Pining & Loving

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  Aya kept quiet. What could she say? Time dragged on until she decided on, “This is more than just a crush for either of us, then. That makes this more than some stupid competition for who gets to date this blonde knockout.”

  “Knockout? Fitting word choice for a former boxer,” Gwen said with a chuckle.

  For someone with depression, this woman sure did laugh a lot. There’s a lot more to depression than TV shows told me, Aya mused.

  “Do you think I’m right, though?” she asked.

  “Yep. I think you are very right,” Gwen replied. “More than that, it’s nice to talk about this stuff with someone new. That way I don’t have to bore my therapist or my best friend.”

  “I’m sure you’re not boring your best friend. I mean, I wouldn’t know since I don’t have one, but I hear that they’re the ones who put up with all of a person’s shit.”

  Gwen snorted out another laugh. “True. Charlotte is very patient with my, as you call it, shit. Still, there’s a lot of it, and she’s busy with more important things. She’s trans and her parents are weird about it, people at work sometimes give her a hard time, and she has these new hormone issues, and… well, I shouldn’t bother her with my silliness.”

  “Don’t be daft. It’s not silliness.”

  “Not to you. You have the same obsessive crush. That’s why it’s nice to talk to you, you get it. Also, I finally have someone I can talk to about how blooming perfect that woman is!”

  Now it was Aya’s turn to laugh. It was the kind of deep belly laugh that she hadn’t experienced in months. She wasn’t sure why she found it so funny. Maybe it was the relief. After all, she didn’t have a best friend or therapist to talk to about this.

  “Have you ever noticed that when Mocha talks, every single person in the room goes quiet and listens?” Gwen said.

  Aya thought that over. “Yeah. Actually, they stop to watch her, too. It happens all the time in the self-defence class where I met her.”

  Gwen looked lost in thought. “You know what? I don’t think it’s only because she’s attractive or her powerful businesswoman vibe. I think it’s her confidence. She doesn’t need to boast or anything like that, she just has this… natural confidence that wafts off her like that expensive perfume of hers.”

  Aya hummed. “That’s sounds about right. You’re good at describing things.”

  “Thanks,” Gwen said shyly. “You get used to trying to put things into exact words when you’re in therapy. Also, I draw and sell my art online. Usually it’s characters from fan fiction or books that I draw for their authors. If you don’t learn to communicate precisely, then you get complaints about things you didn’t get right. You have to interpret their words as well as put your own thoughts into words.”

  “You draw for money? You’re that good?”

  Gwen made a noncommittal noise. “People pay me, so they seem to think so.”

  A warning light that Aya knew well popped up on the dashboard. She cursed herself, remembering what she was on her way to do when she’d been distracted by Gwen crying on that bench: get petrol.

  “Um, this isn’t a big problem, but we’re almost out of petrol.”

  Gwen’s head snapped towards her. “What do you mean ‘almost?’ Do we have enough to get Chester?”

  “Nope. Not even close.”

  “Okay, now I’m freaking out a little. I guess we’ll have to Google where the nearest station is,” Gwen said, getting her phone out of her messenger bag.

  “Nah. It’ll be okay. We’re on the M6. There are services everywhere. I’m sure the petrol will last until we get to one.”

  Gwen was tapping away at her phone, but paused to say, “That’s optimistic of you.”

  Aya’s thoughts halted for a second. It was, wasn’t it? Perhaps her sunnier outlook on life was returning?

  “I know this old bird.” Aya patted the steering wheel. “She makes a big deal of being thirsty but can actually go for miles on fumes.”

  “All the same, I’d be more comfortable if we didn’t risk it. I’m sure you know what you’re doing, but considering how my day is going, I wouldn’t be surprised if we ran out of petrol any second now.”

  “It’s really not that bad, Gwen. We’re fine.”

  “Better safe than sorry. I’m almost done finding all the nearest petrol stations. We should head to one right away.”

  “Chill. This sort of negative thinking might be what’s making you depressed,” Aya joked.

  She knew her attempt at banter was a mistake the second she saw Gwen flinch. She’d gotten it wrong as always.

