Whiskey at Midnight, page 19
“You don’t have to,” Emma says. “Not yet.” She laughs again at the look of relief on Cam’s face. The lack of release doesn’t bother Emma for once. How could it when she’s just made love to the girl she’s pined over for years?
Cam spoons her and they fall asleep together. Emma wakes up once, her breathing uneven, and sees that Cam is on the edge of the bed but still asleep.
Emma wakes up alone with the covers thrown off of her body. There’s no thought that Cam might be in the kitchen or out on an errand. She’s not there and she won’t be coming back while Emma is in bed. It doesn’t hurt.
Things become routine much quicker than Emma would have expected. She takes on a larger role in the classroom and then runs off to work at the craft shop. She doesn’t have to fake being helpful anymore. They don’t do employee of the month there, but if they did, Emma might be a contender for it. Ed smiles at her like he used to, back before Emma started fucking up so much. Then there’s coffee or dinner with Cam, who holds her hand above the table.
“I still don’t think I’m gay,” Cam says. “But I like being with you.”
And just like that, Emma is in a relationship again. It takes weeks for Cam to feel truly comfortable enough to touch Emma in bed. She does so with halting movements, as if she might hurt Emma. It’s such a big step for Cam that Emma doesn’t care that Cam can’t get her off. All things in time, Emma thinks.
Cam holds her a little too closely when they’re out for karaoke and Wren looks at them. Wren doesn’t even look like she minds, like it was as inevitable to her that Cam and Emma would get together as it became for Emma.
“I have a work event coming up,” Cam tells her. “I have got to find a new dress for it.” She doesn’t invite Emma along. Cam’s eyes dart around when she talks about it, never looking at Emma, and Emma kisses her because there’s only so much she can ask Cam for in the beginning. And anyway, that damn picture of Emma is still sitting by her bed and Cam doesn’t ask about it even though it’s obvious that Wren must have taken it.
At some point between when Cam finally touches Emma and when Emma is able to orgasm from it, Cam kisses her on the lips at karaoke.
Steve dances with Emma again. Victoria is off to get another drink and Wren is sitting at the bar. Steve’s shaved his head again and his breath smells of beer. He twirls Emma around and lifts her up off the ground.
“I guess things are getting back to normal,” Emma says and immediately regrets it. Steve lets her fall back onto her feet, holds her steady so she doesn’t fall and heads toward the bar. He doesn’t say a word to her.
Cam wraps her arms around Emma from behind and Emma leans into the touch. “I think I fucked that up,” Emma says.
Cam kisses her on the cheek. “It’ll get better,” she says.
Emma seethes at home the night Cam has to go to her stupid work event. The odds of Wren being at the bar are too high for Emma to want to go out. She cleans until her fingers are pink and the smell of bleach burns her nose. And really, it’s silly. Emma was the one to tell Cam that it was perfectly fine to not invite her. But then, that was before Cam accidentally let slip that she was the only person that she knew of who wasn’t bringing a plus one. And that’s what stings the most.
Emma stomps around her apartment so much that the picture by the bed falls onto the floor. Even though she’s cleaned and tidied already and that makes the fallen picture stick out like a sore thumb, she leaves it there. Fuck Wren. Her girlfriend is a coward and she wants a drink. She’s going to the bar.
It’s a Saturday night, one of the only nights that Emma can stay out late without feeling like a zombie the next day. It also happens to be a freakishly warm day for the month and people are drinking outside the bar. Giant clouds of smoke hover above the heads of the people on the patio. For a moment, Emma almost wants to bum a cigarette from one of them.
The door of the bar is opened so hard that the hinges seem likely to break. Emma steps to the right, away from the door, even though she’s easily ten feet from the entrance. The person who opened the door comes into view, stomping outside. It’s Steve. His face is beet red and his eyes are wide in anger. He’s muttering something under his breath, but Emma can’t quite make it out and she has no plans of attempting contact. He’s never like this. He’s always cool and laughing. Victoria follows him out, a confused look on her face.
