Girl Crush

by Stephie Walls

  8

  I didn’t know why I had agreed to go. Something warned me off, pushed meeting Heather to the side for weeks. But when she got upset and blamed herself, I couldn’t avoid it any longer. I should have just told her I wasn’t feeling the whole panty prowling, but instead, I’d allowed her to guilt me into getting together. She wanted me to pick her up and to do the formal ring the bell thing. Heather expected to be wooed like a lady, which was fine for someone who wanted to woo, but I’d always been wooed and wasn’t into wooing anyone else—male or female. I’d struggled from the word go with who was the male and who was the female in these relationships, but after tonight, it dawned on me—there wasn’t supposed to be a male. That’s what made it a lesbian couple, and since both of us had been in heterosexual relationships, we both maintained the expectation that the other should be the masculine figure while we maintained the female dynamic.

  It was doomed before I ever arrived at her doorstep, but I tried to make the best of it and kept chanting it was one night over in my head like a mantra. Heather was cute as a button and easy on the eyes. I instantly felt at ease around her and convinced myself that now that I had decided against skirts, she’d end up being the one I could fit with. She took my hand when we left her house and held onto it as we parted ways at the front of the Camaro until she couldn’t maintain contact any longer. The way she smiled while holding on warmed my heart. I hadn’t put much effort into my appearance, but she had gone all out. It wasn’t so much what she wore as how she wore it. Every detail had been painstakingly addressed from the color of her nail polish—which I’d bet money was “Bastille My Heart”—to her matching wedges. Even the crystals in her earrings coordinated with the colors in her outfit…along with her handbag, which was a large Coach Poppy.

  Everything about her screamed fun and playful, sweet and demure. This was the girl anyone would want to take home to meet their mom, regardless of their gender. We hadn’t had trouble finding conversation since we met online, and tonight was no different. She told me about her job as a pediatric nurse on the way to the restaurant and took every possible opportunity to touch me that presented itself. It wasn’t over the top, or obnoxious, but I was aware of each graze of her hand, every touch of her finger. The attention was nice, but it didn’t get me hot and bothered.

  We’d had to park in the back of the lot, but when we got out of the car, she made sure to put her arm around my waist, which accentuated the height difference, and slid her hand into my back pocket. I had no choice but to wrap my arm around her shoulder unless I wanted to look like I had a pole shoved up my ass. And together, we walked in, circling each other. I’d never been overly into public displays of affection, but they hadn’t bothered me, either. This became uncomfortable as the other patrons gave us sneering glances and disapproving looks. One mother went so far as to pull her toddler away from my leg as though she might catch homosexuality.

  I’d heard Ronnie and Trish mention this kind of attitude, but I’d never witnessed it myself. I couldn’t believe this kind of prejudice still existed, but here it was, right in front of me. I chose to ignore it and simply smiled. It gave me an excuse to release myself from the death grip Heather had on me and put our name on the waitlist for a table.

  Just as I turned around to take the buzzer from the girl manning the hostess stand, I could have sworn I saw Heather put a handful of mints into her pocketbook. I don’t mean like two or three for later…she cleaned the dish out leaving two—two—remaining in the bowl. Maybe she had serious halitosis and just wanted to be prepared—either way, it was odd.

  It didn’t take long to be seated. And when the waitress arrived for our drink order, Heather asked for an additional set of silverware. There had been two on the table when we sat down—I know there had, but maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. Miss Bubbly Personality flipped the switch when the waitress brought our drinks. With that sickeningly sweet smile, she proceeded to bitch about the ratio of rum to juice, the color of her umbrella, and the fact there was only one cherry in her glass versus the three she’d requested.

  “Heather, it’s not a big deal. I’m sure she can get you another drink.” I pleaded with my eyes bouncing back and forth between my date and the woman standing at the edge of our table.

  Heather put her hand on top of mine. “Honey, it is a big deal. People need to do their jobs well or find new professions.”

