Becky’s words from last night were still rolling around her mind, helping to darken her mood. Becky had been right; there was no stopping time. And there was no sense denying it—Cassidy was aging out of her lifestyle. She and Becky and Dahlia had become the goddamn elders of this bar, and now even that had reached its shelf life.
Looking around now at the pockets of girls scattered throughout tonight’s murk, a good half of them were familiar—girls Cassidy had either slept with or briefly dated. Some remained friends; others refused to speak her name. None had left a mark. She had cared about each of them enough, enjoyed them while they remained easy and ego boosting, while they fit effortlessly into her clockwork life without disruption beyond their designated groove, and then she released them when they got complicated. That was all she had to offer. She never pretended otherwise, and she never apologized. She was crystal clear from beginning to end that she wasn’t looking for anything more.
But then Cassidy had met Katie. And now she couldn’t unmeet her.
Maybe they’d met just in the nick of time. Maybe meeting Katie was a blessing, even though Cassidy didn’t believe in blessings, or a gift from the god she’d also never believed in—the god who, if he did exist, Cassidy was pretty sure didn’t believe in her.
Dear lord. That’s what Katie would say to that. She was always letting a Dear lord slip from her lips whenever she was shocked or frustrated by something. The expression should have imparted a sense of fear in Cassidy as a card-carrying heathen, or at the very least, concern. She and Katie never spoke of it, but whether the Dear lords were less prayer and more Southern verbal tic, Katie must have been raised as a good Christian girl. And that was a lot for Cassidy to be up against. The strict notions of right and wrong, of virtue versus sin—the conformity religion required was more than Katie could be expected to defy. It was all too difficult to undo. Just like Cassidy, in spite of her efforts, could never fully undo the casual traumas of her own upbringing. She didn’t have to be raised with religion to absorb the disapproval of the adults around her; their notions of what about her was to be encouraged and what should be stifled.
Growing up, Cassidy was somehow always bordering on offensive, on problematic. Spoiled was what they called her when she threw tantrums as a child over the baby dolls and jewelry sets she received in lieu of Matchbox cars and action figures. Stubborn was what she was when she quit the tennis team over the regulation tennis dress requirement. Now she was selfish, distant, thankless, unwilling to see her parents more than a couple of times a year even though they lived less than five miles away. They loved her, her mother and father, but they would never understand her. Empathy was not a prevailing family trait. Civility, sure. Decorum, yes. Class, always. But Cassidy’s parents didn’t want to know her better because deep down they’d have preferred she were different, that she fit in their world more tolerably.
Fine. Cassidy didn’t need them anyway. Here in this hotbox of smoke and sweat, filled with bodies just like hers, that defied all categorization, that no label or slur could suitably contain—here Cassidy was home. Here Cassidy didn’t only fit; she triumphed. She wasn’t merely tolerated; she was desired. The bar did this, Cassidy realized, which was why she’d held it so close for so long.
So if Cassidy was aging out of the bar scene, where was she aging to?
Toward Katie? She and Katie might as well have been different species. And yet, Cassidy couldn’t fend off the surge of affection she felt for Katie every time she let out a Dear lord or Bless her heart or some other adorable, if not vaguely religious, thing. Cassidy couldn’t talk herself out of the debilitating disappointment she experienced when she read Katie’s text canceling tonight’s plans.
Her own text back oozed neediness. I understand, Cassidy wrote, but I was really hoping to see you tonight.
And as if that weren’t bad enough, she sent the clingiest follow-up text in the history of clingy follow-up texts about the Met closing. Could use your moral support? What the hell was that overeager bullshit?
Of course Katie’s response was noncommittal. Cassidy wouldn’t have wanted to see her own sorry ass tonight either.
“Yo, check it out, fight club, fight club.” Gina jumped up onto her tippy toes trying to get a better look across the room.
“Wrestling already?” Becky said. “It isn’t even one yet.”
