by A. E. Radley
“You have to. I don’t know anyone in London. This is the path you chose. There’s no going back now.”
The realization of my words marred his face as if he hadn’t contemplated that aspect of his declaration earlier. Or the consequences of fucking another woman.
I wasn’t alone in only London.
My parents were deceased.
No siblings.
Zero aunts and uncles.
Grandparents dead and buried.
Our entire lives revolved around Steve and his job. We’d moved to New York months earlier when he scored a sportscasting job for ESPN in their new studio, leaving behind my handful of friends in Connecticut. One of which had given birth three weeks ago. She wouldn’t have the time or the energy to help me. My other friends were with friends and loved ones for the holiday. Like normal people. How could I call any of them on Christmas Eve, sobbing that my life had come to a screeching halt on the goose-shit-splattered pavement of the Serpentine, an artificial lake in the middle of Hyde Park created at the request of Queen Caroline in 1730?
Steve was my family. The one who kept me from being that freak on the outskirts of humanity.
Was.
Past tense.
I stared at the man who was my entire world, seeing the apprehension in his eyes. It was difficult to curb the desire to punch him in the face. “Go, please. Nothing will happen to me.”
“I—” He raked his hand through his thinning hair. “How can I leave you like this?”
“Like what?” I squared my shoulders.
“Upset.”
“I’ve survived worse things. You were with me when my parents were killed.” They had been gunned down four years prior in a senseless mass shooting. Steve had been my rock. He’d promised he’d never leave me. A promise he’d repeated on many occasions.
Never say never.
My mother had warned me of ending up like this. Devoted to a man with a large ego. Ex-NFL quarterbacks still craved attention. Perks. Thinking everything would collapse without them.
She wouldn’t want me to crumple.
Not here.
The tower ride dropped again, the riders shrieking.
It looked like fun.
“I’m going to ride that.” I pointed at the tower.
“I’ll go with you.” He made like we should walk there together.
Never again would I thread my arm through his.
I shook my head. “No. You’ve been clear. I don’t make you happy. You should be happy. More importantly, I should be happy. And going on that ride on this fucking frigid night on Christmas Eve will make me happy!” My voice crescendoed like a mad woman in the third act of a play, right before the curtain fell and the audience gasped wondering what would become of her.
What would become of me?
CHAPTER 2
The entrance to Winter Wonderland overflowed with couples and families. The majority looked miserable, especially the parents, doing their best to corral excited children or mollify grouchy ones who clearly had reached their limit for the day.
There was one couple, though, that sickened me.
Not because they were two women.
Because they seemed so effing happy. Cracking jokes. Standing close to stay warm and combat the sharp wind that swirled, pelting my body from all sides with razor-like teeth.
Happy couples sucked. Plain and simple. And they should be banned in public.
The redhead whispered something in her partner’s ear, causing the blonde to tilt her head back, howling with laughter.
“It’s nauseating, isn’t it?” said a quiet feminine voice behind me.
Cranking my head over my left shoulder, I spied a dark-haired woman who was roughly my height. “What is?”
“How happy they are.” She jerked her chin to the look how happy we are couple.
“I think it’s… sweet.” I didn’t really and nearly choked on the words, but I didn’t want to get embroiled in a conversation with a perfect stranger, who may or may not be homophobic. That was the last thing I needed. I’d rather do a nosedive into an active volcano.
Not many assumed I was open-minded when it came to sexuality. Maybe because I looked like an All-American girl who attended church every Sunday.
I directed my gaze straight ahead.
The redhead surrendered her satchel to one of the bag inspectors, who rummaged through the contents and then returned it.
The couple disappeared into the madness inside.
“Are you here alone?” asked the voice.
“What?” Why did the lonely ones always find me in a crowd? Was I putting off I’m alone pheromones, pulling in the crazies? “No. I’m meeting my boyfriend inside,” I lied. Although, I was fairly certain Steve had tailed me after I summoned the courage to leave the spot where it had happened.
The breakup.
Yes, he dumped my pathetic ass on Christmas Eve, but he wasn’t evil. And, he’d been protecting me since I was twenty-six. That was a hard habit to break for someone like Steve.
“I’m meeting friends.” She blew into her red hands. “It’s as cold as a witch’s tit. Where in the states are you from?”
“Arizona,” I fibbed again. “I’m guessing you’re American as well.”
“Yes, but I live here now.” She smiled, transforming her face from weirdo to… I didn’t know what. “I’m Allison.”
I shook her hand, briefly contemplating supplying a fake name but opted not to because really what harm could come from giving my name to a woman I’d never see again? “Dagny.”
“I should have brought gloves.” She held onto my hand a moment too long. “It’s not usually this cold in London. It hardly ever gets too hot or too cold here. It’s extreme-less.” She laughed.
It was my turn to have my purse searched.
“You can’t bring this in.” The woman held up my unopened water bottle.
Given the other water bottles on the off-white folding table, it seemed pointless to argue. “Okay.”
The woman handed back my purse, sans the bottle.
I strolled into the entrance, not bothering to say goodbye to my fellow American, hoping she’d get the hint that I didn’t want company. Not while I was in such a fragile state.
