Tansy
The doorway to the place is draped in shadows, and I can’t see much of the room beyond. Cai is looking at me, but trying not to look too hard. I know that expression. It’s one where I’ve done something totally batshit crazy and she doesn’t know what to do. I get that at work sometimes, when I say something weird and Courtney and Imogene don’t know how to respond. The past two weeks since school started up again have been hard. I’ve been saying a lot of stupid stuff. But it’s been better than sitting alone in my new apartment.
So naturally my heartbeat shoots into an astronomically fast pattern. Because I’m kinda crazy, even when I don’t mean to be. I’m still smiling. I tuck a bit of hair behind my ear and go through the door.
She called me cute. Adorable. That’s not a bad thing. It’s not something that ought to make me feel like puking. It’s not the cute type of puking either, where it’s all about butterfly wings in my stomach or something like that. The back of my neck is prickling, and I feel sweat at the base of my spine.
I am a fucked-up pile of neuroses still.
This is Jody’s fault. It’s Jody still taking from me when I thought I was moving on. I’m going to screw up this thing with Cai before it even gets started. I don’t want to die alone.
I pick a table near the big plate-glass windows that are folded open to an insanely beautiful sunset. “I like the pier against the colors.”
“Yeah.” Cai sits down across from me. “The contrast gives me perspective. Like, those aren’t just some random colors.”
“It’s a focus point, something to look at inside the whole picture.” The orange and pink and red streak across the horizon, blending the ocean and sky together. Cirrus clouds are reflected in the waves beneath. “I went to the Grand Canyon once, and it was the weirdest thing. I pinged back and forth between feeling like this crack in the ground is no big deal and being almost lightheaded with how big and intimidating and scary it was. I could only take in little bits of it at a time.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen. The summer before I left for college. We went on a family road trip.”
“Oh my god, family road trips were my idea of hell.” Cai shudders dramatically. “Did you guys rent a van? We always took the whole family, so it was me and my cousins like five rows away from my parents. I was so at their mercy.”
I laugh. “No, we just had Mom and Dad and my brother. Much smaller affair, but Justin did his best to be as annoying as four kids.”
“Is he older or younger than you?”
“Younger. Four years younger. He literally did the ‘I’m not touching you’ gig. I mean, how petty can you be?”
“My cousin Grace once stole all my panties, soaked them in water, and shoved them in the hotel room’s freezer.” Cai folds her arms on the table, leans in, and tells me like this is a delicious secret. And I’m leaning toward her too. “They froze, but she hadn’t noticed that the ice packs for our grandmother’s medicine were in there. They got completely wrapped up around each other. Thawing my panties became a family event. I was fucking mortified.”
“Oh my god.” I’m laughing, even though I feel terrible for it. I cover my mouth with my hand as if that’ll keep her feelings from being hurt. I don’t think she’s sensitive over the story though. The way her eyes are sparking, there’s something more to it. “Did you get revenge?”
“No.” She shakes her head, her expression solemn. “I would never. And I have no idea how her love letter to Ty Parsons got photocopied and taped up all around school that September.”
“You didn’t!” I squeal.
“Oh, no. I totally did.” She’s laughing as much as I’m laughing. “Grace didn’t speak to me for six months after that. I can’t really blame her.”
“You’re lucky she ever decided to talk to you again.”
“Our moms forced us to hash it out.” She shrugs. “Family first and all that.”
“Are you guys still good?”
“She invited me to dinner two weeks ago, so I think we’re fine.” She casts me a side-ways glance out the corner of her eyes as she lifts a hand to catch the waitress’s attention. Her smile is sly. “I think she keeps her diary locked in a safe though.”
And naturally I die laughing again.
The waitress who pops up beside us has a friendly smile. “Is the joke worth sharing?”
“Don’t share your secrets with this one,” I say as I point at Cai.
“Oh yeah, we all know she’s trouble.” She pushes a brown braid behind her shoulder. “In more than one way.”