Cassidy followed Gina and Becky’s lead and stood up to better see the other end of the bar, where the girls were pushing and shoving. As always, just enough space had cleared around them to give everyone a ringside view. These two had gone at it before, the long-limbed girl with dark hair, who Cassidy believed was Native American, and the scrappier, short-haired girl everyone called Biscuit.
Down they went, to the filthy floor, grappling.
Cassidy tried to imagine this spectacle through Katie’s eyes. How would Cassidy explain it to her? That it was part sport, part revenge. All in good fun, but the bruises were real. That it was as passive as it was aggressive—these two duking it out probably loved the same girl, or had gotten hurt by the same girl, and so they tried to hurt each other. Because twisting, squeezing, rolling, punching, was somehow less brutal than addressing the real problem head on, with words.
It was for the best that Katie wasn’t likely to show. Cassidy took a step back and ditched her drink on the pool table. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to be standing here right now.
* * *
It was a fidgety, sleepless night, but Cassidy must have dozed off eventually, because early the next morning she shot up in bed, heart racing, in a cold sweat.
She looked around her bedroom, took in her surroundings to get ahold of where she was, who she was, what day it was. Had she been dreaming? And if so, when did the dream begin, and where did it end?
Her phone was in its rightful place, beside the lamp on her nightstand. She took it in hand and pressed it awake. While she scrolled through the morning news, she continued to take stock. She hadn’t brought anyone home. She hadn’t gone home with anyone else. She hadn’t had sex in or just outside a bar. She hadn’t even bought a girl a drink. Not last night or the night before.
Was that the source of this ache in her chest? Or was it that she couldn’t fathom any more time passing before she could see Katie again?
She began typing a message to Katie before she could change her mind.
Weekend getaways were for couples. Cassidy never took a girl away unless it was to circumvent a nosy spouse or girlfriend, to keep from getting caught with someone else’s other half.
Let’s go away this weekend, she wrote, and then waited.
FIFTEEN
Katie woke up to Cassidy’s text, read it, rubbed her eyes, and read it again.
Let’s go away this weekend.
She sat up in bed and stared out at the morning light through her curtainless bedroom window, unable to will her fingers to text back a reply.
Leaving the city with Cassidy seemed like a surefire way for Katie to trap herself in a situation she wouldn’t be able to get out of if she wanted to. Weekend getaways didn’t make for easy escape plans.
Katie climbed out of her sheets one bare foot at a time and carried her phone to the kitchen. There she was met with the onslaught of Tuesday night’s dirty dishes still lingering in their caked-on grease. She pushed aside her cutting board and a few dried-up lemon rinds to clear a place on the counter for her phone.
Yawning, moving at a snail’s pace, she pulled a mug from her cabinet and poured herself a hot cup of coffee. She drank it standing up, still half-asleep.
They would probably have fun, if they went away together. It didn’t have to be some huge commitment. What was she so afraid of? Why was she considering her escape options when Cassidy was obviously focused, as usual, on enjoyment—on simply having a good time?
It didn’t have to be some weekend sexcapade either. The two of t
hem hadn’t even had a real conversation since they’d slept together. Maybe that night was just a one-off, a one-time indiscretion. Maybe Cassidy would say, Hey, it’s good we got that out of the way; now we can really be friends.
Maybe that’s what Katie should say—that whatever it was that had had her all hot and bothered since they’d met was finally out of her system.
It wasn’t out of her system, but she could say it was.
Or she could say nothing at all. Katie understood Cassidy well enough by now to know she had too much pride to push. If Katie pretended the whole thing had never happened, her money was on Cassidy’s leaving it alone.
Besides, Cassidy seemed to have lots of women at her disposal—she didn’t need to add Katie to her collection. She could probably take or leave ever sleeping with Katie again. So what was the harm in taking a trip? A trip might be just the thing they needed to work out all the kinks—no, to work out all the knots in their relationship.
