"So what's the problem? Does she have to work?"
"I, um… I don't know," I said.
"Okay," Kimi said, sounding skeptical. "Is everything okay with you guys?"
"Yeah," I said. As I said it, I felt like I was lying. Nothing was wrong with us that I could put my finger on, but I was so uneasy about our relationship lately, it didn't feel entirely right.
"Okay…" Kimi said, still skeptical. "Let me know if you want to talk about anything."
It was a sweet offer, but one I knew I wouldn't be taking her up on.
"I will," I said. "And your invitations are pretty."
We chatted for a few moments about nothing of consequence before hanging up.
Once I set my phone down, Faye lowered her book and looked out the window, pensive. After a few minutes, she said in a quiet, sad voice, "Why don't you want me to go to the wedding?"
I felt so guilty at her tone, I wished I hadn't answered the phone in front of her. She had known I was talking about her, and worse, she'd heard me all but dismiss her.
"I do," I said, trying to sound convincing. "I just didn't know you felt about it. It's a lot of pressure, and you'd be meeting my family and tons of my friends from growing up…" I was getting more and more uncomfortable with each excuse.
"Of course I want to go," Faye said, still looking hurt. "Do you not want me to?"
Overwhelmed with guilt and knowing no reason would be good enough to make her feel better, I leaned sideways and kissed Faye on the cheek.
"Of course I want you to go," I said, giving her the most genuine smile I could muster.
Faye looked relieved. "Good," she said. "I already have my dress picked out."
Her certainty and enthusiasm did nothing to calm my nerves, but there was a tiny bit of relief in knowing that I hadn't hurt her feelings with my confusing ambivalence about our relationship.
A few months later on the one year anniversary of our first date, Faye called me at work and asked, in a polite, formal way, if she could have the honor of taking me out to dinner. It was so sweet, hearing the way her voice strained with professionalism and excitement. She sounded young, but mostly nervous. It made me nervous. Why the fuss for the occasion? Was she planning something radical? I felt fear shiver through me at the possibility.
Faye arrived at my apartment that night looking radiant. She'd put on sparkly earrings and was wearing a different shade of blush that matched the plum blouse she was wearing. Her nails were freshly lacquered and each eyelash seemed to have its own extension.
She looked, in a word, perfect.
She drove cautiously downtown and pulled into the valet of the Hyatt. She handed her keys to the valet, and put her hand up, stopping another attendant from opening my door. Her heels clicked as she walked the faux cobblestones in front of the headlights, and her soft grasp on the handle opened my door before she gave me her hand, helping me out of my seat. I had never felt so cherished or wooed — that's what she was doing, wasn't it? She was wooing me — in my life.
At her exceptionally chivalrous behavior, I grew even more nervous. But nervousness isn't always negative, is it? Sometimes nervousness is just sparks and energy that feels good, but still disrupts your ability to think clearly or sit still. I was filled with that now, and as she laced our hands together and walked inside, I felt like she was promenading me. Our hands were tucked between our bodies as her other hand held her clutch, her steps small and rigid in her heels, but it felt ceremonious to me. We'd never done anything like this.
She led me to the glass elevator. I was mesmerized by the twinkling lights around the hotel lobby, peeping through the interior foliage as we lifted up into the sky.
We walked into a restaurant at the top of the hotel, and she gave them her name. We were immediately led to a beautiful table with her last name on a little card in the center and a bucket of champagne on ice beside it.
I sat down, in awe of the effort Faye had put into making our one year anniversary so special. The host told us the specials for the evening and reached to open the champagne. Before the champagne had been corked, I felt dizzy and realized something was different about this restaurant. Or rather, the city around it. Our surroundings were moving. Faye smiled when I gripped the armrests of my chair to steady myself.
"It's okay," she hushed. "It rotates. You get to see the whole city while you eat. It's beautiful from up here."
She was talking about the city, but she was staring directly at me. I tried not to blush.
Faye kept her eyes glued to me as the waiter corked our champagne. I was amazed that this beautiful woman who could sometimes be so shy was going through all this for her stripper girlfriend. No matter how hard I fought it, that word and all its negative connotations had weaseled its way into my identity. Like a smudge across the top of a pristine blouse that I only wore when I wasn't working, the word stripper, with all its baggage, was now part of me. Beautiful, proper girls like Faye didn't date strippers. And yet here we were, a year in, and she was showering me with gifts I felt I didn't deserve.
The funny thing was I could easily have afforded these luxuries on the money I made at Jez. The fact that our fancy night out was being paid for by someone who didn't have as much money as I did was what made me feel I didn't deserve it.
We were halfway through a plate of bell pepper and onion crostini when a tall man came to our table. Thinking it was our waiter, I turned to politely smile at him. But instead I was greeted by the face of the last person I ever expected to see.
His jaw had widened and his shoulders were unbelievably broad. He still had his dimples and the hint of rosiness in cheeks. He was sporting a five o'clock shadow and was dressed in the nicest suit I'd ever seen him in. Nicer than the suits he'd worn to prom with me and nicer than most of the suits of the guys who came to see me at Jez.
He was older and even more handsome than I remembered.
