Together We Stand

by JA Lafrance

  Yes.

  Sorta.

  Stupid corona.

  Stupid boyfriend. Of course, there was a boyfriend. What the hell was it with her falling for stupid straight girls shacked up with their stupid boyfriends?

  He looked like a dick too. Was a dick. Leaving Freddie to deal with an exploding toilet on her own. Who did that?

  She hated him on principle. Also, her.

  Also, herself.

  “Don’t hate me.” The text from Dark and Stormy made no sense. Neither did the buzzing sound her phone was making. What was that?

  “Janet, pick up the damn phone. I mean, answer it. I. Am. Calling. You!”

  “Why?” Janet said as she answered.

  “I’ve sent you a present,” Dark and Stormy’s voice replied. Hushed.

  Janet felt touched. And confused. Was she drunk? She looked at the empties on her coffee table, which Drip and Suck were investigating. Two. Not drunk. Not yet. Just very—very—very sad.

  And now, confused.

  “Why are you whispering?” she whispered into the phone.

  “Because I’m in Hot Nursie’s bathroom.”

  “She’s got another leak?” Janet felt annoyed.

  “Noooo.” Dark and Stormy sounded weird. And then, Janet knew.

  “OMG. You’re going to sleep with my hot nurse.”

  “I’ve already slept with your hot nurse,” Dark and Stormy said. Whispered. “Hey. OK. That wasn’t so bad. Confession done. Sorry. Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m fucking furious!”

  “You won’t be. I sent you a present. Ok, I’ve got to go now, because…”

  “Also, do you not know that there’s a global pandemic and she works in the ER and…”

  “She just got her test results. It’s all good. Well, unless I’ve got the plague and I infected her. Look. Babelicious. I’ve just had sex for the first time in seventeen weeks—mind-blowing sex, mind you, Nursie is no starfish, also her name is Alya and we should really start calling her that and not Hot Nursie—and I’m now going to go have more sex and I just wanted to do it with a clear conscience.”

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  “You’ll be thanking me when your present arrives.”

  “If you’ve sent me a drag queen show again, no, sorry, not enough, and I’m gonna kill you when I see you tomorrow.”

  “Did I just hear your apartment buzzer? I think I did. I think I heard your apartment buzzer. Go let them in and open the apartment door. Do it, do it, do it, and, also, you’re welcome. I have to go have more sex.”

  Janet hung up in disgust. She wasn’t sad anymore. She was pissed.

  Hot Lowe’s girl had a boyfriend, and Hot Nursie fell for Dark and Stormy, and she was going to die alone and get eaten by her cats.

  Her apartment buzzer squealed again. She sighed and padded over to the intercom—would be nice if the landlord joined the twenty-first century and connected the damn thing to her phone. She pressed the pound sign. “Second floor, apartment 213,” she yelled.

  Opened the door.

  Freddie saw her standing in the frame of the doorway, waiting. And almost turned back—coward. Then took one step, another. She had used up all her courage on the phone with the sing-song voice that answered, again, when she called Plumbers in Overall’s.

  Her reward for that act of courage was an address. And now here she was, and there Janet was, and she had no idea what she was going to say.

  Or do.

  “Hi,” she said finally as she paused six feet from the doorway. “Um. Chocolate?” She thrust the chocolate bar she had been holding so tightly she was sure it was half-melted by now at the plumber.

  “Thanks.” Janet reached for it. Freddie didn’t let go. They stood, six feet apart, connected by a chocolate bar.

  Freddie thought her hand was on fire.

  “Um. So, I wanted to thank you. For the flowers,” she mumbled.

  Janet said nothing.

  “And also. That the person, who brought me—that guy? That was Gio. My ex-boyfriend. Ex. We broke up just before the lockdown. But, you know, we’re still living together, because, you know. Pandemic. And…”

  “So, you’re single?” Janet asked. Bluntly.

  Freddie nodded.

  “And, ah… not straight?”

