The Obstruction of Emma Goldsworthy

by Sean Kennedy

  “Good call.” Emma was a little giddy and unsure if she could walk to the bar in a straight line. “But that wasn’t our first kiss.”

  Jess grinned. “It’s our first real kiss, where we actually know each other rather than pretending to be fictional characters.”

  That kiss had been so good Emma had chased after the memory for months. This new first kiss turned out even better. What was going to happen now?

  Emma was a goner. But she tried to sound as suave as she could when she asked, “What was it you wanted to drink?”

  It was more of a squeak, but Jess didn’t seem to care.

  THEY HAD gotten through a couple of drinks and dinner without mention of the elephant in the room, but later, as Emma and Jess roamed the city streets, not wanting to part just yet, it was eventually attacked.

  “So…,” Jess said, dragging out the word for as long as she could. “Trish?”

  “No! Just when this was going so well!”

  “You knew we had to talk about it sooner or later.”

  “I was just hoping that we wouldn’t. Not tonight. Tonight’s been magical.”

  “Magical? Have I been casting spells? Or was it you casting spells?” Jess definitely knew when to turn on the charm, although Emma didn’t like her using it to deflect from a serious conversation about Trish. Did it mean the subject was something much deeper to Jess or that she had something to hide? Emma really really hoped not.

  But then, it was Emma who had tried to stave off the conversation tonight. And she wasn’t hiding anything nefarious about her relationship with Trish. She gave a feeble response. “I don’t have a wand license yet.”

  “Ah, then it was me!”

  “Cute.”

  She stopped in her tracks, and Emma was forced to do so as well. “Uh-oh, the atmosphere’s changed. Is there a troll in the dungeon?”

  “If her name’s Trish, yeah.”

  This was a test. Jess’s reaction to calling Trish a troll would let Emma know whether there were still feelings there. But she laughed.

  “Okay, I wouldn’t go so far as calling her a troll. We know she’s not ugly. But she is kind of a dick.”

  “A dick in the dungeon?” Emma suggested.

  “That sounds even worse.”

  “So she’s a bit of a troll and a bit of a dick, so let’s just say she’s a bit of a trick,” Emma rapped.

  Jess was almost bent over with laughter. “Nice one, Nicki Minaj.”

  “Oh, thank the goddess you compared me to Minaj. If it was Iggy Azalea, I would have broken up with you.”

  Oh, stupid Emma! Quick, invent a time machine and come back to this moment and kill yourself before you managed to say this!

  Unfortunately no future self came running out of the shadows with a screwdriver and funny coat to save her. But Jess was grinning.

  “Are we going out, are we?”

  Emma decided she might as well go full throttle and hopefully play up the angle that she was either playfully joking around or truly delusional. “I thought we were, since you’re already madly in love with me.”

  “Am I?” Jess asked. She was as cool as the berg that brought the Titanic down, and Emma was the guy in the film who hilariously hit the propeller and spun off it as the ship was sinking. “I guess you are pretty cute and funny. We’ll see how it goes.”

  Now Emma was being kissed once more. The world around them became monochrome, but Emma and Jess were vivid Technicolor, full Dorothy in the Land of Oz, and wow, Emma’s internal gay references were becoming really overt—

  “Thanks, girls! I’ll save that for my wank bank!”

  They jolted apart, the world in colour once more, although now it was dark and mottled.

  A battered red Honda was idling at the lights, with a guy slightly older than them leaning out and capturing the scene with his mobile.

  “Fuck off!” they both yelled, and Jess even started forward as if to attack.

  The lights turned, and the guy drove off. They heard him screaming, “God, I love lesbians!”

  “Fucking perv,” Jess said. “I hope his dick falls off because he’s wanking too much!”

  “Don’t let it affect you,” Emma said.

