Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cat
So. Sally Jenkins’s ex is Andi Zhang. My new “girlfriend” used to date my current boss, whom I hate and who I’m pretty sure hates me.
God I hate being a lesbian.
Now that I know the person Sally’s trying to piss off is Andi, I’m even more onboard than I was. Color me thoroughly unsurprised that Andi’s a terrible partner who can’t be bothered to end her relationships honorably. But there’s no way I’ll be able to carry out Sally’s and my original plan of fawning over each other. Getting all lovey-dovey in front of the person who does your performance reviews is just flat out weird, as evidenced by the way my body clammed up as soon as Sally moved in toward me. Considering how Andi’s expression darkened, she didn’t appreciate being subjected to our little performance of affection either—although maybe that’s precisely the reaction Sally wanted to elicit.
Could this situation get any more awkward?
At least it’s not just the three of us. Pretty soon after we arrive, we’re joined by three others: Dana, who’s the lead singer of the local band Spelljammer; Saoirse, her drummer; and some white dude named Ferret. I’m more than a little cowed by how cool they are, and when Sally tries to draw me into conversation with a possessive hand around my waist, I flinch so hard I end up jostling both of our drinks. On the upside, thanks to my adverse reaction, Sally doesn’t try to touch me again.
We start playing a couple minutes later. Andi has the party stumble into a random tavern, where I—or rather Brush—ask to join them on their quest to depose the Paladin King Aethor, who’s been manipulating the realm’s etheric energy at the behest of his sworn deity. After Ferret (whose character is a chaotic neutral changeling named … Ferret) gets us all thrown in jail with an abysmal persuasion check, we find ourselves in our first combat scenario, facing down a pack of gnolls who for some reason want to eat us.
“Roll initiative,” Andi says, standing.
At first, I think this means we should all get to our feet too. Sally frowns and tugs me down, though, and my face warms as I see Andi returning with a battle mat along with five miniature figurines. While Sally, Dana, Saoirse, and Ferret have their own, custom minis, Andi tosses me a Monopoly piece: the flatiron.
“Sorry,” she says. “We’ve never had anyone play a halfling before.”
I palm the cool metal and lean in toward Sally, who’s discussing tactics with Dana. I’m reluctant to interrupt her—not when my instincts are telling me she’s fully assumed the role of Zorissa and has all but forgotten that out of game, we’re supposed to be dating—but I’m also at a loss, so I venture, “What do I do?”
“Roll a d20 and add your dex modifier,” Sally answers before adding a belated, “honey.”
I look down at Brush’s character sheet, which Sally set me up with earlier this week. It’s littered with numbers and scrawled notes that previously made sense to me, but ever since Andi got back to me with feedback, I’ve been neck-deep in fleshing out Kelsi’s romantic arc and I can’t seem to make heads or tails out of what my eyes are seeing.
“Where do I find that?” I whisper back. I must sound too timid, since Sally doesn’t break off from studying the battle mat for choke points to exploit.
“On the left-hand side,” Andi cuts in. “Second box, labeled ‘Dexterity.’ ”
She’s studying me like I’m an impostor, like she can’t believe I thought I could pal around with her and her friends. Under her steely gaze, my heart rate picks up and my mouth goes Arrakis-dry. Swallowing my pride—I’m a guest in her home, after all—I break eye contact to look for my twenty-sided die and roll.
From there, it goes downhill. First, I keep forgetting I can’t retreat without provoking an attack of opportunity, which Andi makes the gnolls take every time. Then I roll a critical failure on an Inflict Wounds attack and burn up my last spell slot. We’re only three rounds in when I drop down to three hit points and need Tahan é (aka Dana) to come and save my sorry ass. So much for being the party’s healer.
I’m bad. At a game. Even though I’m the unfashionable dweeb who sat alone in the cafeteria all throughout middle and high school while everyone around me won stuff like Most Likely to Succeed and Life of the Party. Andi probably also won Best Forearms. As she grabs one of the gnoll minis closest to Brush, I get a glimpse of the black ink crawling up her left wrist. There’s a snow-covered mountain range of some sort, with a river carving through its valleys. Near the inside of her elbow, the river turns into the black cable of a classic Nintendo controller.
Huh. What a weird design. I want to dismiss the whole thing as try-hard, but honestly, it looks pretty neat. If it didn’t belong to Andi, I’d even find it hot.
I’m not sure what I hate more: that some pockets of gaming are “cool” now, or that I don’t seem to belong to any of them.
“Take it easy, Andi,” Sally says after Tahan é gives me the party’s last potion of healing. “Cat’s new.”
My ears burst into flame at the plea for lenience. “It’s fine. I need to git gud,” I joke.
Andi doesn’t respond except to move the last gnoll closer to Caim, Saoirse’s character. Everyone huffs a sigh of relief when, on her turn, Caim lands a hit on the final enemy. We finish up the fight, no thanks to me, and Andi calls for a pizza-and-beer break. I take the opportunity to slink off to where all the outcast kids go to hide: the bathroom.
