“It’s fine,” Monica said in a low voice, not turning to look at her friend. “You can go on, Sharon, I’ll have lunch with Valerie this once.”
“All right,” Sharon said easily, though she gave Valerie a pointed look before she left.
“You’re not dating her, are you?” Valerie asked in a very low voice.
Monica’s eyes widened, glancing around to see if anyone heard her. “No,” she said. “Why on Earth would you think that?”
Valerie shrugged and started to make her way out. Monica followed with slower steps, seeming unsure. They didn’t really speak as they rode down the elevator and got out to the streets. Monica was the one who started to lead, then, going to one of the nearby restaurants.
She sat down at a table by the corner and the window, the most secluded place they would get. Valerie sat in front of her even though she wanted to sit by her side, to touch her from shoulders to knees.
“So?” Monica asked. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
She kept her eyes down toward the menu, and it gave Valerie freedom enough to look at her.
“I just wanted to talk,” Valerie said a bit lamely. “We just… haven’t spoken at all since we, you know.”
“It was one kiss. It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Monica muttered.
“Mon, come on,” Valerie tried, exasperated. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened—about our past. About why I left.”
Monica’s eyes snapped up to hers, bright blue and so filled with emotion.
“I know why you left, Valerie,” Monica told her coolly. “I know exactly why you left everyone and everything, why you threw away your home and your family and every single one of your friends, why you uprooted yourself and vanished, why you ran instead of staying home. Instead of trying to fix things.”
“So, you know everything, then?” Valerie snapped, suddenly angry. “I thought you’ be happy that I wanted to talk to you about it!”
“I know why you fucking left, Valerie,” Monica snapped right back… then looked down, defeated. Valerie hated it immediately; she preferred Monica blazing, even if it hurt that Monica was angry at her. Monica looked out the window like the street outside held all the secrets of the world, like she couldn’t look at Valerie. “I just never understood why you didn’t take me with you.”
Oh, Valerie thought.
She opened her mouth but no words came out. She had no idea what to say to that. Monica looked down at the menu and started to read it, apparently not expecting a reply either way, and Valerie stared at her and felt her heart breaking clean in two.
“I just needed to get away,” she said helplessly.
“I know,” Monica muttered.
“I had to leave everything behind, I had to,” Valerie told her.
“Yes,” Monica said quietly. “Even me.”
Valerie stamped down on an I’m sorry. She wasn’t sorry. She had needed to get away and she had, and Monica had never been her responsibility, that was what she told herself, what she always told herself. She wouldn’t have had her clean break if she had brought Monica with her, was the thing, not when Monica knew everything about her, every piece of history and every second of the shitstorm that was her relationship with her parents.
Did it change anything? Did it matter?
“I want to kiss you again,” Valerie said, because it was all she had left.
Monica looked up at her. Her eyes were watery. She looked worn down. Valerie hated whoever had done that to her and she thought, guilty and desperate, that it had been her.
“Just like that?” Monica asked, tired. “Like it’s simple? Like it doesn’t mean anything?”
“You’re the one who said it didn’t have to mean anything. Not that I…”
“What do you want, Valerie?” Monica asked quietly.
“I’m tired,” Valerie said, and it was so true she was aching with it. She was so tired of being alone all the time, of moving away, of leaving people behind, of being so damn afraid. “I won’t apologize, Mon. I can’t. I think—I think it saved my life, leaving. But I never forgot you, and I never stopped thinking about you, and it—it means something, that I found you again. It has to. Right?”
“So what, you want to start dating again?” Monica asked, not looking at her. “Just like that?”
“You just berated me for not staying and trying to fix things,” Valerie said, a bit annoyed. “Well, I’m here now. Can’t we try to fix it, then?”
Monica squeezed her eyes shut. She looked like Valerie’s words had been a blow.
“Val, you left me,” she whispered, wounded, lifting her hands to cover her eyes. She sounded so young.
Valerie couldn’t do anything but reach out and grab her hands, squeeze them in hers. Monica cried, but only a little, and she quickly dried her tears. She didn’t give Valerie an answer and didn’t say anything else, barely responding to Valerie’s attempts at chatting throughout lunch.
But she didn’t leave, and she didn’t shout, and she didn’t push Valerie away when Valerie nudged her foot under the table, and that was something. Valerie told herself that she could do this, go slow, try to mend their wounds. She wasn’t in a hurry, she told herself firmly; she had meant to stay here all along.
***
Valerie was not productive the rest of the day. She might have sat still for several minutes so her screen saver would be activated and she would be able to catch a glimpse of Monica on her screen. Clarice looked torn between concerned and amused, like she wanted to laugh and wasn’t sure this was the type of situation that would allow for it. Valerie appreciated that Clarice hadn’t tried to speak to her about Monica again, for all that a part of her really wanted to talk to somebody about all this.
She sighed and waved her mouse around, and her spreadsheets showed up on her screen again, nearly blinding her. Her idea was nice, colorful and simple but bright with potential laughter and children who would surely speak very well of them to their parents and their teachers, but Valerie had so much to iron out. Everyone else had been working on their projects for months now.
