Wait For It

by Michele L. Rivera

  I move my fingers over Abby’s and hold her hand. “That’s not silly at all.”

  Abby rolls her eyes. “Glad you asked?”

  “I am, actually.” I give her a gentle smile. “And you took to the taste of it right away?”

  Abby cringes and shudders. “Blech! No! I thought it was gross.”

  We break into a laugh.

  “When did you start liking it then?” I ask.

  Abby’s expression sobers. “The day of his funeral.”

  I frown. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He was old…died in his sleep in that damned recliner.” Abby presses her lips together. “Anyways, me and Nana did a toast in his honor and for some reason, the taste was…soothing.”

  I nod because I don’t know what to say and before I can think of anything substantial to respond with, Nolan appears in front of us. He sets down the glass of wine and the tumbler of bourbon on the bar. “Here,” he says and slogs off again.

  I watch the back of his head and then glance at Abby. “He’s a peach, wouldn’t you say?”

  Abby smiles her real smile, the one when the brightness of her face matches the brightness of her eyes; the one that makes my heart skip. “Most definitely.”

  I raise my goblet. “Cheers.”

  Abby picks up her glass and holds it mid-air. “What are we cheers-ing to?”

  “Second dates,” I say.

  “Eh.” Abby shakes her head. “How about to the third date you’re going to ask me on?”

  I narrow my eyes at her but smile. “Alright. We can cheers to that.”

  Abby grins. “Excellent.” She clinks her glass to mine and we both sample our drinks.

  The cabernet is dry and full-flavored. I swallow and sigh contentedly.

  Abby giggles. “Was that good for you?”

  I feel the blush warming my cheeks. “What? I’m enjoying my wine.”

  “Yeah. I got that.” Abby takes another sip of bourbon. “I heard wine is also an acquired taste.”

  “You heard right.”

  “Why is wine your drink of choice?”

  I squint thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I guess because it relaxes me. And it’s yummy.” I tilt my glass forward a little. “Do you want to taste it?”

  Abby looks at the red liquid in my glass, then at me. “Sure.” She puts her drink on the bar, and takes my glass by the stem all the while holding my gaze. “I’ll have a taste.” She sets the wine down. My confusion does not even have a chance to sink in, and Abby is standing before me. She places her forefinger under my chin and lifts my face to hers. My throat closes as she leans in and kisses me, skimming her tongue over mine. She pecks my upper lip and backs away, leaving me with a whirring head.

  “Mmm.” Abby sits back in her stool. “I could totally acquire a taste for that.” She winks at me. My stomach flops mercilessly.

  “Cool,” I say softly. “That you could acquire…um…yeah.” I swill more wine.

  Abby’s smiling at me as she slides her wide-brimmed glass across the bar towards me. “Try mine.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Come on,” Abby says. “It’s the only way you’ll know with certainty if it’s yuck or not.”

  “Fine.” I take the glass of bourbon, warily put it to my lips and drink. The whiskey scorches my mouth and esophagus. It tastes like what I think a toasted tree branch would taste like…or a potion concocted in the sixth circle of hell. I manage to swallow and nearly slam the tumbler on the bar. I grunt and my whole face scrunches up as the alcohol makes its way down. Abby is doubled over in a fit of hysterics, her hand on my knee.

  “The look…the look on your face,” Abby puffs through her laughter.

  When I’m done hacking, I stare at Abby until she collects herself and is sitting upright again. She glances at me and quickly puts her hand over her mouth to stifle a chuckle. After a minute, she clears her throat and looks at me.

  “You are a mean woman,” I say to Abby.

  Abby gasps. “Am not!”

  “Are too! You’re laughing at my pain.”

  “Hey!” Abby points at me. “I told you that I thought it was gross when I first tried it. You chose to throw caution to the wind. Not my fault, Finley.”

  I point back at her. “No. You said, ‘hey, try this because it’ll make me think you’re sexy’ and so I did because that’s what I do. I aspire to impress the ladies because…” I point to myself. “Lesbian.”

  Abby starts laughing again. “You’re ridiculous. That’s not what I said and you know it.”

  I smirk. “Maybe that’s not what you said, but that’s how I interpreted it.”

  “I have an idea,” Abby says. “How ‘bout next time, you ask me what will impress me since you’re an incompetent interpreter?”

  I gape. “Pssht.”

  “Don’t you ‘pssht’ me, missy.”

  “Too late. It’s done.” I shrug. “You’ve been ‘pssht-ed.”

  Abby folds her arms across her chest. “I see how it is. You don’t want to blow my mind. I have no hard feelings.”

  I know that she is teasing me, but she could not be more wrong. All I want is to win her over, to win her heart. Whoa! What the fuck? Nooo! Don’t go there.

  “What do I have to do to impress you?” I ask.

  And you went there.

  Abby smiles. “You can take another drink.”

  I glare at her. “Are you trying to get me drunk so can take advantage of me?”

  Abby purses her lips and shakes her. “No, ma’am.” She budges the glass of whiskey closer to me.

  “Aargh.” I pick up the drink, swallow a mouthful and groan in distress.