  “My depression isn’t dependent on me using positive thinking,” Gwen snarled. “It’s a mental illness connected to chemical imbalances in the brain. It’s incurable, and I take medication for it. It’s not something I can think positively about and be fixed.” Rage was now in Gwen’s tone as well as in her body language. As much of it as Aya could see from the corner of her eye, at least.

  Aya ground her teeth at her clumsiness. This was worse than when she’d used the word stable. How long could she keep saying shit like this before Gwen bit her head off?

  “I’m really sorry. I know depression isn’t something you can just cheer up from. I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” she pleaded.

  Gwen sighed, sounding bone tired. “I know. It’s fine. Look, can we just go get petrol? I’m sure it’s only me being negative, but I can’t take anymore setbacks today.”

  “Of course,” Aya said immediately. “Where did Google Maps say the next services are? Do we need to go off the M6?”

  “No, there should be a services in six miles.”

  Aya checked the dashboard. “That’s good. I can promise you, without any doubt, that we will be fine for petrol until then.”

  “Thank you,” Gwen said quietly.

  “Don’t thank me. It’s my old jeep that needs a drink and my fault for not fuelling up earlier.” Aya hesitated. Then she blurted out the words that needed to be said, “And there’s the fact that I just put my foot in it, and you accepted my apology right away. The least I can do after that is make sure our drive goes without a hitch.”

  Gwen looked sheepish. “Does that mean this is a good time to mention that I didn’t have breakfast and I’d like to pop in for a sandwich and a cup of tea?”

  Aya smiled. “Absolutely! We’ll fuel up Janet here, and then get some fuel for ourselves, too. After all, if we’re going to explore all of Chester we’ll need the energy.”

  “Not all of Chester,” Gwen said. “I’m pretty sure Mocha’s head office will be in one of the poshest areas.”

  “True. Imagine us two working-class Stokies skulking around the rich parts of Chester, searching for a swanky bird who probably won’t even give us the time of day.”

  Gwen nodded then stilled. “Hang on. Did you say Janet?”

  Aya patted the dashboard. “Yep. This beauty is a 2000 Jeep Wrangler, in the rare fern green I might add, and her name is Janet.”

  “Gotcha,” Gwen said, weirdly uninterested in the Jeep’s details. “Well, I’m as thirsty as Janet the Jeep is.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get you both something to drink very soon.”

  “Great. I’ll pay for half of the petrol, of course.”

  Aya was about to argue, after all, she was going to Chester anyway. But money was tight right now, maybe she could let Gwen chip in a little.

  The warning light flashed again.

  Dammit Janet! Hold it together just a little longer.

  She smiled over at Gwen, hoping she looked more confident than she felt.

  Chapter Nine

  Straight Out of Stoke

  Gwen sighed with pleasure as she took another bite of her sandwich. She couldn’t remember when she’d last been this hungry.

  She could see and hear Aya by the counter, trying to get out of the cashier’s small talk. Poor Aya was clearly uncomfortable but answered politely in her thick Stoke accent. Gwen loved that soft but steadf
ast accent, especially its vowels, and wished she had it herself. She’d grown up in Cilcain, Wales, then lived in several towns on the English-Welsh border, before finally moving here after finishing school to live with her then-girlfriend. All the more reason for her to enjoy hearing a proper Midlands accent, as Aya and the old lady serving called each other “duck” and “shug” in that friendly twang.

  Gwen zeroed in on Aya. She was a hard one to read. She was clearly uncomfortable when they spoke of Mocha, although Aya turned quite uncomfortable during most talking.

  Gwen sipped her tea and watched Aya stride back to the table with her own order, two takeaway mugs in her hands and a big red and green mottled apple wedged under her arm.

  “Sorry for not ordering for you while you filled up the car,” she said as Aya sat down. “I didn’t know what you’d want.”

  “No probs. I wasn’t sure if I was going to have anything. But this apple called to me and I couldn’t resist the irony in buying two of these.” She set the mugs down. The smell of coffee and chocolate wafted up.

