Chapter 23
My dates loved their mimosas.
I mean, loved their mimosas. Honestly, I loved them too.
"Okay, okay," Tiel Walsh said, waving her hands over the brunch table as if she could sweep away the hodgepodge of half conversations percolating between us and her sisters-in-law, Andy, Shannon Halsted, and Lauren Walsh.
"Start over. From the beginning. Whole story. How did you come to be seeing two men?"
"It's not that uncommon," Shannon said. "People do that. Dating isn't what it used to be and that's probably okay."
"I don't think people date, period," Andy argued. "They hook up and sometimes they hook up with the same few people over and over."
"This is depressing," Tiel murmured. "For many reasons."
"Because you never hooked up with a bunch of dudes before getting married?" Lauren asked. "If it helps, I didn't either. Shannon and Andy did but that's because they have better game than we do."
"I think your game is just fine," I said to Lauren.
"You didn't know me when I was single," she argued, laughing. "My game was nonexistent. My game was Bambi-in-the-forest."
"Oh my god," Shannon grumbled. "You and the fragile fawn thing again. Just because you didn't slut it up in your single days doesn't mean you were innocent. I've heard the things you say to my brother and I've seen more than a few text messages too. Bambi you are not."
"Can we not call it 'slutting'?" Andy asked. "Women are allowed to seek out sexual partners and then have sex and also enjoy sex. None of that makes them slutty. None of that necessitates judgment. It's a normal, healthy part of life and it's not necessary to add value judgments."
"You're right," Shannon said, wagging her empty champagne flute at a passing waiter.
"Even using it for fun—like, taking it away from slut-shamers and making it our own and eliminating their ability to wield it in a shame-y way—carries some shitty baggage.
Because no one looks at the dude on the other side of all that sex and calls him a man slut. "
"Thank you," Andy said. "I'm not trying to be a purist. I don't want to police the way people speak but I hate the way words are weaponized against women sometimes. I hate how fucking everything is weaponized against women when it suits others. I'm a little sensitive to all that noise right now."
"You're allowed to be sensitive," Shannon said. "You're allowed to feel your feelings. You're also allowed to drown them in champagne so long as you don't start telling me about the things you do with coconut oil when you're alone with my brother."
"What about the things that don't involve coconut oil?" Andy asked, her eyebrow arched like a Sephora ad.
"I don't want to hear about those either," Shannon said with an exaggerated shiver.
Lauren shifted to face me. "You must have a favorite. Or a slight preference. With your boys, not coconut oil. Right?"
She was the only sober one at the table by virtue of being extremely pregnant. By my count, she was at least seventeen months along. Had to be. She'd been pregnant forever. Since Nixon was in office, at least.
"How long have you been pregnant?" I asked. There was some slurring involved. It sounded like "How long 've be pregnant?" and ended with a hiccup.
To her credit, she smiled. That was the best thing about Matt Walsh's wife. She made everyone comfortable. She was good to people even when they hadn't earned her goodness.
"Eight-ish months. This kid has a few more weeks to go."
"Okay, good," I murmured, nodding hard enough to slap myself in the face with my ponytail.
"Back to the topic at hand," Andy announced, snapping her fingers. I wasn't certain but I got the impression she'd picked up that move from Patrick. He was a snapper. The snappiest.
Shannon leaned back against the booth with her champagne flute in hand. "Allow me to recap the key points, boss. Two guys. Both fun and pretty. Cool dudes. Big event with one of them coming up. Am I missing anything?"
"I showered with the firefighter last weekend," I confessed. "That was, uh, illustrative."
"Because you got your hands on the goods?" Lauren asked.
I hummed in agreement.
"Fun times," Tiel murmured.
"Yeah, mostly." I held up both hands as if I was weighing something.
"My shower isn't big enough for too much fun.
It was mostly like, 'Oh, hey, you're naked and I'm naked and we're both slippery so that's exciting but all we can do is stand here and be naked together.
'" I dropped my hands, shrugged. "And then we ordered delivery from Beverly House of Pizza and watched the Yankees-Dodgers game and I scared him when I yelled at the television. "
"I don't care how small the space is, how do you shower with someone and not have sex?" Tiel asked. "Not positive but I think I got pregnant in the shower."