Damon was looking down at me with his too-kind smile.
"Hi," he said, almost timid.
My mouth was full of food, and I'd forgotten how to chew. I flushed icy cold as I stared up at him. I'm sure I turned white as a sheet. The half glass of champagne I'd drunk did nothing to help orient me. Why was he here? Why was the one person I dreaded ever encountering again, here? Why now?
Now the night wouldn't be about me and Faye. I would probably fall out of my chair and curl up on the floor, passed out, as soon as he walked away.
"Hi," I managed, mouth still full.
"It's good to see you," he said, ducking his head to convey his sincerity.
If it was good to see me, he would have called or written sometime in the last seven years. He wouldn't have broken up with me in the first place if it was good to see me. If I had once been so irresistible that he had to stay up until two in the morning talking to me even though he knew we'd see each other in the morning, he had to be lying now.
Good to see me. Fuck you, Damon.
"Yeah," I said, trying to loosen the rigidity that had overtaken my body.
"What have you been up to?" he asked, giving Faye a polite glance.
I saw Faye look at me and remembered she was there. There was no way Damon knew who Faye was. I'd admitted to him that I found girls attractive in high school, but I doubted he thought I'd ever date a girl.
"I, um..." I stumbled over the words. Taking off my clothes for hundreds of men that aren't you. "I'm working in the entertainment industry," I mumbled.
"Oh yeah?" he asked.
I nodded, but couldn't speak.
"She wants to go into Public Health," Faye offered, bragging for me.
Damon's face spread in a look that could only be described as surprised pride. "Wow," he said, hushed and sincere. "That's awesome. What type of entertainment?"
This was the question I never wanted to answer to anyone from my hometown.
I thought about the times I'd timidly undressed in front of him and tried to convince myself that my confidence being naked in front o
f strangers now would make him feel special, as though he got to witness the opening of a flower. But it wouldn't. If anything, he would be sad for me, sad that I wasn't doing something with my brain. Just like my mother would be if she ever found out, and like Kimi had been, and so many others. No matter what I did, someone would always be ashamed of me.
"I'm a choreographer,” I lied. Technically, I did choreograph things. Naked, on a pole.
"You don't say," Damon said, as though he was genuinely intrigued. "How'd you get into that?"
I had asked myself that question so many times.
"Just stumbled into it."
I didn't add the part about stumbling into it in six inch plastic heels.
"That's awesome," Damon said.
There was an awkward pause, and I couldn't bring myself to look at Faye or Damon. I studied the bubbles in my champagne glass, wishing I could disappear like they did when they reached the surface. Faye was looking at me as her polished fingernails worried the edge of the tablecloth.
"I'm in town on business," Damon offered.
"Oh," I said. I didn't ask what kind of business or how long he'd be in town.
"Would you want to meet tomorrow night and catch up?" Damon asked.
I was frozen again.
Part of me wanted to say yes. Maybe Damon would give me back that feeling of impervious childhood, innocence, and protection. The irony of a stripper wanting those things wasn't lost on me. But I desperately wanted to remember the trusting, faith-filled person I had been before he sat me down and delivered his gentle, rehearsed breakup speech. Maybe he'd explain why he'd done what he'd done. Maybe I'd have some answers and I could finally understand why.
But it was more likely that I would end up feeling empty and confused. I bit my lips, buying time. I knew a gentle breeze from Damon could knock me over.
Faye gave him a soft, apologetic smile. "We have theater tickets tomorrow," she said.
It was a lie, and one that surprised me. Faye could tell I didn't want to have a drink with Damon. She could see little things that Damon couldn't see. Was it possible that she loved me more than I thought she did? She could see things in my eyes that Damon, who had known me for most of my life, couldn't see.
"Shoot," Damon said. Though, the way he said it, I was pretty sure he knew Faye was covering for me. That shoot was the only regret I'd heard from him since he walked away that summer day years ago.
"Hit me up sometime," he said, tapping the edge of the table to signal he was about to walk away. "I'd love to hear how you're doing."
I nodded, mumbling, "Okay. Bye." I stared at the tablecloth until I saw him walk out of sight in my peripheral vision.
I exhaled as quietly as I could, just as Faye's hand darted across the table towards me. Her hand was so delicate, graceful with the sparkle of her bracelet, and yet commanding. She was commanding me to take her hand. I did, and hoped I wasn't shaking too much.
"We can leave if you need to," she murmured.
I shook my head. I didn't want to ruin the romantic evening she'd set up for us anymore than Damon already had. I gave her a reassuring squeeze, mostly so I could retract my hand. "No. We're staying."
Faye nodded, ducking her head to study me for more clues. "Only if you're sure."
"I'm sure." The words weren't lively enough to convince even myself.
I picked up my champagne glass and took a long, slow sip, letting it sparkle on my tongue. I set it back down, making sure it rested exactly on the wet ring it had been in before.
We ate quietly for a few more minutes while I tried not to squirm before I figured it was acceptable to excuse myself to the bathroom. Since the restaurant was turning, I had a hard time finding it, but I did eventually. There I locked myself in a stall and leaned against the door, anxiety coursing through me furiously as I took deep breaths of the industrial citrus scent that filled the bathroom.
