Swipe Right

by Tagan Shepard

  “What did you put in my profile?” I didn’t want to blame Pen, but after the third misunderstanding of my personality and interests, I was getting annoyed.

  “Haven’t you read it?”

  “Why would I read my own dating profile?”

  “Well, one would generally want to know if it matches them. Then again, one would normally write their own.”

  The crease between her eyebrows deepened and her eyes flashed with anger. It wasn’t misplaced, I knew that, but I wasn’t feeling charitable at the moment.

  “As my best friend, aren’t you supposed to know me better than anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Who should then?” I threw my arms in the air and barked, “Are they available to write my profile?”

  “Yes, they are.” Pen glared at me. “They’re you. You should know you better than anyone. Why did you ask for my help if you were just gonna bitch about what I did for you?”

  She stood so abruptly her stool banged against the wall. She tried to brush past me and I made a wild grab for her, my hand wrapping around her wrist. Her skin was so warm and so soft, touching her brought the cruelty of my words home to me.

  “Please don’t leave.” She looked down at my hand. In my panic I was gripping her too hard, so I slid my fingers between hers and held on to our entwined fingers with my other hand. I tried my best to cradle her hand rather than squeeze, but I was really, truly scared for the first time in a long while. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  She continued to stare at my hands, but she wouldn’t meet my eye or say a word.

  “I’m being a bitch. I didn’t mean to.”

  She extracted her hand from mine but didn’t leave. To my immense relief, she dropped back onto her stool and grabbed her drink. She still wouldn’t look at me.

  “There’s no excuse for my behavior. I’m sorry.” When she still didn’t say anything, I decided drastic measures were necessary. I slid out of my own stool and bent down on one knee beside her chair. “I’ll beg for your forgiveness. Is that what you want? Because I’ll totally do it.”

  She finally cracked, a grin splitting her lips. “Get up, nerd.”

  “Not until you say you forgive me.” I was getting louder, and I struggled to hide my smile. “I’ll stay on my knees in front of you until you say it.”

  Pen giggled and I knew I had my best friend on my side again, no matter how awful I was being. People were starting to stare though.

  “Dearest Penelope…” I started.

  “Get off your knees, you idiot,” she said, pulling me up by my clasped hands. I was waving them in front of me like I was praying. “I forgive you.”

  I hopped up and threw my arms around her. She hated to be hugged, especially in public, so I made sure to squeeze her extra tightly. She held on for a few seconds before swatting my arms away. I didn’t particularly want to let her go, but I finally gave in.

  Once I was back in my stool, I lowered my voice and shame wiped away my smile. “I really am sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “I do. You haven’t been laid in years. Tell me what happened with that dumb guy.”

  She listened politely while I told the story. It sounded even worse in the recounting. The terrible band would have been bad enough, but Pen knew how much I hated karaoke, so she truly understood the depths of my pain. It wasn’t only that it was so ill-suited for me. It wouldn’t have been a good first date for anyone, even if they liked music as much as he seemed to think I did. First dates were supposed to be about getting to know someone. If you couldn’t talk, how could it be a good date, let alone a perfect one?

  “That’s…” Laughter spurted out and she pressed her fingers to her mouth to stop it. “That’s really bad, sweetie. What was he thinking?”

  “God only knows.”

  “Seriously, would you please stop dating men? They’re stupid and they smell bad. I don’t want to have to grin across the table at another dumb dude you date.”

  “I haven’t dated a man since Nick!”

  “He was bad enough to cure me of the breed if nature hadn’t taken care of that for me.” Pen’s jaw flexed, making it clear she was swallowing the lecture she longed to give. I deserved it, but it was sweet of her to refrain, especially given my behavior tonight.

  “Why would Kevin think I’m so into music?”

  “Sometimes people see what they want to see.”

  “Do you think…” I was careful to phrase the question without any hint of blame. “We could take a look at my profile and try to figure out why he thought I loved music so much?”

