If the Shoe Fits

by E. J. Noyes

  Quietly I asked, “So, would it be safe for me to assume that you don’t get along with your mom then?”

  “No, I don’t. At all.” Brooke pushed her wineglass a few inches away, then apparently reconsidering, picked it up and drank a long mouthful. “My mother is…in the Hamptons at the moment I think. I haven’t seen her for, shit, almost twelve years? She sends me a card and money every birthday and Christmas like a good absent parent, complete with a passive-aggressive message about how she loves me but doesn’t condone my lifestyle.” Brooke smiled sweetly. “So I spend the money on things to make art involving naked women which I know would piss her off.”

  A server balancing multiple plates interjected before I could respond. Brooke nabbed a cheese stick, dunked it in the dipping sauce and bit off a mouthful. “Ah, shit that’s hot.” She set it down and swallowed a gulp of wine.

  I scooped up a perfectly balanced portion of nachos, dangled it over my mouth for a second and ate the whole thing in one mouthful.

  Brooke blinked a few times. “Wow, mad nacho skills. I always end up wearing half of them on my uh—never mind.”

  I poked her arm. “Breasts? It’s okay, I’m definitely not offended by that word. I even have two of them myself.”

  “Mmm, uh, yes. You do.” She took a small portion of nachos. “What other skills do you have that I should know about?”

  “I have many, and most of them are utterly useless. Like, I know all the words to pretty much every Madonna song. I can dance MC Hammer’s U Can’t Touch This better than he did. I can do backflips off a horse, and for a while Sabine and I were even dabbling in putting together a horseback circus act.”

  “And how did that work out?”

  “Not very well…” I moved closer, pointing to the scar just under my lower lip where my teeth had gone right through when I’d fallen and landed on my face. “We tried a western gunslinger type double hang off each side. The horse didn’t like it.”

  “Ouch.” Brooke leaned in, forehead furrowed as she studied my mouth. Her eyes flicked up to mine and for a moment I saw an unexpected flash of heat in them before she cleared her throat. “So, the MC Hammer dance.”

  The look in her eyes had caused an answering surge of heat to run slowly down my spine, like warm massage oil trickling along my skin. My answer came out hoarsely. “Mhmm, like a pro.”

  “I’d like to see that some time.”

  I flailed for safe ground. “Well if you can find someone who has the song on their phone then you might get lucky.”

  “You know that guarantees I’m going to download it myself.”

  I caught her eye, and the only thing I could say to that was, “Shit.”

  Brooke snorted out a laugh. “Don’t worry, you’re safe for now. But I’d like to see your moves sometime.” She paused, eyebrows drawing together. “Sounds like you and Sabine are really close.”

  “We are. My whole family is really, but Sabs and I have always been joined at the hip. Same wavelength, same weird sense of humor.” I smiled, suddenly feeling shy about admitting, “I know it’s lame but my sister has always been my best friend.”

  “It’s not lame at all, it’s sweet. Does she go away on deployments and stuff for her job?”

  “She did. But she’s stationed here until she finishes her contract in just over a year so no more deployments thankfully.”

  The brush of Brooke’s fingers against the back of my hand was brief, but still comforting. “That must have been really hard for you guys.”

  “It was. Every time she went was like torture.” I debated whether or not to mention The Incident but decided against it. “Anyway, it’s all over now unless the Reserves call her back once she’s finished with the Army, but apparently that’s a one in a zillion chance. I hope they don’t, I mean danger and missing her aside, I hate thinking of her being away from her fiancée. Or wife by then.”

  “True. That must really suck.” She fidgeted with the small bowl of ranch. “Um, so I didn’t push in on a potential date or anything tonight, did I?”

  Glass halfway to my mouth, I assured her, “Not at all. I think the dating thing is slipping back into a downward cycle. I feel like it’s been dud after dud these past six months or so.” Tongue loosened by wine I added, “I haven’t had sex in so long I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like.”