  Abby plucks the glass from my hand. “You really shouldn’t give into peer pressure, Parker. Conformists don’t impress me.” She puts the glass to her lips and slugs back the remainder of bourbon. She looks at me and simpers.

  My jaw slackens. “What is your game?”

  “To get you drunk enough to ask me on that freaking third date already.”

  I sigh heavily and give Abby a tight lipped smile. “You.”

  “Yes?”

  “Will come on another date with me?” I ask.

  Abby tucks her lips behind her teeth, eyebrows raised. “You want me to come?”

  My face reddens. “Are you being cheeky?”

  “What difference does it make?” Abby inquires. “If a hot girl asks me to come, who am I to say ‘no’?” Abby presses her thumb into her chest. “Lesbian.”

  I chuckle. “Alright. We have a third date.” I sip from my wine glass.

  “We have a third date,” Abby echoes. “Parker?”

  “Yeah?”

  “For the record, you never have to impress me,” Abby says. “Just be yourself because I kind of have a thing for who you are.”

  “How long have you and Reese been together?” Abby asks me while we walk hand in hand back to the garage near the art museum, where both of our vehicles are parked.

  I am thankful that it is completely dark outside; that my wince is cloaked by night. “Five years.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot of years,” Abby says, a hint of discouragement in her voice.

  “I suppose.”

  “Do you guys live together?”

  “We do,” I say.

  “Do you think you’ll eventually marry her?”

  WHAT?

  Abby’s questions are innocent and warranted as she deserves to know who and what she is getting involved with, but they make my stomach churn.

  Upchucking is not the way to go. Breathe.

  I take in some air and shrug. “We don’t talk about it.”

  Abby’s exhale is louder than the fallen leaves crunching under our footsteps. “Ever?”

  “No.”

  “Do you not want to share?” Abby asks.

  “What are you talking about? I’ll share. I’m a sharer.”

  “Enough with the suspense then,” Abby says. “Will you tell me?”
r />   “Tell you what?”

  “About yourself, your situation with Reese, your life... I want to hear The Chronicles of Parker Finley.” Abby glances at me and smiles.

  I give her a feeble smile in return. “There’s not much to tell.”

  “I’m willing to bet against that.”

  “Alright,” I say. “What would you like to know? Ask me anything.”

  “Anything?”

  “Go for it.”

  “How did you and Reese meet?” Abby asks.

  I instantly want to retract my offer. “When I was a barista at The Bean, Reese was the one who trained me.”

  “Ah. So, it was love at first sight?”

  I laugh. “Um. No.”

  “Why are you laughing?” Abby asks. “You don’t believe in that?”

  “I’ve never given it much thought.”

  “You should.”

  “Thanks for the suggestion,” I say.

  “No sweat.” Abby bumps her shoulder against mine. “How did it happen? How did you and Reese end up together?”

  “We worked a lot of the same shifts together,” I say. “And we got friendly.” Unsure of how to continue, I become a babbling imbecile. “Reese was openly gay and she thought I was too.” I can feel the perspiration collecting on the back of my neck. “Then one day after we locked up the shop for the night, she asked a favor of me. I said ‘yes’.” I shake my head. “I had no idea what was coming and she…she kissed me.”

  “Then came fireworks and confetti?” Abby asks quietly.

  I frown. “No. Then came me feeling the feelings I had kept buried since my freshman year of college when I had a mega crush on Skye Anderson and tried chalking it up to idolizing her, nothing more…only it was something more. I always knew it was something more, but I didn’t want it to be. I didn’t want to be different. I didn’t want to be…gay. But when Reese kissed me, it’s like she brought that part of me to life and I had this knowing that I couldn’t escape it; who I really was…who I am.”

  Abby’s grip on my hand tightens, but she does not say anything. Her touch is encouraging. I keep talking almost as if I am unable to stop myself.

  “I didn’t know any other lesbians,” I say. “So when Reese asked me out, I said ‘yes’. I was afraid to be the lone lesbian. That makes no sense, but—”

  “It makes total sense,” Abby says.

  I put my idle left hand in my jacket pocket and jangle the loose change that is in there. “Anyways, a few years later, me and Reese started officially dating, and I made the decision to come out to my parents. I was twenty-two and living with them at the time because we couldn’t afford campus housing.” My eyes tear up, blurring my vision. “We were close, me and my parents, and despite them being ultra conservative, I thought they’d be…supportive maybe, but I was mistaken.” I clear my throat. I am not going to cry about this, those days are gone. “I told them I was gay and they told me I was no longer their daughter. I was a disgrace to the family. They kicked me out.”

  There is a pregnant pause, then Abby speaks. “Where did you go?”

  “Reese’s family took me in.”

  “Did your parents come around? Do they accept you now?” Abby asks.

  “No,” I say flatly. “I called, wrote letters, sent emails…and they…nothing.” I steady the fingers I have in my coat and the clanking of coins desists. “I got tired and two years ago, gave up.” I ball up my fist. “It’s been nine years. They were serious about that disowning stuff.”

  Abby stops moving and pulls me to a standstill. We face each other and she tenderly coaxes my left hand from my pocket. She holds both of my hands in hers. Her mouth is turned down and her eyes are wet.