There was a tug on the back of my right arm. “Let me buy you a beer or mulled wine to replace your water and show you everyone in London isn’t a stickler for rules.”
I flipped around to decline Allison’s offer when a child bounced off my leg, and his father mouthed sorry as he chased after the toddler. “That’s kind of you—”
Before I could finish, Allison marched to the nearest vendor just to my left. “Beer or mulled wine?” she shouted over her shoulder.
As far as I could tell, I had two options: run or answer. It wouldn’t kill me to have a drink with her, and she didn’t seem too crazy. “Uh, mulled wine.”
“Two mulled wines,” she said to the scrawny guy with a floppy Santa hat pulled down over his ears.
I approached the bar, feeling terrible she was paying as if I was a castoff orphan in a Dickens novel. “Here, let me pay for mine.” I fished in my purse in search of the notes Steve had tossed at me, the impact of his action, as if paying me to go away, roiling the anger burning in the pit of my stomach.
“I got it.” She gave the man a twenty-pound note. After retrieving her change, she handed me one of the white Styrofoam cups bearing the depiction of a buxom waitress with blonde braids clasping beer steins for patrons and the words Bavarian Village in black print on a red background. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I turned my head, furtively sopping up a tear with the tip of one mitten-clad finger. I didn’t know what stoked my waterworks. When presentable, I raised my drink, looked the woman in the eye, and said, “Thanks.”
She curled both hands around her cup. “Ah, they’re coming back to life. One of the festival’s pubs around the corner has space heaters. Follow me.” Once again not bothering to give me time
to decline, she headed off, confident I’d follow.
It would have been easy to disappear in the opposite direction. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people milled about, taking in all the fucking cheerfulness. Venturing into the holiday morass on my own… I couldn’t do it.
Instead, I tailed her to Santa’s Pub. Upon our arrival, two patrons deserted their seats located next to a space heater.
Allison slipped onto one of the black chairs before a young man, who clearly had been waiting for his moment, had a chance to score. After flashing an apologetic Sorry Charlie face, she waved for me to grab the other seat pronto.
“I’m on a roll, tonight.” She sipped her mulled wine. “Usually, I have the worst luck.”
I slid onto the seat. “It’s okay to bring our drinks in here?”
“Oh, yeah. Everything on the grounds is all part of the festival.”
The light in the makeshift pub gave me the first opportunity to study her face. Kind and inquisitive, blue eyes. Soft skin. Rosy cheeks. A tiny piercing in her left nostril. The only makeup I detected was mascara and a hint of purple eyeshadow. She was the definition of the girl next door, except for the nose jewelry.
“Maybe getting a seat was your Christmas miracle.” I took a swig of the mulled wine, a little too deeply, but hell. It’d been one of those nights. Correction, it had been less than an hour since the entire direction of my life flipped a massive U-turn into the unknown.
“The next miracle is all yours.” She waved magnanimously, not seeming to notice my dark thoughts.
Her sweet smile buoyed me, and I did my best to mirror hers with my own. But I sensed every part of my being screamed I wanted to curl up on the faux wood floor and die.
“Is your boyfriend late? Is that why you’re sad?” She slanted her head to peer into my eyes. “Are you sad? Or mad? I keep detecting both emotions.”
A stout man with a ridiculous Christmas sweater and black leather jacket bumped into our table. “Sorry.” He sounded East European. Righting himself, he pivoted to face the bar and ordered two large beers. Two more people, their faces red and sore from the wind, eyed the small and temporary so-called pub, even if it wasn’t really a building but three partitions and completely open in the front. They didn’t spy a seat and left, crestfallen.
“I think everyone wants our seats,” I said to deflect from her observations.
She nodded and didn’t press for answers to her questions.
“Where are your friends?” I asked.
She glanced at her phone, which sat on the high-top table. “No word yet. They’re in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, so they can be somewhat flaky.” She avoided my eyes, shrugging.
“Would they really ditch you on Christmas Eve?”
“It’s possible. Maybe they’re renting a U-Haul as we speak.” She laughed it off.
I furrowed my brow.
“Ah, you haven’t heard of lesbians rushing into moving in together.” She raised a hand in a what can you do fashion.
“My best friend did that three weeks after meeting Heidi.” I added, “They’re married now with two cats and a German Shepherd, just so they aren’t super stereotypical.”
“Happily married?”
“I’d like to think so, but who really knows what happens behind closed doors?”
“And what goes on behind yours?” She tried to sound suave, but halfway through I think she remembered we’d only just met, and a blush crept up from her neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be vulgar.”
“It’s okay. This is the night for it.” I shifted on the chair. “I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just… this has been the crappiest night of my life, and it’s”—I consulted my watch—“only seven in the evening. Plenty of time to get worse. Much, much worse.”
“I see you’re the glass is half-empty kind of person.”
I sucked in a deep breath. “Something like that.”
“Wanna talk about it?” She lifted her cup but realized it was nearly-empty. “After I grab another round.” She popped off the stool.
