Lena
I had just got back to the office after going out to have a meeting with a woman named Marcella, who was organizing a feminist artists’ festival but wanted to have a few security guards—women only—on hand, because the last event she’d organized had almost ended in disaster when a few decidedly anti-feminist college guys had stumbled upon the gathering and tried to take part. It was a one-off job, though I could tell that Marcella was eager to host more events like this, and though it wasn’t huge and wouldn’t require more than a few people, I was glad to get the contract.
I was giving the papers a final review before I emailed them over to Marcella when there was a light rapping on my office door, and then there was Cole, sticking his foolish face in, golden retriever smile and all.
“Hey, Lean,” he said.
I didn’t bother to look away from the computer screen. “I’m pretty sure I’ve told you this before, but you really don’t need to call me that.”
“But it’s, like, a term of endearment.”
“Right. And I don’t need to be endeared to you. And actually, Cole.” Now I did look away from the computer, fixing him with one of my sternest expressions. “Did you ever consider the fact that I might be trying to lose weight? And that calling me Lean could actually be very hurtful?”
His eyes widened and the smile froze and then vanished. “Oh,” he stuttered. “I… um… I never thought of that. I mean, you’re not trying to lose weight—right? You’re not overweight at all. You’re what, a size six?”
I rolled my eyes. “Four. But thanks.”
His eyes got even bigger. “You’re a size four and you’re trying to lose weight?” He glanced over his shoulder into the hallway, and then stepped all the way into my office, closing the door behind him. He sat down in one of the chairs in front of my desk, which was not what I’d been expecting him to do.
“Lena,” he said, looking at me in earnest. “Is there… is there anything that you need to talk about? Do you have like, um, what is it? Body dysmorphic issues or something? Are you anorexic? Or what’s that other one? Where you eat but then puke it up?”
“Bulimia.”
“Right. Are you… that? Do you have that? Because if you do, you can talk to me. I know we always give each other a hard time and stuff, but that shit is serious, and if you think that talking to someone would help, then I’m all ears. I mean it. And I’ll never call you Lean again, I swear.”
I clicked send and then turned my attention to Cole. “I don’t have body dysmorphia,” I said. “I think I actually have a pretty healthy body image—in that, as long as my body can do what I need it to do, I don’t actually care what it looks like.”
“Really?” he said, sounding skeptical.
I sighed, even though I really had no one to blame but myself for this. I should have just let him call me Lean and left it at that. “Really, Cole. Do I really seem like the sort of person that would have an issue like that?”
“No,” he said. “But Stella has this friend who seems totally normal and she does the whole bulimia thing; she’ll eat, like, an entire family-size box of cereal and then puke it up.” He shuddered. “Why would someone do that?”
“I couldn’t tell you, because it’s not something I’m afflicted with. I certainly wouldn’t want to be, that’s for sure.”
“Well. That’s good to hear. But I mean it, Lena. If there’s ever any… issue or anything, and you think that it would help if you talked about it… some people actually think I’m a pretty good person to talk to.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But is that why you came by? To tell me that you’re on hand to be my shrink, should I ever need one?”
“No,” he said. “I came by because I wanted to ask you how it was going with that guy. Shep? The one who was chatting you up the night of the fight.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you being nosy?”
“I’m just… curious.”
“I’m not really sure it’s any of your business.”
“I know it’s not. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“Stell and I saw him the other night.”
“You did? Where?”
“Uh… We were at this bar called Audacious. It’s, um… it’s a gay bar. And he was there.” Cole gave me a nervous, apologetic look. “I mean, it’s not like we saw him hooking up with a guy or anything, but… I’m pretty sure it was him. So, I guess I just thought you should know that.”
I did find the fact that he was telling me this, and that he looked so nervous about it, somewhat endearing. Not that I would ever let him know that, of course.
“You’re right; it was him,” I said. “But he’s not gay. He just works there.” I cocked my head. “But what were you doing at a gay bar?”
