by Kris Ripper
“I can see all that. I guess my question is . . . why aren’t you actually dating? Since it’s so mutually beneficial? You aren’t attracted to each other?”
“Uh—I—I wouldn’t say that—” I came up short. “Wait, what do you mean?”
“What’s stopping you from asking Mildred on a real date?”
“I don’t think she’s interested.”
He blinked. “Really.”
I was still waiting for a follow-up to “really” when Josh came from behind Cam and draped an arm around his shoulders. A warm, very nearly beautiful smile lit Cam’s face as he twisted a bit to look up.
Josh returned the look. “Keith wants you to dance with us.”
“I don’t dance.”
“He’s pouting.”
“He knows I don’t dance.”
“Fine.” Josh sighed dramatically. “What if we put on music back at the apartment? Would you dance with him then?”
“I don’t dance. It’s not a question of venue.” But the smile teased up at the corners.
“Cam, c’mon, do me a solid and dance with him. I hate it when he pouts.”
Cam considered this for a long moment. Clearly they’d forgotten about me, but I wasn’t complaining; I’d been watching Cam go through the world alone since he started showing up at Fred’s. Before then I’d known him as “the Rheingold kid, who’s always reading in the ticket booth.” It was a little bit glorious watching him . . . play.
“So I’d be doing both of you a service,” he finally said.
Josh grinned. “You saying you’d want to negotiate terms?”
“I’m ready to go if you two are.”
“Hell yes.” Josh waved to me. “How’s it going, Zane?”
“My night’s not looking as good as yours is, but it’s still pretty good.”
“Man, you don’t even know.” He kissed Cam’s cheek and melted back into the crowd.
I leveled a look at him. “So.”
Cam blushed appropriately. “Hmm?”
“Don’t ‘hmm’ me, buddy.”
“Anyway. I’ve been thinking about it, and if you trust Tom and Carlos, I think it’s an intriguing idea, you know. The thing you told us about the other day.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Like—” He paused, eyes narrowing. “I think about how families are built a lot lately. The different ways it happens, and how it’s not always the way people think it will be. So anyway, not that I have an opinion to register really, but I think it’s an interesting idea.”
“Thanks, kid.” I socked his arm. “You’re gonna dance with Keith when you get home, aren’t you?”
“Not my home. Actually. I, uh, stay a lot of the time at their apartment. Not because, you know—even if we weren’t, they’d let me sleep on the sofa. My place is . . . difficult. Right now.”
It took me thirty seconds of staring dumbly at him to figure out what he meant. “Oh shit. Because of the attack?”
“I still think about it a lot, even though it turned out fine. And the case—the case against him is good. I can’t imagine how people feel when the perpetrator gets out, or isn’t arrested at all. That must be horrible.”
Even just watching him in Fred’s, I could see his rising discomfort, the sweat at his temples, the way his fingers tapped lightly on the edge of his phone.
“I was sitting here, before you came in, thinking about how it affected everyone.” He gestured to the bar. “Club Fred’s is made up of two groups now: the people who are oblivious, and the people who are . . . wary. The people who were afraid before and aren’t quite sure if they can stop being afraid yet.”
“It’s definitely more depressing around here than it used to be.”
“I think it’s fear. But I might be projecting.” He offered a tired smile. “You think?”
“No.” I swiveled around to see more of the room. The changes were almost imperceptible. Business had gone down—I knew only because Tom had mentioned it—but not noticeably. I couldn’t tell by all the empty chairs or anything like that. But Cam was right. Club Fred’s used to be . . . open. People flitted from group to group, socializing like honeybees, or joined conversations at the high tables without being invited. I hadn’t noticed a change as it happened, but now, looking around, I could see its stamp. Chairs drawn more tightly together, heads down, conversations lower than they would have been before. I knew a whole lot of people, but only a few I could have approached unannounced without feeling like a suspicious presence.
“You used to be able to walk up to anyone and feel welcomed,” I said.
“Well. Maybe you used to be able to do that.”