  Brooke raised a cheese stick as if in salute. “I’m with you there. It’s been…” Her nose wrinkled adorably. “Actually, I don’t want to think about how long it’s been. I’m considering applying to have my virginity reinstated.”

  “Then there’s not some girlfriend waiting for you at home who’s going to come after me for keeping you out late?”

  “Not at all. Happily single.” She snorted, covered her mouth. “Well, not happily, more like resigned.”

  My brain raced ahead, mercifully leaving my mouth behind before I could counter with a teasing I’d date you or similar as I would say, and actually had jokingly said, to other friends in the same situation. The fact she was a woman wasn’t what stilled my tongue. It was that having quickly run a mental marathon through that very scenario—dating her—I realized though while it was teasing, it also wasn’t entirely teasing. The unbidden thought both terrified, alarmed and excited me.

  I carefully pushed my hair back, ignored the frantic racing of my heart and said as brightly as I could, “Happens to the best of us. Including me, obviously.” I reached for a cheese stick.

  “Careful, they’re hot,” she cautioned and seemed pleased when I broke my morsel open and set it on a napkin to cool. “So where’s the issue? Seriously, and I know this is so crass, but a woman like you being single just seems wrong.”

  “Likewise.” I raised my glass and when she clinked it, said cheerfully, “To the shouldn’t be singles!” Once I’d swallowed a mouthful of wine, I admitted, “I’m picky. Or, to hear my sister describe me, really fucking picky, like the pickiest person on the planet.”

  “Define picky.”

  I stared at the cheese stick, which was surely cool enough after twenty seconds, then dunked both halves in ranch and stuffed them in my mouth. “For starters, I have this thing I call the six-inch rule.”

  Brooke set her glass down, spluttering her wine in laughter. “Six inches? So…that’s your minimum?”

  Well aware of the innuendo, because it’d been a running joke with pretty much everyone since I’d inadvertently said it a decade earlier without thinking about the actual words, I just nodded cheerfully and confirmed, “Yep, has to be six inches taller than me.”

  She reached for a napkin and carefully wiped her mouth. After clearing her throat, her voice was clearer when she asked, “So what, five-eleven or more?”

  “Mhmm, thereabouts.”

  Still laughing, she said, “You really are something else, Jana Fleischer.”

  Graciously, I inclined my head. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  “You should. It was.”

  I recognized the subtle undertone of flirting and wondered if she was even aware she was doing it again. Ego aside, she wasn’t the first woman to flirt with me. Some of Sabine’s friends did it and it’d become an enjoyable game between us. I didn’t mind and the way Brooke did it wasn’t aggressive or predatory. It was interesting, flattering, and I found myself unconsciously moving forward to meet her, then catching myself.

  Wine, you are so fucking sneaky.

  After carefully selecting a clump of nachos, Brooke stared at it as though looking for the meaning of life before eating it with a contented sigh. She wiped her fingers on the napkin. “What’s wrong with them then? Where’s the roadblock? What do you want from a relationship?”

  Shrugging, I admitted, “Just little things wrong mostly, but they’re still big enough that I can’t get past them.” I didn’t want to dredge up my long list of why I didn’t want to pursue past relationships, and thankfully she didn’t push.

  “And…what do you want?” she prompted me agai
n.

  It felt silly to say it, but at the same time I had the strangest feeling of wanting her to know some of my inner thoughts. I stalled by eating a laden corn chip and swallowing a mouthful of wine. “I guess I want what my parents and sister have. Love, understanding, respect. I want someone I can laugh with every day, but also someone who gets that sometimes work sucks and I’ll be stressed and short with them but it’s not personal and I’m sorry. Someone who’ll be with me through the bad shit, and who’ll let me help them when they’re going through bad shit. Someone who knows what I need without me having to constantly spell it out. I want connection.”

