Grown Woman

by Jen Luerssen

  Janette, TJ’s wife, makes a bit of a disapproving face. “Are ya sure that’s a good idea, love?” Janette is about 100 months pregnant and due any minute. She has a point.

  “If you’re not up for it, we can head home, sweetheart.” He rubs her back and gives her a genuine smile.

  “You guys go ahead but I trust my sister will make sure you stay out of the drunk tank tonight.” She kisses his cheek and he walks her out.

  Javier turns to me, “Drunk tank?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you on the way.” I link my arm in his and lead him out into the crisp night.

  Repeat Offenders

  As adults, we are expected to learn from our mistakes. Let’s just say that our yearly trip to our local bar after Thanksgiving dinner is where the learning goes to die. We predictably get deeply shit faced year after year, yet still continue the tradition. I told Javier about TJ’s arrest and then relayed a few other moments that should be forgotten. Like when Randall started a fist fight with an elderly Irishman last year over the jukebox, or when I threw up in men’s room for a full hour three years ago. Thankfully, the owners turn a blind eye to our shenanigans and even invite me to sing now and then.

  Tonight, I am hopeful. As a group we are jolly and on the whole not too drunk coming in to the bar. Paul, Javier, and I all drank wine for most of the afternoon and evening after a few cocktails early and drank copious glasses of water in between.

  We all order a drink and then Paul brings a round of cranberry vodka shots. “It’s like cranberry sauce but better,” he toasts and we all throw the shot back. I’d like to say that my hopefulness carried through and we were a band of jolly, harmless inebriates but alas, this is not the case.

  Javier has stuck by my side most of the day and night even when his dad was around. Antonio wisely chose to take an Uber back to Oakland and turn in early. There’s definitely something new going on with Javi but I can’t quite put my finger on it. He’s been weird in a kind of sweet way since we had our heart to heart earlier. He’s been back to his old touchy feely ways too, which I’m certainly on board with. In the middle of our last pool game, he leaned over me while I was setting up my shot and whispered in my ear that my angle was good. I shot him a look, not sure how to take this comment. Our current game is wrought with innuendo and flirting. Javier makes a point of touching me every time he passes me, whether it’s on my back, my hand, or my hair. Yep, he did the sexy drag the hair off my neck move.

  So let’s just say I’m pretty keyed up. I’ve had more drinks than would be recommended for someone my size, I am sexually frustrated by the unrequited feelings I have for Javier, and am receiving mixed messages from the object of my misdirected feelings.

  I shoot the eight ball into the corner pocket after calling it and win in a surprisingly lucid moment. My pool game has three gears. First is sober playing, where I’m half decent and can hold my own. Then, there’s too drunk Lia who thinks she’s the best player in the bar. I’m not. Finally, there is the sweet spot. When I’ve had just enough to drink to make me some sort of pool savant. I’m currently hanging in that zone but will probably venture into delusional Lia soon.

  “Diva, you are en fuego, mi amor,” Javi slurs a tiny bit and puts his delicious forearm around my neck. At this moment, I glance over at Paul who is taking pictures with his phone. He has taken probably hundreds while Javi played pool, citing that it was perfect forearm flexing and he had a duty to his Tumblr followers.

  “I know, I am a pool princess! Ruler of all billiards,” I say, spreading my arms wide to gesture to my kingdom of two shitty pool tables on the second floor of my favorite dive bar. “Bow to me, sir.”

  Javier bows and kisses my hand. When he stands, he pulls my hand and me into an embrace. What the what? He puts his hands on my cheeks and kisses me square on the lips, shocking me so much that I reflexively pull back and slap his face. I know, I’m so disappointed in me too. I took a perfect opportunity to jump Javier and go to town on his sexy, soft lips that left mine tingling and did something stupid instead.

  “What are you doing?” I ask in a voice that seems way more outraged than I actually am.

  He smiles sheepishly, rubbing his chin. “I was kissing you.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “I had an overwhelming need to get my lips on yours.”

  “I think I’m going to go home,” I say and gather my things and head downstairs.

  Paul follows me down and so does Javier. “I’m sorry, Lia, it was harmless.”

