
Then I really laugh, and so does he. “It sounds ridiculous out loud,” I admit in a low voice. And I cannot believe I’m sharing such a weird and intimate detail with him. Then again, vibrators aren’t exactly edgy, as he just pointed out.
Also, there’s something really easygoing about Alec. I have the feeling that nothing I ever did or said could shock him. Though it sure is fun to try.
“Listen.” Alec shakes his head. “I’m not a big enough idiot to mansplain lesbian sex to you.”