He shrugged. “Gay bars are fun. Stella’s been into going out some nights and gay bars are hella more fun than most straight bars. She doesn’t have to worry about a bunch of dudes hitting on her.”
“I’ll be seeing Shep later,” I said. “I’ll tell him that you saw him.”
***
I had invited Shep over to my place, thinking we could make dinner and eat in instead of going out. Not because I had any amazing culinary skills that I wanted to impress him with, but I thought it would be nice to hang out and not be distracted by the amount of women checking him out. Of course, I ended up stuck at the office longer than I thought, so by the time I got to my place, Shep was already there, sitting on the front steps.
“I’m sorry I’m late!” I said. “I know that’s, like, really bad form. To invite someone over for the first time and then not even be here.”
“Don’t sweat it for even a second,” he said as he stood up. “I was enjoying just sitting out here. I don’t come out to the Inner Richmond much. I like it, though. Almost feels like it isn’t part of the city.”
“Well, if you ever end up here before me again, I do have a spare key hidden here.” There was a slightly loose shingle to the right of the front door, behind which I had tucked a spare key, mostly for Jenn if she ever needed it, but also in case I locked myself out of the house—which I had only done once and had then spent nearly half an hour before I was able to pick the lock.
“Wow,” he said as he followed me inside. “You’re showing me where the spare key is. I feel like that’s a big step.”
“Well… I guess it kind of is. I mean, I don’t show just any guy where the key is. It’s mostly there because I locked myself out once and I had to pick the lock.”
He grinned. “Didn’t want to call the locksmith?”
“Nah. I was able to pick the lock.”
“Why am I not surprised? I’m honored that you’re showing me where you keep the spare key. And speaking of big steps… My brother’s birthday is on Friday. Well, my birthday, too.”
“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t realize that.”
“Well, it’s the night you asked if I wanted to go to the movies, which I do. But Holden is planning this cookout and then going over to the local watering hole. I told him that we already had plans, but now my whole family is kind of after me to go, and… they’d like it if you went, too.” He gave me an apologetic look. “I know it might seem like it’s moving a little fast, meeting the family and all, so I completely understand if you’d rather not.”
“I wouldn’t mind doing that,” I said, surprising myself. But, if I was honest about my feelings for him, I would’ve been content to go anywhere, do anything. Part of me wanted to tell him right then and there: I have never felt this way about anyone before. I never even thought that I was capable of these feelings, but here they are. I didn’t say that, though, because I didn’t want to scare him away, didn’t want him to think I was crazy or anything. I wasn’t sure how I would react if someone said those things to me and I didn’t feel the same in return—it would probably be pretty off-putting. “If it’s your birthday, then of course we should go. I’m sure your family would be disappointed if you weren’t there.”
“That’s one way of putting it. And I guess I should warn you… my family… they can be a little much. There’s a whole bunch of Parkingtons living on the same property. Granted, it’s a big piece of land, and everyone has their own house, but it can be a little overwhelming, especially if you’re not used to it.”
“I’m not easily rattled,” I said.
He smiled. “I know. That’s one of the things I like about you so much.”
I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face when he said it, the butterflies that swirled in my stomach. Christ! I was like a love-struck high schooler. Except I’d never been love-struck as a high schooler, and had always kind of looked down on people who could let themselves get to that point.
“So… you don’t mind going?” he asked.
“Of course not. I’m curious to meet this twin brother of yours.”
“He’ll try to convince you that he’s better-looking, but don’t be fooled.”
Shep followed me through the house as I gave him a brief tour of the place. “It’s kind of a work in progress,” I said. “I got the house on the cheaper side—relatively speaking—because it still needs some work. I’ve done some things, but there’s still obviously quite a bit that needs to be done.”
“It’s great,” he said. “You don’t need to make any excuses for it.”
