by Kris Ripper
I really hoped it would be with, though.
I sent Potter an email the second I got to work, expecting him to basically ignore me and make me beg him for a meeting. Which would be fine, because I still didn’t really know what I was going to say. I’d just told Rodriguez that I’d be available whenever he needed me, and now here I was, asking for time off for the first time since I’d started working here. At best, I’d look inconsistent. At worst—I couldn’t figure out what was the worst-case scenario. That he’d say no and I’d look like I was picking up lazy from Caspar? Or that he’d say yes and take me less seriously as a reporter?
To my (probably obvious) shock, he actually walked to our table about fifteen minutes later.
“Masiello. You want something?”
Caspar’s eyes boggled behind Potter’s back.
“Uh, I . . . actually—” Oh shit. No time to think, no time to prepare. “I was wondering if I could have two weeks off?”
“Huh.” Potter looked down at me long enough that I started to think he was going to say something like, Sure thing. Don’t bother coming back.
He didn’t, though.
“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Don’t want you to burn out, kid. Starting when?”
“Next Monday?”
“That works.”
“I, uh, Rodriguez said he could use me on— I mean, he told me I should be ready—”
“Rodriguez survived this long without your assistance, he can make it two more weeks.” He kicked Caspar’s chair. “This means you’ll have to get off your ass and do some work around here for once.”
“How is that fair? I gotta pick up the slack because boy genius here wants to go on vacation?”
“I think what you actually meant to say there is ‘Thanks, boss, for letting me get away with being a waste of space most of the time.’ If you do a damn thing while Ed’s gone that’ll be an improvement on your usual performance around here.” He kicked the chair again and waved a hand back at me. “Get your head on straight, Masiello.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What the fuck?” Caspar shot at me.
I shrugged.
“Two weeks,” he muttered. “Jesus. What the fuck. What the hell are you gonna do for two stinkin’ weeks that’s more important than work?”
“Go on a trip with my girlfriend.” I hope. I sincerely hope.
He shoved back from the table in disgust. “I don’t give a fuck, man. Jesus!”
I bit back a laugh as he stomped off to the break room.
I didn’t get nervous until I was walking out of the bookstore with a travel guide to Mexico City. We couldn’t go next week, but I wanted us to go someday. At least, I wanted her to know I was committed to that. It was a small gesture, but I hoped she’d understand it.
We hadn’t talked since Friday night. She’d texted to ask if I heard about Felipe, I’d texted back that I had. That was it.
I called up from the car, crossing my fingers that she was there.
“Hey.” At least she sounded happy to talk to me.
“Hey. I’m sort of in front of your apartment. Are you here?”
“I’m so here. But watch out, I’ve been—busy.”
“Busy?”
She laughed. “Come up.”
Okay, laughter was a good sign.
It didn’t take much to see what she meant: more than half her books were spread around. Some were in stacks beside the bookshelf, the coffee table was full of books splayed open and facedown, and I couldn’t see the kitchen table under piles of papers and notebooks and more books.
“Wow,” I said.
“Hush. Here.” She dumped some stuff off the sofa and used her feet to shuffle it back toward the bookshelf. With an elaborate bow, she said, “Join me.”
“Is it okay I just showed up?”
“We’re not in the middle of a bitter war. We had a fight. And we have to talk.”
“I agree. Totally. But first— I mean, uh, I got this thing.” I perched on the edge of her sofa. God, this was so fucking hard all of a sudden. I passed the bag from the bookstore over to her and waited while she opened it.
“Ohhh, perfect. Are we planning? I will drop everything right now and plan our Mexico City trip, Ed!”
“No. I mean, yes, at some point, but no—”
“What’s up? You look really freaked out.” She handed me back the book. “Do you not want me to go? Because that’s totally fine, like completely, as long as you let me have input on your travel plans, because there are a few places that you, like, need to see—”
“No, wait. Stop. That’s not what I meant.”
She waited expectantly.
“I—” I put the book down over the bag, on the cushion between us. “You’re not still mad at me?”
“Well, I think we have unresolved stuff we need to discuss. But I haven’t been seething for days over you being a shit boyfriend. I don’t want to be your island away from everything that’s terrible in the world, Ed, you know? I’m not happy-go-lucky all the time. I don’t want to be.” She took my hand. “It’s like your mom says, you gotta have balance.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. I think I maybe . . . made you into my balance. Like no matter what else was happening, as long as we could dance, or laugh, or have sex, that was balance enough.”
“When it totally wasn’t. It was just completely lopsided at different times.”
“Yeah. And I don’t want to do that again. But I’m not sure how to . . . approach the world like you approach it. Because I see a lot of the darkness. Maybe more than I see the light.”
“And I definitely block stuff out when I don’t want to think about it, so maybe we can find a middle ground together. And I get being obsessed, you know? I get obsessed about different stuff than you do, but that part I understand.” She gestured to the intense debris on the coffee table. “Sometimes I get totally consumed by a new place. Like I’ll go on travel benders where I only watch travel shows about a certain country, or town, and read all the books, and plan these really pie-in-the-sky trips I’ll probably never take. And I love that feeling, like I’m immersed in it.”
