by Harper Bliss
“I’m glad I caught you, Caitlin. Guess who just called me?”
“Hm. The Prime Minister? He has finally come to his senses and wants to consult you on the virtue of same-sex marriage?”
Sheryl sighs. “Don’t you sometimes wonder how someone like Caitlin ended up earning all that feminist glory in the States? You can never get a straight answer out of her.”
“Only when there are cameras around,” Caitlin says.
“The Dean would like to set up a meeting with you. I gave him your number. You should expect a call any minute.”
As if by magic, a ringing noise comes from Caitlin’s purse.
“I’d best get back to work.” It makes me feel like such a slacker when Sheryl comes down and I’m sitting around chatting.
“Can you get me an espresso, please, Jo?” Sheryl asks.
“The very picture of cougar paradise,” Micky says. “You must be beside yourself, Josephine.”
I give her a look and ignore her comment. Martha has just joined Caitlin and Sheryl at their table.
“Amber should be pleased when she comes in later.” I scan Micky’s face. “How are things progressing with her and Martha?”
Micky shrugs. “Amber is an open book about everything, except her love life.”
“But everyone can see that something’s going on between them.”
“If you want information, you’re better off asking Martha. Or Amber herself. Who knows, maybe she’ll open up to you?”
“It’s just strange for me to see her in this context. Up until a few years ago Martha was married to the Vice-Chancellor. Now she’s sitting here in the coffee shop where I work, chatting with her peers, one of whom I’m about to go on a date with.”
“Life is strange like that.”
“Earlier, Caitlin was talking about when she was my age. It sort of felt like looking into a crystal ball. Trying to guess at my future.”
“The age difference doesn’t bother you?” Micky is not catching on to my philosophical vibe and her question pulls me right out of it.
“Not really.”
“Have you had liaisons with older women before?” Her curious streak rears its head again.
“Never.” I look at Sheryl, Caitlin and Martha huddled around the round table. I might have dreamed of it, but never as much as since I met Caitlin James in the flesh. I don’t voice that last thought. It would only give Micky more fodder for derisive comments.
“You mean you never lusted after me?” Micky asks. “That really hurts my feelings, Josephine.”
“What has gotten into you today?”
“Not sure,” Micky says, an unexpected earnest note in her voice. “Robin’s away the entire week. It made me think about whether it makes sense for us to live in separate homes.”
“You want her to move in with you?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. But I would need to talk to the kids first. They’re at mine as of Wednesday. I thought I’d talk to them then.”
“Big step.”
“I love her. It doesn’t feel like a big step at all. More like the next logical one.”
A group of customers comes in and Micky and I snap to attention. After we’ve taken care of them, Amber arrives. She spots Martha and gives her a shy wave.
“Micky,” she hisses under her breath.
“Amber?” Micky replies.
“Why didn’t you text me to say Martha was here?”
Micky grins. “As per our non-existing worthy-of-teenage-girls agreement, you mean?”
“A heads-up would have been nice.”
“What difference would it have made? You always look so fresh-faced and healthy. What warm-blooded professor could resist that?”
While I head toward a table to clean it off, I realize that nerves are part and parcel of any potential romantic situation. If even a woman like Amber, who spent a couple of months meditating in India, can still get so nervous about unexpectedly running into the object of her affection, then it’s only normal that, already, my nerves for Wednesday are starting to mount. The reasons for cancelling the date the first time still sit somewhere in the back of my mind, mocking me. Ready to strike as soon as I let my guard down.
After I’ve put the dirty mugs in the dishwasher, I look up and find Micky still behind the counter, instead of on her break talking to Amber.
“Apparently, Martha is more interesting to chat to today than me.” She has a smirk on her face. “Which is a definite step in the right direction in the tortured romance of Amber and Martha.”
Chapter Twelve
“I don’t have anything to wear.” I gaze into my wardrobe, not wanting to turn around and face Eva, who is sitting on my bed.
“Come on, Jo. You see her every day when you’re in a Pink Bean apron. It doesn’t matter what you wear.”
“Of course it does. Attire states intention.”
“What are your intentions?” Eva’s chuckle makes me turn around. I scan my bed for something soft to throw at her, but come up empty-handed.
She must be surprised by the look on my face because her expression changes to one of worry. She pats the spot next to her. “Come on. Time for a best friend pep talk.”
Reluctantly, I sit, the mattress inclining to my side of the bed.
“We both know you’re going to wear your polka dot dress,” Eva says. “This isn’t about clothes so much as about your nerves acting up. And I get it. I’d be nervous too. Hell, I made a complete fool of myself in her penthouse. Rock bottom has already been reached. No matter what you wear, you will come across as mature and wise compared to me.” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “Do you want to talk?”
“That feeling of dread is back. With a vengeance. Who am I to go on a date with Caitlin James? I’m not good enough. Look at me. I’m the poor fat girl who serves her coffee every day. I should know my place.”
“This isn’t the Middle Ages anymore, Jo.”
“Sometimes I wish it were. At least women with my body type were revered back then.”