“I see you’re doing well,” came a voice from her left. Valerie blinked up and saw Jerry squinting at her screen. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so all he was seeing was probably a bunch of tables, which would look very professional and nice if one couldn’t see that a lot of them had utter garbage written on them.
“I’m doing my best, boss,” Valerie said, trying to give him a smile. “It’s hard to close the gap between me and the others, but things are going smoothly.”
“Monica went to talk to me this morning, she had a great idea,” he said, stroking his chin. “It’s a bit like what you told me you were thinking about, actually. You two… did you two know each other?”
So, Monica was doing something like her project? Valerie was so absent-minded these days that she hadn’t ever thought to ask what Monica was doing, and she nearly rolled her eyes even though Jerry was right in front of her. Of course, Monica would get all weirdly competitive about this, she thought fondly.
“We went to high school together,” Valerie told him with a shrug.
“Oh, that explains that,” he said with a smile, like he suddenly had them all figured out. Valerie could even see what it was he was thinking about: maybe they both liked the same boy and were still bitter about it!
“I think I’ll talk to her about our projects, if they’re similar,” she told Jerry with a sharp smile. “Who knows, maybe she’ll be able to help me.”
“Ah, you do that.”
***
Valerie got home and made herself instant noodles. She was getting a bit tired of them. Maybe she should call for a pizza. There wasn’t really anything in her fridge to eat, so the only options were ordering in or eating out or eating the instant noodles of course. Valerie waited the three minutes for it to get done and laid down on the couch, letting her arms fall over her face, obscuring her vision.
She wasn’t surpris
ed when the phone rang, for all that she had thought her mother would never call back. That was how it usually went: the woman sometimes remembered she had a daughter, and Valerie answered the phone to tell her she hadn’t fallen down dead in a ditch somewhere yet, and that was that.
“Hey,” she said.
“Valerie, hi,” her mother said, pleased. “I didn’t think you’d answer. Um. How are you?”
“Just fine,” Valerie said tiredly.
“I’m glad,” her mother said. “How’s work?”
“Fine too.”
“And the new apartment?”
“It’s fine, Mom.”
They were both silent for a moment. Valerie wondered blandly if her mother ever regretted the things she had said and done to Valerie that had driven her away, if she ever felt guilt. Maybe. Maybe not. Valerie didn’t think she wanted to know, either way.
She had skipped town because of this woman, because of how terrified of her she had been, of what futures she could have had with her breathing down her neck.
“Well, if everything’s fine…” her mother said awkwardly.
“Yeah,” Valerie said. “Bye.”
She hung up and wondered if Monica had stayed in contact with her own parents. They had been just as bad as Valerie’s, but their words had always hurt Monica more, for the fact that she couldn’t help but love them.
Valerie let her phone fall to her chest and closed her eyes, thinking about sleep.
Chapter Eight
Monica stood up to walk to a more secluded corner of the office and kept her voice calm and polite even though she wanted to shout.
“Yes, as I’ve said before,” she said, reminding herself that it wasn’t the intern’s fault she had been asked to talk to Monica, “this project is still being perfected, and I am asking about the availability of your art teachers for a meeting so I can get to know them and see if this school would be a good partner in the future. Are you sure you can’t help me to speak with one of them?”
“Sorry, no,” the girl said, sounding like she wanted more than anything to let Monica speak to someone else. “Um, it sounds very interesting. I’ll bring it up with them. You said you’ve exchanged a few emails with Mrs. Harrison…?”
“Yes, which is why I had been expecting to talk to her today,” Monica said.
“I’ll, um, I’ll tell her you called.”
“All right,” Monica said, suppressing a sigh. “Thank you for your patience. I’ll be awaiting a return from you guys. Bye.”
She dropped her head to the wall in front of her. Sharon, who was nursing her third cup of shitty instant coffee in the past hour, snorted.
“I told you that you should have called that other place.”
“Mrs. Harrison seemed much more welcoming,” Monica grumbled. “I didn’t expect I wouldn’t be able to talk to her at all. I need potential schools that would like to work with me in this project if I’m ever going to present it to Jerry.”
“Chill,” Sharon said. “How about you forget about work for a second and gossip with me instead?”
Monica turned to squint at her. Sharon had a terribly curious, pleading expression on her face. Monica flushed—she knew Sharon wanted to talk about Valerie. Monica wasn’t sure how to react to Sharon’s lack of negative reaction toward all this. Part of her still feared her friend was going to shun her and throw her out to the wolves, while another part of her was dying to tell someone.
“I don’t want to gossip right now,” Monica said, eyes veering to Valerie.
Valerie, who had been turned around on her seat and looking at her, flushed and looked away.
“Something happened,” Sharon declared, lowering her voice. She knew this wasn’t a safe space to talk about this. “You’re both being weirder than usual. Case in point: you haven’t glared at her at all today.”
“Not glaring is weird now?”
“It is for you. Look, Mon, I know what the issue here is.”
“What is it?”
“I think you should,” Sharon started, then lowered her voice, “go out with her.” Monica scowled, but Sharon continued. “And I don’t mean that in the let’s go to the movies and hold hands way. I mean it in the let’s have dinner at my place and then sleep together way.”