  “Sure,” Pen said, snatching my phone.

  She kept one eye on the crowd, and I noticed how many women in the bar were eyeing her. Pen chewed on her bottom lip as she scrolled through the questions.

  “I deleted ‘Country Roads’ as my favorite song, but that couldn’t have been the only thing he saw.”

  She murmured agreement and I leaned in to read over her shoulder. As always, working through a problem with Pen made me feel better about everything. If anyone could fix it, Pen could and it didn’t hurt that she smelled wonderful tonight.

  “New perfume?” I asked. She smelled like lavender and sandalwood with an undercurrent of fresh linen and her usual eucalyptus soap.

  “Hmmm?” She didn’t look away from my phone, her intricately woven ring splints tapping on the screen as she scrolled.

  “Is that a new perfume?” I asked again. “I like it.”

  “Essential oil mix. Butches don’t wear perfume.”

  “Do you count as a butch? You don’t dress super butch.”

  “I wear women’s suits because they highlight the goods,” she said, waving a distracted hand around her cleavage. It was nice cleavage, accentuated by the high collar and many open buttons of her blouse. “I have some very nice, tailored men’s suits for special occasions.”

  “You do?” My voice got squeaky and I coughed to clear my throat. “I’ve never seen you in one.”

  “Work is not a special occasion.” She handed over my phone, “How about this?”

  She clicked on the photo she provided for my profile, the one she’d taken of me the summer before. She’d added a caption beneath.

  Always love the outdoors, especially when there’s a concert involved!

  “Why’d you write that?” I asked, genuinely perplexed. “Do I like concerts?”

  “You loved this one. It’s from Wolf Trap.”

  “It was an Indigo Girls concert. Of course I loved it.”

  “That’s why I wrote it.”

  “I loved it ‘cause I love the Indigo Girls and hanging out with you, not because I love concerts.”

  “You should’ve been more specific.”

  I was about to argue, when I saw Pen’s grin. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

  “Me?” she asked in mock horror. “Never!”

  “I take back my apology from earlier.”

  She started typing. “Too late.”

  “Take out the outdoors part, too. You know that’s bullshit.”

  “Chicks dig outdoorsy ladies.”

  “Chicks dig ladies who tell the truth.”

  Pen huffed and I bet she thought I didn’t notice her eye roll. “Fine. You win.”

  After she was done, she handed over my phone and flagged down the bartender. While she ordered a club soda I noticed a woman across the bar sizing Pen up. She was pretty, but younger than Pen’s normal targets, maybe early thirties with a thick blond braid. Pen didn’t notice, her attention on her club soda and my phone.

  “You’re a jerk.” I read her new comment aloud, “I was only having fun in this picture because I’m a sucker for old dyke bands and my best friend. I’ll never smile like this on a date with you and I hate music.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  I erased what she’d written and thought for a few minutes while I sipped my wine. Pen turned her attention to a busty Latinx woman with sho
rt, spiky hair and a graphic tee. I felt her eyes return to me a half dozen times, but she didn’t push. When the bartender circled by, I refused a refill.

  “What if I leave it without a caption?” I asked, but Pen didn’t seem to hear me. She was busy splitting her time between the straining graphic tee and the blond braid. Both seemed intent on wooing Pen from across the room, but she seemed strangely distracted tonight.

  “All these women are different,” I said, indicating the two women. The redhead from earlier was back at the end of the bar, too, trying to catch Pen’s eye. “Do you even have a type?”

  “Women.”

  “That’s a gender, not a type.” She shrugged and I asked, “You would sleep with any woman you met, wouldn’t you?”

  “Hell no.” Pen didn’t seem to be giving any of them enough attention, but Graphic Tee was still making a bid while the other two wandered off. “I would never sleep with my doctor and she’s super-hot.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t slept with her already.”

  That caught Pen’s attention and she scowled at me. “You know how long it took me to find a doctor who didn’t think I was faking or drug seeking? I would never mess up that relationship.”