“And abused, belittled and treated like mere ovens to bake children in.” Eva puts a hand on my knee. “You’re completely misidentifying again. You are a brilliant scholar. An amazing friend. The kindest sister and most generous daughter.”
“I might be smart, but that’s not what people see when they look at me. All they see is fat, which automatically translates into lazy and unhealthy in their minds.”
“And you know the thoughts of all the people, do you? I wish I had that amazing ability. I would be able to tell what Declan is thinking all the time. Actually, no; I don’t want to know that sometimes he wants to play video games more than be with me.” Eva gets up and squats in front of me. “She asked you out, remember? You’ve spent a lot of time together since, and she’s still raring to go out with you. Doesn’t that say enough?”
“It’s because I was totally fan-girling over her. I was stroking her ego.”
“Please get up.” Eva holds out a hand.
I take it and let her pull me up. She closes my wardrobe doors so we face the mirror that the exterior is made of. I’m still wearing the robe I threw on when I exited the shower.
“I’m going to tell you what I see when I look into this mirror,” Eva says. “I see my friend Josephine Greenwood, of course, but I’ll tell you what I saw when we first met, before we were friends. Not for one single second did I think of you as lazy or unhealthy. How could I? Do you know how many kilometers I run every morning, Jo? Zero. I mean, sometimes I run a few when snoozing and when I wake up it kind of feels real for a minute. And lazy? Give me a break. Laziness does not get you a teaching assistant gig with Professor Johnson. She’s the pickiest in the department. You are not only smart, Jo. You work every morning in a coffee shop so your sister can go to that school. You don’t have to do that. And when I read your master’s thesis, I was so bloody jealous.”
I find her eyes in the reflection of the mirror.
She nods. “I was.
I could never put anything so eloquently as you did. My guess is Caitlin might be compulsively attracted to your brainiac capacities.”
“Because she wants to pick my brain on body positivity. That’s probably the main reason she wants to go out with me.”
“So what if it is? It won’t be the only reason, I can assure you that. Speaking of body positivity. We are both products of the same university department. We don’t conform to the beauty standard imposed on us by photoshopped pictures in silly magazines. And you know who else went to that uni and studied the same subject? Hell, she even made a career out of it.”
“Okay. Okay. I get it. I’ll leave your money for the flattery on the nightstand.”
“Would I ever be friends with the person you believe you are right now? No. I know who you are. My bet is Caitlin has caught a glimpse of it.”
“Thanks, Eva.” I shake my head. “I—I just…”
“Nu-huh.” She curls an arm around my shoulder. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re writing your damn dissertation on body positivity. You live and breathe the subject. Time to act like it. You are beautiful and worthy and perfect just the way you are. I know that, deep down, you know this too.”
“Have you ever considered a career in motivational speaking?” I shoot Eva a grin. “You’d be pretty good at it. You swear a bit much, but sometimes that’s the only way Aussies can get their point across.”
“Yeah, yeah. Come on, put on your dress and your lipstick and be on your way. If you keep stalling like this, you’ll be late and you don’t want to keep Caitlin waiting.”
“God no. I want to be there at least fifteen minutes in advance.”
“Please tell her again how sorry I am for my behavior the other night.” Eva pulls the corners of her mouth down. “I’m not sure how I can ever face her again.”
“Now who’s being overly dramatic?”
“Hey, we all have our cross to bear. I expect nothing but sympathy from you.” She winks. “Come on. Chop, chop.”
Chapter Thirteen
I’ve invited Caitlin to the nicest restaurant I’ve been to in my neighborhood. Sheryl took me and my fellow TA Mona to the Orange Tree to celebrate the end of the last academic year. When I arrive, I order a glass of mid-range Sauvignon Blanc. Tonight is not a night to pinch my pennies. I’ll have a few more cup noodles meals the rest of the week.
By the time she arrives, I have a mild buzz going, and it makes her look even more perfect when she strides to our table. She’s wearing tight beige pants with a jeans shirt tucked into the waistband. On me, an outfit like that would look casual—and ridiculous—but on Caitlin it looks glamorous and stylish.
I relish the quick touch of her lips against my cheek when she kisses me hello.
“At last,” she says when she sits down. “We’re doing this.”
She orders a bottle of the wine I’m drinking then looks around. “Nice place. Must be new. I don’t remember it from my uni days.”
“It’s been here for quite some time.”
“Sometimes I forget how long I’ve been away. It’s true what they say, you know? The older you get, the more quickly time flies. I know it makes me sound like a terrible cliché, but no cliché is truer than that one.” She gives me a smile with those blood-red painted lips. “You’re still so young. A minute is still actually a minute for you.”
“And they can be excruciatingly slow sometimes.”
The waiter brings over the bottle and Caitlin insists on pouring the wine herself.
“Do you miss it?” I ask, once we’ve toasted and held eye-contact for a split second. “America?”
“Much less than I had expected. I miss the few good friends I made, but these days, distance isn’t the same as it used to be. You should see my inbox.” She chuckles. “Some of them like to write really long emails. I prefer to save all those words for when I’m writing a book. Much better use of my time.”
“Any news on the new book?”