Monica gaped at her, growing red up to her roots.
“Sharon,” she hissed, “you can’t just—I won’t—we’re not together! I can’t just—I have a kid!”
“The kid has to sleep eventually, and you haven’t gotten laid in years, girl,” Sharon said, gripping her by the shoulders. “I say you go for it. Seriously, the tension between the two of you is thick enough to cut with a knife, I think you would both benefit from—”
“Don’t say it again,” Monica moaned in despair.
She wanted to do it. She shouldn’t! She had no idea what she was feeling and their last outing had ended sort of horribly.
Would Valerie even say yes?
Monica looked to the side and caught Valerie looking at her again. Both their gazes snapped away. Sharon gave her a pointed look.
She did not expect Valerie to so readily say yes.
***
They went in her car that very same day, Monica driving and Valerie in the passenger seat, and Sharon was right: the tension really was thick and heavy, unbearable. Valerie kept her head angled away but was peering at her through the reflection of the window. Monica’s hands were staring to ache from how hard she was gripping at the wheel.
“I know we’re already here, but,” Valerie started, “is this a date?”
“I don’t know,” Monica said, too honest. “I have no idea. I truly have no fucking idea, Valerie.”
“All right,” Valerie said easily, voice low. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
Halfway through her drive to the daycare, it hit Monica that she had never actually told Valerie that she had a son. She resisted the urge to hit her head against the steering wheel. Christ, of course Valerie didn’t know—Monica never shared things. Her own coworkers hadn’t learned she had a son for months after she had been hired, and that was with her missing Saturday’s half-shift with the others who had children.
She parked in front of the day-care, a few cars away from the entrance.
“Valerie,” Monica said awkwardly, then didn’t know how to continue.
“I’m guessing you don’t live here,” Valerie said, squinting at the building in front of them. “Where exactly are we? Is this a school?”
“Just stay in the car,” Monica said with a sigh, and got out.
She didn’t take three steps toward the school before her son’s gaze rose among the crowds like he was a damn bloodhound, and he came barreling toward her. He collided with her knees painfully and she groaned.
“Dave, what have I told you about hurting Mommy?”
“You’re late!” he shouted, trying to scale her.
She put her hands under his armpits and lifted him up. “I’m not late,” she chided and started to walk back to the car. “I’m right on time.”
He grumbled something or other. Monica opened the back door of the car and strapped him into the car-seat, then walked up to the front and got in the driver’s seat again. Valerie was sitting twisted on the seat, staring at David with a dumbstruck expression on her face. David stared back, suspicious.
“Who’s this?” he asked loudly.
“What the fuck,” Valerie said just as loudly.
“She said fuck!” David shrieked, delighted.
“David,” Monica said reproachfully, and her son blew a raspberry at her, but quieted. “Valerie. You need to straighten up and sit properly, or else I can’t drive.”
Valerie straightened up, then put a hand on her head.
“You have a son,” she said blankly. “He has your eyes. You have a kid.”
“Yes.”
“You had a child,” Valerie said almost accusingly as they drove off. “With a—a man? Or did you—”
“With
a man, yes,” Monica said tiredly.
“Dad’s a douchebag,” David said in the excited tone of a child who was repeating something he had heard with no idea what it actually meant.
“That he is,” Monica said proudly.
“But, a man?” Valerie asked, gaping.
“I made some mistakes when you were gone,” Monica admitted shamefully. “I’m talking about your father, not you,” she quickly added, least her son think she was talking about him.
Thankfully, he was too busy playing with one of the stuffed toys littering the back seat to hear her.
“He’s so cute,” Valerie said wretchedly. “He has your eyes. Monica, why didn’t you tell me you had a kid? Why didn’t you let me meet him? How old is he?”
“I’m four!” David exclaimed, raising four chubby fingers.
“Dude, that’s like, the best number in the world.”
“It is!” David agreed, pleased.
Monica wanted to be angry at how well they were getting along, but she just felt mushy and sad about it instead.
“I didn’t think our date would involve a four-year-old, though,” Valerie said.
“He sleeps very heavily,” Monica muttered, then flushed bright red when her own implications caught up with her. “Not that—not that I’m implying that—”
“It’s okay,” Valerie said, but she was blushing, too.
***
It wasn’t a date. It couldn’t be a date, not with a four-year-old kid doing his best to keep all the attention on himself, not when Monica had nothing for dinner but mac-and-cheese, not when it was barely nine and Monica was swaying where she stood from how tired she was. It didn’t matter that Valerie seemed delighted, that she ate the mac-and-cheese like it was the best thing in the world, that she looked at David like he was something she had never dared to hope for.
“Mom,” David whispered when she tucked him in, “can Val visit again?”
“Yeah,” Monica said, tired, and went back to the living room.
Valerie was peering at the walls, looking at pictures Monica had up. Most were of David, but Valerie was frowning and Monica knew just which picture was making her look like that. She walked up to her and looked at the picture, too. It was from a picnic she had had once with her parents, and all three of them were smiling at the camera under the blue sky.
Second Time Around Page 5