Sex & Sours

by Dani McLean

  “I live in the real world. But sometimes the rules are illogical, prejudiced, and damaging, and I’m not going to be quiet about it.”

  “Yes, we all know that, ok! You’re not some fucking enlightened being far beyond the rest of us. We get that the rules are unreasonable, but sometimes we need to actually follow them unless we want to hurt ourselves or other people.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

  “But you’re not putting me first either. Why can’t you just let people be assholes without commenting on it? Or pretend every once in a while?”

  “Because then they win. They get to have the world be exactly how they want it, knowing that we’ll just slink into the shadows to please them. I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not going to wake up tomorrow as someone else. You either like me like this, or you don’t.”

  “That’s it? I have to accept you one hundred percent or not at all? You know how conceited that sounds?”

  My breath came hot and heavy through my nose as I tried to calm myself. My pulse beat fast in my throat, our arguing echoing in the otherwise quiet room. “I’m not asking for blind acceptance, but, Hannah, come on.” I wanted to take a step forward, close the gap between us, but I didn’t trust my legs to hold me. “Ever since we started seeing each other, it’s been something. I should work less, I should get a desk job, I should have my future planned out, I should lie about my sexuality. I can’t commit to someone who constantly wants to change me.”

  Her disgusted laugh stung. “How could you commit to one person when you can’t even commit to a sexuality?”

  “That’s enough.” My voice boomed throughout my apartment. I stood, my blood boiling. If I didn’t move, I would scream.

  The air was rife with tension, and I couldn’t tell what Hannah was thinking, but I knew that I couldn’t look at her. That bubbly, insightful woman I’d been interested in when we first met had been replaced by the callous, ignorant person before me.

  I tried to keep my voice even. I mostly failed. “Look, I’m not perfect,” I said. Hannah’s eye roll lodged itself in my gut, adding to my conviction that we were over. “I never claimed to be, no matter what you think. But I’m not going to change myself just because you think I should. And I might not know much about commitment, but I know I’m not your plaything to script and puppet around.”

  “Tiffany, that’s not fair.”

  Fair, she said. Fair. On her.

  I said nothing. There was nothing left to say. Hannah had made it clear that she couldn’t accept me, and that wasn’t something I could see us working through.

  “Oh, fuck you, Tiffany. You know what? Fine. I’ve had enough of this shit anyway. Go back to sleeping with whoever will take you. Wouldn’t want you to have to choose a side or anything.”

  “Get. Out.” She was already walking away. “Find whatever it is you’ve left here and never contact me again.”

  “Gladly.”

  The door slammed behind her as she left, and I was shellshocked, frozen in the middle of my apartment. The broken glass was laid out on the floor next to the couch, and the food sat untouched. I should start cleaning up, but I didn’t want to spend another minute here.

  My chest was too tight, my stomach clenched in anger. The fucking nerve! I couldn’t believe it.

  I needed to get out. To breathe. To think.

  The tears had started to fall by the time I’d made it to the sidewalk.

  14

  Sam

  On the days the bar was closed, I’d taken to working from home. There was hardly much of a difference, but even that small variance in my surroundings meant I could at least pretend that I was keeping better hours than I was.

  By the early evening, I’d managed to finally finish what I was doing, only to realize that I’d missed August’s numbers completely, and they were sitting in the office at the bar. Five weeks since starting this new life, and I still felt like I hadn’t completely adjusted.

  Considering the bar was closed, I was more than a little surprised to find Tiffany there when I arrived. And even more so to find her sitting on a bar stool, nursing a drink.

  “Do you often make it a habit of drinking my alcohol on your days off?”

  If she was surprised to see me, she didn’t show it. In fact, she didn’t move at all, not even to turn her head to look at me.

  Her posture was all wrong. Slumped where she normally lounged. When I rounded the bar to stand in front of her, she avoided my gaze, but I noticed, with a flash of concern, that her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed.

  I actually felt bad for asking, but I wasn’t sure what else to say. “Bad day?”

  She gave a pained laugh, sounding wrecked. “Yeah.”

  And just like that, I put aside all the arguments we’d had this week and saw the person underneath all that bravado. It felt sacred, as though I was witnessing a side of her not many saw.

  “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “Huh?”

  I cleared my throat. “I mean, I’ve never seen you drink here before. Have I finally driven you to it?”

  That earned a weak smile. One that didn’t make it to her eyes. It felt wrong.

  “Unless you’re celebrating?” I ventured, hoping the ill attempt at humor would conjure something. She was really worrying me.

  “It’s not that kind of drink.”

  Oh.

  I took a step toward my office then turned back. “Can I join you?”

  “Free country.”

  “That’s debatable.” This earned me a smirk. I’d take it. I’d never seen her so deflated. I didn’t like it. “Can I make you something?”

  She looked surprised. “A Sam Cooper special? Sure.” She watched me. “Are you going to try to impress me?”

  Turning back to the bar, I thought about what to make her. Whatever it was that was bothering her went deep. I didn’t know much about her life outside of the bar, but I could at least tell that much.