"Will talks about getting me pregnant during shower sex but I don't think it's panned out that way for us," Shannon said.
"Chances are good that shower sex is to blame for this," Lauren said, patting her belly.
"Like you weren't trying on every damn surface in your apartment, Matt's office, and the entire city," Shannon said to her.
Lauren shrugged. "You never know what will do the trick."
"Topic at hand," Andy repeated.
"You're only saying that because you don't like shower sex," Lauren remarked.
"You're right," Andy replied. "I don't like it. I don't have pretty shiny blonde California girl hair like some people. My hair is complicated. My hair requires a protocol, a routine. And I refuse to have sex while wearing a shower cap."
"That's fair," Tiel said. "I wouldn't be able to say anything remotely dirty while wearing a shower cap."
Shannon rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "I don't need to hear about the sex lives of my brothers, thank you."
"And my interest in getting pregnant is less than zero," Andy continued, ignoring Shannon. "So, if everyone is getting knocked up in the shower, I'll keep locking the bathroom door behind me."
"I'm with you on that," I replied. "The last thing I need is to get pregnant while figuring out what to do with these guys."
"It would either make the decision very easy or very difficult," Tiel said.
"Difficult," I replied. "It would be difficult. I'm sure of it. And regardless of any of that, I'm not ready for a real live baby child with one of these men."
"Okay, then," Tiel said. "What are you ready for?"
I blinked at her, my lips parted and words were waiting on my tongue. But I didn't say anything. I couldn't form the sounds. Instead, I swallowed it all down with a mouthful of boozy orange juice.
"Magnolia needs two things from us," Andy said, jumping in where I was flailing. "She needs help picking out a fancy dress, and some objective opinions on the dicks she's juggling."
"I am not juggling any dicks," I argued. "I'm merely rubbing them in showers."
"Oh, so there was more than one shower?" Tiel asked.
"And more than one dick?" Lauren asked.
“There was a sleepover,” I said, setting my glass down. ”Take the champagne away. I'm getting sloppy.”
"Moving on," Shannon murmured. "You need a dress. We know how to do that."
"What's the event?" Tiel asked. "Not that I'm very helpful on the fashion front but what are we dressing you for?"
"You are very helpful," I argued with a gesture toward her boho summer dress. "Your style is amazing."
"What's really amazing is that you two are friends," Shannon mused. "Of all the unlikely pairings."
"We are all unlikely," Andy said. "That we manage to love each other is the best thing."
"The boys are good. They're really good," Tiel said. "They're great but girlfriends are the best."
"You guys are too nice to me," I said, reaching for my napkin. I felt the prickle of tears behind my eyes and I needed to be ready. Magnolia plus champagne equaled sobby effusiveness. "Seriously, you're too nice to me. I thought you guys were going to hate me forever."
That was the straight truth. When I'd made the super massive epic mistake of kissing Sam, it was because I thought it was the right way to get his attention.
I thought I was being bold and forward, taking charge the same way Andy and Shannon and Lauren take charge.
They went for what they wanted and nothing held them back and I wanted to be that, even if only once.
I thought I was getting his attention when a short eternity of flirting seemed to float right over his head. But it hadn't floated over his head. He'd ignored my advances because he was in love with Tiel. And it was Tiel who'd walked in when I was jamming my tongue into his mouth.
I went for it but I didn't even know where I was going.
I wasn't in love with Sam. I was flirting with him because he was there.
He was a constant in my life—a single man who took me seriously as a landscape architect—and I was too fucked up and fucked over to realize he wasn't for me.
Oh, god, not at all. I didn't have deep, angsty feelings of lust and longing for him.
I thought he was quirky and fascinating, and we had a shared love of solving random architectural problems. He was a fixture in my life at a time when I desperately needed someone to pay attention to me.
To validate my competence in my craft, to see me as an alluring woman.
I thought Sam could do all of that for me. I was wrong.
That kiss was a ridiculous intersection of very bad things.
It wrecked Sam and Tiel's relationship for months.
It killed my professional partnership with Sam.
For a time, it killed my professional partnership with the entire Walsh Associates firm.
I was persona non grata as far as they were concerned.