by Kris Ripper
I started gathering up the coils to bundle them back into the little compartment on the binding machine. “Yeah, imagine trying to do this many 500-page reports. Shudder.”
He shook his head. “Hard no.”
“Agreed.”
The phrase the next time we do this kept bouncing around in my head. I would have said the last thing I wanted to do—besides becoming a permanent employee—was work with Jack again. But now? I wasn’t as sure. Suddenly it felt like we were in it together...and all it had taken was him having a minor breakdown before coffee and me initiating a bunch of mutually wasted time.
“Oh god, I’m really sorry,” I mumbled.
“If this is the worst thing you’ve ever done, Declan, you’ve lived a charmed life.”
I nearly didn’t say it. After all, I didn’t have to. Jack would never meet my friends, would never hear their handy little tagline for me. But on the other hand, it sort of felt like a dismissal, like he really thought it was the worst thing I’d ever done.
“I left my last boyfriend at the altar.”
He looked over. “Shit. Sorry. But...”
“I know. It’s horrible. He’s still friends with me and stuff. It’s not like he hates me or anything. Now, I mean. He was pretty pissed at the time. For obvious reasons.” Shut up, Dec.
Jack stared at me for a very long moment. “If my failed experience at marriage is anything to go by, you might have saved him a whole lot of heartbreak.”
Jumping jackrabbits.
“Anyway, I didn’t actually think making use of company supplies for company business and inadvertently saving the company a huge chunk of money was the worst thing you’d ever done. On most lists, it would qualify as a good thing. If you’re networked to the printer by the bathrooms, I think that’s our best bet for quality.”
So...topic closed, apparently. I sent the finalized five pages to the printer by the bathroom and went to refresh my coffee while waiting for it to print. When I asked if he wanted a cup, he said yes. Which, while earlier in our work relationship I would have taken as an affront, as if I was serving him, now almost felt like camaraderie.
If this was how you won friends and influenced people, I should pile extra work on my colleagues more often.
Chapter Twenty
Pre-wedding drinks at the Hole were being held at our second favorite table, a booth along the windows, but thankfully nothing seemed to be fazing the brides-to-be.
“Our last drinks as single people!” Mia said, kissing Ronnie.
“Which means drinks in two weeks will be so much more relaxed!”
“Cheers!”
By merit of respective arrival times, Sidney was against the window with Mason between me and them, and Oscar was blocked in by the two cuddling fiancées, a situation that lasted about ten minutes before he commanded them to get out of the way so he could have the outside booth seat across from me.
Still somewhat glarey, he said, “Shouldn’t you be sitting with Sidney?”
“Um.” I glanced around Mase. It would be nice to sit with them. I mean, I’d considered that when I sat down, but I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it even though Mase would probably have no issue switching.
Sidney shrugged. “I think we can date from this remove. Right, Declan?”
At which point I had no choice but to agree. “Yeah. Sure.”
Their eyebrows dipped below their red frames, but the conversation moved on and both of us let it.
“About our honeymoon,” Ronnie said, grinning.
“Veronica, if you start with that one more time—” Mason shook his fist at her. “I swear I will hurt you.”
“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about! Look at how innocent my face is right now.” She turned to Mia and whispered, “Do I look innocent?”
“Not really,” Mia whispered back.
“Does everyone have their assignments?” Ronnie asked, in no way innocently.
Since honeymoons are hella expensive and Ronnie and Mia had spent a lot on their wedding (deliberately; they’d decided it was a big enough priority that it made sense to go a little wild), we’d offered to facilitate a staycation honeymoon. Which meant that we had a roster of food deliveries split between Mase, Oscar, and me. We’d gotten some other stuff to deliver, too, like hilarious sex toys, but mostly it was food. Okay. Some of it was suggestive food. The message thread where we’d brainstormed it was rife with explicit-use-of-vegetables GIFs.
Too bad there’s not a great way to scrapbook message threads. That would be a really funny wedding gift. Here’s how we planned to troll you on your honeymoon using only food, enjoy!
“We have our assignments.” I put my hand over Mase’s, which were balling up a napkin to throw across the table. “I can’t believe this time next week you’ll be honeymooning, that’s batshit.”
“It’s super exciting!” Mia bobbed up and down in her seat a little. “Also, we’ve been planning it forever and I’m nervous.”
“Are you most excited for the wedding itself or the being-married part that comes after?” Sidney asked (in what I privately thought of as their Spinster Uncle voice).
“Oh, our lives together, definitely. I mean, I’m hugely excited for the wedding, but it’s been so much work, and it’s so stressful. Once we’re settled down afterward I think...” She glanced at Ronnie, who kissed her cheek. “I think it will be really fulfilling. Just to be married. I don’t know, is that Disney and trite?”
Sidney shook their head. “Not at all. Actually, I hear from a lot of people on my show who find marriage feels more meaningful to them than they thought it would. Queer people especially.”