  “Heather…” I hissed her name under my breath, mortified by her treatment of the waitress.

  “I’ll get another one for you, ma’am. I’m sorry.” She didn’t wait for a response as she hightailed it as far away as she could get.

  Great. Now the girl’s going to spit in our food…or worse.

  “So, Giselle. What looks good to you?”

  I was dumbfounded by her ability to shift gears so quickly, back to Little Miss Sunshine. Her attitude toward the help vastly different than that toward me. I’d never witnessed anything so bizarre.

  “Umm…” I struggled to complete a sentence and stared at my menu, hoping to find an answer hidden within the pages. “The chicken looks good.”

  “Oh, come on. Live a little. How about surf and turf?”

  I glanced at the surf and turf, and my eyes bugged at the price. There was no way I was ordering anything that was fifty-one dollars, regardless of who paid the bill.

  When the waitress returned, Heather sipped her cocktail and seemed satisfied. The poor server’s shoulders visibly relaxed at her approval. Heather proceeded to order a very expensive bottle of wine to go with two appetizers, and her surf and turf. When the waitress turned to me, I opted for a salad to accompany the mounds of food Heather had ordered.

  “Giselle, that’s not enough, sweetheart. You need more food.” She looked up at the waitress and ordered the chicken in addition to the salad. And promptly dismissed the girl.

  “I won’t eat that much, Heather. The appetizers and the salad would have been plenty.”

  “Oh, did you want an appetizer? Let me get her back so you can order one, too.”

  “No. No. It’s fine. There’s plenty of food coming.” Miffed, I had no idea where she planned to pack away all that she had ordered in her tiny little frame.

  But the answer to that question came with the appetizers. “Can I get two to-go boxes?”

  “You haven’t eaten a bite. What’s wrong?” My eyes went from Heather to the plate and back to Heather.

  “Oh, nothing. You didn’t think I was going to eat all this tonight, did you? This is like three more meals I can take home. That’s why I told you to order more than a salad.”

  She had to be shitting me. “Do you not like to cook?” I could appreciate that, but why not just order something to go at the end of the meal? Or I don’t know, buy something at a later time when you weren’t on a date.

  Before Heather could respond, the waitress brought the boxes, which Heather promptly put to use. I watched in utter shock as she put every single bite of both appetizers into the Styrofoam containers. “Could you bring us some extra bread, too?” The waitress nodded and took off. She directed her attention back to me. “I’m starving. I hope they bring our entrees soon.”

  This girl was certifiably insane. I didn’t have a clue how to respond. There were two plates of food sitting in take-out boxes she could dive right into that were on the table.

  The wine arrived just after the doggie bags. I half expected her to tell the server not to uncork it so she could take it home to have with her appetizers, but to my surprise, she handed me a glass and took one for herself to toast. “To us and new adventures.”

  Her kind of adventures scared the shit out of me if this was what dinner turned into, but I smiled and clinked my glass. Heather talked about nothing and everything, but I tuned her out completely in favor of savoring the wine. Dinner couldn’t have come soon enough. I hardly stopped to take a breath as I shoveled spinach into my mouth. My date had been nicer to the waitress since the drink episode—that wa
s until she cut into her steak. Of course, it hadn’t been cooked properly, which became the poor employee’s fault. Our waitress was on the verge of tears but managed to make it away from the table before letting one fall.

  “It looked like a perfect medium. What was wrong with it?” I asked as I stuffed chicken into my mouth, chewing so fast I didn’t taste anything.

  She leaned in with a devious grin on her face. “Oh, it was perfectly cooked. But if you complain enough, the meal gets comped.”

  “Heather, that’s horrible. What if that girl has to pay for that food?” My mouth hung open with a chewed glob still sitting on my tongue.

  “Giselle, sweetie, close your mouth. Trust me, I worked as a waitress for years. Neither of those are things she could help. She won’t eat the cost.” She waved me off like my concern was preposterous. “Plus, restaurants gouge their customers. They likely only have a couple dollars in the whole thing.”