Emma stays put until Steve has gotten into Victoria’s car and Victoria casually drives out of the parking lot, like her passenger doesn’t look like he’s ready to kick someone’s ass.
The inside of the bar is busy and Emma finds a vacant bar chair and sits in it. It’s away from where she normally sits and she doesn’t like it at all. The woman to her left is older and speaks to a young man about someone who is sick. The man on Emma’s right has long gray hair that falls below his ears. He nurses his beer and doesn’t make eye contact with anyone.
“Hey,” Taylor says. She pops a piece of candy into her mouth. “Want one?”
“No,” Emma says. “Just a beer for me.”
After bringing Emma’s drink, Taylor turns away and busies herself with dishes. This is why Emma has never liked going to bars alone. There’s nothing good on TV and sitting alone grows boring quickly. Emma watches a group in the center of the bar. They’re dressed in work out clothes, men and women, and take shots like it’s a sport. One of the men in the group has a tattoo of a dragon that covers most of his upper arm. He looks at Emma as he sets down an empty shot glass and she looks away. She might get bored, but this group doesn’t seem like the type Emma would want to join.
Looking away is a mistake. Next to the group, easy to miss before, sits Wren. And she’s looking right at Emma. Wren’s hair is messed up, pushed out of her face and damp looking. A bruise is forming on the right side of her face and a cut on her lip is still bleeding. She takes a shot that’s been sitting in front of her, keeping eye contact with Emma the entire time.
As much as she’d like to, Emma can’t stop staring. Her heart aches and she can’t seem to move. No matter how angry she’s been with Wren since the break up, she can’t stand to see Wren like this. Wren looks smaller than ever before, the way her shoulders hunch when someone in the group next to her yells, the blank expression on her face. When Wren moves the shot glass closer to Reese so that Reese can take it away, Emma sees that Wren’s knuckles are raw.
Wren sighs. Emma can’t hear it, but she knows how Wren’s face looks when she does, how Wren’s entire torso moves. Wren moves her head to indicate outside and Emma grabs her beer and slides off the chair to follow Wren out the door.
Wren leans back until her shoulders touch the brick wall and can’t stop the flinch of pain that she feels. She hands Emma a cigarette, doesn’t ask if Emma wants one, just assumes. Emma lights it, because why the fuck not. She’s been in a mood for hours and seeing Wren like this is turning the anger to sadness.
Steve’s fury suddenly makes sense. Though he might have known Cam first, Wren is his best friend and he’d hate to see her all bruised and battered. God help whoever did this to Wren if Steve finds them. Emma’s never seen him mad, never seen him get into a fight, but he holds himself like someone who would fight like he has nothing to lose.
“How have you been?” Wren asks after they’ve smoked half their cigarettes in silence.
It’s ridiculous, her asking Emma such a question given her appearance and Emma can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up in her chest. Wren smiles in return and her lip starts bleeding more. Wren sneaks her tongue out and licks at her bottom lip, like she’s going to lick the blood away, but she stays away from that side of her mouth. She bites the spot she’s just licked and ashes on the ground.
“Been better,” Emma says. “You?”
A flicker of emotion flashes across Wren’s face before it turns blank again. Emma knows her well enough to know that it’s important to hold onto those brief moments when the mask falls. But the emotion is doubt and Emma has no idea what to do with that information.
“Yeah,” Wren says and closes her eyes.
They finish their cigarettes in silence. Wren doesn’t offer any explanation for her face and Emma doesn’t ask. For all the times Wren let Emma be, it’s the least Emma can do. There are still people hanging out on the patio, loudly talking and drinking, but they ignore Emma and Wren.
Wren tosses her cigarette into an ashtray, smirks when Emma walks the two feet to place hers in the tray.
When they go inside, they’ll go back to their respective seats, back to basically ignoring each other. Emma will listen to the older woman talk about hospitals and try not to look at Wren’s face. Wren will take shot after shot and sit by the boisterous group even though it causes her some form of anxiety. It all sounds terrible.
“Do you want to come to my place?” Emma asks before Wren can reach the door. “I have alcohol. And it’s probably quieter than it is here.”