“Nope. Not me. You’re talking about someone else.” Cai folds her hands behind her head, elbows pointing toward the ceiling as she leans as far back in her chair as she can manage. She’s deliciously butch, filling up the space as if she deserves the whole world. But then she makes a show of talking out the side of her mouth and faux-whispering. “Shut it, Bonnie. You’re going to wreck my chances with the pretty girl.”
I giggle. It’s not on purpose, and I look down at the lacquered tabletop. Layered beneath plexiglass are handfuls of pretty beach postcards of San Sebastian. Glare shines off a posed blonde’s head, and I realize the overhead lights have clicked on.
I’m the pretty girl. I guess.
I mean, I know I am, but . . . it feels like asking for trouble to admit it. As if the universe would then yank it back and give me a mouthful of sand in exchange for my hubris.
I can’t hold back my blush, though. The heat eats up my cheeks and the tips of my ears. “I’ll take the house special.”
The waitress uses her pen to scratch the back of her neck. “Um, we don’t really have any specials. We just kind of do the regular stuff. Like, a daiquiri, mai tai? Or a margarita?”
Shit. I look at Cai, hoping she can’t spot my awkwardness, but of course she can. Because—duh—I looked at her with panic scribbled all over me. I rub my hand over the edge between plexiglass and lacquered, shiny wood. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll take a daiquiri mai tai.”
“Which . . . one?” She glances at Cai as if for help.
I am the stupidest person on the face of the Earth. I cover my eyes with one hand so the words will come spilling out more easily. “I don’t drink often. My ex didn’t approve. So I’ve only ever had beer or wine, and she ordered it for us anyway, so I don’t really know what to order in a place like this.”
My cheeks are burning still, and the back of my neck and probably my entire chest all the way down to my sternum too. Because I am one flaming, spiraling ball of social maladjustment.
Cai folds a hand over the one I still have on the table. Her hand’s warm and surprisingly rough. Her skin brushing over me reminds me of a cat’s tentative kisses. “Do you want wine? They do have some. I could tell you the types, give you a run down.”
I lower my hand. Her eyes are dark compassion. There’s pain that swims back there, but she’s holding it away for me. I want to believe it’s not pity, but I’m probably wrong. Maybe pity isn’t so bad. Maybe it could grow into something respectable in time. “It’s okay. I’d rather . . . I’d rather have a Long Island Iced Tea.”
Bonnie’s gone, I realize. Not far. She’s pulled away to the waitress station a couple of tables away, and she’s making busy straightening up a bin of lemon slices and wiping the soda dispenser. I make a mental note to tip her double whatever I spend.
Cai’s head tilts and dark hair spills over her cheek. “That’s what you want?”
“It’s . . . tough?” I want to turn my hand palm side up beneath hers. Is that done? Is it okay? “Back home, everyone pretty much just drank beer or flavored vodka.”
When I went too far with Jody, she’d recoil. She’s never been fond of public displays of affection. Never. Except those times when she started it, usually because there was someone nearby who she wanted to send a message to. Which . . . sounds absolutely batshit now that I turn it over in my head.
My stomach still churns as I hold my palm up. Cai doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t lace her fingers through mine the way I’d hoped, but she does trace a circle around the base of my thumb. The churning turns into butterflies.
“A Long Island will have you flat on the floor in about twenty minutes. Is that what you mean by tough?”
“No. Something . . .” I want to cover my face again, but I don’t, because I’m working on that whole brave thing everywhere in my life. After all, I’m holding hands with one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. If she were a model, she’d be the type to set trends. “Something old-school cool. What Rhett Butler would order.”
“Rhett, huh?” Her lush mouth quirks into a smile, and she flags Bonnie down again. “I know what we need here.”
“Ready?” Bonnie hops to it with her pencil hovering over her mini spiral-bound notebook.
“Two Jamesons, two Pappys, and two pours of Macallan.”
She cocks an eyebrow and snickers. “You want those shaken or stirred?”
“Each neat, smart-ass.”
“You got it, boss.” She tucks the pencil behind her ear as she saunters away.
