Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Sarah
“I knew letting you take him home was a bad idea!”
“I knew letting you take him home was a great idea!”
My two best friends are yin and yang. Always have been, always will be.
And that's because they're identical twins.
Adriana, Luna, and I are at the coffee shop around the corner from my apartment, a national chain I normally would avoid, but this place has the best little outdoor patio. Right off a one-way side street with very little traffic, but with a view of a huge garden across the street, in front of a quaint little insurance company.
One of the baristas, Chen, knows how to make a matcha latte that does not suck, so here we are, drinking our matchas and I'm being interrogated.
By identical twins who disagree about everything .
“I was approached by Chakroga123 last year for a campaign, you know,” Luna says, mouth twisted with clear disgust. “They wanted me to use Jerry in yoga poses.”
Jerry is her dog. Her tie-dyed French bulldog.
And yes, he's named after Jerry Garcia. Luna was born in the wrong decade. She would have made a phenomenal hippie and is doing her best to craft a life like it's 1968. She has an old-fashioned record player, listened to LPs before it was cool, and shops exclusively at thrift and vintage stores.
Her Instagram popularity is her one admission that she lives in the 2020s. The woman may hate microwaves, but she slays at social media.
“Jerry would be adorable! Downward-facing dog would be easy.”
My attempt at humor does not amuse.
“They weren't offering enough, anyhow,” she adds, making Adriana roll her eyes. We all went to college together with a focus on journalism, and Luna considers her work to be in “media,” while Adriana has an actual job. A job job.
With benefits, like a pension plan, free museum memberships, paid time off between Christmas and New Year’s, and cheap parking spots on campus.
“I don't want to talk about Jerry,” she says, pressing her fingers into Luna's shoulder, “as adorable as he is.”
Luna relaxes. Adriana has a jealousy issue with Luna's dog, and it's bizarre, but I'm not an identical twin, so I can't judge.
“I want to know more about how Sarah finally let her guard down and got her groove on,” Luna says as she takes a bite of some delicious gingerbread maple monstrosity they've ordered, the corner peeking out from a paper bag like it's taunting us.
“Stop!” I can't help but blush.
“I want to know what on earth you were thinking, bringing a stranger home,” Adriana says in a concerned whisper.
“I swear you are ninety in a twenty-five-year-old body,” Luna says to her twin. “She wanted an orgasm.”
“Or three,” I mutter.
“That good?” Even Adriana's judgment has limits.
“Sounds like it was good, good, good ,” Luna says with a laugh, banging her palm on the table with the last “good” and letting out an orgasmic gasp.
“Good enough that he's taking me out for dinner tonight.” I check the time. “I have to leave in ten minutes.”
“WHAT?” Adriana squeals. “Dinner? My opinion of him just improved. He asked you out for dinner ?”
“He did.”
“That's some major adulting and a green flag.”
“It was a coffee date at first, but he upgraded it.”
Adriana makes a face. “Hooking up isn't like flying. You don't start with coach and get bumped up to First Class.”
“She must have accumulated enough points to join Case's Frequent Flyer program.”
Adriana shoves her as Luna's popping a piece of gingerbread in her mouth with one hand, her other hand using her phone to position herself for a selfie. The piece of bread falls to the ground, bounces twice, and a pigeon hops to it, eager for the free lunch.
“Hey! You ruined my shot! That was my four p.m. casual snack post!”
“Just take a picture of the pigeon eating it. You'll get more interest.”
“OMG!” Luna squeals. “You're right! And I can do a stitch on TikTok with the pigeon, because I saw one where – ”
“I wouldn't mind boarding him again,” I say softly, as Luna shuts up instantly, both twins looking at me, eyes bulging.
“Sarah!” Luna squeals. “I love this! You took a chance, loosened up, had a one-night stand, and now the guy likes you so much he wants an actual date.”
A flush of cold washes over me.
“Oh. God. First date! This is our first date !”
“Most people spend their first date sweating out whether to sleep with the other. You got that right out of the way.”
“He'll expect sex now!”