Katie picked up her phone from the countertop and texted back, Where’d you have in mind?
There. She felt better already.
While waiting for Cassidy’s reply, she opened the fridge and there sat her lemon roasted chicken in its juicy roasting pan. Katie yanked a piece off the bird with her fingers, closed the fridge, and ate it leaning against the counter.
Snacking on cold chicken at seven in the morning while wearing nothing but underwear and a T-shirt was something you could only really do when you lived alone. She had forgotten about such perks.
Her phone chimed with a text then, and Katie wiped her fingers on her bare thighs before picking it up.
Anywhere, Cassidy had written. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.
Katie brought her phone and her coffee cup to the table and sat, hugging her knees to her chest.
Where did she want to go? It was an essential question.
The problem was, Katie wasn’t so great at knowing where she wanted to go. Keeping up on places to go and things to do was Paul Michael’s domain. He and his group had such strong opinions on what constituted cool, Katie had figured out early on that it was better for her not to try to make suggestions. She could still hear their voices in her head. That restaurant is so cheesy, that bar is so basic, that music festival, that hotel, that city is so over.
Katie chuckled to think of it now, and that was probably a healthy sign. It was better to find it funny, the preposterousness of her trying to fit in with them, than to mourn her wasted effort or agonize over her misjudgment.
The caffeine was starting to kick in, thank goodness. The morning jitters Katie always woke up with began to settle, and the world—even her cluttered kitchen—took on a kinder hue of bearability. Her thoughts started coming to her with more clarity, better light.
She asked herself again, where did she want to go?
What Katie had truly been longing for was to go riding. She missed how free and alive she felt while riding a horse.
But how would Cassidy react if Katie recommended going to some ranch upstate? Would she think horseback riding was unsophisticated, that a ranch trip was bumpkinish?
Katie couldn’t really see Cassidy reacting that way. In fact, all evidence pointed toward the opposite. Cassidy seemed to enjoy the moments when Katie’s accent broke through, or when she laughed too loud or cussed with gusto. Not once had Katie felt self-conscious around Cassidy or like she needed to restrain herself in some way.
So screw it.
Katie spun off her chair, went to the fridge, opened it, and pulled off one more shred of chicken. The time for pretending to be someone she wasn’t—someone supposedly better and more refined—was over. Cassidy wasn’t one to try to smooth down Katie’s rough edges. She didn’t care if Katie wasn’t perfect.
Cassidy herself was a living, breathing fuck-you to appearances, a walking middle finger to doing anything just because someone told her to. How else could she make her way through the world otherwise?
It was downright liberating to be around. Katie swallowed the last of her coffee and reached for her phone. The decision was made. They would go. And she would pick out the place herself.
SIXTEEN
I still don’t understand why you can’t come out tonight.” Gina plopped down onto Cassidy’s bed, bowl and fork in hand. “Especially now that we know our nights at the Met are numbered.”
Cassidy stuffed a pair of socks into an overnight bag. “I told you. We’re leaving at the crack of early tomorrow morning. Can you please go eat that in the kitchen?”
“You’re making me eat quinoa, the least you can do is let me ingest it on your bed. Explain to me again where the hell you’re going.”
“Horseback riding.” Cassidy debated between two nearly identical chambray button-downs, holding one up against herself in the mirror, then the other. “It’s like a ranch or something upstate. I wanted to take her away for the weekend and this is what she chose. She’s from Kentucky, she likes horses. What do you want from me?”
“What is up with you and this girl, C?”
“Nothing is up with me and this girl,” Cassidy said. “I just like her.”
“Enough to go to some fucking dude ranch? You know there’s going to be dust there, and dirt, and mud, and flies. You’re doing all this—for what?”
Cassidy chose the shirt in her right hand, freed it from its hanger, and folded it into a neat square. “I like spending time with her.”
“Just tell me one thing.” Gina fished through her quinoa bowl to locate a chunk of chicken. “Has she laid a finger on you yet?”