  “I wish it was. You have the power to harm me,” I say and walk out.

  Paul catches up, putting his coat on as we walk the few blocks home. “You ok, Li?”

  I nod, not in the mood to talk. What was a fun and carefree celebration got too real for me and my tender feelings.

  My phone pings ten minutes after I get into bed.

  Javi: I’ve been thinking about you.

  Lia: Don’t hurt yourself. :)

  Javi: I won’t. I won’t hurt you either, not intentionally.

  Lia: I know.

  Javi: Can I cook you dinner tomorrow night?

  Lia: Yes, it’s the least you can do.

  Javi: I am at your service.

  Lia: Now that’s an interesting statement.

  Javi: It could be. See you tomorrow Diva, sleep well.

  I get up and go out to the living room where Paul is sitting eating a plate of nachos.

  “Is that gravy on your nachos? Wait, is that a Thanksgiving nacho plate?” I ask with awe and admiration. Paul’s plate has a layer of chips, then mashed potatoes, turkey, cranberry sauce and then a layer of gravy and cheese on top. He’s a fucking genius.

  “’Tis, my lovely roommate. Pull up a plate.” I grab a clean plate from the kitchen and sit super close to Paul and his plate of heaven. He dumps half the nachos onto my plate and I dig in.

  “This is the best thing ever. Wait, is there hot sauce in the gravy?” I ask and then sigh in ecstasy.

  Paul chuckles. “What brings you out here? I thought you were asleep.”

  I sigh again. “I can’t sleep. I’ve got the jumpies.”

  “I don’t know what those are but since you’re up wanna go through the oopsie jar with me? My taxi picks me up in an hour and it may be cathartic to see what huge assholes we used to be.” He shakes the Hello Kitty cookie jar where we used to write our mistakes “anonymously” and then read them now and then and try to guess who wrote them. Paul and I haven’t kept it up since Jane left us, maybe our mistakes aren’t as epic? Or too epic to be written down?

  “Yes, but let’s each write a new one just for fun,” I say and tear up a piece of paper from the table.

  “Okay, but how about not my itinerary for Mexico City?” Paul snags the paper from me.

  “So mine will read ‘tore up Paul’s piece of paper that also exists in email, on his phone, iPad, and computer?’”

  He flips me off. I know he likes to have physical plans to look at but I also like to bust his balls. I’m thrown a sticky note and try to think of a good mistake because, well, there’s plenty to choose from. I make up my mind, write it down, and throw it in the kitty. Paul puts his in as well and then shakes up the jar.

  “Ladies first,” he says and tilts the jar toward me. Digging my hand into the jar brings back good memories and makes me miss Jane terribly.

  I pull out one and I laugh, it’s scribbled in Jane’s awful handwriting, “Threw a crystal box at my best friend’s girl’s head and ruined the proposal.”

  Paul sighs. “That was a classic blunder.” He sticks his hand in the jar and pulls one out. “Told my tattoo artist I wanted to lick him from navel to nipple.”

  Cringing, I grab the paper from Paul who is in hysterics. “Good Buddy Holly above, who thought we should keep these?”

  We continue to open the slips of paper, taking breaks to roll on the ground in silent and uncontrollable laughter. Most were funny, some were sad.

  Funny examples:<
br />
  “Got gum stuck in my pubes, not my gum.”

  “Fell off my bike in front of a school bus full of kids.”

  “Ate too many sugar-free peanut butter cups (unknowingly) and shit my pants on a date.”

  Not as funny examples:

  “Told my family I was gay and they disowned me.”

  “Got a tattoo of boyfriend’s name.”

  “Slept with Jamie while still in love with Niall.”

  “Cried at work because someone wrote something nasty about me in the bathroom.”

  I won’t deny that last one was me. After the incident with Tony, he must have said something to someone (I abso-fucking-lutely did not) and there were some very unkind rumors about me. Yes, yes, all double standards were applied, like I’m a slut and homewrecker, even though Tony was the one who pursued me and he’s the one with the horrid oral skills. I did get some revenge with a sharpie to the basement men’s room describing Tony’s micro-peen. Anyhoo, the point of the oopsie jar was to forgive, forget and let go of the stupid things we do.