  Brooke nodded thoughtfully, not saying anything and I felt compelled to keep running through my wants. “You know, Bec, my almost sister-in-law, fishes Sabine’s tees from the dirty laundry and sleeps in them if she’s home alone while Sabs is working. They make each other work lunches all the time. My dad makes my mom tea every morning and delivers it to her, and she leaves little love notes for him around the house. It’s all stupidly cute.” I had the sudden sensation that I might cry, and I blinked back the feeling. “They’ve all found ways to enhance what they have, and compromise on other things for harmony, but never seem resentful. I want someone who gets that family is the most important thing to me, mine and the one we’d create together. I need good communication because I spend so much of my life trying to fix things that would be so much simpler if real, honest communication was involved. Oh. And fantastic sex of course. So, I don’t want much really…”

  She smiled at my vast understatement. “Not much at all.”

  “Mmm. But I’ve had so many duds, and I feel like I don’t have whatever it is that lets you have a relationship, the ability to look past those small things I always get stuck on. Like…an ability to compromise would be the best way to describe it.”

  “Really? Is it that, or just that you might not have found the person yet? The one who’s worth compromising for.”

  I took a few moments to think about it and came up with no answer. “I’m not sure, maybe it’s a bit of both?” I smiled and took my first real breath in what felt like five minutes. “Sorry, that was really long and kind of intense. What about you?”

  Brooke straightened on the barstool. “Listening to what you just said, I think I want pretty much the same thing. Or, I know I did want that. I thought I might have it with my ex but that didn’t work, so now I think I’m a bit cautious about it all. I mostly want trust, and someone I can laugh with. I haven’t had many girlfriends, but I’ve never felt like my previous partners really got me, you know? Well there was one during my stint in Paris but that was never going to work.”

  I leaned in. “Tell me more about your time in Paris. How long were you there?”

  “Three years, and there’s not much to tell really. I studied and made art, slept with a bunch of very lovely liberated French women, engaged in a consuming love affair with eighties British punk music, styled my hair into a Mohawk every morning and went around with way too much eyeliner and black lipstick.” She smiled into her wine, voice dropping to a murmur. “Best few years of my life.”

  “Mohawk? No way. That’s fucking incredible. How big?”

  Brooke glanced up and raised a hand with forefinger and thumb a few inches apart. “Not shaved but I did have peroxide tips. It was incredible, but it also made me look like a teacup.” She grinned and put a finger behind each ear, pushing them forward.

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Nooo.”

  “Oh yes. Totally. I had to let it grow out before coming back to the States.” The grin faded to more of a tight-lipped smile. “I finished my art studies, and then my architectural degree, and started working for my dad.” She seemed to shake off a thought, collect herself again as though putting on a mask.

  It was a mask I wanted to carefully peel away and show her she could trust me to say whatever she needed to. But I couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound inane, or pushy. So I offered up the only thing I could think of. “Another round?”

  Chapter Ten

  We left the bar just after eleven fifteen and made our way down the street away from the crowds of people smoking, talking and hooking up outside. I was on the drunker side of tipsy, wonderfully so, and more than a little pleased at the easiness of the entire evening. I’d been right about Brooke being a comfortable sort of person to spend time with. Yet as pleased as I was, my pleasure was being smothered by an old worry—the one exacerbated by years of annoyed friends and withered friendships—that I was a bad friend because I couldn’t prioritize friendships over other things in my life.

  I grabbed her hand, tugging her to a stop and pulling her away from the curb. “Brooke, listen. I don’t…have many friends, close friends that is.”

  She frowned. “Okay? That’s hard for me to believe for someone like you.” After a beat she hurried to add, “Someone extroverted and uh, vivacious.”

  “No, it’s true. I find it hard to fit friendships in around work and trying to go on dates. And most people get upset with me when I have to cancel something because I’m stressed as fuck about a court appearance or a difficult case, or a last minute something that I need to do for a client.” I shrugged and let go of her hand, regretting the action immediately when the loss of comfort registered. “So I’ve kind of let most of my friends fall away over the past decade or so. Like I said, my sister and her fiancée are basically my friend circle. Or friend duo. The rest are just acquaintances really.”