  I finished the bite I’d been gnawing on and swallowed hard. “Do you do this often?”

  “Once a week or so. But never at the same restaurant twice. They’d catch on.”

  She reached over to the sweetener and grabbed the entire stash to toss into her purse—I assumed with the mints. Either this girl was cheap as hell, or a hoarder, and I wasn’t sure which was worse. When the waitress cleared our dinner plates, Heather ordered dessert. I refused any and wondered if she planned to eat it or stash it for another time. She ate every bite while I sipped the last of my wine, watching her in awe-struck wonder for her Academy Award-winning performance.

  I’d been rendered speechless. The moment I saw a figure out of the corner of my eye standing at our table, I assumed it was the manager who’d come to grovel at Heather’s feet. But when I turned my head, there stood none other than my ex-husband and the girl he’d left me for dripping from his arm. I took a deep breath, hoping my exasperation would send him packing, but he stood there, waiting for an acknowledgment of some sort.

  Sadly, Heather gave it to him. “Hey,” she piped up.

  Chris nodded at her before addressing me. “Fancy seeing you here, Giselle. Who’s your friend?”

  I raced to get the words out, but Heather beat me to it, shoving her hand in his direction. “Heather. Giselle’s date. And you are?”

  “Your date?” His voice boomed through the restaurant loudly enough that people turned to stare. “You’ve resorted to chasing pussy? What happened, you burn through the entire population of eligible men in this town?”

  This couldn’t get any worse.

  As he and his girlfriend decided to keep walking, I overheard her say, “She’s a hag, Chris. Why were you ever with someone so old?”

  The manager showed up, but it could have been to deal with Heather or my unruly ex-husband who’d chosen to cause a scene and leave. I was at the end of my rope. But instead of addressing me, he spoke to the bright-eyed girl across the table. Heather had been right. He comped the entire meal while she played victim to their “horrible service by the kitchen and bar.” It was a good thing he hadn’t looked to me. I wouldn’t have been able to lie to the man. As it was, I didn’t think I could stand another ten minutes in her presence to get her home.

  Before he left, I insisted my food be put on a separate bill. I refused to steal from these people or walk out without leaving the girl who’d spent two hours serving us a tip. Heather demonstrated her disapproval but wisely didn’t speak against me while we were still inside.

  She tried to take my hand as we exited, but I stuffed it into my pocket to avoid contact. Once in the car, she wrongfully assumed it was safe territory to question me.

  “Why didn’t you take the free meal, Giselle?” Her concern left me feeling a strange void I’d never experienced.

  “That’s just not my thing. I don’t buy things I can’t afford. I don’t scam people. I don’t steal. My laundry list of faults is a mile long, but none of those things are on it. And I don’t hang out with people who think any of what just happened is acceptable. Had you driven, I would have called a friend and left.” I wasn’t trying to be mean, but there was no point in beating around the bush. “Look, Heather. I just don’t think this is going to work. Not just me and you, but for me and any woman.”

  I dropped her off at her house and drove home. I’d officially given up on dating all around; not just men, not just women—everyone. I no longer had faith in the human race and committed myself to a life of celibacy with the battery-operated boyfriend of my choice. Till death do us part…I was making a vow to Energizer.

  The next few days were spent in isolation. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Ronnie about my latest fail and couldn’t move on without talking about it. My entire clan was now comprised of full-blown sugar-hole lovers, none of who would understand. The only other person I talked to these days was Collier. I’d tried to let the whole panty debacle go but couldn’t seem to rid my mind of the dating fails. Three glasses of wine in, I took the plunge.

  Me: You busy?

  Collier: Just working. You?

  Me: At home getting cozy with a bottle of vino.

  Collier: You guys good friends?

  Me: Far better than I wish we were.

  Collier: You okay?

  I wasn’t, but admitting that would open up a whole can of worms I wasn’t sure I was prepared to eat.

  Me: Yeah.

