Chapter 4 #9
“Yeah? When?” Susan asks. She still has no idea how old Heather actually is.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Heather winks.
Susan goes to get beers, and when she gets back, Angie, Katie, Heather, and Mia are talking to each other in a circle.
“Don’t worry,” Katie says over her shoulder. “We are talking about you.”
Meanwhile, Jonny is trying to flirt with Drew, who appears to be enjoying the attention.
Susan and Jake find themselves on the outside of the group, and Susan turns to him and says, “So how’s photography going?”
“It’s a fucking grind,” Jake says, sipping his beer.
Susan notices that his long, stringy hair is starting to thin at the temple. He should really consider another hairstyle, she thinks.
“I wish I could just, like, worry about making art, instead of worrying about having to market myself.”
“You mean on social,” Susan says.
“Yeah. No offense.”
“Oh, please.” She waves this off. “No one hates social media more than social media managers. I totally understand.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” he says. The lights start to dim, and Susan hears some commotion from the stage, indicating the show might start soon.
“I dissociate.” She shrugs.
This is an exaggeration. Susan doesn’t hate social media. But she feels, on some level, like it’s gauche to admit that.
Yo La Tengo always starts live shows gently, with quieter, more obscure songs, gradually building into the louder, catchier hits. Susan is the only one in her group of friends who knows all the words to everything they play, and she’s grateful they showed up for her anyway.
Later, when the band starts playing “Autumn Sweater,” which is one of Susan’s all-time favorite songs, Angie puts an arm around her waist. Susan nuzzles into her and they stand like that for a while, Susan feeling Angie’s warm body against hers.
Angie whispers in her ear, “Hey. I love you.”
Susan freezes.
She wants to say it back.
She tries to.
But what comes out of her mouth is: “Sorry, I can’t hear you.”
Angie looks confused.
Susan feels a cold chill through her whole body as she realizes she has no choice but to commit to the lie. “Say it again?” she says.
Angie shakes her head, removes her arm from Susan’s waist, and turns away.
At a dark, crowded dive bar down the street, Susan orders a round of shots for everyone, but there’s one extra, because as soon as they arrived, Angie excused herself to the bathroom and hasn’t come out.
Susan and Katie clink tequilas. Susan winces as she chases it with lime.
The bar is excruciatingly loud, and Katie has to shout over the din when she says, “Why did I see your girlfriend crying on the walk over here?”
Susan puts her face in her hands.
“Oh, god, what did you do?”
“I didn’t say I love you back,” she says, her hands still covering her face.
“Oh no.” Katie groans. “Why did she say it so soon, though?”
“Have you ever met a lesbian?” Susan says. “It’s not that soon in my culture.”
Katie doesn’t take the bait. “Just don’t be a jerk, Susan. I like this one.”
“I’m not trying to be,” Susan whines, and as she says it, she realizes she hasn’t been trying to not be a jerk, either.
Mia eventually heads out to meet a guy she’s been seeing in Queens.
Heather and Jonny say their goodbyes, too.
Drew has disappeared into a corner with someone he knows from some other facet of his life.
By the time Angie emerges from the bathroom, cold and distant, only Katie and Jake remain at the bar with Susan, committed to staying out with her as long as she wants.
She can tell they’re tired, though, and lets them off the hook, hugging each of them tightly while Angie waits with her arms folded over her chest.
When it’s finally just them, Susan says, “You’re still coming home with me, right?”
Angie nods, though she’s still silent.
When they get to Susan’s and climb into bed, Susan thinks that maybe she is actually in love with Angie; maybe the problem is that she has just been comparing Angie to Eliza, which was lust and infatuation, while this is something real.
Sure, Angie doesn’t give her butterflies.
But maybe stability is more important. Maybe love is trusting how someone feels about you.
She’s suddenly sick with anxiety as she thinks about the fact that she has, potentially, irrevocably fucked this up. Angie is everything she’s ever wanted in a partner. She’s so good for her. And now Susan might have lost her.
Angie’s back is to her and Susan scoots over, becoming the big spoon, wrapping her arms around her as tightly as she can.
“I love you, too,” she says.
“So you did hear me,” Angie says, the first time she’s spoken in hours.
“I’m sorry,” says Susan. “I’m so fucking awkward.” She can hear the muffled pulse of the city outside the window, the honking of cars, the drunken shouting of partygoers.
“You really freaked me out,” Angie says. “I thought maybe this was all in my head.”
“It’s not,” she says. And then she says it again: “I love you. I love us together. You make me so happy.”
“I can tell, you know,” Angie says, still turned away from her.
“Tell what?”
“When we’re having sex, it’s like you disappear. Who are you thinking about?”
“No one,” Susan lies, mortified at how obvious she’s been.
Angie is crying the saddest, smallest sobs into the pillow, and all Susan can do is lie there and hold her, feeling guilty and regretful and wishing so badly that she could fix it, that she could have behaved differently this whole time.
“It’s like you’re here, but you’re not,” Angie whispers.
“That’s not true,” she says. “I am here.”
And for the first time in a long time, she actually is.
On Monday, Susan has organized a performance in the office, to be filmed for Facebook Live, and she invites Jonny, because it’s a band he introduced her to.
They lean against a wall in the back. She lets the younger staff members crowd around the front. They’re more excited to see the band play, and they look better on camera anyway.
“What’s up with you and Angie?” Jonny whispers. The band starts playing an acoustic set, Susan’s coworkers swaying in time.
“It’s a long story,” Susan says.
“Let’s go make time,” he says, and they sneak out as the performance begins.
Outside the office, Susan and Jonny stroll into City Hall Park and sit on a bench in the sun.
“Tell me,” he says, and puts his hand on her knee.
“I didn’t say I love you back fast enough, and I think I might have ruined everything.”