  Jess turned back to her and kissed her again, even stronger and more passionate than before. Emma dreamt of being her protector, banishing all evil from her presence, armed with a souped-up hockey stick and silver pucks. Emma, the Hockey Slayer. Or should that be the Emma, the Pervert Slayer? Why was Emma thinking about this when she should be concentrating on those beautiful lips belonging to this gorgeous girl?

  “Oh, believe me, I won’t,” Jess said when she came up for air.

  “WE STILL never talked about that thing we didn’t talk about.”

  “We also didn’t commit any minor crimes, but we can still talk about the trick if you like,” Emma said.

  They were now at Jess’s house, which she shared with a number of friends—one of them being Leah, who seemed determined not to like Emma. She had peered through the window twice already, acting like some prissy housekeeper who set a curfew for her boarders and did her utmost to make them stick to it. Maybe a pail of cold water would be flung at Emma through the door if she outstayed her welcome.

  “Save it for date two,” Jess said.

  “Um, I’m not sure I’m ready to move in with you if we haven’t discussed the trick yet.”

  Jess laughed. “That’s right. Second date’s when lesbians move in together. Or is it the third?”

  “We could stretch it to the third. Just to ensure we clear up the Trish-scented air.”

  “You said her name.”

  “She isn’t Bloody Mary. Or Beetlejuice. I think we’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t know. I kind of like referring to her as a trick. It’s kind of witchy, isn’t it?”

  “You might call it witchy, others might call it bitchy.”

  “Drop the mic, Nicki.”

  She was right; the rapping was getting old. Not that that last bit had been rapped; Emma had inadvertently created a rhyme. She wanted to kiss Jess again, but the taxi she had ordered chose that moment to arrive.

  “So,” Emma said.

  “So….”

  The driver honked the horn impatiently.

  “Until next time,” Emma said gallantly, kissing her good night. It was a much more chaste one than those experienced previously during their date, but it was just as sweet. Fearing she would never leave, Emma pulled away and ran down to the waiting taxi.

  “Hey!” Jess called.

  Emma turned back.

  She leaned against the railing on her veranda. “I never took your picture!”

  Emma grinned. “You will.”

  “Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

  Her concern was sweet, and Emma promised she would.

  SHE WISHED she had been asked to stay the night, but it wasn’t offered. Maybe it was for the best. Emma could see herself moving in with Jess before they even got to the second date.

  She had never been like this with Trish. Sure, she thought she loved her, and Emma did at the time, but this was almost bordering on whiny obsessiveness. And Emma didn’t want to be that person, no matter how much she liked Jess.

  As the lift carried Emma to her floor, she texted Jess, promising she was home safe. Almost immediately her response came back: Good. I kind of like you and don’t want anything to happen to you.

  Once again the madness of wanting to send her a row of kisses overwhelmed Emma. But Jess wasn’t doing it yet, so neither would she. Instead she sent her a ghost emoji.

  The fucking ghost emoji. What did that even mean? Hopefully she would think it was just Emma’s charming humour.

  Alya was sitting in the common area watching television. “You’re home late for a Sunday night.”

  “I was on a date!” Emma announced grandly.

  The television was switched off. “No!”

  “Yes!”

  Alya jumpe
d up and ran over to her excitedly. “You’re a dark horse!”

  “Not really.”

  “You didn’t even tell me you were seeing someone!”

  “Tonight was our first date, really. And I would have told you last night, but those two bozos got in the way.”

  Alya led Emma over to the couch and sat with her. “So everything’s sorted with those two, then?”

  “As much as it can be for the moment.”

  “Enough said. Don’t really care about them anyway. Tell me about the date.”

  Emma knew Alya wasn’t being dismissive about her stupid boys. Alya was all bark and no bite, as her relationship with Kerry could attest. “Okay, her name’s Jess—”

  “What, Malcolm?”

  “Well, that’s obviously not her name.”

  “Obviously. Go on.”

  “We were meant to go out last night, but the boy drama happened, so we rescheduled for tonight.” Emma checked her watch. “Oh! Officially last night now.”

