Second Time Around

by Christine L'Amour

  “Though,” Clarice added in a low voice, “we all saw her basically tow you away to a room to scream at you. We’re curious.”

  “I’m the office gossip,” Valerie said with a sigh.

  “You’re the new hire, you were going to be it anyway! You can control the narrative, though, if you tell us what’s going on instead of letting people’s imaginations go wild.”

  Valerie grimaced. She wanted to tell someone very badly, but she did not want to tell anyone in particular, because she was not, in general, an open person, though she had never reached Monica’s level, who probably had an Olympic medal or two in the modality of not telling anyone shit.

  But she also didn’t want people’s imaginations to go wild.

  “We… know each other,” she said.

  Clarice gave her a pointed look.

  “We have history, that’s all,” Valerie said, hunching in her shoulders, and as she predicted Clarice didn’t push. It wasn’t like they knew each other well, even though they had grown to be friends in the short time Valerie had been here.

  She got back to work, even though her heart wasn’t in it, and looked at her screen wishing she could see Monica on it.

  ***

  Monica left for lunch with that friend of hers, Sharon. They were always together, those two, always chatting and giving each other tips and buying each other gossip, and Valerie quietly, guiltily hated it. She stayed at her desk and didn’t leave for lunch when the others did, shaking her head and saying she wasn’t hungry, and people didn’t push her hard.

  When the office was empty, she swiveled around on her chair and looked. She looked straight at Monica’s desk like she always wanted to do and never could. There wasn’t anything special about it, no picture frames or any detail more personal than the cactus-shaped pen beside her keyboard.

  Was Sharon Monica’s girlfriend?

  It wasn’t any of her business, but Valerie couldn’t not think about it. It was so hard not to think about Monica. It had been so long since Valerie had had anyone, any home, any roots—it had been as long as she had last seen Monica.

  “Is there something on my desk?”

  Valerie’s eyes snapped up at the annoyed voice that reached her. It was Monica who was lingering by the front door and clutching her bag to her chest like it would protect her from Valerie.

  “Uh,” Valerie said intelligently. “No, I… it’s nothing.”

  Monica gave her a dirty look and walked into the kitchen without another word. One other person who had stayed behind during lunch as well, eyed her as she went and then Valerie as she followed, not that any of them were paying attention.

  “I thought you had gone out to lunch with Sharon,” Valerie said.

  “I had,” Monica said blandly, filling a cup with water, and didn’t elaborate.

  Valerie sighed dramatically. “And why are you back?”

  “Why does it matter?” Monica shot back. “Why did you follow me here? Why do you keep causing trouble?”

  “I’m not causing trouble,” Valerie argued, offended.

  “You’re the one who said we could be civil, but you keep doing this kind of thing,” Monica hissed, setting her glass down.

  “I’m not doing anything!” Valerie said, even though she knew she was in fact doing something, even if she wasn’t quite sure what it was. “I was just being polite, you’re the one not answering properly, like you never did.”

  “You do not get to bring up the past here,” Monica told her hotly, so angry her face was red with it, and—

  She looked so much like she had, all those years ago. She looked angry and it suited her, it suited her so much more than this quiet, resigned stillness that she had now. Valerie looked at her and she ached with guilt and sorrow and she wanted to touch her, her body didn’t comprehend the fact that she couldn’t, that she shouldn’t, that Monica didn’t belong to her anymore.

  Except she had: her hands were on Monica’s arms and her mouth was pressed against hers.

  She startled as soon as it hit her, what she had done, because Monica wouldn’t be angry, she would be apoplectic with rage. She was going to shout at her and push her away and hate her—

  But she followed when Valerie leaned away, grabbing her back and pressing her against the counter, and kissed her again.

  Her mouth was hot, her breath harsh against Valerie’s skin, her hands like brands. Valerie kissed back with just as much fervor, their lips sliding wetly together, their bodies pressed against each other at every point. Her hands were fists around Monica’s hair and she didn’t even notice them move. Monica moved hers to Valerie’s hips, pressing her thumbs against the sharp jut of her hipbones.

  “You don’t get,” Monica started, but her words were swallowed by Valerie.

  “Sorry,” Valerie whispered, too light, not true enough for everything she thought she should apologize for, everything she didn’t want to apologize for. She had been a child. It had been her right to run away, to save herself. She had been so afraid.

  She had still left Monica behind.

  Monica kissed her deeply, like she thought she would never get this again, holding Valerie too tightly. Valerie was helpless and could do nothing but kiss back.

  They separated after—forever. It felt like forever. Monica leaned away, then stepped away, face lowered to the ground, a hand rising to pinch the bridge of her nose.

  “So, we’re… we,” Valerie tried, feeling a bit woozy, and didn’t know how to finish it.

  “We’re,” Monica started, then paused, still not looking at her. “We’re not. Talking about it. I’m going back to work. Don’t—I don’t want to talk to you.”

  She left, rubbing her hands over her face. Valerie let her body drop against the counter behind her and pressed her hands to her face, too, wishing she had something more solid to hide behind.