  Several minutes passed between texts. I typed out a message, then erased it, then typed another one, erased. Overthinking things wasn’t my specialty, which was what landed me here in the first place. Had I bothered to consider anything Ronnie had said, I never would have tried dating women, but I hadn’t listened and ended up with my ass on my shoulders, and my ex’s girlfriend’s insult lingering in the forefront of my mind.

  Me: Do you think I’m a hag?

  I hit send before I could back out of it.

  Collier: What are you talking about? I think you’ve had too much wine. Back away from the bottle!

  Collier: Giselle, what’s wrong?

  Me: Nothing. I’m fine.

  Collier: Clearly something’s wrong. You never text me, and the word hag indicates anything but a happy day.

  Me: Just ran into some people a couple nights ago that left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  That was vague and noncommittal.

  Collier: Who?

  Beck knew I had been married, but I seriously doubted Collier did. I wasn’t prepared to show him my hand. We weren’t close. We were barely friends. One day at the track didn’t make him my buddy, and neither did a few days spent lounging around his pool.

  Me: An ex.

  Collier: Women can be catty. Don’t let it get to you.

  Me:

  There was no point in trying to explain this if I wasn’t going to be honest. I tossed my phone onto the couch and poured the last glass of wine. My sofa embraced me when I leaned back and put my feet on the coffee table. I needed to quit while I was ahead. Tomorrow would be a hung-over mess, but the next bottle of wine called to me from the fridge, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to bury my emotions in the fermented grapes. Sometimes I had to cry it out when talking wasn’t an option. Tonight was filled with tears.

  Two glasses into the second bottle, my doorbell rang. I tried to ignore it, knowing I wasn’t interested in company at eight o’clock at night, but then the knocking started. And the voice boomed from the other side.

  “Your car’s out front, Giselle. I know you’re here. Answer the door.”

  The sound of Collier’s voice scared the crap out of me. I wasn’t expecting him or anyone else. I knocked over my glass trying to set it down and called out to him while I quickly tried to sop it up with a dish towel. “Hang on. I’m coming.” The words came out exasperated instead of emotionally weary.

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror just before opening the door and about fell over. If he hadn’t thought I was a hag before, he certainly would now. In nothing but a tank top and pajama shorts that were too
risqué for the eyes of Collier, I scrambled to try to do something with my disheveled hair, but I quickly realized it was pointless. My face was puffy, and my eyes were bloodshot from crying. There was nothing I could do to salvage my appearance before greeting my uninvited guest.

  Inhaling deeply, I opened the door.

  “Jesus, Giselle. What’s wrong?” He swooped in and set the bags in his hands on the floor. His foot shut the door behind him, and his arms wrapped around me in a comforting hold.

  I couldn’t stop the onslaught. The hiccups. The waterworks. The incessant nonsensical blubbering. It all came pouring out, and Collier just stood there, hugging me and rubbing patterns on my back. He didn’t retreat—he held his ground while I unloaded nothing and everything. He kissed the top of my head and laid his cheek on my hair, squeezing me gently for reassurance. God, he smelled good—a mixture of honey and lemon. When my sob-fest finally ceased, he released me to grab the bags and followed me to the couch that I promptly threw myself on in embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry, Collier. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “West. And don’t worry about it.”

  I stared at him, taking in the eyes he shared with my friend. Twins had never been so lucky as the two of them. They had similar features, but both were gorgeous in their own ways—Beck’s feminine to his masculine—but those eyes…they were the palest shade of green with a dark rim around the iris that was almost navy blue.

  He started to unload the bags he’d brought with him, and with each container he pulled out, my mouth watered at the aroma of Chinese food. “You want to tell me what happened that has you so upset?” He handed me a pair of chopsticks and a plastic fork. I chose the chopsticks and a carton of Szechuan veggies. “I noticed you don’t eat a lot of meat, but if you want some of mine, you’re welcome to it. There are egg rolls in there, too, but you seem to be a carb snob, so I wasn’t sure you’d want one.”