Wren pauses, looks at Emma like she’s trying to solve some kind of puzzle. The longer the silence goes on, Emma starts to think she shouldn’t have said anything. After all, they’ve never really been friends. If anyone should be inviting Wren back to their place, it should be Steve.
“Okay,” Wren says. “Let me pay my tab.”
As soon as Wren turns away from Emma, Emma can’t stop the smile that forms on her face. Why can’t they be friends? And somewhere deep inside, Emma does miss spending time with Wren.
It’s a good thing Emma finally got around to restocking her liquor because when they arrive at her apartment, Wren grabs a bottle of orange vodka and drinks straight from it. They sit on the couch, leaving a whole cushion between their bodies. As many nights as Emma has spent making Cam feel better, she’s never done the same for Wren. What works for Cam probably wouldn’t for Wren. They’re too different.
“You should see the other guy,” Wren says finally.
Emma smiles. “I bet.”
Wren doesn’t ask about Cam, but then Emma doesn’t expect her to. Wren doesn’t talk about anything that might bring up the few months they were together either. She listens patiently while Emma tells her about working with fifth graders, laughs when Emma says something that’s supposed to be funny. It’s almost like those nights before, right after Wren took her out for sushi and Emma started telling her about her days more. The only difference is fucking isn’t going to happen.
When Wren starts yawning every few minutes, Emma tells her that she’s getting tired herself. She brings out an extra pillow and blanket and tells Wren that she can fall asleep on the couch. The cut on Wren’s lip has finally stopped bleeding and the bruise across her face has gotten worse. The swelling on her cheek has grown and Emma chastises herself for not offering ice earlier. Wren waves her off, says that she doesn’t need ice or anything. She’ll be fine on the couch.
Emma wakes up once during the night and has to go out into the living room to check, to see if Wren actually stayed. She turns on a light in her bedroom and leaves the door open so that she can see into the living room. She plans to walk to the doorway, to get one good look. Wren looks peaceful on the couch, as peaceful as a person can with a face as fucked as Wren’s is. She has one arm held protectively over her ribs and Emma rolls her eyes. Of course there’s more damage than Emma could see.
That should be the end of it, but Emma creeps into the room until she’s standing over Wren and leans down to kiss her on the forehead. The skin beneath her lips is warm. When she pulls away, Wren’s eyes are open and looking at her.
“I should get back to bed,” Emma whispers, but doesn’t move. Wren doesn’t either, just lays there looking up at Emma with that fucking blank face. And really, Emma’s never known when to stop for her own good and this night isn’t any different. She dips her head again, slowly, to give Wren time to react. Wren doesn’t move though and Emma kisses her softly on her lips, mindful of the cut on her lip.
Wren’s eyes are closed when Emma pulls away. She opens them, but any emotion she is feeling is hidden.
“Now I should really get back to bed,” Emma says, a little louder this time, and turns before she can do another stupid thing. She leaves the door open but turns the light off. It takes longer to fall asleep this time and she can hear Wren shifting around on the couch.
When Emma wakes, the blanket is folded on the couch and Wren is long gone. A small piece of paper lays on the coffee table with the word “thanks” written on it in small, sloppy letters. Emma doesn’t feel any regret.
Emma is being childish and she knows it. Cam has brought over flowers and refrained from talking about the stupid work event. By all accounts, Cam is probably doing everything right but Emma can’t stop the little remarks that pop out of her mouth. She says things like how she went out shopping and bought a nice dress that she’ll probably never have the chance to wear. Or how it’s too bad Emma couldn’t see Mark since he always seemed to like her. If Cam wants it to never happen again, she wouldn’t do what she does next, which is sigh and say that she has an idea to make it better.
“How?” Emma asks.
“I’ve got a cousin getting married and I can bring a plus one to the wedding,” Cam explains. She kisses Emma on the nose. “Would you like to be my plus one?”
The only thing Emma can do is kiss Cam and tell her that she’d love to. She doesn’t tell Cam about Wren’s face or that she let Wren spend the night. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Cam will understand.