  Alya hugged a cushion tight to her chest, impatient. “Do you want me to break out into ‘Tell me more’ like I’m a Pink Lady or something?”

  Jan had always been Emma’s favourite Pink Lady. Her goofy sing-along with the chipmunk toothpaste commercial made her the kind of girl Emma wanted to party with. “We didn’t get very far,” she admitted, “but it was good enough. For now. She kisses like… I don’t know. I just know she kisses pretty good, and I could have kissed her all night.”

  Alya looked a little dreamy. “Oh, I love those first kisses. I should have known it wouldn’t work with Kerri when she kissed me like she was eating an onion. I wonder how what’s-her-name, the new girl, is dealing with that.”

  She actually looked like she would enjoy it if what’s-her-name would be having as hard a time kissing Kerri as she had.

  “Maybe love conquers all, even bad kissing,” Emma suggested.

  Alya sighed. “It did for me when I was with her.”

  Feeling like a phoney, Emma rubbed her arm consolingly.

  “Anyway! Kissing was all there was?”

  “No further. We’re sweet little girls.”

  Alya snorted. “If she’d given you the chance to stay the night you would have put the Scissor Sisters to shame.”

  “Alya!” Emma protested, grabbing the cushion and hitting her with it. Alya giggled beneath the assault, and it was probably the first time Emma had heard her giving a real laugh since the breakup.

  “When are you seeing her next?” She was muffled beneath the fabric, and Emma let her breathe again. “I think that cover needs a wash. It smells like old chips.”

  “Better than old BO, I guess. I’m not sure. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  “You mean later today. Officially.”

  “Yes, officially.”

  Alya had a sly grin on her face.

  “What?” Emma asked.

  “I got kissed tonight too.”

  “What?” She got another whack with the cushion. “Now who’s the dark horse?”

  “Believe me, it’s not as nice as your story. But it’s a fuckload more weird.”

  Now Emma was the impatient one. “Come on!”

  “I was at Heaven. I’d had a few drinks.”

  “Always a promising start to a story. But why there? 16West is much funkier.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Anyway, Trish turned up and sat next to me.”

  “Trish?” Emma didn’t like where this story was going. She may not have been Sherlock, but it was pretty obvious. Even Inspector Gadget would have figured it out without the help of Penny and Brain.

  “Yeah, Trish. Your ex.”

  “Also Jess’s,” Emma admitted.

  Alya’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t have executed it any better if she were a character on a sitcom. “No!”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s… umm, incest?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But maybe gross?”

  “It’s like she’s collecting a harem or something.”

  “Russian nesting dolls?” Emma suggested.

  Alya seemed pleased with that simile. “Yes!”

  “If you’re going where I think you’re going, then you’re going to be part of the set too.”

  Now she wasn’t pleased. “She came on to me! I was just minding my own business. And yeah, I’d had a few drinks, but I was still perfectly lucid.”

  Emma didn’t want to be skeptical—but, come on.

  “Suddenly, she knocked over my Tia Maria as she grabbed me, and suddenly her tongue was trying to take my tonsils out.”

  Emma giggled to herself—she couldn’t help it.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Come on, it is… a little bit.”

  Alya couldn’t resist smiling. “In hindsight. To tell you the truth I was more pissed off about the spilt Tia Maria.”

  “So would I. Even though it’s really only good over ice cream.”

  “Snob. Anyway, back to the tongue in my throat.”

  “Ugh, thanks for reminding me.”

  “Of course, there was a part of me that liked it—”

  “Alya!”

  “What?” She was on the defensive now. “I haven’t been pashed for months!”

  “Yeah, but Trish—”

  “Yeah, but any port in a storm,” she countered. “And you went there, remember!”

  “I was young and stupid.”

  “We’re still young and stupid,” Alya reminded her. “Anyway, I came to my senses and pushed her off me, and she tried to go in for another one. Maybe she thought I was trying to play hard to get? And I’m not really that hard to get—”

  “You just said you hadn’t been pashed for months! I’d say that means you’re at least a little hard to get.”