Yet for some reason, I felt I did, because the house wasn’t in pristine shape. Sure, it was well-kept, but the dining room needed to be painted, the hardwood floor in the hallway could probably stand to be re-finished, and I wasn’t much of an interior decorator. We went out to the kitchen, which was my favorite room in the house, probably because it needed the least amount of work. Plus, it had black and white tiles, which I had always loved, and ceramic tile countertops, windowpane cabinets, and a double-wide enamel sink. I had bought a new refrigerator and stove when I had first moved in, and so the kitchen, in my opinion, was the only room in the whole house that you could really consider complete.
“I hope you like pasta,” I said. I had picked up some fresh pasta and pesto at the little organic market a few blocks away, plus a really good sourdough boule. And a bottle of Fumé Blanc, which I took out and poured myself a glass of. I poured some for Shep too, and toasted him, though really I just wanted something to hopefully tamp down my nerves.
I didn’t want to feel this nervous having Shep over, but I had a feeling that it wasn’t him so much as the fact I just wasn’t used to having people—men—over at my house. My most frequent visitors were Jenn and her kids, and I could handle the video games and the Netflix and the eating of snacks on the couch, but it seemed strangely intimate to be in my kitchen with Shep, to know that he could mosey on over to the sink or the refrigerator and look in and maybe learn something about me (I hadn’t washed my coffee cup out from that morning, and I preferred to drink cashew milk on my cereal instead of regular, for example).
“Can I do anything to help?” Shep asked. “This is good, by the way,” he added, setting his glass down on the island. “I’m not much of a wine drinker, definitely no connoisseur. But that’s pretty good.”
“Yeah, I’m not an expert by any means, either. I actually got it by way of suggestion; this guy saw the pesto I had and told me I just had to pair this wine with it. If you want to chop some vegetables for the salad, that’d be great.”
So Shep set to work cutting up carrots and cucumber and red onion, while I filled a pot with salted water and put it on the stove. We fell into an easy rhythm and I felt my nervousness disappear. I took another sip of wine, which I figured couldn’t hurt.
It was a nice evening, not too cool, so when the food was ready, we took it out and sat on the deck. I lit a couple of citronella candles and that really set the mood. I almost didn’t believe that this was really happening here, in my house, out on my deck. That things could be this easy, this enjoyable, with a guy. Especially one so good-looking.
But the more time I spent with Shep, the less his looks really played into the equation. It wasn’t just the fact that he was incredibly handsome that attracted me to him—our personalities just seemed perfectly suited to each other. There was no awkwardness, no friction, no conflict of interest in any way. Everything seemed so good, in fact, that I couldn’t stop questioning when the other shoe would drop, because it had to, at some point—things couldn’t go this smoothly the entire time.
Tonight, though, was not going to be that night. The food was delicious, and we finished the bottle of wine. My face felt flushed and the laughter easily rolled out of me. We stayed outside for a while, talking and laughing, and then eventually moved inside. Everything was slightly fuzzy, soft. We sat on the couch.
“So, what I’d like to know,” Shep said, “is how an incredible woman like yourself is still single. I figure there’s got to be a story behind that.”
“Not a very good one,” I said. “To be honest, I had pretty much given up on the idea of ever having a boyfriend.” I giggled. “Wait. Are you my boyfriend? Did I just ask you out?”
The words that were coming out of my mouth seemed like they were being spoken by someone else. The Lena I knew certainly would never say something so ridiculous-sounding. Yet I couldn’t seem to stop talking, and from the amused look on Shep’s face, I could tell he was enjoying it.
“I’ve been wondering all this time if I’m your boyfriend or not,” Shep said. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about you as my girlfriend. So, yeah, I should definitely be your boyfriend—so this whole thing isn’t so one-sided.”
I held my hand out. “We should shake on it then.”
He laughed and shook my hand, pulled me closer to him. “There’s a few other things I wouldn’t mind doing, either,” he said.