After all of her bitching, Emma is forced to go out and actually buy a new dress for the wedding. She feels guilty the entire time she’s trying them on and ends up buying a random one that is blue and falls to just below her knees.
Three weeks later, they’re driving the four hours to where Cam’s cousin lives. They wear sweatpants and share a bag of chips. It’s Cam’s idea to go up a day early and spend the night in a hotel. Emma’s saved up enough money in the last couple of months so that she can take a weekend off without worrying about not getting bills paid. She’ll still have to be careful over the next week, but those are thoughts that leave her mind as soon as they’re on the highway.
“It’s a shotgun wedding,” Cam says, as if it matters to Emma one way or the other.
Cam drives so quickly that the trees that line the road fly by in a blur. Eventually, Emma has to turn away as the blurred trees cause her to become dizzy. Motorcycles race past them and Cam mutters under her breath about them. Emma doesn’t mind the bikers, kind of likes how free they look.
The farther they go, the more the buildings they pass look run down. A gas station with two pumps has a battered sign advertising chicken sandwiches for two dollars. Locals mill about the front of it, talking about God knows what. Another small building a few miles down the road has boarded up windows that have been graffitied.
The exit that they take is small and they’re the only car that pulls off at it. There is a stop sign at the top of the ramp and Cam has to check the directions she’s printed out to determine which way she’s supposed to go. Other members of Cam’s family are staying at a hotel closer to where the wedding will take place, but by the time Cam tried to get a room it was booked up. Cam drives them to a motel instead.
The parking lot is mostly empty. Cam leaves two spaces between her car and another one that is so rusty it looks like it might not run at all. There are lights all around the lot and Emma feels a little safer for it even though it’s late afternoon and the sun is bright in the sky.
“You can hang out here. I’m going to pop around to the office and get the key,” Cam says and pecks Emma on the cheek. Emma’s pleased. It’s almost kind of chivalrous.
The room is small and only has one bed, exactly like Emma expected. Cam stands just inside the room, holding her overnight bag and dress. “Even though the lot looks deserted, all of the rooms with two beds are taken,” Cam explains.
It’s a reminder that Cam would worry about appearances, would try to get a room with two beds so the people in the office wouldn’t think anything. And maybe that’s why Cam went to the office alone, not because she was trying to be nice.
Emma huffs and goes into the bathroom to shower. It’s small. The walk space leads straight to the shower. With some maneuvering two people could fit in there if they’re not afraid to bump elbows.
She turns on the shower and waits for the water to warm. She’s finally stopped getting wet in the shower. It’s been long enough since those bathing sessions with Wren. She shampoos her hair angrily. She’s not supposed to think about Wren, not like that anyway. Especially not with Cam on the other side of the door. The frustration slowly melts away as Emma washes herself. She imagines the suds circling the drain are all of the hurt and anger over the last few months leaving her body. She comes out of the bathroom feeling shiny and new.
Emma’s barely looked at the room, only having noticed the one bed before going into the bathroom. Now she sees that it is about as generic as it can be. A small desk and chair sit in a corner with a small green lamp. A telephone and phone book sit on the desk. A black TV is positioned against the wall opposite the bed.
Cam is lying on the bed, her eyes closed and her arm draped over her face. She’s wearing only her panties and a tanktop. They’d stopped for fast food an hour before and there’s no reason to go out again. Cam’s family hasn’t indicated that they plan on getting together the night before the wedding and based on the glimpse of the town they’ve seen, there’s no use trying to find a bar. It’d be too depressing.
Emma puts on her pajamas, a purple t-shirt and matching shorts. The back of the shirt grows damp from her wet hair. She crawls onto the bed next to Cam.
“You seem a little less morose,” Cam says without looking.
“What makes you say that?”
“You didn’t almost bounce me off the bed by plopping down on it like a spoiled brat.” Cam laughs. Emma doesn’t say anything. Maybe she has been a little bratty. “You know I’m really trying to make you happy. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for and that can seem a little daunting.”