  She said it lightly, but I knew how serious she was. It was close to what the Rainbow Zebras had described.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Pen said, draining her club soda. “I’ll take you home, okay?”

  Graphic Tee had apparently decided the time for sexy glances had passed, because she slid away from the bar and pushed her way through the crowd toward us.

  “You don’t have to do that.” I slid my empty wine glass away.

  “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. I don’t like the idea of you driving home alone when you’re sad. I’ll bring you back after work tomorrow to get your car.”

  The crease had formed between Pen’s eyebrows and she reached out for my hand. If only Pen’s hookups got to see this side of her—the woman who was sweet and thoughtful and gentle exactly when I needed it most—they’d fall into her bed even faster. It wasn’t fair how much she hid from them. I was about to tell her so when Graphic Tee finally made it through the crush and leaned against the bar on Pen’s other side.

  She was nice enough to shoot me an apologetic smile and ask if we were together. When I said we weren’t, she turned Pen’s chin toward her in a surprisingly hot request for attention. When I tried to pay my tab, Pen waved me off and handed the bartender her credit card. She insisted again that I let her drive me home, but I wasn’t going to spoil this one for her. I slipped out of the bar before she could protest again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Pen and I met before dawn for our annual drive out to Lucketts Spring Market in Berryville. She’d borrowed a pickup truck from a friend in case we got carried away and bought too much stuff. It was a wise move since we always got carried away and bought too much stuff. I supplied the donuts and coffee for the hour-long drive.

  The day was perfect. The sort of blue skies that people wrote songs about and tall, cotton-puff clouds offering an occasional break from the blazing summer sun. Perhaps it was the conversation we’d had after the disastrous date with Kevin two weeks before, but Pen showed up in the butchest outfit I’d ever seen on her. Her jeans were well-worn and hung low around her hips. She broke out the Doc Marten boots she wore rarely and her Indigo Girls concert tee had seen so many washes it was almost see-through. She even wore a wallet chain. I felt a little plain in my knee-length pink skirt and white tank top, but we’d met at Pen’s house so I couldn’t change.

  The drive was relaxing in that way only best friends can be in each other’s company. We didn’t have to talk to fill the empty space between us. I spent most of the ride nursing my coffee and watching the mountains get closer and closer. Woodbridge was just south of DC and it was all concrete and chain restaurants. This side of DC, its southwestern border, turned instantly rural. One minute you were in the bustle of the nation’s capital, the next you were surrounded by empty woodland and farms as far as the eye could see. It made me think of home.

  I’d lost most of my family when my parents passed away. My sister had spent a college semester abroad where she fell in love with both Belgium and an older man with a lot of money. No one was surprised when she stayed. We talked on the phone occasionally, but I hadn’t seen her in five years. It was for the best. She and I had never connected. It wasn’t either of our faults—our personalities didn’t even mesh well enough to cause hate.

  Our father had been a professor of physical chemistry, devastated that his daughters had no interest in science. We’d both gone into business, an area he thought had no soul. My mother had been a stay-at-home mom when we were little. She had been taking courses in nursing to start a new, empty-nester career when they were involved in a six-car pile-up on an icy mountain road. Everyone else suffered minor injuries, but my father’s attempt to swerve had turned the car sideways in the middle of the accident and I was an orphan before the ambulances arrived.

  Nick and I were living in Virginia at the time, but he was out of town for work. He half-heartedly offered to come home early, but I heard the reluctance in his voice so said he didn’t have to. In retrospect, I should’ve been pissed that my husband couldn’t bother to attend his in-laws’ joint funeral, but I was so numb I accepted his excuses. Pen had been new at Three Keys and found me crying in the bathroom. When I told her I had to make the long drive back to West Virginia alone, she immediately offered to take me. We became friends on that drive and she’d been the most important member of my family ever since.

  “Who are you chatting with these days?” Pen asked, pulling me back into the present.