  ***

  Valerie laid down on her shitty couch and thought about social media.

  Surely Monica used some kind of social media. Surely Valerie would find something if she looked for it. She wanted, suddenly and terribly, to look and see anything she might have said, any pictures she might have posted in the past fifteen years.

  She touched her lips softly. It had been so long since she had been kissed. It had been so long since she had been so close to anyone.

  Valerie Dawkins did not grow roots.

  Valerie had left home as soon as she had hit 18 and blazed across the country all alone. She had set up shop anywhere they would take her, and had lived in shelters more than once, especially in the beginning. She had been too scared to trust any well-meaning neighbor, any cheerful coworker, any sympathetic voice. Her own parents had hated her. No one else had any reason to think any differently, then.

  She had left without Monica and she had spent hours thinking about why, but not as many as she could have. She saved herself and that was all anyone could put on her back, but she had never kid herself with thinking Monica wouldn’t hate her for it. They had had plans, like all desperate, lonely children. They had had plans, and they had thought they had forever.

  Valerie buried her face in one of her cushions.

  She had come here thinking that maybe she could learn to grow roots, a little bit. She wasn’t so young anymore. She had never meant to run for so long. She had come here and had found Monica.

  It had to mean something.

  Chapter Six

  On a bright Saturday morning, Sharon called Monica demanding brunch and wouldn’t accept no for an answer. Monica left David with the neighbor and went, because she wanted to spend time with her son but she wanted to spend time with her friend, too. She didn’t have any friends outside of work, really.

  They met outside a café, because brunch only really meant “late breakfast” anyway, and ordered about half the menu between them. Sharon was dressed more cheerfully than she usually was at work, wearing yellow and orange and bright necklaces, and it made Monica smile.

  “Girl, they have
this brownie with cream-cheese on the menu that is to die for,” Sharon said, sounding like eating that brownie was the best thing that would happen on her week. “We have to get one. We’ll share it, then we won’t cry so much at how expensive it is.”

  “We should eat what we already ordered before ordering anything else,” Monica said, reasonably.

  “Being a mother has made you a tyrant,” Sharon declared. “We are adults and David isn’t here for us to corrupt. Let’s get the brownie and eat dessert before lunch.”

  Monica looked down at her plate of pancakes. “This doesn’t count as lunch.”

  “Girl.”

  Monica rolled her eyes and took a pointed bite of her pancakes. They chewed in comfortable silence for a few moments, but Monica could tell by the way that Sharon was glancing at her that the woman hadn’t asked her out just to eat pancakes and chit-chat.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Sharon said, hesitant. She was looking intently at her coffee instead of at Monica. “By which I mean that I will, of course. It’s just—I’ve always thought, I wasn’t going to say anything, but now that she’s here…”

  “Sharon, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Monica said frankly, even though it wasn’t hard to guess that by her she meant Valerie.

  Sharon lifted her eyes to hers. “Is Valerie, like, your ex?”

  Monica, who had been taking a sip of her coffee, promptly inhaled half her cup.

  She coughed, looking at Sharon with alarmed eyes, while her friend yelped and started to thump her on the back. Monica braced her hands on the small table and tried to get her breath back.

  “Wh—why would you, where did you hear that?” she asked, breathless and confused and afraid. How did Sharon know? Had Valerie told her? What was Sharon going to do now that she knew? She could get Monica fired. She could ruin her life. It wasn’t like Monica had been with any women in years!

  “I didn’t hear it anywhere, I just guessed,” Sharon said, brightly but guiltily. “I didn’t mean for you to choke on your coffee.”

  “But how,” Monica wheezed.

  “I just had a feeling,” Sharon said helplessly. “You keep staring at her and you were all like I’m going to crush her at the competition even though she’s only technically participating, and I just knew that when you learned she decided to do a painting class too, you would go insane and try to one-up her even more—”

  “Wait,” Monica said, pausing. “She’s also doing painting classes for her project?”

  “See, you’re weird about her,” Sharon said nearly accusingly. “It reminds me of that time I saw my ex-boyfriend at the ten-year high school reunion and for some reason I was filled with a need to outdrink him but also stay more sober, as if it were a damn competition. I guess with you it kind of is. But still!”

  “I’m not weird about her,” Monica said defensively, curling her shoulders in and avoiding Sharon’s eyes.

  Sharon was taking it well, so far, she thought, but she couldn’t trust how long it’d be until Sharon snapped. This wasn’t the most open town in the world, and no one would begrudge Sharon if she did something to Monica.

  “Man, something big must have happened between the two of you,” Sharon said, curious. “Did she cheat on you? I know, I know, you don’t share things, you’re not going to tell me, but still—”

  “She didn’t cheat on me,” Monica snapped, defensive and wounded, before she could clam her own mouth shut.

  Sharon stared at her.

  “Uh,” she said. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Monica said, voice small, covering her face with a hand. “I’m—it’s nothing. It was nothing. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll just—”

  “You look weird,” Sharon said, eyebrows furrowed. “You sound weird. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, Mon. You don’t have to leave.”