  There are a few left and I purposely pick a yellow one knowing it’s one of the new ones.

  “Overheard something I shouldn’t have at work and told someone I shouldn’t have.”

  I give Paul a look. “Oh, P-dids is committing corporate espionage?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Nothing so dramatic, Li. Just heard something I shouldn’t have, and since it involved him, I mentioned it to Dante. He scolded me for gossiping. I thought I finally had something for us to chat about but he shut me down.” Paul shrugs but I know it grates on him not being able to crack the Dante nut (Literally and figuratively).

  “If anyone can get through to a guy like him, it’s you. You are a magic friend so I assume you are a magic employee.”

  He nods again and then snatches the jar from me and takes out my newest addition.

  “Reached a new low in cowardice by not telling Javier how I felt in time.”

  Paul reaches for my hand. “Birch, you really think you’re too late? That young man kissed your grown ass tonight and it didn’t look too late to me.”

  Rubbing my eyes with the deep levels of tiredness I feel, I shrug. “Who knows? What I do know is that if I get any kind of opening again, I’m busting through.”

  “Atta girl,” Paul says right before the door buzzes with his taxi to the airport.

  Turkey Hangover

  “I want to stay friends,”Javi says and my heart sinks to my shoes.

  “Okay, what gave you the impression that we won’t stay friends?” My throat is bone dry.

  He shakes his head, wiping his hands on his thighs. “That didn’t, I mean I want to be friends with you no matter what idiotic thing I do like kiss you because I was drunk and couldn’t not kiss you.” He takes my hand in his clammy one. “I’m not sorry I kissed you but I am sorry I did it without asking first.”

  I inhale a massive breath and turn my head to let it out. This is it, the turning point in our relationship, I can feel it. This is the moment for me to be the grown up woman and be honest about my feelings. While lost in my thoughts, Javi is waving his hand in front of my face.

  “Diva, you okay?”

  I nod, still a bit unfocused.

  “I also shouldn’t have kissed you when I was still with Carrie,” he admits.

  My attention is back and laser focused. “No, you shouldn’t have, it’s not like you,” I say and squeeze his hand. “Don’t worry, we are friends to the end.” I get up and escape to the bathroom.

  When I return, Javier is busy cooking. He did come over to cook me an apology meal and it looks amazing. He’s making me empanadas and an avocado black bean salad that looks delicious. I’m handed a chilled glass of white wine and I throw him a huge, genuine smile.

  “Why is this the first time you’re cooking for me?” I ask, sticking to a safe topic. “Going by what’s in front of me, we need you to fuck up more often.”

  He laughs as he assembles the empanadas, spooning a savory mixture of ground meat into the rolled, flat dough. “Diva, I’ll cook for you anytime. I don’t need a reason and I don’t plan on fucking up again.” He flashes me his gorgeous smile and I die a little because who doesn’t want a man who cooks and smiles like that?

  “Maybe you should just move in and become my personal chef.” I half joke.

  “What’s the compensation package like?”

  I stifle a joke about his package and instead say, “It doesn’t pay well but there are days that I walk around naked and we have cable.”

  “Sounds fair,” he says with a smirk.

  We dive into his apology dinner with gusto and I’m making noises that are probably inappropriate, but I don’t care. We should all be eating empanadas, all the time.

  Things are a little weird between us but not in a bad way, just changed. He did mention Carrie though and that little nugget sits uncomfortably between my ribs. We chat about ridiculous things and it’s fun, comfortable and easy.

  After dinner, we make our way to the couch for a movie. Javi brought over Vertigo, one of my favorite movies. Paul drags either Jane or me to see it at least two times a year at the Castro theater.

  Javier and I slowly gravitate toward each other throughout the movie until I end up half leaning on his chest, my head resting just below his chin. His breathing is steady and his caress of my arm matches the beat of his heart. Normal, this is totally normal. We watch TV like this all the time. Except now that he’s kissed me, it’s not normal. It’s new, different, and awesome. I’m like some cheesy 80s ballad, I want to stay in his arms forever.