  Whenever I felt like that, I’d console myself with a glass of whiskey, but if we were going to do that, then …

  I made a decision. I hoped I wouldn’t regret it.

  “Get up.”

  “You’re kicking me out already?”

  “I’m not kicking you out. We’re going upstairs.”

  “Upstairs? There’s no upstairs.”

  I said nothing as I checked the lock on the bar door and then led her towards the fire exit. Next to it was a nondescript door that I knew led to the apartment upstairs. It had sat empty while Harry ran the bar because he already had a house out in Buffalo Grove. But I’d needed somewhere to live when I moved back, and it made the most sense since I would be spending all my time at the bar anyway.

  I heard her quiet little breath of surprise when I unlocked the stairway door. As she followed me upstairs, she said, “I didn’t even realize this was here.”

  Once we were inside, I made quick work of getting us both a drink. When I turned back, she was standing in the middle of the room, taking in the black painted brick walls and polished floorboards. It wasn’t much, not yet, a stack of boxes in the corner making it obvious that I hadn’t quite moved in. I’d gotten as far as unpacking my books, mostly non-fiction or biographies, which were scattered around the apartment, strewn across surfaces and a lone bookcase. A large philodendron cascaded down the bookcase, and there was a bird of paradise sitting by the window.

  It wasn’t yet home, but it felt like mine, and I liked that.

  I waited as Tiffany curiously observed the organized chaos. With a quick glance, I checked for Luna, not surprised that she hadn’t shown herself. She was notoriously suspicious of strangers and still settling in from the cross-country move. Her bowl was empty, though, so I could only imagine that she was curled up under my bed, her second favorite spot to occupy in the apartment.

  Directing Tiffany towards the couch, I purposefully sat in an armchair that faced her but kept me at a respectable distance.

 
From her interactions with the rest of the team, I’d seen that Tiffany was comfortable letting people into her personal space, whether it was through a warm hug hello, the ease with which she splayed herself on any piece of furniture, or the way she never seemed bothered by the confined conditions behind the bar on a busy night.

  But I’d never seen her vulnerable like this. And something told me to be cautious about how I approached it.

  She accepted the drink with a tight nod, still not making eye contact.

  Gently, I asked, “Are you ok?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “What do you care?” She said it so quietly, I felt my resolve cracking. She honestly believed I didn’t care about her?

  “Despite what you think, Tiffany, I care. I would rather not have my employees drinking themselves to an early grave, especially with my inventory.” Another terrible attempt at a joke.

  I expected a retort. Something. Her usual barbed sneer and flippant air. But instead, she remained quiet. Worse than that, she was … deflated. Despondent. I’d never seen her like this before.

  I had no idea how to approach it.

  Talking wasn’t working, but we weren’t close enough for me to offer much else except the drink and the company. Suddenly, I felt guilty that I’d let our … rivalry distract me from getting to know her. It was a failure on my part.

  The apartment was too quiet. Muted sounds of street life could be heard from below, but the lack of anything else was stifling, so I pulled out my phone and used the Bluetooth speaker that sat in the corner to play a mix of smooth blues.

  Acoustic guitar rang out, the first few bars soft and melodic. I let myself relax deeper into the armchair, taking another sip of whiskey and letting the warm amber seep calm into my blood.

  “This is good.” Tiffany’s soft voice was rough with emotion. At first, I thought she was referring to the music, but when I peered over at her, she was appreciating the whiskey in her glass, swirling it again before taking a sip. “Japanese?”

  I give her a gentle smile, even though it didn’t surprise me that she recognized it. “You know your whiskey.”

  “I wouldn’t be a very good bartender if I didn’t.”

  “And I have it on good authority you’re the best in town.” Again I hoped for a smile, but she looked pained instead.

  I felt completely out of my depth.

  “You know that doesn’t mean anything, right?” she said, finally meeting my eye. “Those awards. It’s just their way of showing they can be inclusive. It’s not why I do this.”

  “Why do you?”

  “Because I like it. And I’m good at it. Why do you do it?”

  There were so many answers, many I wasn’t yet comfortable sharing. “I like providing people with something they want. And I’m good at it.”

  Finally, the corner of her lips curled into a smile, and I felt the tightness in my chest shift. Ease.

  “You, a people pleaser,” she said, a hint of her usual humor threading itself through the words. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Normally, my work isn’t cut out for me. You’ve been a difficult one to please,” I dryly joked.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Whatever lightness was there before fell flat, and I couldn’t take seeing her like that for another minute. I needed to know.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I wasn’t entirely sure she was going to answer. Instead, I was half-convinced she was going to put her glass down and walk out without another word. But I hoped she didn’t. I avoided acknowledging why.

  She finished the last of her whiskey in one long gulp, setting the tumbler down on the oak coffee table. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Yes.” It was an answer that felt too telling.

  “My girlfriend and I broke up. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” So, what I’d heard was correct. She’d been in a relationship. I’d been such an asshole.