“It’s kind of exhilarating,” I said. “And addicting.”
“Exactly. I don’t know where you go in your head, but for me I’ll be picturing all these things I could do, all these places, trying to imagine what the light looks like in Hong Kong, or how the air smells in Iceland. But sometimes I forget to eat and sleep when I’m inside that thing, and if you said to me, ‘Hey, it’s 3 a.m., maybe think about coming to bed,’ I wouldn’t see that as you trying to tell me what to do. I’d see that as you looking out for me.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I get that.”
“All right.” She hesitated, plaiting some of her braids back as she thought. “So on Friday night you started looking like that to me. Like your shoulders were up around your ears and you were all kinds of tense, and I had this feeling like if I said anything to you, you’d snap.”
Ouch.
“Maybe I didn’t say it the right way. I was hurt that you kept kind of brushing me off to sit there and talk about death. But you’ve been inside this thing the entire time we’ve been going out and when we went camping you relaxed, you know? You took deeper breaths. And I don’t know. I think that’s related. You didn’t have your phone to check, you didn’t have your notebooks, it was just you, and me, and some sleeping bags. I think it was good for both of us. But it’s your life, babe. I just want you to be happy.” She squeezed my hands. “And, like, I think I can make you at least as happy as your phone, at least some of the time.”
“At least,” I teased.
“But are you serious about Mexico City? Because don’t fuck with me, Ed. I take travel very seriously.”
“I’m serious.” I took a breath. Everything seemed fine. We were probably fine. But this still felt like the biggest thing I’d ever done, and I needed a second before I could actually say it. “I asked for two weeks off.
From work.”
“You what? Wait. You what?”
“It’s only two weeks—”
“Oh my god!” She launched across the sofa and into my lap, scattering a stack of books at our feet. “Really? You really did? Can you afford it? Are you sure? Oh my god, two weeks!”
I kissed her, relieved as hell to be able to do that again. “I’m serious. I can afford it.”
“Oh my god. There is like so much we can do in two weeks!”
“Well, we can’t go to Mexico City because we don’t have passports, and even if we expedited them, we wouldn’t get them before Monday.”
“Monday? Oh, if we’re doing this, we’re leaving sooner than that. That gives me four days to plan. I’m so excited!”
“We don’t have to go for the entire—”
“Don’t think about the money. I have some set aside for a hostel and if we split everything and plan out our meals using groceries, we can keep costs pretty low.” Her voice rose. “We’re going on an adventure, Ed! We’re really doing this!”
I still didn’t completely believe it. We’d probably kill each other. Or the arrangements wouldn’t work out. Or we’d run out of money. Or I’d come back and the paper would have given my job away. (Actually, I didn’t think that was legal. Plus, after two weeks of Caspar, Potter would probably welcome me back with, you know, a nod or some other dramatic gesture of support.)
Alisha, though, had no doubts at all. “We’re taking my car. I think we’ll go down the coast, do a mix of camping with maybe a night in a hotel every now and then. I’ll do meal planning so we know we always have supplies. I need an actual ice chest, not a cooler, though I bought this great backpack at Ikea that has spots for those blue freezer things—”
I kissed her until she subsided against my body. “I can’t wait,” I whispered.
“Me either. Thank you. Thank you for believing in adventure.”
I put my hand over my heart. “I believe in adventure. And you.”
“And us.”
“Yeah. That too.”
Eventually we did more planning, and scraped together a meal of snacks eaten at the kitchen counter while dreaming of falling asleep with the sound of the ocean in our ears.
We went to Club Fred’s on Thursday night for a spontaneous bon voyage party. Just us, Jaq and Hannah, Zane, and Cameron. It was kind of cool to realize that they were “our” friends in a sense, people both of us had grown a little closer to since we got together (except for Cam).
Zane raised her beer. “A toast to the explorers! May you have good weather, no car trouble, and a reservation in every city!”
“Bite your tongue! No reservations!”
“May your good fortune land you a room in every city, despite pigheadedly not phoning ahead for reservations!”
Alisha smacked Zane. “Jerk!”
“All right, all right,” Hannah said. “Seriously, you two, be safe and keep each other warm out there. Hint, hint.”
“We will.” I grabbed Alisha’s hand.
Cameron raised his glass. “Cheers.”
“Sláinte!” Jaq added.
“Whatever the hell that means,” Zane said.
We clinked all the glasses together.
“Don’t think about La Vista at all, the entire time you’re gone, okay?” Jaq pointed at me. “Got that, Masiello?”
“Got it. I won’t. Much.”
“I’ll just have to be creative with distractions,” Alisha said.
“Call us if you need anything.” Zane pulled a bag from under her chair. “Also, Jaq and I made you this.”
Alisha took the bag and pulled out . . . a blanket. A knitted blanket, four pieces stitched together in red, blue, green, and purple.
“The colors are a little bizarre,” Jaq began, but Zane smacked her.
“They’re bold. Just like Ed and Alisha.”
“We are bold.” I ran my fingers over it. “This is so beautiful. Thanks, you guys.”