  Luckily for me, this movie is over two hours long. I get up a few times for more wine and a bathroom break or two. Every time I return I sit right back in his lap. It should be embarrassing but I don’t care anymore. I’m tipsy and ready to pounce.

  The movie ends and Javier get up to use the restroom and I switch to cable where I find my favorite movie playing, Amelie. I lay back on the couch stretching my legs out on the ottoman. Javi returns, wine in hand. He gently places our glasses on the table and then lies directly on top of me.

  “This is new,” I squeak out.

  He has no response but to lean down and kiss the side of my mouth.

  God damn, Elton John, it’s the sexiest, sweetest move and I melt a little into the cushion.

  “I can’t stop thinking about what you said yesterday about your feelings for me,” he whispers as I feel his warm breath caress my lips. I stare into his eyes, slightly bewildered but a whole lot happy about this development.

  “That’s interesting because I can’t stop thinking about you,” I say, because fuck it.

  He smiles and raises an eyebrow in question. I nod my consent and then his lips are on mine. Every ounce of restraint I’ve held onto the past few months fizzes into the atmosphere.

  It’s an exploratory kiss, unhurried and complete Nirvana, the band kind, not the regular kind. We melt together and he lowers more of his body onto mine and Big Bopper in heaven, he is hot and hard. My fingers thread through his dark, soft hair and it’s softer than I’ve fantasized about. Time is standing still, fireworks are blasting and someone is singing a victory song.

  Nope, that’s Javier’s phone singing “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison. I’m fully prepared to ignore it and assume he will too. Instead, he pops off me so suddenly my hair flies in my face from the force.

  “Hello,” he answers breathlessly.

  Now across the room, he starts to pace a little.

  “I know, I’ve been trying to reach you for a few days.” I know he’s talking with Carrie because his face is filled with guilt. “I’m sure an apology won’t help any but I am sorry. It was not something I wanted to do over the phone.”

  Hm, do what over the phone, dirty talk? Ugh, she’s been having sex for two weeks and she’s already gotten to phone sex? Woman moves fast. Don’t get me wrong. There are pangs of guilt happening in my gut and heart. The strong sense of dread tha
t I may be the other woman is overwhelming. Oh, shit. I am the other woman, the older woman. She’s young and cute and his freaking girlfriend.

  Self-doubt starts to creep in and I berate myself for that bullshit. I’m better than this, I deserve more. I jump up and am on the defensive when Javi hangs up and stalks back to me, crowding me up against the wall. He takes my face in his hands to kiss me again and what the fuck.

  I push him back. “What the Jefferson Airplane do you think you’re doing? Do not kiss me, I will not be that woman.”

  He swipes his thumb over my lips and yikes, maybe I could be that woman for a little bit.

  “Diva, that was Carrie. She’s mad at me because I broke up with her over voicemail last night.” I narrow my eyes at him, what a dick move. “I know, it was a total dick move, but I want you, not her, and she wasn’t answering my calls. After last night, she still didn’t answer so I left a very long, very apologetic voicemail.”

  “On Thanksgiving? Damn, total dick move. Why not just wait for her to get back?” I ask, dying to know the answer.

  “Because,” he says and kisses the best spot in the world to be kissed, right below my ear. “I,” he plants one on my neck. “Couldn’t,” Chin. “Wait,” cheek. “One,” other cheek. “More,” side of mouth. “Day,” other side of mouth. “To,” chin again. “Kiss,” bottom lip. “You.”

  “Good reason,” I say and then all reason goes out the window.

  Slow Bliss

  This is where you’re probably expecting the sex scene to come because you’re a big perv. Well, we kissed and the logical next step is boom boom time, right? You probably expect this from me because you know I have no hang ups about getting down to business. Here’s the rub, Javi and I are friends and although I’m not ready to admit it out loud, I’m probably in love with him. He’s also nine years younger than me, the emotional landmines are everywhere.

  Lia, you’re thinking, why waste any more time, hop on that hot Colombian sausage. Oh how I want to but here’s me being the mature reasonable adult for once. I care a whole lot for Javier and I think he does for me too. I’m taking it slow, so you will just have to wait, you dirty whores. I say that with love.