Chapter 11 #2
Rose scowls. “You’re not getting out of this. I expect you at my party with a plus-one.”
A bell chimes, and Jo walks through the door, shooting us a peace sign as she makes her way behind the counter. As she approaches, my vision focuses in on dark circles under her eyes, hidden behind poorly applied concealer.
Jo drops her backpack off in the back room, and when she emerges from behind the curtain, I quietly ask, “You okay?”
She looks at me, eyes tired and intense, and I can tell she isn’t going to respond, but I’m saved from the awkwardness by Rose moving ahead with her own statement.
“Boss, tell Emma to come to my party this weekend.”
Jo grins, and my anxiety is eased when genuine creases form around her eyes. She must just be sleepy. “Am I invited?”
“No. You’re part of the managerial class.”
“Then, no. I’m not telling Emma to go to your party.”
Jo and Rose engage in a stare-off so long that I begin to forget why they were staring at each other in the first place.
“Fine,” Rose says. “Please come to my party and bring Emma with you.” She points a finger to me. “But this does not mean you’ve gotten out of bringing a plus-one! You need to expand your social circles! Bring Alexander!”
Jo shoots me a confused look as Rose wiggles her fingers at me in a sarcastic wave and exits, her shift finally over. Kurt leaves a moment later, heavy backpack in tow.
The moment the door closes, Jo crosses her arms over her apron and narrows her eyes. “What are you not telling me?”
I clear my throat. “Remember Alexander from the double date?” Jo nods. “Well, he texted me. And asked me out on another date.”
Jo’s gasp is so sudden, I jump as if I’m about to be hit by a projectile. “Are you joking?”
“Why would that be a joke?”
“Are you going to say yes?”
“I already did,” I say. Jo’s mouth falls off her face and onto the floor.
“You, Emma Rogers, agreed to go on a second date?” I nod. “Of your own free will?” I nod. “And it wasn’t Harrison. We’re talking about Alexander.” I shake my head, and she stares at me. “Did someone force you to send it?”
I consider for a moment. “Actually, yeah, kind of. Rose is the one who actually hit send on the text.”
“That’s all it took?” “Flabbergasted” is the only appropriate word to describe her reaction. “You mean to tell me I could’ve been doing that this entire time?”
Fearful of the text messages Jo might send given unfiltered access to my phone, I switch gears.
“I’m not looking for a relationship until I’m done with pelvic floor therapy.
It’ll be easier for everyone involved that way.
But I feel like going on one date will be good for me?
Like a trial run?” Jo opens her mouth, but I cut her off.
“And before you say that’s stupid, I’ll have you know I have a plan.
And once it’s done, I’ll be ready to think more seriously about dating. Dating dating.”
“I don’t think going on a date is a stupid first step. But what if instead of hinging your dating life on your medical condition and some plan you’ve concocted, you just, oh, I don’t know, actually learn about non-penetrative sex,” she says pointedly.
“We are in public. At work.”
Jo waves her hands around, incredulous. “Oh, please. We do not have a single customer.” I scowl at her.
“I’m just saying. You say you want to do better?
You say you wish you could date? Then let’s have a mature conversation about hands and tongues and their many uses.
It is really time someone gave you the director’s cut of The Talk. ”
“Don’t do this. I know how sex works. And you gave me this talk a million times in college. Don’t you remember the time you scared the sweet old dining hall lady?”
“Ah, but now I have five years of experience teaching high schoolers about sex.”
My eyes pop open. “You taught sex ed at your school?”
She nods, looking absolutely delighted with herself. “I sure did. Twice a year for five years. I’m a pro now.”
“Why have we never talked about this?”
“Probably because you have extremely toxic internalized ideas about sex and obviously don’t want to talk to me about it?”
I glare at her. “Oh, shut up. And besides, I don’t need a high school sex education lesson. We’re ten years past that.”
“Look at me when I say this, because I cannot possibly emphasize this enough,” Jo says, pointing from her eyes to mine. “The high schoolers who I taught sex ed to have a better understanding of sex than you do, and probably also a better relationship with sex than you do.”