  “It’s not that,” Monica said, avoiding her eyes and trying to stand up, but Sharon had caught her wrist and wouldn’t let go.

  “Monica,” Sharon said very seriously, “you know it’s all right with me if you’re not straight, right?”

  Monica abruptly sat down.

  She didn’t know what to say. She stared at Sharon, mouth closed, hands gripping at each other on her lap.

  “Right?” Sharon asked again after a few moments, voice soft.

  Monica swallowed nothing. She swallowed a bunch of nothing and tried not to cry. It’s all right, Sharon said, it’s all right, you know, like it was a given, like Monica hadn’t been starving for words like those for thirty-four years now.

  “I—it’s fine,” Monica managed, then looked down at her pancakes.

  They sat in silence. Sharon seemed to know that Monica wouldn’t be able to handle it if she said anything else, if she reassured more, if she tried, so they sat in silence and Monica tried to drink the rest of her coffee.

  “So, she is your ex?” Sharon asked at last.

  Monica kept her eyes down on her place, but the corners of her mouth threatened to go up. This was why they were friends: they both lacked social decorum, they both knew they never meant any harm.

  “Yeah,” Monica said tiredly. “We were—we were just kids. Teenagers. She broke up with me on the last day of high school and left, never told me why, never told me where she was going, never contacted me again. Poof, like a ghost.”

  Sharon stared. “Girl, I think that’s the most sharing you’ve ever done with me.”

  Monica gave her a dry look. Sharon grinned.

  “You have to tell me everything!”

  “Absolutely not,” Monica said. “You have to talk to me about what Valerie is doing for her project. Are you serious that she’s doing the same thing as me? The nerve. My project is going to be so much better.”

  “You know,” Sharon said, “I like this side of you.”

  ***

  Monica sat in front of her computer, pondered, and tried not to stare at Valerie.

  She needed something new. She needed to make her project better so there was no way anyone could even think it was similar to Valerie’s. It didn’t matter that everyone knew she had been thinking this up for months before Valerie had arrived; she still had to show them.

  Sharon told her that Valerie had wild ideas, not constrained by the fear that she would lose, since it was a given with her: she spoke of finger painting, of throwing paint at the walls, of printing shirts, all her ideas with the same tinge of childlike freedom Monica wished to suffuse her own ideas with. Monica had to think of something new, now. Something beyond sitting children in front of canvases and letting them go wild.

  She remembered, then, that one of the best parts of throwing paint around and screaming in joy in her father’s backyard was all her cousins there along with her and thought: group painting.

  It could lead to fights. Kids could be notoriously bad at playing along with each other. How to minimize the possibility of things going wrong…

  On the other side of the room, Valerie frowned at her computer screen and occasionally lifted a hand to tug at her hair, winding it absent-mindedly around her fingers. Monica had done that, once.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

  Valerie had kissed her. Valerie, with her impulsivity and her hunger for the world, had caught her and kissed her and tasted like she had missed her. Monica didn’t want to think about it, about why Valerie had done it, what it had meant. She didn’t even want to think about Sharon and Sharon’s words the weekend before, about how she had felt receiving a friend’s acceptance so many years too late to save her. She wanted to think about her damn project and about how she was going to tell Jerry that she had figured out a way to make the kids all collaborate on one huge confusing piece and how they were going to be able to use it for every single piece of marketing for the next ten fucking years.

  But Valerie didn’t stop being there and that made it so hard for her to concentrate.


  To make everything worse, she had had to put her phone on silent to better ignore her mother’s calling. Monica wouldn’t be able to escape her for long; she did have to leave her son with her now and then. But she was pretty okay with ignoring her, for now.

  Valerie’s screen went dark as her screensaver was activated. She sighed, letting her head drop for a moment, and when she lifted her eyes and were reflected by her dark screen, Monica thought they caught right on hers.

  Chapter Seven

  Monica was avoiding her, which was to be expected, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.

  Valerie got it, really. She tried to give Monica space, tried to focus on work. She had had a somewhat generic idea that she thought could work out great, and it was kind of like Monica’s idea but simpler, since it wouldn’t need as much materials. Just the kids and paint and afternoons of fun. She tried to expand it, to make sense of it, and was too distracted to do it.

  She wanted to kiss her again.

  She wanted Monica to understand.

  Which was why even though she knew she should give Monica her space, she caught Monica’s elbow as she left for lunch with Sharon instead. Monica startled, looking up at her with wide eyes, and Sharon lifted her brows.

  “I was wondering if you would have lunch with me today, actually,” Valerie said smoothly, letting go of her.

  Sharon looked amused. Monica’s expression shuttered like she was debating the merits of shouting in Valerie’s face.

  “Please?” Valerie asked, lowering her voice, too honest.

  “She was going to have lunch with me, you know,” Sharon said, crossing her arms even though she still looked more amused than not.

  “Surely you won’t mind missing her just for one day,” Valerie said, giving her a too-fake smile, even though she was pretty sure she wasn’t dating Monica; she had a ring on her finger and Monica didn’t.