I smiled. “I did. Now I’d feel like I was intruding. How do you notice it, Cam?”
“People used to linger at the bar, talk to strangers. Sometimes me, sometimes just whomever was around. Now there are fewer people on their own. They move in small packs, even the ones who seem most oblivious. It’s interesting. But I miss the way it was before.” He shrugged. “I used to feel like sitting here reading was normal. Now it feels like an imposition, or—”
Keith tumbled into his arms. “Josh said you’re gonna dance with me when we get home.”
“I didn’t commit.”
“Oh, you’re committed. Sorry, Zane, Cam’s got a date with me and some music.”
I pretended annoyance. “Oh, sure, fine. I’ll sit here and philosophize to myself, then.”
“Glad you understand.” He shot me an impish grin and slid out of Cam’s lap. “C’mon. Plus, I can tell you’re thinking about him again, so stop.”
“Not him.” Cam tucked his phone away in the inner pocket of his coat. “We were talking about how Club Fred’s has changed.”
“Yeah, it’s morose everywhere but the dance floor.” Keith tugged Cam’s hands like a little kid. “C’mon.”
“Good night, Zane.”
“See ya, boys. Have fun.”
“We totally will.”
As they were walking away I heard Cam ask where Josh was. I turned in time to see his body stiffen when Keith airily replied that Josh was getting the car.
It’s so weird what you can see when no one knows you’re watching. Keith put an arm around his shoulders and whispered something in his ear, something that made Cam take a deep breath.
Then they were gone, out the door, and I was left by myself at the bar, thinking about how happy I was for Cam. And maybe a tiny bit bitter that no one was around to whisper calming things in my ear. Which was stupid, because for most of my life, the last thing I wanted was that kind of intimacy. Getting laid was one thing. People grabbing my hand and acting giddy about being with me was fun for about five minutes before I found it exhausting.
I had so much to do. With my life. I had my career, which I intended to make an awful lot of money at, and a social schedule that let me hang out with a lot of different people every week, and I had good friends. I wanted to have a kid. I didn’t need to add a girlfriend to that mix; where would I find time for a girlfriend?
Good. Settled. I didn’t want a girlfriend.
A text message came in from Dred. Emerson made apple pie. Get ice cream on your way over. He says vanilla, and don’t cheap out.
I finished my beer, bemoaned my lack of diet, and made my way to my car.
Apple pie and ice cream at the farmhouse was better than sitting at the bar, thinking about how not-lonely I was.
Wednesday’s after-gym treat was dinner at Hannah’s. Her ex was some kind of low-level celebrity chef, so I never knew if Hannah was overcompensating, or if they got together because both of them really liked food, or what. But eating at Hannah’s was always delicious and casual-fancy. Dress code: relaxed; food: came in courses.
Somewhere during the entrée, Jaq stopped freaking out about Tom offering his sperm. “Why didn’t you tell me? This is too fucking weird.”
“It’s too weird that someone would want to mate with me? Thanks a lot, Jaqs.”
“Oh
my god, mate with you?” She exploded into laughter. “You just made yourself into livestock!”
I tried not to laugh and ended up giggling in an undignified manner. “Shut up!”
“You did, though!”
Hannah waved both of her hands. “All right, all right. But the real question is, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know!” I let myself whine, because Jaq was my best friend, and I needed a whine. “The attorney twins are going to disown me if I do this.”
“They’ll be fine,” Jaq countered immediately. “Uncle Jimmy will back whatever play you make when Andi’s not around.”
“Yeah, but Andi’s a bitch.”
She shrugged. “Always has been. No use crying about it now.”
Hannah refilled our wine and Jaq’s sparkling water. “Your sister and brother-in-law are attorneys?”
“More’s the pity. Is thinking you always know the right answer to everything some kind of lawyer trait, Hannah?”
“I’d think it was more that a higher-than-average number of know-it-alls go into law as a profession.” She grinned. “Obviously, I really do have all the answers.”