“That honestly makes me feel better. I don’t want to be taken in by dumb narratives, but I love that we can do this. That we have the right. It’s all just timing, you know? We happen to be alive in this moment when not only can we live freely, but we can get married, too.” Mia looked down at the table. “Oh my god, soapbox, sorry. I just get kind of verklempt when I think about it.”
Ronnie kissed her cheek again. “It’s true, though. I’m grateful in a totally non-Thanksgiving way that we’re getting married.”
“Y’all are gonna make me cry.” Mason dabbed his eyes. “I’m happy you’re getting married too. And I remember being that excited.”
I felt like I should probably chime in, but if I’d been that excited, I could no longer recall it. Now all I remembered was the sensation of impending doom, which had seemed to creep up from the ground whenever I stood still longer than a few minutes. Mostly I’d kept myself busy so I wouldn’t deal with it.
“Does it feel like a political act?” Sidney asked. “Sorry, are my questions weird? I have a lot of questions, but you don’t have to answer them if you just want to enjoy this moment.”
Mia smiled. “I’m enjoying this moment of drinks! I’m pro-questions. It definitely feels like a political act to me.”
“It’s so serious, yeah.” Ronnie tapped a fingernail on her wine glass, contemplatively more than nervously. “It’s this weird mix of political and personal, private and public. I don’t think we’ll understand it all until years from now.”
Sidney nodded. “That makes sense to me.”
“Hey!” Mia bounced a little higher in her seat. “We could go on your show! And talk about the awesomeness of marriage! And answer all the questions!”
Mase nudged me. “Damn, you aren’t even officially off yet and Mia’s trying to take your spot.”
“I’m not! I meant if you wanted someone—a couple—a married couple—” She scrunched up her nose. “Now it sounds dumb, Mase, jeez.”
“I would really like it if you came on the show to talk about the kind of relationship you have, the ways you’re compatible, the things you have to negotiate. Since people want different things from relationships, it’s really hel
pful articulating different models of how that can look.”
I settled my chin in my hand and gazed adoringly past my ex directly at my current. “You are so sexy.”
Mason laughed and hit me, Oscar groaned, and Mia and Ronnie applauded.
Sidney blushed. So, so sexy.
* * *
They texted later, when I was curled up in bed with yet another Netflix documentary about unhealthy food a celebrated work of literature.
Do you want to phone with me for a few minutes?
And like, yes. I didn’t consider myself a phone call person, but I liked to hear their voice in my ear, not just in my head when I read their words.
I paused the...celebrated work of literature...and dialed their number.
“Hey, datefriend.” That’s how they answered. Hey, datefriend.
Heat spread beneath my skin. “Hey. Nice to hear you. Again. Even though I already heard you earlier.”
They laughed softly. I wondered if they were lying in bed, like I was. Or maybe in an armchair, legs all tucked under, book on their lap. I was still a little lost in thinking about where they were, how they looked, when they spoke again. It took me a second to replay it.
“You had a question about what?” I asked. When in doubt, echo back what someone’s just said.
“Earlier, when Oscar asked if we should be sitting together...did you want to say yes? I felt like I’d sort of stomped on whatever you were about to say there.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Sidney noticed too much was the problem. They shouldn’t have been able to tell I’d had that flash of disappointment.
“Well.” They seemed to hesitate. “I think it’s fine either way? Ultimately, I mean. But I guess it’s important to me that we’re doing something that works for both of us. And I really enjoy sitting next to you, so I didn’t feel totally ambivalent, but I also didn’t want to disrupt the whole table at that moment.”
“Sure, me neither.”
Silence for a long moment.
“Declan?”
“Yeah?” I swallowed.
“I need to be able to trust that you’d tell me if you wanted to do things differently.”
Their voice hadn’t gone full Spinster Uncle, but had acquired a level of detachment. Semi Spinster Uncle, maybe. Decaf Spinster Uncle.
“I like how we’re doing things,” I said, trying to keep a high, defensive pitch out of my tone. “Don’t you like how we’re doing things?”
“I do. I really do. I like that I feel comfortable on the phone with you, and that I can think clearly when you’re in my space, that your presence doesn’t distract my brain until I’m just coping.”
I nodded, even though they couldn’t see it. “Yeah. It was really nice having you at drinks, even not sitting next to each other. Nice to hear you talk, and laugh.”
“And we’ve avoided the Drinks Curse since I’ve been a few times now.”
“Omigod. We have! I’ll have to text Mase later. Wow, go us. It’s different, though. I mean, from situations where the Curse was in effect.”
“In what way?”
“Um...” I stretched out, cradling the phone between my ear and my pillow. “First, will you tell me where you are? Just so I can try to picture you?”
“Oh. I’m in my bed. That sounds more, um, salacious than I intended. And before you ask what I’m wearing, an old pair of sweats and a Sia T-shirt.”
I grinned. “That still sounds pretty hot.”
“It’s cozy. What’re you wearing?”
“Boxers and a thermal shirt. The in-law unit isn’t all that well insulated. Also in bed, by the way.”
“Yay for beds. Tell me how I’m different from other victims of the Drinks Curse?”
