20. Sophie
TWENTY
SOPHIE
Maya
The new lamps broke!
Both of them?
Can confirm.
Acrobatic guy?
Yes.
I mean if it’s worth it I guess you’ll have to factor in a lamp budget. Or remove the lamps before you get going.
Oh it’s worth it. I’m learning a lot about myself.
I stop midway out of my car. Maya and I have been close since I walked into my university dorm room for the first time and she greeted me with a big hug. And right now I’m torn between wanting to know what exactly she’s learning and never knowing.
As long as you’re being safe and having fun.
I’m so much bendier than I ever realized.
If she’d come to Pilates with me, she’d have realized that long ago. I grab my yoga mat and bag of groceries out of the car before making my way to the house.
I’m very happy for you!
And I am. Maya is notoriously hard to please in just about every aspect of her life, so if she found someone who does it in an area she happens to really enjoy, that’s terrific.
My relationship with sex changed drastically from the start of my relationship with Gregory to the end of it. Looking back, it’s so easy to see the pattern. In the beginning, he centered me. Then gradually it became all about him. His pleasure, his desires, his moods, his kinks. He’d do what he wanted, then clean up and go to sleep or carry on with whatever his plans had been. I know looking back and berating myself isn’t the answer. I’m trained in this, and yet that’s what I do.
Lost in thought, I jump when my phone rings. I never have the ringer on, so I must have hit the switch by accident.
Mom’s face takes up the screen, and I immediately feel a bit better.
“Hey,” I answer with as much pep as I can muster. My parents don’t know a thing about what happened with Gregory. They just think the relationship had run its course.
“Hey, Soph,” Mom’s voice comes through clear as a bell, which means she’s standing on the third step of the porch.
“What’s up?” I ask, walking to the front door to hang my grocery bag on the handle. If I don’t do that I end up buying a new bag every single time I go shopping.
“I was wondering if you’d like an overnight houseguest tomorrow?” she coos sweetly.
“Um…” I start.
“Unless you’re busy, I can stay at a hotel,” she adds quickly.
I’m not going to let my mother stay at a hotel when the only reason I live in a house rent-free is because she and my dad bought it as an investment property when I was a kid.
“No, don’t be silly. Of course you can stay here.”
“If you have plans, though, keep them. I’ll entertain myself,” she insists.
“Why will you be in the city?” I throw myself down in my favorite armchair.
I can practically hear her deciding whether or not to tell me. “I’ve got an appointment in the morning, and I’d really rather not have to drive down right before it.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask, sitting up.
“Yeah, no worries, it’s probably nothing.” She’s being overly cheerful and I want to call her on it, but I also don’t want her to decide not to come.
“When do you think you’ll get here?”
“Probably late afternoon? We can do dinner. I’ll make your favorite.” Which means Mom’s bringing lasagna.
“Well, if that’s on offer, come whenever you’d like and stay for however long you think is best.”
I feel her chuckle in my bones. That soft barely there laugh she’s always had. “I’m not sure your father would like me to stay too long.”
“I don’t think he’d like that either,” I agree.
My parents are attached at the hip and have been since I can remember. My mom’s sister told me once that they only ended up together to spite her family. Sometimes I think my mom’s whole family makes things up because they still aren’t thrilled with the marriage. Dad was always seen as less than by my grandparents, and even if they treated me well, I picked up at a young age that they were never overly welcoming toward him.
“Okay, my dear, I’ll see you tomorrow around three probably. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom. See you tomorrow.”
“I’ll have the ’shrooms on toast with a side of bacon please,” I say, handing the server my menu.
“And you, sir?” they ask Foster, who has been switching between the Epiccc Waffles and the shakshuka.
“I’ll have the shakshuka, please, extra spicy. Thanks.”
Well, there goes any chance that I’ll try it now, I think as he hands over his menu.
“Oh, actually, is there any way I could have chilis on the side instead of in it?” The server lets Foster know that it won’t be a problem, and he beams over at me. “Now you can try something new today.”
He has no idea how many new things I’ve already tried since he walked into my office.
Foster lifts his freshly squeezed orange juice. “To reconnecting with old friends and new experiences.”
I lift my grapefruit juice and clink our glasses before taking a sip, my lips immediately puckering as the juice hits all the sour taste buds.
“Sour?” Foster laughs.
“Yes, but in a good way,” I assure him. “So, what did you get up to yesterday?”
Foster suddenly looks sheepish. “Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t even change out of my pajamas? I basically slept all day.”