“Hit me up, Obi-Wan.”
“Do you want to use a known donor?”
“Uh. I don’t know.”
Hannah shook her head and Jaq rolled her eyes. Classic.
“I mean it! I’ve been fine with using frozen, but it hasn’t worked. Maybe it’s time to switch it up.”
“Did you ask about diseases?” Hannah’s lawyer voice was a lot like Jimmy’s, actually.
“I was . . . really drunk. At the time. When we . . . had that conversation.”
Jaq raised a hand. “Do you even know if this really happened? It might have been a drunken fantasy.”
I threw a dinner roll at her.
“I’m just saying.”
Hannah moved the rolls out of my reach. “Let’s assume it really happened, for the sake of debate. You obviously have to talk to Tom and Carlos again and hash out the details. But the question is, do you want to do that, Zane?”
“I . . .” I swirled wine around in my glass. “Yeah. I think I do. You don’t think it’s a crazy risk to take?”
“Oh, it’s full of risk. Legal, medical, psychological. He might decide once he sees a kid that he wants to parent, or Carlos might. He might not be fertile. It might be impossible to raise a child in close contact with their donor without making that person part of your family.”
Jaq raised her glass. “Which he already is. He has been since Carlos got serious about him.”
I toasted her, thinking about how much we’d ragged on Carlos about his gorgeous statuesque conquest, and how weirdly fitting it was when his conquest turned into more than just a guy who let him do whatever he wanted.
“It’s complicated,” Hannah said. “But I don’t believe in only making the safest decisions. Boring.”
“I’m ovulating next week. I don’t know what to do about this right now. I think I want to go through with it, but that’s really fast.” I still had a vial stored away, but what if this was the cycle? What if doing this crazy spontaneous thing was exactly right and I was totally overthinking it?
Jaq tipped her chair back with the bowl of pasta in her lap so she could pick the olives out. “You can always do it next month. Or the month after. Not like Tom’s gonna run out of sperm.”
My breath caught in my throat. Next month. Or the month after. Oh god. Trying to conceive was like a lifestyle now. I’d made it into a . . . hobby, or something. The kind of thing my friends could casually refer to as ongoing.
“Hon.” Hannah glanced at me. “I’m not sure that’s what Zane needs to hear right now.”
Jaq frowned. Then her expression cleared and the chair came down on all four legs. “Oh fuck. Sorry. I didn’t mean— I didn’t mean— Uh—”
“That I’d be shooting up with sperm every cycle for the rest of my life? Yeah, you did. But it’s okay. I get it. Sometimes it feels that way.” I sat at Hannah’s dinner table and felt all those cycles, those weeks and months and now over a year weighing down on me. I felt like I was in that scene in whichever Star Wars it was where Han Solo was stuck in the Death Star’s trash compactor. And even though I knew it wasn’t going to kill me, even though I knew there was no real danger (except to my bank account), suddenly it felt like those failed cycles were crushing me on all sides.
Hannah’s hand touched my arm. “Redirect, sugar. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Yeah, okay. Right. So, have you guys noticed Club Fred’s has been super depressing lately?”
“Right?” Jaq’s voice went high-pitched with her eagerness to veer away from the awkwardness of a moment before. “I thought everyone would be relieved and happy and ready to party, but not so much.”
“Cam said people are either oblivious or wary.”
Jaq nodded. “I’ve noticed that.” She raised her eyebrows at Hannah.
“Oh, I wasn’t around that long before it all went to hell, but I wonder if you’re expecting a bit too much.”
“In what way?”
She shook her head, her hair coming loose from the knot she’d bound it up in. Jaq’s eyes locked on, and I could practically see her drool. She’d always loved a woman who kept everything tightly coiled until she decided to really let go.
“I think you haven’t mourned.” Hannah absently tugged the clips out of her hair. “You guys need a wake. A celebration of the lives you lost, of the attitude you lost, the space where you felt . . . safe, happy, whatever it was you felt before people started dying.”
“A wake.” It was genius. It was so genius I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it myself.
