If the Shoe Fits

by E. J. Noyes

  As planned, we detoured to her place. As she walked to her bathroom, stripping off yesterday’s clothes, she called over her shoulder that in case I had any reciprocal ideas, she actually did have a lunch meeting. Damn. Though, judging by the usual bare status of her fridge it would have been a struggle to cobble together lunch for her.

  Brooke took twenty minutes and appeared just as I was finishing up an email. “Okay, let’s go take the law and architecture worlds by storm.” She wore one of her usual pencil skirts, paired with a low-cut blouse that exposed a lovely yet tasteful amount of cleavage. I stared. I enjoyed. Previously, another woman’s cleavage had done nothing more than make me envious. Tracing the exposed swell of Brooke’s breasts with my eyes, I felt an unexpected and exciting thrill of pleasure.

  “What?” Brooke glanced down at herself, fingers twitching at the neckline of her blouse.

  “I think I just discovered I like boobs. Specifically, yours.”

  She grinned. “I’m very glad.” She collected her handbag and folio briefcase from their table near the door. “Come on, we’re going to be late if you don’t stop staring at my cleavage.”

  “I wouldn’t mind…”

  Traffic was its usual morning horror, and after some idiot in a Mazda slammed his brakes on then surged forward for the third time, I lost my temper. “You fucking idiot!” I laid into my horn, and for good measure, gave him the finger before zipping around him and zooming off.

  Brooke shifted in the passenger seat, still gripping the handle above her head. “So uh, it’s going to be a road rage day huh?”

  “Hmm?” I glanced at her. “Oh no, that’s not road rage. Just statement of fact.”

  “A statement. Uh-huh. It kind of seemed like the prelude to an accident.”

  “Nope,” I said cheerfully. “Remember? I’ve never had an accident or even an incident.”

  “I see. But…how many accidents or incidents have you caused driving like this?”

  The lift of her mouth gave her teasing away and I swatted at her legs. Then I carefully eased back, bringing the Mercedes to just above the speed limit. “Impudent wretch!”

  “Oh, those are big words for such an early hour.” Brooke turned her phone over, glanced at the screen then turned it facedown again. “What did you want to do tonight? I was thinking I might cook? Or we could order in.”

  “Either or sounds great.” I rolled to a stop at a set of traffic lights. “Brooke?”

  “Mhmm?”

  The light changed, and I planted my foot down, waiting until I’d overtaken everyone else before I said, “You can read your book if you want to. You don’t need to make car small talk.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to be rude, but…it’s kind of my pre-work relaxation thing.”

  “Absolutely.” Without taking my eyes off the road, I reached over and rested my hand on her thigh. The idea of her sitting beside me going about her normal transit routine made my chest tighten. “Reading during your commute is your thing, and I’d kind of like it to be our thing. I’d like for us to evolve into more weeknight sleepovers at both our houses and more driving in to work together, and I’d like you to be comfortable and relaxed.”

  Brooke thumbed the phone screen. “Well you’re a lot hotter than the bus drivers of D.C., that’s for sure.” She gasped, and again grabbed for the handle above her head with her free hand as I zipped around a tediously slow Prius. “But, if you want me to relax, Ms. Daytona, then maybe we need to talk about speed limit rules…”

  Alone in the elevator up from the parking garage, she kissed me quickly before the car came to a stop in the lobby to collect passengers. As the doors slid open, Brooke dropped her hand from my back. Then she took a step sideways. She stepped away from me. I barely had time to register the movement before, along with a few other people, Brooke’s father slid into the elevator, taking up a position beside her. “You’re in later than usual,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Mhmm. I didn’t see your car in the garage?”

  His expression flickered to confusion for a moment before he regained his neutral composure. “It’s being detailed.”

  “Oh.” She gestured with her folio. “Dad, you remember Jana Fleischer?”

  “Of course. How’s all that caviar, Ms. Fleischer?”

  Still stuck on Brooke’s initial response to her father’s arrival, I scrambled for a response. “Wonderful, as is my new Aston Martin.”