“You come here a lot?”
“Yup.” She doesn’t seem the least bit guilty or apprehensive about going to a bar often. She also hasn’t let go of my hand. “I’ve got a circle of friends that hangs out here. It helps that it’s right down from the shop and still open after we close. They serve a killer ceviche too.”
“Yeah?” I perk up and glance around. “I’m always looking for a new source. It’s one of my favorite things.”
“Japanese food has had the corner on raw fish long enough,” she says with an over-played nod. “We should rise up and revolt on behalf of Peruvian food.”
“Not that ceviche is technically raw.” Crap, that came out in what Jody always called my schoolmarm tone. I pull my hand back to my lap before Cai has a chance to pull away first. Outside the windows, the sun has gone down. It’s not quite dark yet, but the gray shadows of dusk are gathering into something that’s almost night.
“No?” Cai’s voice doesn’t have a sharp edge. “It’s never cooked though.”
“It’s cured.” I twist my fingers together and worry the bottom hem of my flannel. “It’s the citrus juice. It still has to be fresh, but the result is a chemical process.”
I’m embarrassing myself, but I just can’t seem to shut my mouth, and half of it is my surprise—shock?—that she’s not telling me to shut up, not even with her body language. So I go on a little while about the technical properties behind how it works, mostly just to see if she has a line. Not about ceviche, it seems like. It’s so weird. No one wants to hear about my random bits of school teacher knowledge. Jody helped me tone that part of myself down and be more interesting.
Unless she didn’t. Unless she was actually just ruining me.
The words in my mouth dry up, but it’s right as Bonnie arrives with a tray of drinks, so I don’t think Cai notices. Or if she does, she’s kind and lets it go.
Bonnie lines up three glasses in front of each of us. The first is a pair of squared off, squat tumblers. The next pair are classic shot glasses, and the last set are bell-shaped on a short stem. “Jameson in the tulips, Pappy in the shots, and Macallan neat.”
I blink, but that seems to have made sense to Cai. She thanks Bonnie, who disappears as quickly as she came. “What do I do?”
“Whatever you want to.”
“You’re not going to tell me the rules?”
She tilts her head enough that silky black hair slides over her cheek. The line of her shoulders to her arms to her graceful, long fingers is so relaxed. I don’t know if I’ve ever been that relaxed before in my life. I’m sure I must have been at some point, but it’s been a long time. My entire being is a drawn knot. I am made of wire and disappointment.
“There’s no rules to booze.”
“Why did you pick these three?” I touch the rim of the shot glass. It’s full enough that a drop of alcohol clings to the pad of my finger. I lick it away. It’s a kiss of fire.
“I like them.” She picks up the one in the tumbler. “This one’s my favorite scotch.”
I grab my tiny glass instead to be contrary. “And Pappy?”
“Pappy Van Winkle is a bourbon. It’s a big deal because it’s limited release. Hard to get a whole bottle of.”
Her lips meet the rim of her glass, but her eyes stay trained on me. I think it’s the arch of her cheekbones above her hollowed cheeks that really does it for me. If her face were between my knees, maybe she’d look something like this. The intensity makes me squeeze my thighs together against a sudden kick of lust.
It’s almost shocking in its strength. I used to desire Jody. I know it on a logical level, because I started sleeping with her, so of course it had to be there at some point, right? When we were young and tangled together in my narrow dorm bed, I’d been drunk on how much she wanted me, and in return it had made me so filled with lust that I’d barely been able to think.
That feeling had gone away. It’s hard to tell when. I want to believe it was between moving in together and when I quit my first job at a public school. Jody pushed me into quitting, but I’d let her, and somewhere along the way she’d stopped looking at me like she wanted to strip me naked and touch me from head to toe.
It was probably earlier than that, though. Between the first argument we had and the time she’d bombed my phone with apologetic texts and voice mails. A hundred and seventy-five texts in two hours now seems creepy instead of determined.
I suck half the shot of Pappy whatever it is into my mouth. I don’t care that it’s expensive or rare. The fire consumes me, and I blow a breath through my teeth. “Oh my god.”