  Freddie shook her head. “As queer as they make them,” she said. “Bi. Pan. Whatever—labels...”

  She didn’t finish the sentence. She felt Janet’s hand slide down the chocolate bar. Slowly. Until it was near hers. Then over hers. It was the most intimate, electrifying touch she had felt. Ever.

  “If we weren’t in the middle of a pandemic,” the plumber said, her voice shaking, “I’d pull you into my arms and kiss you so hard… So. Hard.”

  Freddie swallowed. “How hard?”

  “So hard. Girl, I put an apostrophe fault in my business’s name. You think I’m good with words?”

  Freddie laughed.

  “But I am fucking good with my tongue. And fingers. Other things, too.”

  Their hands danced around each other on the chocolate bar. The distance between them seemed to shrink.

  “You could, um, you could be part of my COVID cohort,” Freddie said hoarsely. “You know? Part of my expanded bubble. And then…”

  And then she was in Janet’s arms. And then on Janet’s floor. And then in Janet’s mouth. Tongues, lips, limbs entangled, they shed clothes inelegantly, impatiently.

  Somewhere, a cat meowed. Then clawed at Freddie’s bare back.

  It didn’t break the mood.

  “Couch? Bed?” Janet asked.

  “No time.” Freddie kissed her lips. Throat. Each clavicle. Each pierced nipple. Then moaned in pleasure as Janet responded, reciprocated—and demonstrated that she was good—very good—with her tongue. Fingers.

  Other things too.

  They must have made it to the bed eventually, because when she woke up, an eternity later, Janet found herself under a duvet and gloriously wrapped around Freddie—Drip and Suck standing at the gorgeous woman’s head.

  Janet kissed an exposed cheek. Then, the brown lips.

  “Good morning,” she said. Suddenly terrified.

  “Good morning,” Freddie said. “Oh fuck. Oh hell.”

  There it goes, Janet thought. She’s sorry. She’s going to run. She’s going to say ‘it was all a big mistake and sorry and—’

  “I should have told Gio I was going to expand my bubble before actually expanding my bubble,” Freddie said. “You know? He works as a cook in a long-term care home. And he was already stressed enough when I got the Lowe’s job. Seriously, you should see the ‘come through the door’ hygiene routine we practice.”

  Janet blinked. OK. Now would come the part when she’d say…

  “He’s gonna probably scour me with bleach every time I come home,” Freddie said. And pressed tightly against Janet. Kissed her. “Each and every time.”

  “Just to be clear,” Janet said, “there will be more times?”

  “So many,” Freddie said. Kissed her. Janet disappeared into her kisses. Her hair.

  Her dripping wet pussy.

  “Don’t want you scoured in bleach,” she whispered when she came up for air.

  “I’ll gladly bathe in bleach if that’s the price for orgasms like that.”

  The cats meowed in disgust. And suddenly, Janet knew.

  “You’re just going to have to stay here until the plague is over,” she said. “Well. I might let you go to work.”

  “That U-Haul joke is not actually a joke, is it,” Freddie said, nestling more fully into Janet’s arms.

  “Not when you meet the right one to U-Haul with,” Janet whispered into her ear. Over Freddie’s now-chewed shoulder and cloud of thick brown hair, she saw a message flash across the screen of her phone.

  It was, of course, from Dark and Stormy. “You’re welcome. Having more sex. You?”

  Janet grinned. Soaked herself, she decided to find out how Freddi
e felt about... edging.

  About M. Jane Colette

  M. Jane Colette writes tragedy for those who like to laugh, comedy for the melancholy, and erotica for lovers who like their fantasies real. She believes rules and hearts were made to be broken—ditto the constraints of genres. Her flirty-funny-occasionally filthy novels include Tell Me, Consequences (of defensive adultery), Cherry Pie Cure, Text Me, Cupid, and the Cupid in Monte Carlo trilogy. She’s also the curator of the YYC Queer Writers’ fabulous anthologies Screw Chocolate, Screw Chocolate 2, Queer Christmas in Cowtown, and A Queer Summer Night in Cowtown. Ask her to send you love letters at mjanecolette.com/loveletters, talk to her in pictures at @mjanecolette, or tell her your story at TellMe@mjanecolette.com.