He began to kiss me, first my forehead, then slowly down the bridge of my nose until his mouth found mine. We made out for a while. Like, high-school-style make-out session, where I would’ve been more than happy if that was all we did. Then again, my whole body was buzzing, tingling, and I knew it wasn’t just from the wine.
“I don’t want to take things too fast,” Shep said in a low voice, his breath warm against my ear. “I want this to go at whatever pace you want. But I have to tell you—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing you.”
A warm shiver shot down my spine; I felt like I was melting in his arms. It was like every word coming out of his mouth was something that I had been waiting my entire life to hear; I just hadn’t realized it. It felt like a salve for my soul, and though I knew how ridiculous a sentiment like that sounded, I didn’t care for once, because it was absolutely one-hundred-percent true.
Despite all that, I still would never be the sort of woman who could sleep with a man right away, even if it was someone I felt as strong a connection to as I did with Shep. Of course there was a part of me that wanted nothing more than to shed all of our clothes and jump into bed, but my more pragmatic side was urging caution, because I knew if we slept together I’d just become all the more attached to him, and I did want to wait, at least a little longer. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t do other things, in the meantime.
“Thank you,” I said, and I leaned my head toward him so our foreheads were touching. “I actually haven’t really been able to stop thinking about you, either, which has kind of been freaking me out because I’m really not the sort of person who gets like this…” I let my voice trail off because I realized I was babbling. Was there any point in trying to explain how I was feeling right now? There really wasn’t, other than it was such a wonderful, foreign sensation that I just kind of wanted to shout it from the rooftops.
“It’s not really the sort of thing you can put into words,” he said. I pulled back a little so I could look into his eyes, and we sat there, gazing at each other, and it didn’t feel weird or the slightest bit awkward. It felt like exactly what we should be doing, the exact right thing.
***
The next day at work, I felt distracted, couldn’t focus on wh
at I was supposed to be doing because I kept thinking about Shep. If I closed my eyes, I could recreate last night in my head so vividly it was like it was actually happening right then and there.
“You’ve been in such a good mood lately,” Cole said, jolting me out of my thoughts. We were all sitting in the conference room, waiting for Drew. “You must be getting laid. I assume it’s that guy Shep. I want to ask him for his autograph. At least shake his hand.” He squinted. “Is that a hickey on your neck?” My hand instinctively went to the side of my neck, where there was a tiny, heart-shaped hickey that I had tried to hide with my hair.
Ben smiled and shook his head. “Come on, Cole,” he said. “Give her a break.” He looked at me. “Happy for you, Lena. If things are going well with this guy.”
“Thanks,” I said, though I felt a little weird. Was my behavior that much noticeably different? Was that to imply that I was usually walking around with a scowl on my face all the time or something, and I wasn’t even aware of it?
Cole leaned back in the couch, elbows out, hands behind his head. “I really do want to shake this guy’s hand,” he said. “Because I never thought the day would come.”
I glared at him. “So, what are you saying? That you just assumed I’d be a spinster for the rest of my life?”
“Well, you’ve got to admit, if any of us was going to be permanently single, it’d be you.”
“Ouch,” Drew said as he walked in. He set his clipboard down on the coffee table and took a seat at the other end of the couch. “I’m assuming that was supposed to be something of a compliment, but I’m not sure it came out exactly how you meant there, Cole.”
“Oh, no—it did,” Cole said. “I mean, if we were to have a betting pool, I definitely would have wagered that Lena would stay single the longest. Not because you couldn’t get a date or anything—you just seem like a very self-sufficient sort of lady who wouldn’t want someone infringing on that.”
“Yes, well, Shep has not infringed on anything yet.” I paused. “I’m actually going to meet his family.”
Cole’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open, though it was such an exaggerated gesture that I hoped he wasn’t as truly astounded as his expression was letting on. I didn’t even know why I’d just said that, other than I liked talking about Shep, even if it was with a bunch of my male co-workers.
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