WREN

House keys jingle to the coffee table as I collapse on the couch in my studio apartment and exhale a relieved sigh. I thought that shift would never end. Working a double on a Sunday after two closing bartender-shifts Friday and Saturday night, was brutal.

My feet hate me.

And my legs agree that I suck.

“Sorry ladies,” I mumble, kicking off my sneakers and snuggling them closer so I can rub the arches. “Oh, you are pissed, aren’t you?” Wincing I massage deeper to release the knots. “Let it all go. It’s over, I promise.”

Retrieving the folded up napkins from my pockets I count three half-completed songs. Reading my nearly illegible hand-writing I smile and whisper, “These aren’t half bad.”

My phone vibrates with a text message—Eleanor’s name on the screen.

Got a sec 2 talk?

“Huh, I was sure you’d be Peter,” I mutter, dialing her back without hesitation. “Hey El, you guys have fun?”

Happy and exhausted she informs me, “Normally I have to trick or beg them to sleep. Tonight they put themselves to bed!”

“So you did stay until the end.”

“We were the last ones in the park. Us and about fifty other die-hards waited until we were kicked out! My ex had them home before dinner. Probably had some cooz waiting for him. Or maybe he just got bored. Who knows. But not me! We opened and closed Six Flags and I win!”

Throwing my feet atop the back of the couch I wiggle my toes in hopes the blood will return to where it belongs. “That’s awesome.”

“You sound tired! How was today?”

“Long but profitable.”

Her voice softens, “Thank you so much, Wren, really.”

“Anytime. You know that.”

“The Falcons were there today, right?”

I mutter, “Yeah, they came in. The girls today were a disaster. Practically begging to go home with a player. So bummed when they left alone. It was pathetic.”

She laughs, “It’s pretty bad, but who can blame them. Those guys are so meaty and strong and you just want to climb them! Did I tell you I went home with a Tight End.”

My legs fly off the back of the couch as I sit up. “You what?!”

“And let me tell you, the money I had to pay extra for the babysitter was worth every shiny dime.”

Shooting up to standing I tug my hair free of the hair tie, rubbing my head on the way to the kitchen. “I can’t believe you held this valuable information from me. Who was it?”

“Dion Lewis, number—”

“81,” I recite with her. “Yeah, I know who he is. He’s a talented blocker.”

“Who cares about that? I love his fingers. And his other larger appendage.”

Laughing I open a pine cupboard and dig out my coveted box of Fig Newtons. “Are you going to see him again?”

Her trademark snort prefaces a casual, “Yeah right. Pretty sure it was a one-off. Which is fine. I knew that going in.”

“You’re okay with it?” Stuffing the cookie in my addicted mouth I wait for an explanation, hoping she’s being honest with herself. I don’t want my friend getting hurt.

“Wren,” she begins, already sounding like she’s full of shit. “Some men are made for fucking. He reminded me that I’m a woman. I have a body that needs to be loved on. Felt up. Sucked. Fucked. All of it. No, don’t roll your eyes.”

With my mouth full I object, “I’m not!”

“I don’t have to see you to know that you are rolling your damn eyes! So did any of the players try to hit on you?”

“Eric.”

“What?!! And you’re alone right now?”

“I would never touch that guy, El. Ever. Not with your hands, not with mine.”

“A little primitive maybe…”

“Unevolved is a better description.”

“Tomato, Tomahto. Why, what’d he do?”

My mind travels back to his stripper dance in the bathroom, and how much I laughed. But that doesn’t matter because, “He told me he’s slept with cheaters.”

“Wait, he told you he cheated?”

“He slept with girls he knew were with someone.”

Silence then a cautious, “Wren.”

“No, don’t give me that voice.”

“Look honey, I know how you feel about this—”

“If you know someone’s taken you should leave them alone!” I toss the empty box in the recycling.

“Are you saying that because you were tempted today?”

Leaning against the counter with the moonlight peeking into my blinds I steady my voice, “Of course he’s tempting but you know I’d never cheat!”

“Because you’re not a cheater.”

“Right.”

“But those girls are.”

I stretch one of my sore feet, struggling to understand her meaning. “So?”

“If you were tempted but said no then that’s on you. If they were and said yes, then that’s on them. It’s the cheater you blame.”

“This is a slippery slope, El, and I don’t agree with you, I’m sorry.”

She sighs, “I love your morals but they don’t leave room for human failings.”

“What?!”