Chapter 24: Seeking Safety
As I burned with anger and sadness, out in the living room, I heard Faye ask Claire, "How did your moms take you calling off the engagement?"
Claire sighed. "They're relieved. They think we're too young. It's so hard not to have anyone's support..." She sniffled, and I couldn't help but think that there were similarities between Claire feeling unsupported by her moms — plural, I noted, so Faye had no reason to worry Claire would judge her for being with a girl — and how Faye and I had no support for our relationship because no one knew other than Dave and Michael and Justine.
I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure as I searched through my closet for the stupid jogging pants I'd offered Claire. I found them, then took a moment to make sure my face wouldn't betray how upset I was. I knew I wouldn't be able to maintain that composure for more than a few minutes.
So I walked back into the living room with a brave, forced smile and handed the pants to Claire.
"Thank you," Claire said, trying to reign in her tears. "These look great."
She didn't move to try the pants on, but I was fine with that.
I put my hand to my stomach and said, "I'm feeling a little nauseated, so I'm gonna lie down, but please feel free to stay and finish the wine."
"Are you okay?" Claire asked, more concerned than Faye looked.
"Yeah," I assured her, hoping she wouldn't get too curious. "I just need to be still for a little while."
"Okay," Claire said. "Let us know if we can get you anything."
"Yeah," Faye chimed in, finally looking concerned.
"I'll be fine," I said, walking backwards toward my room. "Just a little dizzy."
And with that, I went into my room and closed the door, letting my body droop flare with anger and sadness.
I couldn't bear how Faye was so quick to dismiss me in front of Claire.
A minute later Faye popped her head into my room. Seeing I was lying on the bed staring blankly at the closet in front of me, she ventured in, closing the door behind her.
"Hey, are you really okay?" Faye whispered.
It was nice to know she actually cared, but we were in a weird situation.
"Yeah," I said, stiff with resentment. I was so angry at her and so confused and hurt, I didn't have a way to communicate how not okay I was.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked, sinking into the side of the bed, looking down at me.
"No," I said. "I just need to lie down."
"Okay. Did you eat something?" Faye asked.
Not sure if she was asking if I was hungry-nauseous or spoiled-food-nauseous, I just said, "Nope."
Tensing, Faye seemed to pick up on my anger.
"Do you not like Claire?" she asked, as though she was surprised.
"She's fine," I said. "I just need to lie down."
"Okay." There was a pause that only served to amplify the tension. "Let me know if I can get you anything." Defeated and knowing she wouldn't get any more out of me, Faye got up, looking back over her shoulder at me as she shut the closet door and then walked back into the living room.
I heard Faye and Claire chat quietly for a few minutes, and Claire seemed to calm down. Then they put in a movie and were quiet as I heard the opening credits start playing. No sooner had the movie started than I heard Faye start commenting on how hot the main actor was.
I curled into myself and let hot tears seep down my face into the pillow. I shut my eyes as tight as I could and willed myself to fall asleep, but it didn't happen. I just lay there listening to the dialogue of a movie I didn't like.
When the movie was over, Claire gathered her belongings and left, thanking Faye for distracting her and asking Faye to pass on her gratitude and wishes for my wellbeing.
After the front door closed behind Claire, I heard soft footsteps coming toward my room. With each one, I felt something coiling up inside me, threatening to spring out when Faye started talking.
She knocked on the door, and I knew I was about to burst.
"Riley?" she called.
It was her sweet voi
ce, and for some reason it made me even angrier. My face was burning and my stomach was churning and my hands felt stiff and heavy.
At my nonresponse, Faye opened the door.
"Are you awake?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. It was low and threatening and surprised even me.
"Are you feeling any better?"
"No."
"I'm sorry. Do you want me to get you-"
"I can't keep doing this," I blurted, feeling the words escape me like air from a balloon. I sprang to sitting on my bed, unable to contain my anger. "I know I said we'd figure something out, but I need-" I stopped, not knowing what I meant. "I need more than a secret."
Faye stood stunned in the doorway for a moment. "Justine knows," she argued. "And Avery, apparently." She still sounded bitter about that.
"You know what I mean," I said, squinting at her.
Faye dropped her argumentative stance and looked down. She grew quiet, and I could feel her retracting every bit of openness she'd achieved recently. I regretted lashing out at her because now she was curling into herself.
"I know I said I wouldn't push you," I said, trying to measure my words so they didn't sound clipped and angry, though I was undoubtedly angry. "I would never ask you to do something you weren't ready for. Not something that big."
I could feel my heart twisting in my body, it was so painful. I hadn't planned any of this, but as I spoke, I felt a certain inevitability, as though I'd been building up to this over the past few weeks. This wasn't even a decision. It was just something that was true. I stood up and walked towards Faye, trying not to move too fast and spook her. I took a deep breath, trying to measure my words and my steps.
"You are the most beautiful woman I know, and I'm head over heels in love with you. It just — it kills me that I can't tell you that even once a day because that's more than being friends. And if friendship is what you want, you need to look elsewhere, because I could never just be your friend. I don't think — I can't keep doing things the way we've been doing them."
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