  Richard Donnelly chuckled, the sound echoing in the enclosed space. Tension permeating from Brooke was like heat waves, and I almost touched her before I recalled her reaction less than thirty seconds earlier. Brooke’s dad exited the elevator first, with a wave and a vague nice to see you again aimed at me, which I returned. Brooke was slower but made no move to say anything or touch me. I made no move toward her either, but broke the taut silence with, “See you downstairs for coffee? Ten minutes?”

  Brooke’s expression was one of complete and utter misery. “Mhmm.” Then she was gone.

  * * *

  We didn’t talk about the elevator incident during coffee. Or during our two other sneaky café meetups during the day. Or our drive home. Because she didn’t bring it up, I’d decided that I wouldn’t either—I already knew her dad was a sore topic and niggling her about it wasn’t going to help. But that didn’t mean I was particularly pleased about it.

  Because of our unexpected sleepover and changed morning routine we decided to take a walk around Brooke’s quiet neighborhood before dinner, which had the added bonus of Brooke in a tight tank and short shorts. I raised my face, watching the early evening sky darken. “Do I do anything that you really hate?”

  “Now that is a question with no right answer, Jana. Have I done something specific to make you think about this?” Her question was quiet, almost cautious.

  “Not really, no. Which, for Ms. Picky Me is a miracle. That’s why I thought about it just now because I’ve always avoided any sort of outdoor workouts with other…uh, people because they never want to do the same things as me and they huff and snort and grunt. And not the good kinds of those sounds. Plus, no air-conditioning. But I like this. I like this with you.”

  “I like it too.”

  “Good. Now what about my question about stuff that I do to annoy you?”

  She made a sound that was breath and harrumph in one, almost like a horse snorting. “Well, uh…it’s not annoying really but the way you crunch ice cubes makes the back of my neck feel awful. Flicking through songs after listening to half of them drives me insane. You organize your herbs and spices weirdly.”

  “Weirdly how?”

  “By name, not the ones you use the most.”

  Valid annoyances. “Hmm, fair enough.”

  “Also, your driving scares the living shit out of me.”

  That one tripped me up. “Really? Scares you?”

  She nodded, absolutely serious. “Yes, and not just when I’m in the car. I’m utterly terrified you’re going to lose control of that thing and have a serious crash. Or cut in front of someone and get clipped and crash. Or pick the wrong person to have a bout of road rage at.”

  “Oh.” Over the years, Sabs and Bec and even my parents had all commented similarly about my driving, which I usually brushed off. “I’m just…impatient.”

  “I know.”

  “I hate bad drivers.”

  “Yep, I know that too.”

  “D.C. traffic sucks.”

  “Yeah, it does. But there’s no D.C. traffic in my quiet suburban street,” she reasoned.

  I let out a long breath. “I guess I could try being a little less Daytona and a little more mom with kids in the car?”

  Her shoulders dropped. “That would make me feel a whole lot better. Thank you.”

  I mentally catalogued the things I could try not to do around her—ice crunching and song skipping, as well as the driving thing. Strangely enough none of what she’d said brought up any annoyance, or any real feelings asi
de from a desire to make her happy.

  Brooke’s quiet question broke me from my thoughts. “Did you mean what you said this morning?”

  “Mean what?”

  “That you could fall in love with me.”

  At the time, it was meant as nothing more than an offhand teasing kind of comment. But when I took a moment to actually think about it, I realized it went deeper than that. I didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I meant it. Not like right now because, you know, so soon. But I kind of think I could, yes.”

  “Really? Jana Fleischer, self-confessed champion of casual believes in love?” she teased, but it seemed more like a deflection.

  Trying not to frown, I answered, “Well, yes. With the right person, sure.”

  “I see. So based on previous statements, you think I might be the right person?” The question was almost too casual.

  “It’s possible.” I tugged her hand to make her look at me. “Hey, is this too much? I just, you know…honesty.”

  She paused a few moments. “No it’s not that. I’m uh…look, ignore me. I’m overthinking everything as usual,” she added quickly. The tone was easy to recognize. Anxiety.