  Cohen

  Andréa Joy, Edits donated by Nikki Holt Sexton

  Who knew downloading the latest social media app would lead to meeting the love of my life? — Cohen

  Cohen

  Prologue

  Cohen — One Year Ago…

  The home is quiet except for a random giggle coming from down the hall. After making sure the laundry room door is closed behind me, I go check on one of the four individuals at the care home I work at. I push open the already ajar door slowly and peek my head in, allowing the light from the hallway to illuminate the dark room. She’s still asleep, her back facing the door. As I pull on the door again to close it a smidge, I make a mental note to put the giggles in her charting so that the day staff is aware. It’s not unusual for C.B. to have laughing seizures at night, but thankfully that wasn’t what that was. We call all our individuals by their initials at the care home. More to protect their privacy than anything. If you had asked me four years ago if I could see myself working in a long-term care home, I would’ve said no.

  I was one of those weird ones who actually wanted an office job. I wanted to get dressed up every morning to go into the office, plunk my butt in a chair, and not move until it was lunch time, or I needed another coffee. It’s not that I’m allergic to physical exercise… well, not much. It’s just that I prefer the routine of having an office job. I love my job at the care home, though, and working graveyards means that I get to work by myself for six out of the eight hours of my shift. It also means I get to scroll through this new social media app I just downloaded after I’ve done all the night chores and checked on the individuals.

  I grab a throw pillow from the back of the loveseat in the living room, hug it to my stomach, and fold my legs under me as I tap the app icon with my thumb. Immediately, a video of a husband and wife pop up and I grin. I love these two. He’s like a big kid and she just rolls her eyes at him. A couple weeks ago, he uploaded a video of their entire kitchen filled with every shape and size of rubber duckies. And I mean filled, like, the floor and every available surface was covered.

  After scrolling through the accounts I follow first, I hit the button for the For You page and start mindlessly scrolling through several videos. A lot of these I’ve already seen done. I wish people would get more creative with their content, but I get it. It’s hard putting yourself out there without having to create something original as well. When I get to another one of those transition videos, I almost scroll past it, but I don’t because well…he’s hot as fuck. He has that whole Henry Cavill thing going on. When the transition happens, he goes from grey sweatpants and a navy hoodie to looking like The Witcher. He looks almost identical.

  I watch the video a couple more times just because I can and then because I figure he put the effort in, I click on the conversation bubble and leave a comment as well as a like. Not knowing that it would be the thing that changes my life.

  Chapter 1

  Cohen — Present Day

  A bone deep disappointment settles around me as I read and reread the text that just came in. Reaching over to the dark wood coffee table in front of the leather sofa, I grab the stereo remote and turn down the country playlist I have on shuffle. When I settle back against the cushions of the sofa and tuck one leg under me, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth as I read the text message for the tenth time since it came through less than five minutes ago.

  Can you work tonight? Steph called in sick.

  I hit the back button to the main message folder and open the one just below that.

  Rhys: Can’t wait to see you tonight, babe.

  My heart sinks because I already know what I should do, but it’s not what I want to do. Rhys and I met on a popular social media app about a year ago. What started out as a comment on his video turned into chatting back and forth in the private messenger inbox on the app and then transitioned to phone calls months later. We talked for several months before deciding that we both wanted to meet each other. But before we could meet up, he was shipped out.

  Rhys is in the Canadian Navy. A fact that I was aware of because one of the videos on his profile was him in uniform. There was no special effects in the video. No transitions. It was just him talking to the camera. He’d witness another app user being bullied in the comments of a video she had posted, and he was standing up for her. It was sweet and it re-affirmed what I was already starting to believe about him. Rhys is a genuinely nice guy.