  “Thank you. My reputation remains intact.”

  “For now, anyway.”

  “Can I finish my story?”

  “There’s more?”

  “Fine, go to bed.” But Alya had a certain glint to her eye. She was almost at the point she was building up to, some secret she was desperate to share but wanted to just hold out of Emma’s reach for a few seconds more.

  “No, tell me,” Emma said.

  The pressure from keeping it in deflated, and the glint turned to merriment. “So I pushed her away again and said, ‘I think you’re drunk.’ And she said, ‘So what?’”

  Emma had to admit it didn’t really sound like Trish. Trish didn’t need a coach to keep her in line; Trish was her own coach. She only drank on the off-season or special occasions, and tonight—last night—wouldn’t have been one of them. “But what about her girlfriend?”

  “I was just getting to that! Apparently they’ve broken up.”

  “Wow, Trish definitely moves fast.”

  “Yeah, I kinda got that feeling. Like she’s one of those people who can’t stand being alone? They always need a partner, even if they don’t like them.”

  Alya, the Armchair Psychologist. Another spin-off series from Emma, Pervert Slayer. “Really? I never got that vibe from her.”

  “It’s been two years since you knew her.”

  “True, but still—”

  “Anyway, I haven’t told you the big bit!”

  That carrot she was dangling was starting to turn mouldy. “Hurry up.”

  “She then apologised to me and said that she was feeling down because she had broken up with her girlfriend—”

  “Yeah, you’ve told me this already—”

  “Shut up! Anyway….” Alya leaned in confidentially, as if she were afraid Trish was around and wouldn’t like the gossip being shared about her. “She said that she had to break up with her because she had come back home and was starting to have feelings for her ex again!”

  Emma’s stomach rumbled uncomfortably. She didn’t say anything.

  Alya seemed disappointed. “Well?”

  “What?”

  “She obviously means you!”

  “Nah,” Emma said with more
confidence than she felt. It wasn’t like she had tickets on herself, but Trish had approached her at the lake when she was trying to avoid her—had Trish already planned the breakup before then? And was she trying to gauge Emma’s reaction to see how she responded to her? But that made no sense, because Emma hadn’t been receptive at all. At least, not enough to make somebody think they still had a chance with her. “She’s had plenty of girlfriends since me, and quite a few of them apparently in Canberra. It could be anybody.”

  Alya frowned into her cushion, and silence reigned for at least a minute until she perked up again. “Hey, you said that Malcolm—”

  “Jess,” Emma said automatically.

  “—Jess was an ex of hers! What if it’s Jess?”

  Now Emma’s stomach felt even worse. What if it was? She had purposely made Jess avoid the topic of Trish all evening, so she had no fucking idea what Jess thought about Trish, back when she was going out with her and now that she wasn’t. Maybe she didn’t feel as strongly about her as Emma did—Jess didn’t seem to have a problem with her during the shoot while Emma was practically diving behind sand dunes to avoid her. And they had only gone on one—one!—date, so it would be so easy for Jess to go back to Trish if she wanted. It wouldn’t even really be a breakup between them, because they’d never officially been together!

  Oh fuck, it was Jess! Who wouldn’t be in love with her, even a year or so after they had broken up? Jess would break the mould for anybody, and yes Emma was someone in the early throes of affection turning into love, but if she felt this crazy already, who was to say that Trish wasn’t totally insane with love for Jess by now?

  She was going to lose Jess before she even really had her.

  “Are you okay?” Alya asked. “You look a million miles away.”

  “I’m fine,” Emma said.

  She wasn’t.

  “It probably isn’t Jess.”

  Emma was pretty sure it was.

  Alya was trying to be kind, realising she had obviously thrown Emma into a state of catatonia. “Like you said, Trish, phew, lots of girls, town bike, etc.”

  “I never said she was the town bike! I would never describe another woman like that!”