  “Are things moving too fast?” I asked quietly, peering over at her.

  Brooke’s forehead was furrowed, teeth worrying at her lower lip. “No, not too fast. It’s not so much the speed, Jana. It’s the possible destination that I keep thinking about.”

  “Ah. The ‘possibility of you and I in a monogamous committed relationship instead of this casual relationship’ destination?”

  “That’s the one. The one that hasn’t gone so great for me in the past…”

  “Ah, of course. Well, if one of us gets there first then there’s no rule saying we can’t wait for the other one to catch up? Or if we decide we want to take another route, or detours then there’s nothing saying we can’t do that either.” I could barely believe I was even having this conversation about commitment. Or more to the point, that despite the fact Brooke was being cautious, I was still totally on board. Talk about a role reversal.

  She let out a breath, as though forcibly trying to relax. “Right. Exactly. I mean, I’m sure we’re on the same road. I think I’m just…driving slower than you are.”

  “Nice analogy.” Without breaking stride, I leaned over and pecked her quickly on the cheek, relieved when she dipped her head to receive my kiss.

  We walked quietly for a few minutes more, my mind turning over and over. Given her dating history, everything she’d just said made perfect sense. If I had to wait for her, then I had to wait.

  We crossed the road, and she guided me to one side to give an approaching guy in casual business wear room to pass by. He smiled at us and I smiled back at him, thinking that he was cute, and the moment I thought it, an unexpected wash of panic made my hands suddenly clammy. Tightening my grip around Brooke’s waist, I pulled her closer. The guy’s smile didn’t waver, he just nodded at both of us as he passed and that was that.

  Unconsciously, I slid my hand down to Brooke’s ass and she made a little purr. “What’s this about?”

  “Nothing, just uh. Nothing.” Goddammit, now I was blushing.

  Brooke stared at me for a few seconds before she turned to stare at the guy. “Do you know him?”

  “Nope. Not at all.” My response was a touch on the squeaky side.

  She stopped and pulled us off the sidewalk. Her expression was knowing, tender. “Jana, sweetheart, I don’t care if you check other people out, even if it’s a guy. I don’t hate guys, I have male friends I adore and I find plenty of men pleasing to look at. I just don’t want anything to do with them romantically.”

  “No, it’s not that, I just thought—”

  “About kissing him?” she finished teasingly.

  “No!”

  “Would you have before?”

  “Maybe, probably. But the only person I want to kiss now is you.”

  “I see. So what’s the problem?”

  “I just thought he was cute-ish and…” I lowered my voice. “I wondered about his butt.”

  She grinned, yanking me toward her and burying her face in my neck. She lingered, kissing my skin softly before pulling back, but she didn’t let me go. “Hmm, but you didn’t look at his butt. You actually grabbed mine. And less than two minutes before that you told me that you could maybe fall in love with me.”

  I blew out a long breath. “Yeah. I guess I’m just confused. Like shouldn’t I only be checking you out?”

  “I don’t think there’s an off switch, like you’ve swapped your train to another track and that’s that.” Brooke held me close, kissed my neck, my earlobe. “There’s nothing wrong with looking or thinking or wondering. So long as when you’re with me, I’m the one you’re thinking about that way.”

  “Believe me, you are. And when I’m not with you.” I pulled her to a stop at the corner under the warm glow of the streetlights. “Come here.” When she shuffled closer I kissed her, just a quick soft brush of lips but the familiar electricity still coursed down my spine. Layered on top of that was my excitement that Brooke had accepted another public display of affection. Maybe she’d tell her dad about me soon too. Baby steps.

  Actually, screw it, let’s try some adult steps. “I was thinking maybe we could invite your dad around to my place for dinner sometime?”

  Her posture changed instantly, like someone had flipped her switch to Tension. It was basically the same stance she’d had that morning when her dad got into the elevator. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said flatly

  “Why not? I’d like to get to know him better, and maybe he’d like to know me better too?” Or at least know who I am aside from The Attorney Who Works Upstairs.