  “It’s fine. Or it will be. Once I finish wallowing.”

  Even considering my own recent relationship disaster, I hardly felt like an expert, and I couldn’t imagine any advice worthy of giving her. How could I offer anything when I had nothing but romantic failure in my past?

  “Were you together long?”

  “Four months, give or take. Which is nothing as far as most relationships go, but it’s the longest one I’ve had in a while.”

  “Were you in love?” I shouldn’t have asked that. I didn’t know why I was asking, and from the widening of her eyes, it was clear she didn’t know either.

  “No.” A self-deprecating laugh sprung forth. “I know. I look like someone who’s had their heartbroken, but that’s not really the reason I’m taking it badly.”

  “Then, why?”

  Before answering, she picked up her glass and reached over for mine, “Another?” It was a distraction technique, but considering how strained her smiles still were, I didn’t call it out.

  I nodded, watching as she walked over to where the bottle sat, nestled in a curated collection on my bar trolley. There was no hesitation to her actions, moving comfortably among my belongings as if this was something we did often.

  The music changed to something somber, a rich timbre voice and a lone piano.

  She only spoke again once our drinks were in hand and she’d sunk back into the couch. There was a deliberateness to her expression, but she’d tucked her legs underneath her in her usual style, and I took that as a good sign. “I’m beginning to wonder whether I’m better off being single.”

  “I’m sure that’s just the breakup talking.”

  She shook her head. “That’s experience talking.” She sighed heavily and leaned forward, elbows resting on her arms. I realized, belatedly, that there was a tattoo hiding on the inside of her bicep, something typically hidden under the shirt she wore for work. I saw fine lines connected by something I couldn’t quite make out. I wanted, more than anything, to be able to ask.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard by now that I date both men and women.”

  “I don’t make it a habit of digging into my employees' lives.” It was an obvious non-answer.

  “Cut the crap. I know what working at a bar is like. We gossip more than a 10 a.m. talk show.”

  “I may have overheard that piece of information, yes.” I then made an assumption that I hoped I wasn’t wrong about. “I take it your girlfriend had an issue with that?”

  She let out a cold, harsh bark of a laugh. “Among other things. For someone who dated me for four months, she sure didn’t like me much.”

  “That’s bullshit. If that’s true, you’re better off without her.”

  Her lips curled into a smile. Then, her entire expression shifted into confusion. “For someone who hates me, you’re being awfully nice.”

  “I don’t hate you.” I could tell she didn’t believe me, which seemed reasonable based on our interactions to date. Unfortunately, the truth was more dangerous than that. I’d been curious about Tiffany from the moment I’d met her—probably before that—and it had only gotten worse the more I got to know her. Seeing her like this, placid and vulnerable, made me want to know every side of her.

  Clearing my throat, I shoved those thoughts aside. They wouldn’t do either of us any good. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  A pair of guitars danced around a chord progression in the background, building in a playful staccato. My pulse matched the pace as I waited for Tiffany’s answer.

  “She said I hated change. That I think I’m better than everyone else.”

  “Do you?”

  “No,” she said sharply.

  Shit. I was making this worse. “Sorry, that came out completely wrong. I meant,” I paused, wanting to word this the right way. “I know we haven’t seen eye to eye on the bar,” her expression contorted into the strongest physical embodiment of “no, shit” I’d ever seen, and I stifled a smile, “but it is obvious t
o me that your … arguments are always backed up by your experience. Not because you dislike change. I would expect someone who was sleeping with you to know that.”

  Tiffany shifted on the couch, folding her lean legs underneath her in the same way I’d seen her do in my office many times. A muscle in my neck unclenched. But she stayed silent, staring out the window and bringing a hand up to chew on a nail.

  There was a long silence, where I debated whether it was wise to open my mouth again, having done a horrible job of cheering her up so far. In my defense, I hadn’t had much practice. Outside of mediating the occasional work dispute, the last person I consoled was my ex-girlfriend, and I knew none of my usual tricks—sex, dessert, or a holiday—would work here.

  On the other hand, the idea that Tiffany’s girlfriend had had a problem with her sexuality bothered me too much to keep quiet. “Also, I don’t, and forgive me, but I can’t understand how she could possibly have a problem with you being bisexual.”

  This got a reaction. “Really? You don’t think it’s slutty of me to pander to all genders?” Judging by the venom in her words, this was a specific quote. A vile, inconsiderate quote.

  “Absolutely not. I happen to be more attracted to women with,” I stalled, knowing my next words were “blonde hair,” and decided to sidestep that minefield, “certain attributes. That doesn’t mean I’m automatically attracted to everyone with those attributes. I suspect it’s the same for you.”

  She let out a playful snort into her glass. “You know, outside of the fact that you just sounded like an AI learning how words work, that was surprisingly insightful.”

  “Thank you,” I said, returning her teasing with my own. “And just so you know, as a hard-working cyborg who is very proficient with how words work, we really don’t like being referred to as ‘AI’. It’s a misnomer.”