  “Um…no one. I’m taking a break.”

  She looked over at me for a heartbeat and then turned her eyes back to the road. “What are you thinking about?”

  “When you took me home for my parents’ funeral.”

  Pen nodded, her face grim at the shared memory. I hadn’t been the best driving companion for the first hour or so that day, but she’d gotten me to open up and even to laugh once or twice. “Despite the reason, the drive back was fun.”

  “Car concert and Tim Hortons Timbits.” I laughed, thinking of how many donut holes we’d packed away and how happy I’d been to have a new friend to make me smile in my darkest days. “No one makes a donut like Tim. Wish they had ‘em in Virginia.”

  “I don’t know,” Pen said, grabbing a powdered donut from the box and chomping down. She spoke through a mouthful of pastry and raspberry jam. “Dunkin’ isn’t awful.”

  A shower of powdered sugar landed on her chest, dusting the Indigo Girls’ screen-printed faces. She swiped at it, spreading the sugar rather than cleaning it off.

  “Nice look. I didn’t think Amy’s face could get any whiter.”

  “I’d take it off, but you couldn’t handle how amazing my rack is.”

  I balled up a napkin and tossed it at her face, but she snatched it out of midair and used it to clean up her mess. “And what do you mean you’re taking a break?”

  Crap. I was really hoping she’d missed that part. “I don’t know. I…needed some time.”

  She squinted over at me as she checked for oncoming traffic before turning onto Route 29. “Some time for what? Haven’t you had enough single time? I thought that’s what this whole thing was about.”

  “It was about finding someone and I’m not having much luck.” I didn’t tell her I’d tried to delete my profile but opted to suspend it for a month instead. “I need some time to let my dignity grow back.”

  “None of those bad dates were your fault. Your dignity is intact.”

  “Sure doesn’t feel that way.”

  Pen reached over and squeezed my knee, leaving her hand there after releasing the pressure. I’d had enough practice holding back my embarrassment and my tears by now, but that little sign of solidarity nearly cracked my resolve. Even better than the comforting weight of her han
d was her refusal to push. She didn’t say a word, just showed with her touch that she cared.

  The market was always a big draw and, despite our early arrival, there was a sizable crowd milling around the fairground gates. Lucketts Spring Market was one of the largest congregations of antique dealers on the East Coast. This year they boasted over two hundred vendors, all lined up under tents between food trucks, beer gardens, and stages for live music. We’d been loyal attendees for years, always springing the extra cash for VIP tickets so we could arrive early and come back again on Sunday if we ran out of room in the truck. The first time we came was to furnish Pen’s new place, bought with the proceeds of a particularly fine home sale. Every time after that had been self-indulgence and if there was one thing Pen and I could bond over, besides donuts and hot women, it was self-indulgence.

  Pen was a remarkable shopper. Like so many butch women, she hated shopping for clothes and jewelry—the things I loved buying. But she was unashamedly obsessed with furniture, and she would prowl antique stores all day. A casually classy chair or a table she could fix up in her spare time would make her giddy. Lucky for her, Lucketts was the best place in Northern Virginia for casual classy.

  We approached the day like it was a job. First, we got the lay of the land, scoping out our favorite sellers and noting those who’d done us wrong in the past. Shopping for antiques was a lot like fishing at the local bar. It was tempting to let the flashy one catch your eye, so one needed a wing-woman to remind one of past heartaches. The one that nearly roped me in again was a potter from Richmond. She had this way of describing her work as though you had to have it. There was also a fair amount of magic in her smoky eye and skinny jeans. Pen pulled me away just in time.

  I was browsing another ceramicist’s table, this one an obviously queer lady who was enticing me with a beautifully glazed sake set, when I realized Pen had left my side. That wasn’t entirely unusual. She was an active woman and would wander away if I took too long oohing and ahhing. Normally she’d hover nearby, however, in case she needed to save me from myself. This time I had to step out into the crowd to look for her.