  “Mochas?” Gwen said.

  “Yep,” Aya said and took a sip.

  Gwen followed suit, mainly out of politeness and camaraderie. This was part of their little adventure, right? Part of their quest.

  The drink was silky smooth but much too sweet for Gwen’s palate.

  Aya’s gaze moved from her mocha to Gwen’s. They both watched her takeaway mug for a beat. Then their gazes locked.

  Aya cleared her throat. “Um. Am I the only one who suddenly feels… pathetic?”

  “Nope! Right there with you.”

  They laughed, shattering the tension.

  Aya put her mug down. “I just wanted to try it, really. Not my thing.”

  “No, mochas are far too sugary. Not my cup of tea, pardon the pun.”

  Gwen didn’t mention that their unease was probably because the concept of drinking Mocha’s trademark drink together, despite not liking it, felt a bit weird. It would’ve been fine if they were fangirling over a fictional character or maybe even a celebrity, but behaving like this over a person in their everyday lives felt obsessive. Aya didn’t say anything about that either, staying with the much safer, “No, you’re a tea lover, and I’m a coffee fiend. Who wants to ruin their coffee by diluting it with hot chocolate, anyway?”

  Gwen set her mocha aside and went back to her tea. “Well, I shouldn’t complain. First you say I don’t have to pay you for the petrol and then I get two hot drinks with my lunch. What luxury!” She drank some tea to wash away the taste in her mouth. “Speaking of luxury, did you mean what you said? About how Mocha might think we’re beneath her because we’re not as posh as she is?”

  Aya bit into her apple, shrugged, and muttered, “Who can say? We know that she’s always been polite to us.”

  “That reminds me! You said you’d talked to her once before. Was that in the self-defence class you mentioned?”

  “Yep. It’s held in the backroom of Muscles & Mitts. I sometimes help the instructor.”

  “I see. And your chat didn’t go to well?”

  “Total disaster.” Aya swallowed some apple. “Which should make you happy if you do see this as a competition over her attention, or affection or whatever.”

  “No, you convinced me. This isn’t a competition. It’s a crush on the surface, but deep down, it symbolises other things for us.”

  Aya sighed. “I suppose so. The surface crush does feel damn real, though.”

  “Mm. It’s weird that we’re pining over the same woman.”

  “Not really,” Aya said. “I bet half of Stoke pines over her.”

  Gwen couldn’t help but make the obvious and not very funny joke. “Just Stoke or the other four towns of Stoke-on-Trent, too?”

  Instead of groaning or joking along, Aya surveyed her apple and said, “Wrong. The other five towns. Not four,” before taking another mouthful.

  Gwen sat back in surprise at her rudeness. “No, Stoke and another four. That makes up the five towns of Stoke on Trent.”

  “Stoke-on-Trent is made up of six towns.”

  “No, five.”

  Aya leisurely chewed her apple, nonchalance in every movement. “Six.”

  Gwen didn’t have her normal patience and so had to really school her features before holding up her hand to count down the towns on the fingers. She started with the one that worked as the city centre. “Hanley,” she said, folding down her little finger. Then she carried on with, “Burslem, Longton, Tunstall, and Stoke,” folding down a finger for each.

  Aya swallowed a bite. “You forgot Fenton. Outsiders do that sometimes, especially if they’ve read Anna of the Five Towns by Arnold Bennett. He left out Fenton, and because of that so do others. So, you see, it’s six towns,” she said in a patronising tone.

  Gwen sniffed. “Fine.”

  The food court around them was noisy, but their little table was quiet as the grave. It was the sort of expressive, heavy silence that should be broken as soon as possible.

  Nevertheless, there Aya sat, draped over her chair, eating her apple with big, confident bites and taking her time about it. She either didn’t care about the tension or was surprisingly clueless to it.

  Gwen didn’t mind being wrong. She did, however, mind being talked to like that. And then, adding insult to injury, her companion refused to do anything to keep the social machinery running smoothly, instead throwing spanners in the gears every twenty minutes. This woman could be insufferable!