  Her eyes closed for the briefest flicker. There was no anger, no malice or disdain. She just looked sad. “No.”

  “But, maybe if we explained and he spent some time and—”

  She cut me off. “Jana, look. I understand what you’re saying, and I would love nothing more than to waltz into my father’s office holding your hand and say ‘Hi, Dad, this is my girlfriend!’. But it’s not going to happen, and that’s really shitty for many reasons, the least of which is that I want him to know you because you are a fucking amazing human. But he won’t be able to get past that one concept. Girlfriend, as in his daughter is still gay.”

  “Brooke—”

  “Please, just…let it go. Just, I, look I need you to let me have this one awful thing, Jana, please. Please let it go, because I have no idea how to change it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sabine was messing around with her vows, while I mentally tried to unpack my fledgling relationship and the weird discomfort that I hadn’t been able to shake. A café was not the best place for either of those things, even during a quiet post-work lull.

  I picked at my muffin and watched my sister’s face, contorted with her oh shit, fuck, help expression. Clearly, despite all her earlier bravado about letting things happen as they happened and trusting us, and her temporarily increased medication, her anxiety was slowly creeping up. I could either let her be overwhelmed and leave Bec to deal with it later on her own, or I could try to stop it in its tracks. Reassurance and/or distraction were my tried-and-true methods.

  “Do you think Brooke is why I’ve never been able to find the right guy? Because this whole time, the right person for me has actually been a gal?”

  “Maybe,” Sabine said distractedly, crossing out a few words.

  “I spilled ink on my dress and it’s fucked.”

  Frowning she replaced love with LOVE. Wow, that’s a big and worthwhile edit, Sabs. “Mhmm, your dress is wonderful.”

  “Sabine?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Listen to me, like really listen.”

  “I am listening,” she protested.

  “No you’re not.” I took the notepad from her but left it open and within her reach. “Sabbie, you’re just editing the shit out of the vows
you’ve already perfected to hell. Remember how we went over them on the phone every day this week?”

  She nodded.

  “Remember how they made me cry?”

  “Yeah,” she said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be, it means they were amazing. But there’s such a thing as ruining a good thing. Trust what you’ve written.”

  She exhaled a long breath. “You’re right. Sorry. So, what’s new?”

  “Nothing much, just questioning my new relationship.”

  She must have picked up on the desperation, because she set the pen down and turned her full, laser-like focus on me. “What’s going on, Jannie? Why do you look like you’re going into a test you haven’t studied for?” Sabs asked cautiously.

  Here goes. The kicker. “I know it sounds really weird but I think I might be in a relationship with a homophobic, commitment-phobic lesbian.”

  “Okay, back up. You’re going to have to explain this one to me. Maybe start with the homophobic part.”

  “It’s like she genuinely loves women and being a lesbian. But because of her family, I think she also doesn’t like it?”

  Sabs shrugged. “I get that and unfortunately, I don’t think it’s unusual. We’re lucky, Jannie, seriously lucky to have the family we do. Even with years of the Army ramming being gay is wrong down my throat, I still never felt like I was doing the wrong thing by living my life, because I always had such a super supportive family. But there’s still the undercurrent, and if you don’t have support, it eats at you.”

  “What undercurrent?”

  “The people who look at you when you’re holding hands with your girlfriend. The ones who make disgusted sounds if you kiss your partner in public. Hate speech from people in the public eye or strangers on the ’net. All that shit permeates your soul even if you don’t realize it. And Brooke, me and Bec, Mitch and Mike? We’ve had a lifetime of it, of being chipped away at and everything it does to wear you down and make you question yourself.”

  “Oh.”

  Her eyes went soft. “I’m not saying this to make you feel bad or excluded, Jannie but you’ve popped up in the middle of it without any of that shit behind you. You don’t have that inbuilt defensiveness yet. You need to be kind to her, that’s all I’m saying. As well as everything else we deal with, she doesn’t have a family like ours to support her.” Sabs grinned. “But she can.”