  “I’m sorry,” Abby says.

  “Me too.”

  Abby takes a step closer to me and kisses my forehead. She squishes my left hand within her right then lets it go. Neither of us says anything as we begin to walk again. In our silence, I ask myself if I believe in the notion of love at first sight. I think back to the night I met Abby, and how it felt when she looked at me.

  I believe.

  Chapter Fourteen

  How is this happening?

  I am still processing the reality that my infatuation with Abby has evolved into something much greater when we arrive at the parking garage. Abby looks over at me and breaches the quiet that we have been traveling with for the last block.

  “Are you okay?” She asks.

  “Yeah. I’m alright.”

  Abby nods. “That was a big share. Thank you for confiding in me.”

  “Sure,” I say. “Thanks for listening.”

  “Of course.” Abby thumbs the SUV stationed in the middle of the second row of vehicles. “That’s me. Where are you?”

  I am lost. I know that she is referring to the location of my car, but my thoughts are scrambled, disorienting me on the inside.

  I tip my head back a little. “I’m that way.”

  “Do you mind if I escort you?”

  And hold your hand for even a blip of a second longer? No, I don’t mind. Not one bit.

  “Ugh. I suppose.” I tease.

  “Splendid,” Abby says with a smile and we wend our way towards my hatchback.

  “Do you want to hang out next Friday?” I ask.

  “I do,” Abby says. “Would you be up for coming over to my place?”

  My stomach somersaults. “Um. Yeah. That’s cool. I could bring a DVD, we can order a pizza…or something. Good stuff.”

  Abby snickers. “Dinner and movie…right. That’s exactly what I had in mind.” Her voice has a roguish tone to it that causes a pulsing between my legs.

  “Do you...uh…do you live alone?” I ask.

  “No. I live with my nana.”

  “That’s nice of you to keep her company since your grandfather is…gone,” I say.

  We near my car and our footsteps pause at the same time. “Here we are.” I relinquish Abby’s hand, open my bag, sift through it and pull out my keys. I press the button on the keychain that unlocks the doors. I turn to Abby. She has her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans.

  Something is off.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “I guess I should tell you that I’ve only ever lived with my grandparents,” Abby says. “They raised me.”

  “Oh.” I frown. “I misunderstood what you were telling me earlier about your papa and the whiskey. I figured you were just with them a lot.” I shake my head. “I apologize.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Abby says. “I was being vague.” She shrugs. “But you made your reveal and I owe you mine.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Yes I do.” Abby’s eyes find mine. “It’s one more thing we have in common.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Our parents aren’t in our lives. Yours bailed on you and mine…well, mine were never in the picture.”

  My pursuit to learn everything about this woman gets the best of me. “What happened to them?” I blurt. And then I want to give myself a dope slap. “I’m sorry. That was me being a ninny. You don’t have to—”

  “Parker, it’s alright. You’re fine…except you might want to nix ‘ninny’ from your personal lexicon.” Abby smirks at me to show me she is joking. But then her features become somber. “I don’t know who my parents are,” Abby says. “I just know what my grandparents told me and I’ve seen a few photographs of my mother as a child.” Abby takes in a breath. “Legend has it that my mom ran away from home when she was fifteen and less than a year later, I was left on my grandparents’ doorstep in a bassinet with a note taped to it that said, ‘please take care of her’ and it was signed, ‘Megan’. Nana says that’s what my mother’s name is or was or whatever…Megan.”

  I want to swoop Abby into my arms and hug her, but I’m not sure if she wants to be held. I swallow the sadness lodged in my throat. “Abby, I…I don’t know how to respond to that.”

&n
bsp; “No worries,” Abby says. “You don’t need to respond.”

  I chew thoughtfully on the inside of cheek for a second. “Then thank you for confiding in me.” I return Abby’s foregoing reply back to her.

  “Sure.” She smiles because she’s on to me. “Thanks for listening.”

  “Of course.”

  Abby takes her phone from the rear pocket of her jeans, glances at it, then puts it away. “It’s nine o’ clock. You should go. Reese is probably waiting for you.”

  My forehead scrunches up. “You have no way of knowing that.”

  Abby rolls her eyes. “Your phone has been vibrating every hour on the hour for the past three hours. Call it an educated guess.”

  “Alright,” I say. “I’m not gonna argue with you.”

  “Damn straight you’re not because you’ll lose, obviously.”

  I laugh. “Will I?”

  “Yes. You will.”

  We share a short-lived laugh then Abby taps the roof of my hatchback. “Go!” She says.

  “Okay. I’m going. I’m going.” I open the door to my car.

  “Wait.” Abby grabs my arm before I get inside the vehicle.

  “What?”

  “Before you go, you have to kiss me goodnight,” Abby says.

  “I can do that.” I step back from the car door and face Abby. I place my hands on her hips and draw her closer to me until she is only a breath away. I stare into Abby’s enchanting, amber eyes and slowly lower my lips to hers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After I pass through the entrance of my apartment building, I hole up in the corner of the bottom stairwell, retrieve my phone from the front pouch of my bag and dial Elle’s number. Four rings later, Elle answers.