  Brooke’s smile was cautious. “Oh. Well I don’t have any friendship expectations, Jana, if that’s what you’re getting at. And even though I enjoy our morning coffee and chats, I’m not so clingy that I need to socialize with someone every day. I’m a quality over quantity kind of gal, so don’t even worry about it.”

  “Great, I’m glad. And sorry to throw that at you out of the blue. I like spending time with you, I really do. I’m just worried if I suddenly bail on something you might think I don’t want to spend time with you, when the reality is probably just something boring, like work.”

  “No worries at all, I’m glad you clarified. Come on, let’s get you to this pick-up place.” She laughed, shaking her head. “The place where the car is going to collect you I mean.”

  I doubted the innuendo was intentional, but my brain still screamed at me to react in kind. If it was someone else as charming, fun and funny as Brooke, I probably would have. But judging by my reactions during the evening, it was dangerous to play along with her flirting. “What about you? Did you call for a ride?”

  “I’m taking the bus.” She pointed down the street. “Stop’s right there.”

  “The bus? Why not a cab?”

  “Because I like the bus.”

  For me, who loathed public transport and would rather spend an hour driving in traffic every day than deal with strangers touching me, being loud in my space, coughing and sneezing over me, the concept was foreign. It took me a moment to form thoughts and even then all I could say was an incredulous, “Seriously?”

  “Mhmm. I can’t stand D.C. traffic so I rarely drive in, and being on the bus gives me almost an hour of quality reading time every day.”

  “You could read in a cab,” I pointed out.

  “I could, if the driver is one of those lovely silent ones, which so few of them are, and unlike on the bus, it’s kind of rude to have headphones in to block out the cab driver. Plus, by the time the bus winds around and makes its stops, I get ten more minutes than I would driving even with shit traffic. You really can’t beat public transport. Bus, train, plane even. All of them give so much wonderful free time.”

  What a novel concept, reading instead of working during transit time. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything on a flight except work, or sleep. Do you live far from the bus stop?”

  “Nope, a three-minute walk, well-lit.” She reached for my hand, squeezed it. “It’s fine, I’ve done it thousands of times.”

  My fingers clos
ed automatically in response, trapping her hand in mine. “Can you text me when you get home? Or else I’m going to worry about you.”

  Nodding, she agreed, “Sure.” Then she carefully extricated her hand and motioned toward the street where a car had just pulled up. “I think this is you.”

  I checked the license plate against my phone app and made sure I had my purse and assorted crap. “Thanks for tonight. It’s been a while since I had such an enjoyable night out. I think you may have just saved me from cracking up over my shitty week.”

  “It was my pleasure, and likewise. I’m always glad to save your sanity if ever needed.”

  “I’ll remember that.” My automatic next step was to reach out for a hug, but I stopped myself at the last moment, unsure if we were yet in that hugging when parting territory. So I settled for a smile and a bicep squeeze, tried not to be envious of her understated muscle tone, and murmured another, “Thanks.” I climbed into the backseat and waved until I was around the corner and out of sight.

  During the ride home, I restrained myself from checking emails—such things were never a good idea after alcohol, and also had to stop myself from texting Brooke to check if she was home yet. Chill out, Jana. She said she did this walk all the time and the trip was almost half an hour long. Still, I found myself unable to shake the antsy unease and checking my phone every few minutes between staring out the window at scenery that blurred by, and not entirely due to the speed of the driver.

  I’d just finished drying off after a shower when her message landed. Home safe. Even got a whole chapter read. Thanks again, I had a really great night.

  A whole chapter, you speed reader! Glad to hear it and so did I x

  I wasn’t prone to spouting platitudes like I had a great time or thanks for a lovely evening, but as I stared at my words I knew I really did mean it. I had had a great time with Brooke and it’d been effortless. I’d never found talking to strangers or acquaintances problematic but small talk often required effort to keep a conversation moving. With her, I felt comfortable and had from our first meeting after the shoe incident. Our conversation was natural and unforced, even with slightly awkward topics. She was just easy to be around.