22. Chapter Twenty-Two #2
I wanted to balk at the suggestion of me being condescending, but as my nose was still pointed ever so slightly upward, I surmised it might be a lost cause. Shamefaced, I lowered my chin a fraction.
Realizing she’d scored a point, Zenny pressed on. “Plus her man is huge. Plenty to go around, I thought.” She shrugged insouciantly. “Doesn’t Captain always say we share everything onboard?”
“Not people,” I protested indignantly. Then, remembering my earlier conversation with Val, I quickly amended, “Unless they want to be shared, that is. Which we don’t.”
Another belligerent shrug from Zenny. “Well how was I s’pposed to know that?”
“You might have asked,” I returned primly.
“I did—and then you smashed my face in mashed potatoes.”
A long beat followed, and then—I couldn’t help it—I started laughing.
I didn’t want Zenny to think I was laughing at her and start the resentment flaring all over again, but the situation was just too ridiculous.
Here I was, almost thirty years old and bickering with another woman like we were schoolchildren. How stupid.
To my relief, Val began laughing, too, and after a reluctant moment, Zenny joined in. We were all mildly chuckling to begin with, but buoyed on by each other, soon we were laughing hysterically, wiping tears from our eyes.
When we’d finally calmed ourselves again, Val gave us each a pointed look.
“See? Much more interesting, wouldn’t you agree?
” At our faltering smiles, she rolled her eyes.
“I’m not saying you have to be best friends.
But don’t turn on each other for the sake of them.
They’re the surplus. We’re the deficit. Let them fight over us if they like.
We don’t need to do anything to make their lives easier. ”
I was, frankly, a little surprised to hear this, coming from a woman with three boyfriends.
For some reason I’d assumed that meant she was something of a slave to the patriarchy, a willing object of the male gaze.
For the first time, I considered it might be the other way around—that on this male-dominated ship, she’d found a way to retain her own power.
And perhaps Zenny might have a point. Perhaps I did tend to turn my nose up at other people and their way of living. A bit. I didn’t mean to, only . . . my life experience thus far had been so very sheltered.
With that in mind, I looked at Zenny with new eyes.
Due to her obvious dislike of me, I’d been determined to see the worst in her.
And I confess, when Val had informed me that Zenny shared many partners aboard the ship, I’d thought of her as being .
. . well, sort of a hussy. That impression had only been reinforced by her not-so-subtle interest in Ursa and her many blatant overtures to him.
Some of that was my Havenian upbringing speaking.
I had such ingrained guilt and shame about any kind of sexual experience outside of a pleasure house; I was only really coming to terms with that now.
But if I was willing to give myself the grace to break free of those rigid rules, ought I not offer the same grace to Zenny and Val?
Zenny was, by all accounts, single. She was one of only two (now three) women aboard a ship that made infrequent calls at port. She likely received a lot of attention from her crewmates—who were all, to my knowledge, similarly single. Why shouldn’t she enjoy herself?
Acknowledging this wouldn’t mean I had to be understanding if she tried things again with Ursa, especially not after we’d had this conversation. I’d happily smash her face into whatever rations we were eating if she came after my man again.
But looking at her now, I didn’t think she would.
It’s hard to know for certain what someone else is feeling, but I believe I detected some embarrassment.
She knew she’d behaved wrongly, and perhaps she’d justified her bad behavior with my own.
Plus, I could hardly blame a woman for losing her head a bit with Ursa. He was so thrillingly handsome.
Feeling magnanimous, I extended my hand toward her, pretending not to notice the little jump of surprise she gave, or the way she instinctively raised her hands in self-protection.6 “Can’t we start over?” I asked her. “Just tell me if I’m being unintentionally supercilious.”
Lifting an uncertain eyebrow, Zenny looked to Val.
“An uppity bitch,” Val translated for her.
Zenny gave a reluctant smile, hesitating a moment before reaching for my hand. “And you can tell me if I’m overstepping with your man.”
“That should be easy enough to manage,” I returned pleasantly. “Just stay the fuck away from him.”
Zenny and Val exchanged a quick, surprised glance. And then, to my relief, the three of us were laughing again.
1. Sweet man, he could have easily broken out of my grasp if he wanted to, but he let me have that moment.
2. Like voyeurs, only they hadn’t seen anything, just heard. Is there an equivalent expression for creepers who listen at doors? écouteurs, perhaps, if we’re going with the same French etymology?
3. As a general PSA to men, may I suggest, kindly, that you don’t wink? Ever? Unless you are one of the rare 2 percent of the population who is extremely handsome and charming and have a certain je ne sais quoi, it’s just utterly repulsive.
4. I do apologize for conflating those three idiots with Victor Hugo’s charmingly swashbuckling classic. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis would never behave in such an unchivalrous manner.
5. I suppose the washroom had been somewhat occupied up to that point . . .
6. Was I really that terrifying? I hate to admit the idea brings me a little pleasure.