She pulls her lips into a pout. “I have another meeting with the publisher next week. They need a bit more convincing, but I’m sure that will change as soon as I sign that contract with ANBC.”
“Who knew your life abroad would be so easily replicated back home?” I sip from my wine.
“Not entirely replicated. I had a meeting with your esteemed Dean today. I told him I’d happily do a few guest lectures, but I don’t want to go back to teaching. At least not in a university context. Too much admin.” She brings a finger to her chin.
“You have TAs for that.”
She quirks up her eyebrows. “I guess, but what a waste of intelligence.” She slants her head a little. “But enough about me, Josephine. You’ve read my Wikipedia page. You know all there is to know about me. I want to know what your Wikipedia page would say.”
“There’s still plenty of stuff I don’t know about you.” I narrow my eyes. “Plenty.”
“We’ll get to that later then, once we’ve finished this.” She fishes the wine bottle out of the ice bucket and tops up our glasses. “Please tell me something about you I don’t know yet.”
I shake my head. “That’s not how conversation on a date is supposed to flow.”
“Oh, really? How is it supposed to flow then?” She briefly bites her bottom lip. “Or do I spot some reluctance to talk about yourself?”
“I don’t know. You’ve achieved so much already. I’m just a girl who grades papers for Sheryl.”
“I happen to believe you’re much more than that. Besides, I would never hold your youth against you. And who’s to say you won’t have far surpassed my achievements by the time you’re my age?”
The waiter stops by to take our order. We’ve barely looked at the menu. I’m not that hungry, but I should eat something to soak up all this wine we’re having. We both end up ordering lamb chops.
“Where were we?” Caitlin asks. “Oh yes, the Josephine Greenwood Wikipedia page. If you could do whatever you wanted in the next decade, without impediments, what would it say in ten years’ time?”
“I would definitely want to have written a book. In the same vein as the one by Ursula Attwell you gave me, but perhaps with more of a scientific research background. And I think I’d want to teach.”
“You can take Sheryl’s job when she retires.”
“I’d never be as good as her. She’s one of the most highly regarded professors of the entire university.”
“There’s no reason why you couldn’t be. You’re her protégée for a reason. Does she have you teach already?”
I nod. “Two classes a week.”
“Are they open to visitors?” She gives me a wide smile. “I’d love to drop by.”
“I’m sure no one would deny esteemed alumnus Caitlin James access.”
“Would you?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Although the thought of teaching in front of Caitlin terrifies me, this little lie fits too perfectly in our current flirtation.
“Where do I sign up?” Caitlin makes it sound as though she can’t get enough of me. I’m still at a loss why. If she keeps looking at me like that, I’m much inclined to start believing her.
“Just swing by this Friday afternoon. We’re talking about the impact of digital technologies on gender dynamics. Just don’t intimidate the students too much.”
“Ooh, Friday afternoon. The graveyard lecture.”
“It has its advantages. Only really motivated students show up.”
“Or the ones who really, really like you.”
I chuckle. “I’m pretty sure none of them do.”
“How can you know for certain?” Caitlin cocks her head again; her stare is intense. This is beginning to feel like a real, full-on date.
Our dishes arrive and she takes the opportunity to refill our glasses again. With the way she has been pouring, the bottle is empty already. She orders another.
“I have one sister,” I reply when Caitlin asks me about my family.
“Younger or ol
der? She can’t possibly be cuter.”
“Bea’s ten years younger. Mum had her quite late. She has Down Syndrome. She’s in a special school. I don’t get to see her very often, but we talk every morning on the phone.”
“That’s so sweet, that you call her every day.” Caitlin appears to be a very quick eater—a detail I was too flummoxed to notice at previous occasions—and she has polished off most of her dish already. As a result of the many diets I have tried, I chew my food slowly and most of my lamb chops are still on my plate. “Do you go home often?”
“I don’t. Can’t really afford the flight, to be honest.” I recall Bea’s pleading voice from the other day.
“Oh,” is all Caitlin says and I hope she’ll leave it there. I can’t think of a more unsexy topic to discuss on this date than my finances.
“What about your family?” If nothing else, I’m the champion of conversation redirection.
“They’re in Evanston, near Melbourne. We don’t talk much.”
I briefly consider not prying but I don’t want to risk the topic returning to my financial situation. “How come?”
“Here’s some information that’s not on my Wikipedia page. They don’t care much for what I do. Having a lesbian daughter was already hardship enough for them, but do I really need to shout it from the rooftops? It’s safe to say I won’t be going home any time soon either.”
“That’s rough. They can clearly see how successful you are.”
“Some people only see what they want to see.”
“Is it a religious thing or…”
“Just good old-fashioned bigotry.” She pushes her plate away. “It’s not just the fact that I’m a lesbian or that I’m so outspoken about women’s rights. Perhaps they could have accepted it more if I behaved more along heteronormative expectations. Got myself a wife, a house, and two kids, but that’s never been for me. My mother has even gone so far as to call me a slut. I subsequently sent her a copy of The Ethical Slut. The s-word incident has never been mentioned since.”
“Ouch.”