“It’s strong.” Her teeth flash as she stifles a laugh.
“I’m going to turn into Drew Barrymore. Release the horses.”
“Firestarter?”
“I figured it would be a better reference than that crappy Bloodhound Gang song.”
She can’t hide her laughter anymore. When she lets it go, she looks to the window and casts her amusement toward the beach. “What if I loved that song?”
“Do you?” Fear and embarrassment clutch my throat. “I mean, you’re older than me, aren’t you? Maybe it’s like your high school song or something and I’ve stepped in it.”
The dark slash of her brows quirks together in the center. “You didn’t offend me so much with the song, but you’re kind of doing your best now, aren’t you?”
“Oh god.” I cover my face for a second, but then realize I’m already holding the perfect antidote. I down the second half of my bourbon. It goes down a whole lot more smoothly than the first drink. “I’m so sorry. You’re not old or anything. That’s not what I meant to imply.”
Hello, fishing expedition. I pretend that wasn’t just incredibly awkward and keep smiling at her.
“I’m thirty-nine.” Her tone is dry.
“Really?” I turn the number over in my mind, trying to get a grip on it. Is that what I would have guessed if pressed? Probably not. But she seems too mature to be in her twenties, either. Maybe that’s just the feeling that she’s got her life together so much more than I do. “I’m twenty-five.”
I’m not where I thought I’d be at twenty-five. Maybe it’s dumb, but I thought I’d have a good hold on my life by now. I’d be something closer to organized. A mile nearer to responsible.
Instead I’m living in a short-term, furnished apartment that’s a favor from the parents of one of my pupils. I have a cat. At least Gyoza loves me.
I grab the fancier-looking glass and swirl the drink. “What was this one?”
“Jameson. Irish whiskey. All three of these are made the same way, just in different places. The bourbon’s the American one.”
I don’t look up as I sip, but she’s watching me steadily. “Is this less like napalm because it’s a different one or because I’m getting used to it?”
“Probably because you’re getting used to it. Jameson has a bit of a kick, same as the Pappy.”
I take a tiny drink and let a few drops pool on my tongue. My mouth rules over my brain for a moment. This is a thing that forces me to be in the moment but soothes me at the same time. I think I like it. Maybe too much? How quickly can one become an alcoholic?
I’m being ridiculous. I swallow.
Cai chooses that moment to ask, “Does my age bother you?”
“Should it?” It’s not that I’m intentionally ducking the question, but . . . I am.
“Maybe.”
My gaze jerks up to hers, and I meet her head-on. “What?”
Honesty shouldn’t be such a fucking shock to me. It keeps hitting me over and over again what a messed-up relationship I was in for so long. Jody never would have is my lament and refrain. And no, Jody never would have answered like that. “Why?”
She shrugs. “I’m fourteen years older than you. The babysitting rule.”
“Are you bothered?”
“Yeah.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “The thing is, I’d like to get to know you, Tansy.”
My chest tightens for a moment before my heart bursts open and flutters about my rib cage. “Yeah?” Don’t be so easily pleased, Tansy. Be hard to get. Be cooler.
“Yes.” She leans forward another bit and takes a lock of my hair between her fingers. I hate that I can’t feel it. I want nerves in my hair so that I don’t miss any bit of this woman.
“That doesn’t seem like a bad thing.”
“I’m older than you, and you just got out of a long-term relationship. And I . . . I’m not looking for anything made to last forever.” There’s a darkness in her eyes, in the way the corners of her mouth tighten. If I asked, I’d be probing her raw spot, some old injury that doesn’t look like it’s ever been healed.
I don’t know her story, and by the rules of every romance novel I’ve ever read, this is where I’m supposed to say, It’s okay, I’m only looking for a fling. If she were Jody, I’d follow the script. I’d been trained by blasts of emotional napalm.
But I keep establishing how shitty an example my previous relationship was. So I do the exact opposite of my instincts. I stick my finger in the wound. “Why not?”