“Would you say raw denim is the way to go?” Cassidy asked. “Or would a cotton-blend jean allow for more flexibility?”
“That’s a no,” Gina said. “And it’s gonna stay a no.”
Cassidy examined her footwear choices. “It’s not about the sex to me.”
“But it’s only about the sex to her.” Gina set down her bowl on Cassidy’s nightstand. “Until she gets it out of her system and meets a nice boy.”
“Can’t you just let me enjoy this? This isn’t my first straight girl.”
“But this is your first rodeo.”
“Cute,” Cassidy said.
Gina moved to the bed’s edge and brought her feet to the floor. “Look. We both know none of those other girls meant squat to you. Are you seriously telling me you’re not falling for this one?”
“Fine.” Cassidy threw her hands up at her sides. “I’m falling for her, okay? Of course I am. I don’t want to spend my weekend riding horses! But I think she might be falling for me, too.”
Gina shook her head. “For someone so smart, C, I swear sometimes you’ve got shit for brains.”
* * *
Cassidy pulled up to Katie’s apartment building in the silver Dodge Ram pickup she’d rented for the occasion. She honked the horn at Katie out front, exhilarated by the sight of her snug flannel and blue jeans, her brown boots up to her knees, and her ponytail gleaming in the sun.
Katie approached the truck, opened the passenger-side door, and hoisted herself inside. “You rented us a pickup? Where do you think we’re driving to?”
“Too much?” Cassidy asked.
“Nah. It’s kind of great.” Katie buckled her seat belt. “I lost my virginity in the back of a truck just like this.”
Cassidy pulled away from the curb, antsy to break free from the city street traffic for the open road. Since they’d slept together, she had longed for this release from the late nights at their hectic jobs and the torture of separation, this escape into the wild.
“I see you tried to wear your most rugged outfit.” Katie leaned over to inspect Cassidy’s ensemble. “But I’m pretty sure Chelsea boots are supposed to stay in Chelsea.”
“You look nice,” Cassidy said. “You’ve got sort of a farmer’s-daughter look going on.”
“You like it?”
“I do.” Cassidy returned her eyes to the traffic ahead. “So what was his name?”
“Who?”
“The boy you gave it up to in the back of a pickup truck.”
Katie laughed. “Justin Barnes, quarterback of the state-champion Lafayette Generals.”
“Christ,” Cassidy said. “Was he as milk-fed as he sounds?”
“Oh yeah. He could have been the poster boy for the milk-does-a-body-good campaign.” Katie reached into a plastic bag at her feet. “But it’s crazy to think of it now, how I planned it for months ahead of time.” She pulled a pumpernickel bagel out of the bag and held it up for Cassidy to see. “Want one? I’ve got butter and cream cheese.”
“To give him your virginity?” Cassidy waved off the bagel. “You planned that out?”
Katie tore off a piece of bagel and popped it into her mouth. “On prom night in the back of his truck, under the stars.”
“Sounds romantic,” Cassidy said.
“I thought so.” Katie switched on the radio. “I remember lying there, looking up at Orion while he was, you know, pumping and bucking or whatever, thinking, Yes, this is right. This is all happening exactly as it should.” Katie toggled through radio stations until she found a song she approved of. “He thought we were going to get married. Before I left for college, we were at Jimmy John’s and he was all fidgety, barely touching his sub, and then all of a sudden he reached into the pocket of his windbreaker and presented me with a promise ring.”
“Hold on,” Cassidy interjected. “At the Jimmy John’s?”
“At the Jimmy John’s.” Katie nodded. “He held out this ring to me in his thick, rough fingers with their chewed-down fingernails, but I wouldn’t take it. I reminded him that I would be off to UT in the fall. And he said, ‘That’s why it’s a promise.’ So I said, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t promise you anything.’”
When Katie Met Cassidy Page 12