“I literally have a medical condition.”
“I’m not talking about your medical condition. I’m talking about the shit-ass sex education you received. I’m talking about the fact that you were taught as a teen that sex means penetrative sex and—”
“Jo. I know about oral sex.”
Jo glares at me. “Look. You can’t have penetrative sex, correct?”
“Uh—”
“Correct. Right now, anyway. So, you’re going to stand there and listen while I do you a favor and list all the ways you and Harrison could be sexually intimate that don’t involve his dick in your vagina.” She makes a vulgar hand gesture.
“Please, for the love of god, do not make me think about Harrison more than I already am.”
“Alexander is just a placeholder, and you know that.”
“I will actually pay you to stop talking. Ten dollars?”
“We’ll start slow to ease you in. We have no idea whether Harrison has any game because screams and thumps don’t actually tell you that much.”
“Well, he and Stephanie met on a dating app, which seems to imply he’s, you know.” I stop mid-sentence.
“Sleeping with women?”
I do not respond.
“Emma. My sweet baby Emma,” Jo says, pursing her lips sarcastically. “Just because he’s on dating apps and sleeping with women does not mean he’s good at sleeping with women.”
I do not respond.
“But he actually cares about pleasing women, clearly,” she continues, “and he must have taken anatomy classes. He definitely knows where the clit is. That’s a good starting point.”
I can feel my blood thumping in my brain. And maybe in other parts of my body.
“Twenty dollars that he could get you off with his fingers without hurting you,” she says. “And I feel like he’s studious enough to get good at cunnilingus within a reasonable timeline, if he’s not already.”
I feel all the sanity exit my body. “Harrison is not interested in me.”
Jo laughs out loud. “What the fuck are you talking about.”
“I’m serious!” I say. “He can barely make eye contact with me. He’s better now, but every interaction needs a warm-up, and everything is still so awkward.
He told me we could be friends on a ‘trial basis.’ What does that mean to you, Jo?
Because I don’t see how you could possibly connect the dots between being friends on a trial basis and wanting to be in a romantic relationship.
Plus, he said he shouldn’t be seriously dating right now, generally.
And even if that weren’t an issue, I’m still getting some…
things…figured out, and you were there the day I moved in, and all we could hear was the damned thumping.
We both know his love language is physical touch. ”
“Okay, then touch his dick.”
I stare at the linoleum floor, and my response comes out weaker than expected. “What if that’s not enough?”
“Then touch his dick with your tongue?”
I don’t respond, but I do let out a snort of laughter. Jo reaches out and squeezes my hand.
“You two couldn’t stay away from each other if the fate of the world depended on it,” she says.
“I always knew you’d find your way back to each other one way or another, and you did, and you still will.
When you’re ready, he’ll be ready.” She gives my hand another squeeze before letting it go. “How is pelvic floor therapy going?”
“Slowly,” I murmur. “I’m moving in the right direction, though.”
Jo nods her acknowledgment. “And have you scheduled a gynecology appointment yet?”
“Yeah. It’s in eleven days.” (But who’s counting?) “Um, maybe if—”
“Yes, of course,” she says, cutting me off. “Send me a calendar invite and I’ll be there.”
“I love you,” I tell her. She rolls her eyes, but looks delighted.
“And, um, there’s something else I need to update you on,” I say, and Jo groans.
I fill her in on how weird he was about Stephanie in front of his mom and how much his mom hates my guts, and she shrugs, looking significantly less concerned than I am.
“Doesn’t surprise me. She never liked you, even before you broke his heart.” I wince, and she continues. “Plus, Harrison doesn’t say things if he thinks they won’t be received well. He’d rather keep his mouth shut.”
“So, what, I’m overreacting?”
She shakes her head, thoughtful. “No. He doesn’t have to act this way, and he’s old enough to know better. You can take care of someone you love while still being true to yourself.” She gives me a meaningful look. “And you can love someone while being true to yourself, too.”
The doorbell chimes, and a customer enters before I have time to respond.