During her absence, I swiped away another bout of tears. Was my waterproof mascara holding up? Or did I look like a pathetic half-drowned raccoon?
“Here you go.” She placed a steaming cup of mulled wine in front of me.
“Thanks. The next round is on me. Or two rounds, rather.”
She swatted my words aside. “Don’t worry about it. Looks like you could use a friend tonight, and since mine apparently are ditching me…” She left the rest unsaid. Switching gears, she asked, “Are you visiting, or are you an expat like me?”
“Visiting.”
She absorbed my curt one-word answer. “And it’s not going well?”
“It had been until tonight. Thirty or forty minutes before I met you, my boyfriend of twelve years dumped me. Right there.” I extended my arm to point to the spot of the relationship crime, but it wasn’t visible due to all the stalls and crowds.
She whistled. “Some Christmas gift.”
My bottom lip started to quiver. To mask the feeling of despair, I took a tug of mulled wine.
“Would you like to go someplace… private?” Allison’s eyes scouted the options, not finding many adequate places for me to have an emotional breakdown. “I don’t live far from here.”
“Thanks, but I came here to have fun, and that’s what I plan to do.” My voice didn’t match my declaration. “Or drown my sorrows.” I raised my cup.
She hoisted hers. “To drowning sorrows.”
I tapped mine against hers, not making the typical clinking sound and nearly sloshing the hot liquid when the lips of the Styrofoam cups bent inward at the impact. “How about you? In a relationship?”
Allison moved her head to the left and then right. She added, “Recent breakup, actually. Not as recent as yours. My girlfriend flew over for Thanksgiving. We had an epic row. And sayonara.” She waved c’est la vie.
“What did you fight about?” I covered my mouth with my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had time to process.” She tapped the side of her head. “We were doomed the day I agreed to move over here for my job. It was supposed to be for six months, but they say once you’ve lived in London, you don’t want to leave.” She wore a wistful expression.
“How long have you been here, then?”
“Three years.”
“How long were you with the girl—what’s her name?”
“Let’s call her Girl X. She’s super private.”
I had to laugh. “Is she famous or something? Or do you just like to be mysterious when cruising Winter Wonderland for chicks?”
“Both, perhaps, but if the latter is true, how would you know if anything else is true?” She arched a mischievous eyebrow. “To answer your other question, we were together for five years.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you because…” My voice trailed off.
“You’re not. Ever. I want to be very clear about that right now.” She pressed her index finger onto the table. “Never believe a word I say.”
I laughed, loosening a spray of snot. “You see. My day is getting worse.” I wiped my nose with the back of my glove.
“Laughing is bad?” Her smile was playful.
“Laughing is great. Spraying a new friend with bodily fluids is bad. Didn’t you learn that in elementary school?”
“I remember no kicking, biting, scratching… but not no spraying snot when upset.” She reached into her jacket pocket and handed me a pack of tissues. “These are softer than your gloves.”
I blew my nose into one, resulting in a hideous honking sound. There was nothing to do but laugh.
Allison’s resolve to not laugh at my expense lasted for less than ten seconds, and soon enough, she was reaching for a tissue to dry the tears from the corners of her brilliant blue eyes. “I’m s-sorry,” she stuttered, taking in a deep breath to pull it together. “You’ve had such a bad night, and here I am, laughi
ng at you.”
“Don’t apologize. This. You. It’s helped.” I waved a hand to cool off my face. “There’s still a high probability I’ll break down in tears at any moment, though.” My laughter subsided as did hers. “Well, that was a sufficient mood killer.”
She wore a sympathetic half-smile.
“Are women better?” I asked.
Allison turned her head slightly. “In any particular category?”
“As girlfriends... partners? To date… marry?”
She bobbed her head with understanding. “Ah, the myth dating a woman if you’re also a woman gives you an edge. Women and men have one thing in common: they’re both spectacularly human and flawed. I haven’t dated a guy since high school, but I don’t think breakups are easier if dumped by a man or woman. No matter what, it hurts. Period.”
“But do women act like men? Self-absorbed? Unfaithful? Resistant to opening up?”
She laughed. “I think it depends on the individual. I once dated a woman who barely spoke, but I didn’t notice for the first few months because I’m naturally chatty. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks, and it killed my feelings. How could I date someone who didn’t have an opinion on anything, not even when I asked her what her favorite color was?” She rolled her eyes. “Conversely, I also dated one who never shut the fuck up and never asked me how my day was even after I inquired about hers. And, I just want to put out there that lesbians do cheat. Not all of them. But there are some who are worse than your average male.” She paused. “Is that what he did? Cheat?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I looked away. “I asked what her name was, and he said it wasn’t important. My gut says yes, he did. I’m not sure it matters, though. If there is someone else, did she factor into his decision, which apparently he’s been contemplating for some time, and this trip was his last hope to salvage his feelings for me? I never should have insisted on going to high tea in Bath. I knew it wasn’t his thing, but…” Another wave of sadness washed over me.
Allison gave me a moment to compose myself and then asked, “Did you have a clue he felt this way?”
“Not at all. I feel like an ass because I’d thought he was going to pop the question on this trip.”