“We wanted to keep working on stuff, even though it was kind of sad for a while.” Jaq shrugged. “Knitting reminds me so much of Honey.”
I thought about my half-made project, sitting in a plastic bag under a pile of laundry. “Me too. I’ve barely touched the socks I was making since she died.”
“You should bring them on your adventure,” Cam said. “Something to do when Alisha’s driving, or when you’re hanging out somewhere.
“That’s a really good idea.”
“You could knit around the campfire at night, babe.” Alisha kissed my cheek.
“Yeah.”
Zane changed the subject, but I didn’t pay attention. I glanced around at Club Fred’s, trying to see it with fresh eyes. It was dated and a little dingy, but I doubted we’d find anywhere else that felt as much like home.
“I think I’ll miss this place over the next few weeks,” I said.
Jaq laughed. “Man, that’s how you know you need a vacation. When you’re here often enough to miss it.”
“Hey!”
We stayed until Jaq said she had to get home because it was a school night, then exchanged kisses and hugs before going our separate ways. I went home with Alisha.
“I love you,” she said as we walked to the car.
“I love you too.”
The fire crackled in its metal ring, and Alisha’s yell of triumph was muffled by the trunk of her car. It slammed, and she gleefully skipped back to the campsite.
“Ha! I knew they were here! Okay, I’m making all sorts of mental notes for next time. Packing’s gonna be a whole different thing.” She kissed me. “S’mores, boyfriend?”
I held up my knitting. “Last three rows. I can’t get sticky yet.”
“I’m totally getting a head start on you. I’ll be sugar-drunk before you even eat your first marshmallow.”
“That’s acceptable.”
We grinned at each other, faces two-toned—bright, with shifting shadows.
She got to work, assembling graham crackers and vegan chocolate. Now that we were settled in for the night I could see why she’d brought along wire clothes hangers.
“It’s not cheating to use those?” I teased. “Shouldn’t we be sharpening sticks or something?”
“I like camping, but I’m not a savage. Wait, is that racist?”
I rolled my eyes. “Against who?”
“I don’t know. Savages of color? People who sharpen sticks? Seriously, ‘savage’ never means white people, so I hereby take it back. Hey, are you sure you’re okay with these marshmallows? Even though they’re full of gelatin?”
“Yeah. If I’m a better vegan next time we go camping, we can hit the health food store for super fancy vegan marshmallows.”
“Mmm.” She pulled her chair (two chairs, two wire coat hangers, vegan chocolate; she’d thought of almost everything) in close to mine. “I love saying ‘next time.’ Now, what kind of roaster are you? Do you light on fire and blow out, or do you try for an even shade of brown?”
We debated the relative merits of marshmallow-roasting techniques for a few minutes. Alisha meticulously “experimented” on a few different s’mores for official tasting purposes, but I refused to let them near me.
I could see well enough by firelight to cast off, though it was harder than regular stitches, which I could mostly do by touch.
“I’m done.” I dug into my bag for the other sock, and held up the pair of them . . . one slightly larger than the other. “Oops. Oh my god, look.”
She giggled, covering her mouth with a chocolate-smeared hand. “Oh no! Your socks!”
“They’ll be fine after I . . . block them. Or whatever.” They looked like I’d made them for people with different-sized feet. I laughed. “Honey would mock me forever if I showed her these socks. Well, she’d tell me how to fix them, and then she’d mock me forever.”
“Are you going to put them on?”
I hadn’t even thought about putting them on. “What, here? We’re outside.”
“So you’d put them on if we were inside?”
“Um.” I considered it. But I had a pair of boots, so they wouldn’t get too dirty. And they were a decent wool blend. They’d be good for camping. “I think this one will fall off if I put it on right now.”
She smirked. “I dare you. Come on. I want to see what they look like.”
“You can’t see anything! It’s practically dark!”
“It’s light enough.”
“Fine.” I pretended to grumble as I pulled them on. If anything, the bigger one fit best; the smaller one was a bit . . . small. “Seriously, how did I make these two different sizes?”
“They’re perfect.” She leaned forward to kiss me. “Totally perfect. Will you make me a pair?”
“Definitely. I might even go out of my way to make them so they fit.” I kissed her again. “You taste good.”
“Damn right I do. You ready for a sugar high?”
“I’m ready for anything.” I slipped my feet, new socks and all, back into my boots. “I can’t believe it’s only the first night. I can’t believe we have two weeks of this.”
Alisha offered me a straightened length of wire hanger with a preskewered marshmallow. “I can. It’s going to be amazing.”
“It really is.”
The destination of my heart wasn’t a cruise ship, or even a place. It was right here, right now, or wherever I could hear Alisha laugh and feel her skin.
Explore more of the Queers of La Vista series: riptidepublishing.com/titles/universe/queers-la-vista
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading Kris Ripper’s The Queer and the Restless!
We know your time is precious and you have many, many entertainment options, so it means a lot that you’ve chosen to spend your time reading. We really hope you enjoyed it.
We’d be honored if you’d consider posting a review—good or bad—on sites like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Goodreads, Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, and your blog or website. We’d also be honored if you told your friends and family about this book. Word of mouth is a book’s lifeblood!