“Did you forget we work together? That doesn’t surprise me at all.”
“What about you?”
After I had talked to my mom, I’d did some laundry that I still haven’t put away, chatted with Cass a bit, and spent way too long scrolling through every social media app I have. “Not much. Recovered from the week.” I shrug.
Foster tips his head back and groans, the bruise on his jaw more obvious with the change of angle. “I hope we get a break next week. Because if this is what we can expect for the next three months, I don’t think anyone will survive it.”
“Foster!” I hear a woman’s voice call from behind me and watch as his face goes red.
“Jessica is here,” he grits out right before she leans down on our table, her ample cleavage on full display in a way it never is at work.
“Oh my god, Sophie!” she squeals when she notices me. “Foster didn’t say you’d be coming.” If I had to guess, I’d put money on Jessica pre-drinking before arriving this morning. “Are you two on a date?” she whispers loudly.
“No!” we both say at the same time.
“Just two friends supporting another friend,” I say, really emphasizing the ‘friends’ part.
Thankfully the server arrives with our food, and Jessica recognizes it’s time to go back to her table. “I’ll see you two tomorrow. Have fun!” She raises both hands and gestures while mouthing “Nice work” as she backs away with me shaking my head at her, desperately trying to tell her she’s got it wrong.
“Tomorrow is going to be fun.” I giggle nervously, cutting into the poached egg sitting atop a mountain of buttery mushrooms.
“Hey,” Foster says, reaching over to touch my hand, pulling my attention back to him. “We’re allowed to be friends, Soph. Half the staff knew we were at the concert the other night.”
“I know, and I’m very happy to be friends with you.” I wonder how many more times I can say that we’re friends before it starts sounding like I’m trying too hard.
He gives me a strange look that I almost miss before looking down longingly at his food and back at me. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
“And make you wait even longer for food? No. Besides, have you seen this?” I point down at my food as the yolk spills down the mountain of mushrooms like a luscious volcano. “I can’t remember the last time I wanted something so badly.”
I’m practically drooling as I jab my fork into my food and take a bite. I think I moan while I chew with my eyes closed because when I open them Foster’s lips are slightly parted and he’s staring at me, hunger blazing in his eyes. His mouth closes, and I watch him swallow before blinking rapidly and looking down at his own dish.
“I can’t remember a time either,” he says quietly and I have to assume he means the food. He has to mean the food because we are just friends and he’s very hungry.
It soon becomes easy to slip back into our pre-Jessica conversation which doesn’t last long because the opening bars to “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga blasts through the speakers.
“Here we go.” Foster grins right before I look up to see a queen stomp out in a silver-sequined bodysuit and what looks to be an entire peacock on her head.
“That was incredible,” I say to Foster’s friend Lucas, drag name Della Licious. “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat brunch any other way going forward.”
“Turned another one.” Della shimmies with joy. “The bigots are going to be very upset.”
“That’s my favorite way to see them,” Foster quips, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip of his third coffee.
“What are you two beautiful humans doing after this?” Della asks, running her hand through Foster’s hair. While I know they’re friends, jealousy pings from somewhere deep inside.
“I was actually going to see if Foster wanted to come for dinner. My mom’s in town and is making lasagna.” I watch Foster’s eyes widen for a split second before he leans forward. Della’s hand falls away as he does, leaving his hair a little messy. It’s a good look. It would be an even better look if my hand had been the one to mess it up.
Stop it.
“Does she still make that tomato sauce?” he asks dreamily.
I nod. “Every year.”
“Well, Della, I have a date with layers of pasta, cheese, and sauce.”
“How does a queen get an invite to such a dinner?” Della asks, eyelashes batting at me.
Della is lovely, but hell no, Foster is mine tonight. For dinner. Just for dinner. “I’ll see if my mom will make one when I go home for Easter, and I’ll host a dinner,” I say to Della, who does a little happy clap.
“Should we get going?” Foster asks.
It’s now two, which means my mom should be arriving soon, and knowing her, she’ll be early.
“Yeah, probably best, I’d like to be home when my mom arrives.”
“Should I come now or…” Foster asks, standing in front of our cars.
“Oh, well…” I hadn’t really thought about the in between now and when we’d actually be consuming lasagna.
Foster starts to say he can go home as I tell him to come on over.
“Okay, so I’ll follow you then.” He nods toward my car, and I have to actively suppress the need to squee about Foster Walsh coming over to my house.