“Eric Cocker is as sexy as they come. He’s famous. He makes you feel like you’re the most beautiful woman in the room if he pays even the tiniest bit of attention to you. Those women might need that. And with him, he’s no threat to their relationship because he won’t settle down or even remember who they are afterward! So they can taste the fountain, dip their pussies in it, and nothing gets broken!”

Smiling at the visual I mutter, “If their boyfriends found out, they would be hurt and that’s enough reason to never do it.”

“Okay, we are not going to agree on this.”

“Fine.”

Silence before she also mutters, “Fine.”

Now I feel terrible, and while I won’t budge on this issue I don’t want to lose my friend over it for even a minute. “People aren’t perfect. I get it. I just don’t think cheating is ever okay. But hey, I still love you even if I don’t agree with you.”

Eleanor’s voice softens, “I know. I love you, too. Just try not to be so perfect all the time. Nobody can live up to it. Life isn’t black and white.”

“I know it isn’t, and I am far from perfect, but you know the saying: If you don’t stand for something you’ll fall for anything.” Combing my crunchy hair with my fingers I sigh and offer, “Look, the only thing that matters is I will never cheat on Peter. I’m sure he knows that, and now Eric does, too.”

“He came onto you pretty hard, huh?”

My eyes glaze over as images of this afternoon fly by. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Was he obvious about it?”

“Kinda.” I pause. “Very.”

“Oooooo, I bet all the girls hated your guts today. I got enough looks when Dion hit me up, but Eric is the prize they all want.”

Curious I ask, “Do you want him too?” I don’t know why I’m holding my breath for her answer, but I am.

She laughs, “I like my men dark,” and then her voice abruptly becomes maternal, “Oh sweetie, did I wake you up, Tia? I’m sorry, I’m talking to my friend. Want me to tuck you into bed? Wren, I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“Of course,” I smile, “Give her a hug from me.”

“Tia, your auntie Wren says to give you a hug, come here,” and the phone goes dark.

Leaning here I gaze at the small flower vase centered on my table for two. I snipped those blossoms with my fingertips, two yellow, one lavender and two white. So pretty. They really warm up the space.

You’re stalling.

Just call him.

My thumb hovers over Peter’s name in my favorites folder.

He hasn’t called all day.

I’d rather wait.

Yeah, I’ll wait.

Thumb, what are you doing?

Cut it out.

Oh, motherfucker.

“Peter? Hi, just wanted to see how your weekend has been.”

Friendly as usual, he says, “It was great! My band and I drove to Savannah for the night yesterday.”

Frowning I push off the counter and sit on one of my two chairs. “You did? What brought that on?”

“John and Tim got a room and invited me to join. You know you can walk around with alcoholic beverages just like in New Orleans?”

“I didn’t know that,” I mutter, picking at my crusty jeans. “Did you have fun?” I ask trying not to sound hurt that he didn’t tell me he’d left town.

“Amazing time! Stayed up until five, out by the water after the bars closed. Such a great place. I mean, it’s not the party hub that Mardi Gras is, but…” He trails off.

“Right.” Biting my lip I remind him, “You’ve never been to New Orleans, I thought.”

“Well, no, but I’ve heard things. I plan to go next year.”

And will you invite me then?

“You should,” I smile, blinking way too much. “Listen, I have to go. Just got home from a double and Mott LaRock spilled booze all over me and…” I stop talking, realizing I’m about to stoop to the low point of making Peter jealous about Eric. Hypocrite, table for one? Oof. And Eleanor called me perfect. Yeah, right.

“You served the Falcons? No way! What are they like?”

Unbuttoning my jeans I push my pants down, panties tugging halfway with them. Wriggling free I mutter, “One of them purposefully doused me, that’s what they’re like. I just have to get out of this bra. Wait a sec, ‘kay?”

He mumbles, “Wren I’ve gotta run. The guys are knocking on the bathroom door.”

“Why are you taking my call in the bathroom?”

“What kind of question is that? I was in here already. It’s not like I’m hiding you or anything.”

“Of course not,” I whisper, instinctually feeling that is what he’s doing. But that doesn’t make sense. His bandmates know me. “I’m sorry. I’m being silly.”

“Yeah you are,” he laughs. “Listen I gotta go.” He adds a stilted “I’ll call tomorrow,” and hangs up.

Silent I stand alone in my kitchen, half naked and all the way confused.

Trudging to a shower, I spin the faucet to skin-scorching hot, talking to myself. “Oh sure, Peter knows how lucky he is. Totally knows.”