  Gwen took another bite of sandwich, contemplating that while they weren’t competing, if someone would win Mocha’s heart, it had to be her. At least she knew how to be polite, respectful, and friendly.

  She hurried up with her tea and sandwich, suddenly eager to get this meal and their journey over with.

  Chapter Ten

  Wrong

  Aya watched Gwen drain her mug of tea. She had a deep wrinkle between her nicely curved eyebrows. Was she sulking because she’d been wrong about the six towns of Stoke-on-Trent? Aya wasn’t going to apologise for correcting her. She’d apologise for every clumsy thing she had said, but this had been a simple fact. Gwen had been wrong.

  Be that as it may, Aya enjoyed this other woman’s company. Despite the miscommunications, and Gwen’s current mental state, they were getting along well. Aya wasn’t even finding her new companion too hard to talk to! It would be brilliant if they could be friends.

  She glanced over at Gwen again, who was now checking something in her messenger bag.

  She’s still frowning.

  It was impossible for Aya not to feel responsible. Also, if she was being honest, not seeing Gwen upset had quickly become important to her. She punched her fist onto her thigh and thought, Come on, cheer her up!

  She sifted through her options, discarding them all before remembering the one thing that cheered most people: someone taking an interest in something that matters to them.

  “Um, Gwen, do you have any of your drawings with you? Like, on your phone or something? I’d love to see them.”

  Gwen put her hand on her chest, subtly tapping it. “I don’t know, shouldn’t we get going? There’s still a bit of a drive to Chester.”

  “Nah, it’s not that far. Besides, I’ve just finished my apple. I wouldn’t want to get going until I’ve digested it.”

  That sounded feeble to her own ears. Her system was used to big steaks and mountains of sweet potato, an apple barely touched the sides. She could only hope that Gwen bought it.

  Clearly mulling the suggestion over, Gwen watched the food court around them. The hand on her chest climbed higher until it was tapping against her left collarbone. Aya watched as she waited For Gwen’s reply. Those long, artistic fingers tapped faster and faster, so close to Aya’s favourite part of a woman’s body, that beautiful, delicate hollow at her throat. The hollow, and those pronounced collarbones of Gwen’s, moved with her rapid breaths. Her skin was pale as moonlight. No, less bluish and cold than the moon. M
ore like, Aya went through every white and beige thing she knew, more like the colour of white roses.

  God, listen to me. Gwen’s babbling about particular colours is clearly catching. “Saffron.” Bloody bollocks.

  That beautiful hand on that flawless collarbone drew her attention back. Gwen’s wrist was so slender, and her hand—unlike Aya’s own—was smooth without any visible veins.

  Aya looked away, not wanting to stare. She wondered what Gwen’s body language meant. Was she angry? Uncomfortable? Depressed? Shy at the thought of showing her drawings? She had seemed fine about it before; humble sure, but not embarrassed about it.

  “Fine,” she finally said. “I have some I can quickly show you on my phone. Then we should get going again.” She put a lot of emphasis on those last words, enough for even Aya to catch on to that she wanted to leave soon.

  “Deal!”

  Gwen got her phone out, located the drawings, and handed the device to Aya. “Some of them are of women or genderfluid people,” she explained, “but my clients mainly want me to draw male characters these days. I don’t really get to choose.”

  Aya quickly noticed the truth of that. The illustrations were of all kinds of humans and imaginary creatures, like elves or whatever they were called, but most of them looked male. A few were slim and delicate, but most of them were big and beefy. Still pretty, though. Clearly, prettyboys sold well with Gwen’s clients.

  “These are all amazing,” Aya said honestly. “How do you get the faces so lifelike?”

  “Thank you,” Gwen mumbled. “It’s all down to practise.”

  Aya kept scrolling through the pictures. “The colours are awesome, and the characters all look so different from each other! I have to say,” she hesitated but Gwen’s ‘go ahead’ expression made her carry on, “some of the muscles are, well, wrong.”

  Gwen frowned. “Wrong?”

  Crap. Were they about to have another disagreement?