“Or something like that.”
I snapped to drag Jaq’s attention away from her lady’s hair. “What do you think about that?”
“About what?”
“Oh my god, focus, woman. What do you think about a wake?”
“At Fred’s?”
Wait. No. Dred couldn’t go if it was at Fred’s because of Baby James. “Maybe not at Fred’s. Maybe at QYP?”
“I don’t understand what the point is.”
“Try to stop thinking about Hannah’s hair for like five seconds.”
Hannah swung around; Jaq blushed. “Shut up,” she mumbled.
“Aw, am I distracting you?” Hannah reached back to shake her hair out more fully. “Like what you see, Jaq?”
“For the record, I despise you both.”
“Noted, hon. Noted.”
“You two disgust me.” I pulled out my phone and opened my note-taking app. “So I’d need a venue, probably either QYP or Club Fred’s.”
“Then you’d have to talk to Fredi. Is that why you want to do it at QYP instead?” Jaq lowered her voice to explain to Hannah. “Did I tell you that Zane thinks Fredi hates her?”
“And food,” I continued, ignoring her. “And how to invite everyone, or how to limit it, though I’d rather not limit it. Wouldn’t it be amazing if a whole lot of people showed up? Seriously. Hannah’s right. We haven’t really commemorated anything that happened. We have to like . . . face it all, before we can move on.”
“Uh-huh.” Jaq leaned forward in her chair to tug Hannah’s hair. “So, not to kick you out, but you’re leaving soon, right?”
“She can’t leave before dessert.”
“But—but— You’re . . . teasing me?”
Hannah laughed.
“You’re awful and should be ashamed of yourself, Hannah. You’re a truly repulsive human being.”
“Thanks, sugar.”
Dessert was berries in some kind of pastry with a dollop of whipped coconut cream on top. It was delicious. Especially because it allowed me to linger and cockblock Jaq more.
Hannah, in full cahoots, also dragged out her dessert. She offered me coffee with an evil gleam in her eye, and I pretended to consider it while Jaq freaked the fuck out across the table.
I demurred and took
my leave, though I didn’t feel like she fully appreciated my mercy. Then again, Hannah was way less merciful, so she probably had other things on her mind.
I resolutely did not wonder what my best friend and her girlfriend got up to after I left, and spent the drive home composing mental notes I’d need to enter into my app, pre-tagging them with an event-specific taxonomy.
A wake. It was perfect.
I stopped by the drop-in center on Thursday to see what Josh and Keith had to say about holding a wake at QYP.
“Is this really the right place for a thing like that?” Keith and their assistant, Merin, were collating massive stacks of papers into folders.
“I don’t know. I guess I was thinking . . . what if people wanted to bring their kids?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Their kids?”
Merin snorted. “You really want to have little kids running around here? Anything with food’s gonna draw a bunch of lowlifes and drug addicts. Is that who you want around your kids?”
I didn’t correct him. He meant your kids in a general sense, so I substituted Baby James. Maybe I didn’t really want him crawling around on the floor amid lowlifes and drug addicts. Or maybe as long as we stuck close to him it wouldn’t be a big deal. Except he did put pretty much everything in his mouth . . .
Keith shuffled a stack, then stopped. “Wait. You don’t mean random people. You mean Mildred.”
“Um.”
“Zane!”
“I take the Fifth.”
“Because having the hots for the woman you’re dating is incriminating?”
“Fake-dating! We’re fake-dating.”
“You keep pretending it’s fake. We won’t tell. Right, Merin?”
Merin rolled his eyes. “Are all adults this dumb? I’m just wondering.”
Keith smacked the back of his head, but I could tell it was gentle. “Don’t be rude to people when they’re desperately in denial.”
“What am I supposed to be, then?”
“More subtle than that. So Zane, what’s the downside to having this wake thing at Club Fred’s?”
“Um.” I tried to come up with something non-Dred-related. “Well, I’d have to ask Fredi. That’s pretty scary.”