“Um... you don't want to sleep with him?”
“Of course I do! But now the rules are all different. There isn't a playbook for this. First dates aren't about sex. That's third date territory. But we already had a one-night stand, so what's the protocol for a first date when you already boinked each other's brains out?”
“It's called winging it,” Luna says in a stage whisper.
“What do I wear?”
“Does it matter? The goal is to get naked by the end of the night. Make sure you landscape and do some maintenance,” Adriana adds, moving her hands over her midsection.
“The garden is well trimmed, thanks,” I mutter.
“Good for you for having one. I hear the bald look is on its way out,” Luna declares. “The 1990s bush is coming back.”
“Who decides this?” I ask her. “Seriously. I've never understood how fashion or beauty trends work. Is there a committee that declares gauchos are in style again? Some panel of judges who looks at purses and says silver, yes, beige, no? And who on earth decides whether waxing our va-jay is a thing, or whether it's time to go all lumberjack labia?”
Luna spits out her tea.
“LUMBERJACK LABIA?” Adriana screams.
The pigeons scatter. Not sure if they're scared or too embarrassed to be seen with us.
“Right. A nice, thick beard down there. Trimmed around the lips, but a sign that things are pretty wild in the forest primeval.”
“Where does the axe go?” Luna ventures.
“Don't answer that!” Adriana wheezes, pausing to sip her coffee. “The visual is a libido killer.”
“Pubic hair and axes?”
“No. I keep seeing that guy on the Brawny paper towel packaging going at it between my legs.”
“I'm not talking about getting oral sex from lumberjacks! I'm saying our coochies get to look like one.”
“Which... makes no sense,” Luna says.
“But you said hair was coming back in style!”
“It is.”
“Says who?”
She taps her screen quickly, leaving me worried about that she has such a quick response. If her personal data banks can find the people who decide the culturally appropriate genital presentation trends in a split second, what other disturbing information does Luna also hold?
Six flicks of her finger later, I'm depleted.
That sounds far worse than it should.
“Wow. Some of those influencers are remarkably detailed in their opinions on how mons should appear,” I muse as she puts the phone down and I struggle to regain composure.
“The human body is performance art at its finest.”
“I'm more of a 'paint by numbers' canvas kit on the ninety-percent-off rack at the craft store.”
Adriana slaps my shoulder. “You're a Monet! Or a Degas!”
“I tried ballet when I was four. I broke my arm and managed to dislocate the teacher's elbow.”
“Then you're a heroine in an Andrew Wyeth painting.”
“Christina's World? The one where she's in a field?”
“Yeah.”
“You realize the woman he based that on was unable to walk from polio. It's a pretty bleak painting.”
“Damn you and your art history minor!”
“Face it. If the body is performance art, I'm a Shrinky Dink kit.”
She looks at my rack. “Rabelais.”
“Touché.”
Luna's gawking at us, pretending to make a phone call. “Um, hello? Police? I'd like to report a crime. Yes. The crime of two twentysomethings wasting their life arguing over paintings and polio .”
“We can't all generate high art by dyeing our dogs and putting them in clown costumes on Instagram,” Adriana informs her.
It's an old argument.
“Just because my dog Jerry has a bigger net worth than you do doesn't mean it's okay to tip your nose up at him.”
“Your dog has his own bank account?” I reply, immediately assuming it's larger than mine.
“And credit card,” Luna says with a nod. “It started as a joke, when one of those mailers came and there was a fake pre-printed card in his name.”
Luna and Adriana's last name is actually Garcia, so when this happened, we all had a good howl.
Including Jerry.
“And so you took it further and got him a bank account?”
“He's an actor. Has a SAG-AFTRA card and everything,” she says to Adriana in a tone that says, Don't make me rub this in . “You know that.”
"Does Jerry have good health insurance?" I ask.
"Better than your health care exchange plan," Luna sniffs.
“I didn't know your thirteen-pound old dog had a bank account. How does he use the ATM?”