“Maybe that you didn’t come to drinks as a significant other? You started coming as a, like, friend. Communally. Wait, that sounds a little weird.”
They giggled in my ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever been a communal friend before, but it sounds fun. Are blindfolds involved?”
“Not at the Hole! That’s a fine, upstanding establishment. Communal sharing of friends is only permitted in the private back room.”
“I’m trying really hard not to make any of the obvious jokes right now,” they said after a pause.
“I admire your self-control.”
A huff of laughter.
“Anyway,” I continued, “you know what I mean. You weren’t there as my date. You were there because you go to drinks now. You would, even if you and I weren’t dating. Right?”
“True. So you think that protects me from the Curse?”
“It sure seems to be. We haven’t incorporated a new permanent member to the Motherfuckers...ever. We’ve had some people come and go, and a lot of people drifted away in the months after graduating from college, but the five of us have been together since we were, like, twenty. Huh.”
“That’s really cool. I don’t have friendships that have been that consistently close for so long. Definitely not in person.”
“Yeah, I’m glad none of us moved away. Oscar talks about it sometimes, and Mia and Ronnie might when they decide to have kids, but it hasn’t happened yet.” I cleared my throat, daring myself to tell them that I would have booted Mason out of his seat in a heartbeat if I’d thought they wanted to sit next to me as much as I’d wanted to sit next to them. But in the end, I couldn’t say it. Didn’t know how to say it without sounding needy and weird. And it seemed like they’d forgotten they asked, which was probably a win. I promised myself I’d be honest—or at least try to be honest—if they brought it up again. “So um...you don’t have a lot of close friends?”
“Not the way you do. The way a lot of queer people do. It’s like some queer superpower that completely missed me. I’m not very good at keeping people around.”
“Except Arman?”
“Because he’s stuck with me, I guess.” They paused and I wished I could see their face. Was it doing the same slightly yearning thing it had done the first time we’d gone to drinks and Mase and I had been goofing around? “I was so used to being alone that it became the thing that felt...safest, I guess? It always made me a little sad, that I didn’t have this amazing chosen family. But I also wasn’t sure how to...do that. How to find those people. How to be close to them if I did find them.”
“Huh, yeah. I think I just got super lucky? If I hadn’t been roomed with Mase, I seriously don’t know what would have happened.” What a horrible thought. I tugged the covers in tighter around my shoulders.
“I’ve been thinking about his concern, how hard it would be to bring someone new around, but even now that we’re dating, you guys seem comfortable having me at drinks. I don’t pick up any...aggressive vibes from anyone. Or jealousy.”
“No way. I think he’s been attracted to some real asshats is the problem.”
“Present company excluded.”
“Dude. I left the man at the altar. And he looked good in that suit too.”
“I’m sure he did. But since he doesn’t consider you an asshat, I think you insisting on it reeks of unhelpful guilt-flailing, not productive accountability.”
“Oh my god. Um.” I swallowed, glad for once we were in separate rooms so I could pull the blankets over my head. Ouch. And also valid. Which was the worst kind of ouch.
“Er, sorry. I just spinstered at you accidentally. I try to only do that with consent.” They cleared their throat. “I mean, I can’t take it back. I meant it. But I shouldn’t have said it. Anyway, I’ve only had good experiences at drinks with the Motherfuckers.”
I didn’t quite dare to come out of my blanket cave, but I did take the subject change. Or subject return. “The problem is that Mase brings around people who are jealous of us, then wonders why we don’t get along with them.”
“Ah. I hope it’s all right with you th
at I don’t really get jealous?”
Seriously, no one had ever said that to me before. “Is it not okay with other people that you don’t get jealous?”
“For some people jealousy serves as proof of commitment.”
“Oh. No. Yuck. I definitely do not want you to get jealous. And I’m not jealous of your legion of adoring fans.” They made an inarticulate sound into the phone and I laughed. It still felt a little awkward, but I decided to run with it. “Your public, your devotees, your—”
“I’m going to remember this and get you back. Later. In the future. Creatively. By means you would never expect.”
I legit shivered in anticipation. “That sounds pretty awesome. I look forward to it.”
Sidney growled.
“You realize it turns me on when you get all big and scary on me. Bring it on. Spunk.”
This time both of us laughed. We talked a little while longer then went to bed.
Despite having ended the conversation in a good place, I was still stuck on what they’d said. I was accountable for what happened with Mase. Wasn’t I? I mean, he’d been super pissed about it for a long time, even after we started talking again, even after Mia came up with drinks and we all met up once a week. It’s not like he immediately forgave me—we had to fight and cry and have angry break-up sex before we’d really worked it out.
Well, Mase had worked it out. I still felt shitty pretty much all the time. Which was fitting, right? I’d done a horrible thing. That...was accountability. Wasn’t it?
Chapter Twenty-One
I picked up my suit on the way home from work Friday night, hanging it against my closet door since the closet itself was packed with all the things and I for sure couldn’t squish my suit in there.