  However, I promptly forgot the fact that he was in the Navy after we got talking over private message. It never really came up in conversation after that video. At least not until he dropped the bomb that he was shipping out for six months. His cell reception out at sea was spotty as hell so we haven’t chatted much while he’s been away, but he just got back to the Vancouver coast last week and is currently on his way up to Kelowna. Everything in me is saying to fake sick and message my manager back saying I won’t be able to make it. Guilt immediately eats at me the moment the thought pops into my mind. We’re already short-staffed at the care home I work at.

  I glance at the clock on the microwave. My apartment is small enough that I can see the entirety of the kitchen from where I’m sitting on the sofa in the living room. It never bothered me before because it’s just me. Why would I need the extra space? But if this thing with Rhys continues, and I really hope it does, I’m hoping that we’ll be spending more time here while he’s on leave. I shake the thought off, right now I have to figure out how to break the news to him that I can’t meet up for our date tonight and I now have an hour to do it before I have to be at work.

  Pushing myself up from the couch I text my manager back and then head to my bedroom to get changed. I pull my black scrubs out from the tall-boy dresser in the far corner of the room just as my phone pings with another text.

  Rhys: Just left Chilliwack. Should be there in 3hrs.

  I sigh, taking a seat on the foot of the queen-size bed and let my thumbs fly across the keyboard.

  Me: I got called in to work this evening L I’m so sorry. Rain check?

  Rhys still hasn’t texted me back by the time I’m changed into my scrubs and grabbing my purse and keys before leaving the apartment and I hope I didn’t just ruin things between us. Logically, I know it shouldn’t, but I’ve had enough bad relationships to know that some guys don’t like it when you have to do the responsible thing and cancel a date so you can go in to work. Unfortunately, as a healthcare worker, sometimes we don’t have much of a choice.

  Chapter 2

  Rhys

  My phone pings with a new message and I ask Siri to play the message so that I don’t have to divide my attention between the road and my phone. I’m hit with a momentary feeling of disappointment but then I tell myself to stop being an idiot. Cohen is a residential support worker at a long-term care home that houses individuals with diversabilities and compromised immune systems. If she’s being called in last minute, then they must either be short staffed this evening or something happened and they need her to cover.

  I glance at the clock on the dash and note that it’s almost 2:30pm which means she’ll probably be at work until 11 tonight. It’s not ideal and she’ll probably be tired after her shift, but we’ve both been looking forward to today fo
r several months now. After giving my idea some more thought, I get Siri to call my parents and put my plan into motion.

  “Why not just wait and see her tomorrow?” My brother asks, leaning his hip against the side of the truck and crossing his arms while he watches me put together a makeshift frame out of some extra wood our dad had laying around from when he had the extension built onto the house.

  Our little sister, Anna, sighs dreamingly from where she’s trying to untangle strings of white Christmas lights I had my mom dig out of a box in the attic. “I think it’s romantic.”

  Will rolls his eyes at our sister. “Of course, you do.”

  I grin and hammer in the last nail and then straightening up to admire my handiwork. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do for what I have planned. I drop the hammer in the grass and then motion my brother over to help me stand it up.

  “Shouldn’t you attach the sheet first?” Will asks, a cocky grin on his face.

  I eye the frame and then the white sheet that’s going to go on it. My brother chuckles as he comes to stand beside me and slaps a hand on my back. I grumble something unintelligible and shrug him off then reach for the sheet and some more nails.

  A couple hours after I arrived at my parents’ place and the farm I grew up on, the makeshift screen is complete. Will and Anna head back up to the house about an hour ago to help brush down the horses and get them in their stalls for the night. All I have to do now is get the food together and string the lights, but that won’t take me long at all. I jump into the truck and head back towards the house. I didn’t want any of my family disturbing us during our date, so I built the screen a little further down the property. The area I chose has a slow running stream on one side with a forest behind it. On the other is a vast open field. After putting the tools away, I head inside and upstairs to my childhood bedroom to take a shower.