“Oh!” Luna perks up at Adriana's obviously rhetorical question. “I have video of that. Got some of my best views on TikTok!”
I have a sinking feeling Jerry's FICO score is higher than mine.
My phone lights up with a reminder. It says:
ONSFU
“One-night stand fuck you?” Adriana says, her neck craning to read it.
“One-night stand follow up.”
“I like my version better.”
“You will sleep with him, right?” Luna asks in a voice that demands my only acceptable answer be yes.
“Of course.”
“Then it's not a one-night stand,” she points out.
“That's two days in a row for sex, Sarah. I think that's a record for you,” Adriana adds.
“With another person? Yes.”
Luna's eyes widen with approval, as Adriana just laughs.
“You seem to really like this guy, but Sarah?” Adriana asks as I work on finishing my matcha latte.
“Mmmm?”
“Does he know you're writing an exposé about his company?”
“It's not his company. He just owns some franchises.”
“Isn't that the same thing?”
“It's... not, but it's tricky, too.”
“I would think you'd need to be honest with him.”
“If I do that, the story might not get written. He could clam up or make other employees clam up.”
“You must really like him if you're willing to live in this morally gray area!” Luna says, impressed with me.
The matcha in my mouth is suddenly bitter.
Because she's right.
I'm walking a very shady line here, aren't I?
“Should I... tell him, then? What if he hates me? What if he breaks it off?”
“You really like him if you're so worried,” Adriana notes.
“I guess so. I do like him. And he's my first-ever one-night stand, but it turned into a one-night stand with a date after, so I can't really call last night a one-night stand anymore, can I?”
“I think it's just a first date now. Maybe second date?” Adriana replies as Luna sizes up a misshapen all-natural maple sugar cube, clearly deciding whether it’s social media worthy. In profile, it does look a bit like Drake.
“I'm not the type to sleep with a guy on the first date!”
“Uh, Sarah. You slept with a complete stranger. Whatever type of woman you think you aren't, you are.” Adriana’s words slow down as her face twists with disgust, judging her twin.
“Technically, he’s not a stranger. I have thousands of documents and websites in a Dropbox folder devoted to him. I know too much about him to call him a stranger.”
“But he doesn’t know you know, which technically makes you a weirdo stalker,” Luna declares, popping the cube in her mouth after.
“Investigative reporting is not stalking!”
“But you’re not investigative reporter-ing him, Sarah. You’re hooking up with him.” Adriana’s words make me realize the twins agree on this, which sucks. Being friends with twins means being ganged up on a little too much.
Or maybe I’m just wrong more than I realize.
“Besides,” Luna says, a disapproving look on her face aimed wholly at me, “quit giving women labels. There isn't a 'type' who sleeps with someone on the first encounter. We're just people making choices.”
“Great. Now I'm a labelling asshole, too.”
She pats my hand. “And a really bad listener. Didn't you hear what I just said? No labels!”
“Fine,” I say, taking a sip. “No labels.”
“No labels,” Adriana repeats. “Just fun.”
“Fun?”
“You met him while you were in the middle of having a lot of fun, Sarah. Think about that. Meditate on it,” Luna orders me. “The universe is sending you a message.”
“That one-night stands are good?”
“That nice guys who are good in bed exist.”
“Maybe.”
“You said the sex was great. You said he was a nice guy. What's the 'maybe' all about?”
“We have to get to know each other better.”
And I have to see if he still likes me after I write my article , I think but don't say aloud. Not because I can't say it in front of my best friends.
Because I hate the idea of looking him in the face and trying to explain the whole mess. I don't like him because he owns the yoga studios.
I like him in spite of it.
“The time!” I shout, too engrossed in the conversation. “I have to go home and get ready.”
“Thought you said the lady garden is trimmed,” Luna said with a grin.
“It's trimmed but hasn't been watered today.” I stand, finish my coffee, and toss the cup in the trash, giving them quick hugs. “I need a fresh shower.”
“Good luck fucking on your first date that’s really a second date and invalidates your one-night stand!” Adriana calls out.
The barista doesn't even look up.