I learned that David cared about everyone. The homeless man on the corner of Union and 2nd that he bought sandwiches for, the crying forty-something woman walking out of the sushi restaurant that almost bumped into us, the girl with the piercings who sold hand-knitted beanies at the Market. He wanted to discuss their plights in detail.

“You don’t just end up on the street. He had a mother, a family. Someone loved him, so what happened?”

I thought him naive. He could have been a foster kid. He could have had a disinterested mother like me.

About the beanie girl, he said, “She has the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen…”

Beanie Girl, she was the one that bothered me most. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. We had to pass her to reach the sausage shop we liked, and once David bought two beanies from her just to see if she would smile. Pink and a mottled grey. He took the pink one and gave the grey to me, though I stuffed it in a drawer as soon as I got home.

“Do you think she knits beanies because she’s sad, or that she’s sad because she has to knit beanies?” he asked. He always looked really stressed out when he spoke about her. I was rather annoyed by it.

“Well, first of all, you need to stop staring. It’s making her quite uncomfortable. And why does she have to be anything? She makes beanies, end of story.”

“She’s sad. Have you looked in her eyes?”

I gave him a look. “Have I stared in Beanie Girl’s eyes? No, David, I have not.” That wasn’t exactly true. She had very, very blue eyes—startlingly so. She wore a kohl eyeliner around them which made them pop out even more. Look at us! they said. We’re so vulnerable!

“Well, that’s where she keeps it all.” He made circles with his fingers and lifted them to his eyes like they were binoculars. “Everyone has a story.” He took my hand and squeezed it as we walked.

“So I’ve heard,” I replied tartly.

The last thing I wanted was David sniffing around some pierced, blue-eyed Olivia Newton-John lookalike. One with sad eyes at that. Men had a thing for female vulnerability. They wanted to be their hero.

It was a Sunday morning, the boys were playing a gig two hours away in Bremerton, and I had all day to be alone. That was one of the things you forgot to miss when you were in a relationship, how good it felt to be uncoupled for a time, to enjoy your own company. I chose a book from my shelf, one that I’d been promising David I’d read, and carried it to a little Asian tea bar that sat under the Market. Colorful stools made their way around a low circular bar. Today most of the stools were filled. I spotted an empty seat and made my way over. I didn’t recognize her right away—her hair was hidden underneath a bright yellow bandana. She glanced up at me as I shrugged out of my jacket and I startled for a moment when I recognized her face. I slid into the stool and cleared my throat wondering if I should say something. No. That was weird. I ordered my tea and pulled my book from my bag. I’d read a few chapters and then we could talk about them tomorrow when he got back. It was then that Beanie Girl looked over and asked if my book was any good.

“I just started actually. My boyfriend has been hassling me to read it, so I thought I’d give it a go.”

“It sounds…hostile,” she said, staring at the cover.

“I suppose it is a bit, yes,” I said. And then I added, “He likes violent art. I think he’s drawn to it because he doesn’t know how to make it.” I was surprised that I said something so honest to a complete stranger. I thought about how mortified David would be if he knew that’s what I thought about him and I felt ashamed.

She smiled. It was a sort of faraway smile that didn’t reach her eyes. David was right. Nothing reached her eyes.

“Hey,” I said. “You have a stand in the Market, yeah?”

She looked up sharply and studied me like she was trying to place my face.

“Something like that.”

I figured she’d closed the conversation, shut me down, but then her face lit up in recognition.

“You’re with that musician. You come to the Market every Thursday!”

I shrank a little in my seat. What I said was even worse now that she knew who he was.

“I’m good with faces,” she shrugged. “I saw him perform once at The Crocodile.”

Ah, the good ol’ Crocodile. I smiled and changed the subject. What else was there to do once you’ve made an arse of yourself?

“You off today?”

She nodded. “A friend’s covering for me. Broke up with my boyfriend and couldn’t stand the thought of sitting there all day. So, I’m sitting here.”

“Bad guy?” I asked.

I was already thinking about calling David to tell him he was right. That would probably make him more sympathetic to her though, and I finally realized why I’d never liked the looks of her. Oh my God, you’re jealous! I told myself. That wasn’t part of what I did. It was something new for me and it made me uncomfortable.

“Yeah, you could say that. We’ve been on and off for a few years,” she said.

“What does it take to find a good guy who’s not a total pussy, you know?”

She looked at me suddenly and smiled. “But, you have one, don’t you?”

I finished off the rest of my tea and stood up. “It was nice chatting with you—”

“Petra,” she offered.

“Right. Lovely meeting you then, Petra.” I saw she was about to ask my name and I wanted to get the hell out of there before I had to tell her.

And then I slung on my coat and hurried from the shop like I had somewhere important to be other than with my insecurities. I didn’t tell David about my run-in with Petra aka Beanie Girl, and the next time we were at the Market, I insisted on walking a different way to our lunch spot. How did she know we were there every Thursday anyway? What a creep. The kind that looked blonde, and edgy, and slightly innocent, but would fuck you in every position known to man.

“How many girls flirt with you on any given day?” I asked him one day as we were walking to meet the guys for dinner.

David rumbled with laughter.

“What? That’s a legitimate question. You’re a musician. You’re supposed to philander.”

He raised an eyebrow then announced, “You’re jealous!” with extreme excitement. “That’s my new favorite thing about you, English.”

“No! David, no. I’m most certainly not jealous,” I lied. “It’s just a question.”

He rubbed a hand across his face as he thought. “I don’t know how to answer that. I’m around women all the time. They’re mostly friendly—chatty even—but what’s the line between being a friendly person and flirting?”

“Do they inspire you?”

“Pussy is very inspiring, Yara.” He laughed.

I punched him in the arm and that made him laugh harder.

He was so naive. He grabbed me by the waist before I could say anything else and spun me around to face him. We were in the middle of the sidewalk, our arms wrapped around each other—mine more hesitantly. A man in a bowler hat played a movable organ a few feet away.

“What does it matter? You’re the only one I want.”

“Pussy is pussy,” I said. “When women offer, men take.”

“Not true,” he said, frowning. And then—“Ah, well I’ve felt yours and there’s no going back.”

I smiled grimly, his words not offering me comfort. And why did I need comfort? David and I had a deal. I was here to inspire him, not fall for him.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” I told him, somberly. “It’s all the slags who want to shag you.”

“Slags who want to shag me,” he repeated, his eyes glowing.

“Yes, David. You’re a musician. When you hold your guitar, women treat it like you’re holding your dick.”

He held his stomach as he laughed.

“Why would I want anyone else? That cute accent and ass,” he said.

“There are plenty of cute accents and asses where I come from,” I told him.

“Oh shit, well let’s never go there then,” he said.

I shook my head at him.

“I want you, English. I think about you all the time—no—scratch that. I obsess over you all the time. You’re my muse. Wasn’t that the deal? You’re worth every penny.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I liked it. I liked it so much I stopped to make out with him right there on the sidewalk.

“Dumb,” I said. “Ridiculous.” But I meant to flatter him with those words.

“Why you gotta be that way, English?” he said, reaching down to cup my backside. “When we have babies can they talk like you?”

I smacked his hand away. He was so good at this.