Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Andi
“Andi?” Sally exclaims.
I tear my eyes away from Cat to greet Sally and introduce her to Val. After the three of us exchange handshakes, Val excuses herself to fetch some of the Veuve Clicquot Cords & Beige is apparently footing the bill for. “Might as well,” she mouths in my direction.
I watch her wedge herself onto the couch next to Cat before I remember I still need to congratulate my ex on her deal. “You didn’t mention anything last night,” I say during a break in the thumping bass.
“You know me. I don’t mix work and play.” Frowning, Sally nods discreetly in Chandler’s direction. “You didn’t say anything to him about our current campaign, did you?”
“No. Why? You still nervous about coming out as a gaymer ?” I tease.
Sally punches my arm. “I’m not a gaymer. I play one tabletop RPG every Friday. There’s a difference.”
Giving Sally my best side-eye, I smirk. “Just sayin’. You have hang-ups about weird things. I bet half your coworkers watched Stranger Things and want to play D&D themselves.”
Shaking her head, Sally drops her voice. “People can be bigots about anything. I’m already the only queer woman at an old-boys’-club law firm. I don’t need anything bringing extra attention to me. Besides, if Chandler knew I was still playing D&D with you, he’d immediately demand I add him to our table.”
“That’d be terrible,” I agree.
“Right? Thank god he’s as nerd-closeted as I am. He even pretends to like golf.” Tilting her champagne glass at Val, Sally changes the subject. “So, you and Val?”
“It’s not serious,” I say. “For either of us.”
“Because of you or because of her?”
“Because of both of us.” Smoothing a hand over my hair, I nod at the Cords & Beige table. “Speaking of our plus-ones, is that Cat over there?”
“Yeah. You don’t recognize her?”
I stretch out my shoulders. “It’s dark.”
Taking a sip of champagne, Sally leans in toward me. “Are you surprised to see us together?”
The question knocks me off-balance. What is Sally implying? That I should be jealous of her? Or of Cat? “I’m not sure I follow,” I state carefully while looking over at the table where Cat is talking to Val. Cat’s laughing a little too hard, using a little too much of her body. I want to walk over and shake her until she snaps out of it. Then, as she turns to set down her champagne glass, I see it—the crease. It’s deeper than ever, despite the weak lights and the air thick with smoke.
“Have you noticed—” I begin at the same time Sally goes on, “Anyway, Cat and I really like each other. You won’t believe this, but the other day she actually got me to try out this video game with her.”
“Which one?” I ask, genuinely curious.
But Sally ignores my question. “She’s cute, agreeable, and surprisingly funny. Being with her is just … easy.”
Unlike you. I hear the reproach even if Sally’s not thinking it. People want easy. They don’t want complicated. They don’t want conflict and backstory and characters who haven’t finished developing. That’s the stuff of story, which is anything but easy.
Unfortunately, story is all I have to offer.
Suddenly, I need to leave, need to get the hell out of here. I pitch myself forward, intent on stealing Val away from Cat. I reach the edge of the table just as Val cracks a joke and Cat tosses her head back in too-loud laughter. Her eyes catch mine, looming over her, and she startles. With a squeak, she jumps up, hitting the base of my jaw with the top of her very hard head.
My neck snaps back and I stumble. Throwing out a hand, I catch the neck of a champagne bottle. It slips under my weight and cannonballs into one, three, no five champagne glasses. With horror, I watch as they clink, then crash and shatter into a million brilliant shards.
A cheer goes up at one of the other tables, led by a jerk who needs to sit down and mind his own business. I shoot a murderous look over my shoulder but can’t tell which Bonobos shirt is responsible for the jeer. Because I’m a mature human being, I make a mental note to never shop there again.
“Nooo,” Cat drawls somewhere around my waist. “Andi broke all the pretty glasses. Don’t worry. I’ll fix ’em. I’m Fix-It Felix.”
I turn back. What in the … ? At my feet, an increasingly floppy Cat is dragging her fingers through the wet broken glass like it’s glitter. Val and I rush to restrain her, but we’re both a second too slow, and as Cat wraps her hand around a jagged stem, she gasps. Immediately, blood begins welling up along the lines of her palm. Giggling, she holds up her hand for us to inspect. “’Tis but a flesh wound.”
Oh. She’s drunk. Far drunker than I—or probably any of us—realized.
“Ugh,” Sally sighs, pushing past me. “Cat, what the hell happened?”
Sally’s tone—more exasperated than concerned—rubs me the wrong way. I open my mouth to explain that I, not Cat, broke the glasses, when a bouncer materializes at my elbow. “She your friend?”
“Uh, no,” I say. “Coworker.”
“Well, ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you or someone in your group to escort your coworker out of here. Even if she weren’t bleeding all over the place, she’s too far gone for us to in good conscience keep serving her drinks.”
“Lies!” Cat’s belligerence catches both me and the bouncer off guard. “I’m not drunk. I have an aldehyde dehydrogenase 2 deficiency.”
The bouncer lifts his eyebrows at me. A few feet off, I catch Sally burying her face in her hands. Except for one woman who’s hustled off (hopefully to find a dustpan and broom), none of Sally’s coworkers move, not even to pretend they’re not staring. Lawyers.
Val, who has somehow convinced Cat to stop playing with broken glass, taps me on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go ahead and take Cat home, Andi?”
“Me?” My voice cracks.
“You’re the one who knows her best here besides Sally, and she can’t exactly leave. This is her celebration.”
I shake my head. “But what about you?”
“You know I live three blocks from here. We can get together another night.”
Closing my eyes, I dig my thumbs into my temples. What Val is proposing makes sense. Even if Sally were willing to leave her own party, she’d resent Cat for days or even weeks afterward. If I take Cat home, though, Sally gets to stay and Cat gets to sleep it off without ruining anyone’s night. Except for mine, that is.
I give in. Together, Val and I inform Sally of the plan, then support Cat down the stairs and out into the world. I give Val a hug and watch her start down the street before strapping my extra helmet over Cat’s head. “Don’t throw up,” I warn.
“Yum.” Cackling, Cat stumbles into my chest. I catch her by the wrists. They’re ice cold.
“You’re w-worm,” Cat says, teeth chattering. “A warm worm. Say that ten times fast.”
Rolling my eyes, I shrug off my leather jacket and force her arms into it, then help her straddle my bike before hopping on myself. The second I get settled, I feel Cat’s arms encircle my waist and her head relax against my back. I hold myself taut, tightening my own helmet.
“Val says you’re not together. Izzat true?”
I pause, key poised over the ignition. “Yeah, it’s true.”
“Is it ’cuz you don’t believe in love? For yourself, I mean?”
The layers of carbon fibers and epoxy resin between us should muffle Cat’s ridiculous question, but I hear it as if she’s whispering directly into my ear. Do I believe in love? Of course I do. I’m not one of those have a few bad relationships and swear off people forever types. But that doesn’t mean I believe any of that stuff will happen to me. No one wants to be with someone who has to sleep in the office because they suffer from panic attacks while at home alone. Like Sally all but said, people choose easy. No one chooses hard.
“Guess not,” I answer at the same time I turn over the engine. “Hold on tight. I don’t want you falling asleep on me, so tap your fingers every few seconds to let me know you’re awake.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” Cat says. She repeats her address, and we set off.
The night rushes past us, cool sheets of wind wending their way through the gaps in our clothing. As we leave the city behind and pick up speed, buildings fall away and stoplights grow sparse. All the while, Cat drums her fingers against my ribs, reminding me of her presence, keeping time like a heartbeat.