Andi’s bathroom is a study in contrasts, with its white counters and black fixtures and checkerboard tiles. I sit on the lid of the toilet and take it in. It’s so severe, so lacking in nuance, so Andi , that I bury my head in my hands and take in a deep breath.
Staying was a mistake. Fake relationship be damned, I should’ve left as soon as Andi swung open the door. But after Sally swanned in without a backward glance, I couldn’t just hightail it out into the night—especially given our arrangement. And the way Andi semismiled at me, it was almost like she wanted me to stay …
No way. If she wanted me to stick around, it was only so she could remind Sally how low her standards had fallen (seriously, how am I supposed to make Andi feel jealous?). I don’t stack up well against Andi, that’s for sure. Whereas Andi gives off dark Galadriel vibes with her All shall love me and despair routine, Sadie once told me I resemble a hobbit. (“I don’t mean it in a bad way! Just that you’re approachable … and low to the ground.”)
To my horror, I feel a tennis ball clogging up the back of my throat. When I blink, a rogue droplet works its way free from my eye and lands on the tiled floor, darkening a square of black. I shuck my foot over the spot, drying it.
“You’re okay, Cat,” I whisper to myself. I don’t even know why I’m so upset, except that I feel like an angry potato whenever I’m around Andi. It doesn’t help that I wish Sally would lend a hand every once in a while, whisper what AC means or explain what counts as a bonus action. She’s probably not used to having to take care of a real girlfriend, let alone a fake one like me. Or maybe she’s a method actor when it comes to D&D and didn’t want to break character just to tell me how to calculate my spell save DC. Or maybe she’s offended I shook her off the few times she tried to lover-it-up in front of Andi. You know, my boss .
But I can’t bail. Not only do I not want to give Andi the satisfaction of thinking she’s driven me off, in my head, this campaign is my ticket to a stress-free Thanksgiving.
Getting up, I flush the empty toilet and scrub my hands under the tap while examining Andi’s beauty products. There are way too many hair products pressed up against the mirror along with several sticks of eyeliner and a thick hardcover book. Shutting the water off with my wrist, I read the title: The Traitor Baru Cormorant .
It’s only one of my favorite books of all time, featuring hard fantasy, economic manipulation, and a painful, doomed queer romance that made me want to claw out my heart the first time I read it. A complicated feeling flutters in my chest. To think I have anything in common with Andi, that she reads the same book I do while—of all things—taking a dump.
My ears prick. Now that the water has stopped running, I clock that the laughter outside has dropped away. Is everyone already back at the table, waiting on me with annoyance? Crap. I meant to pull myself together, grab another slice of Hawaiian, make some witty small talk. Not cry in Andi’s bathroom for fifteen minutes like Hanako-san, the Japanese toilet demon.
“You got this, Cat,” I tell myself in the mirror. I shoot my reflection double finger guns before screwing my eyes shut and wondering if anyone has ever died of self-embarrassment. Seizing the knob, I yank the bathroom door open and hurtle outside … straight into Andi’s torso.
“Ooph,” Andi exclaims as I slam her into the wall. “What the hell?”
The phrase I’ve been preparing to shout (“I’m coming!”) dies on my lips, leaving me with the truth. “I, um, heard things quiet down. I thought people were gearing up to play again and didn’t want to be late.”
As I say this, laughter bubbles up from down the hall and I realize everyone—sans Andi—is crowded around Sally’s phone, watching a video. Far from waiting, they look like they’ve forgotten about me entirely.
My arms are still pressing into Andi’s white T-shirt, pinning her against the wall. Her body is throwing off a halo of warmth that takes me by surprise. I tense all two of my abs and jerk back toward the opposite wall, breathing hard.
“Sorry,” I mumble to my feet. Somehow my heart is both clambering its way up my throat and beating low in my belly. I ignore its theatrics as a simple startle response and nothing more.
“It’s fine,” Andi says. “I came to make sure you’re okay.”
“Yeah, just … lady troubles.” I grimace. Lady troubles? What am I, twelve? If only a portal would open up underneath my feet and swallow me whole.
“You need painkillers or anything?” Instead of looking at me, Andi’s brushing herself off like I’ve contaminated her with cooties. It reminds me of how the girls from my sorority in college would appraise my jeans and hoodies with one delicate finger and an upturned nose. My temper flickers to life.
“I’m fine,” I snap with enough bite to make Andi stop and cock her head at me. “And by the way, you don’t have to treat me with kid gloves just because Sally asked you to. I know you could’ve killed me with that gnoll if you wanted.” I don’t want Brush to die, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone put me on easy mode.
A shadow passes over Andi’s face. I can’t tell if she’s annoyed that I’m calling her out for pulling her punches or disgusted at how pitiable I’m being, but at least she’s not acting like I’m disease ridden anymore.
Running a hand through her hair, she crosses the hallway. I force myself to stand tall, but she doesn’t approach me, only lays her hand flat against the bathroom door. Giving it a light push, she says, “The gnoll was goaded by Caim, Saoirse’s character. It wouldn’t have attacked Brush.”
She pauses, then turns and meets my eyes. “I couldn’t have hurt you. Even if I’d wanted to.”