by Jen DeLuca
And then my mind circles back to How Much Longer? I know guys, performers on this circuit, who’ve been doing the same gigs for years. Decades. Is that how we’re going to end up? Are all of the guys going to want to keep this going that long? I mean, at some point, we’re going to have to make a real living, right? At least one of us is going to get married and want to stop traveling. And it’s not like we have health insurance, or any kind of retirement savings. Or a roof over our heads that doesn’t belong to family. This nomadic life can be great, but sometimes it feels like I’m speeding toward a cliff that’s just getting closer and closer. Sometimes I wish I had a safety net.
Hmm. That got kind of deep, and kind of down, which isn’t how I want to feel when I write to you. So it’s up to you, Anastasia. Cheer me up. Tell me what you’re doing on this lazy Sunday.
To: Dex MacLean
From: Stacey Lindholm
Date: November 16, 1:43 p.m.
Subject: Re: Re: PSL Final Tally!
Lazy Sundays are my favorite thing in the world, actually. Right now I’m on my laptop in my parents’ living room, about to watch a movie with my mother. She has a weakness for romantic comedies. If this is part of being in that cage, I don’t mind it so much.
Shut your mouth about PSLs. They make me happy. No support group needed, thank you very much.
Obligation, huh? You may be on to something there. You’re right, it’s tricky when it comes to family. Sometimes I wish
“Stacey?”
I jumped at the sound of Mom’s voice and closed my laptop. “Yeah, Mom.” I put my laptop on the coffee table and got off the living room couch. “You need me to get the popcorn bowl?”
“You know it. Come in here, Tall Girl.”
I had to laugh. I’d outgrown my mother by about an inch when I hit the tenth grade, but I’d stopped growing not long after that, topping out around five foot five. In no way did that make me a tall girl.
But I went into the kitchen anyway. “You could put the bowl somewhere else, you know.” I stretched on my toes to tease at the edge of it until I’d moved it far enough off the top of the fridge for it to tumble into my hands. “Somewhere you can reach.”
She shrugged and got the bag of popcorn out of the microwave. “Why do I need do that when I have you?”
“True.” I nodded slowly, trying to keep my expression neutral. There it was. She didn’t mean anything by it. She didn’t know about the email conversation I’d just been having. But just the same I felt myself nudging against the bars of that golden cage. “But you might not always.”
“What do you mean?” Mom raised her eyebrows. “You going somewhere?”
She had me there. “No . . .” I hated how heavy my heart felt in my chest when I said that. “But I might, you know.” It was a small thing: the tiniest of pushes against those golden bars. At least it was a start.
“Of course. But no rush, honey. Take your time. And until then, you can get the popcorn bowl down for me.” She patted my cheek as only a mother could as she took the bowl from my hands.
Take my time. Right. What did I expect?
Back in the living room, I moved my laptop off the coffee table while Mom picked up the remote. “Working on anything important?” She nodded toward my laptop as she pointed the remote at the television.
“That? No.” I glanced at my laptop. “Just some wedding stuff for Emily.” The lie slipped easily from my mouth, and my heart pounded. I didn’t lie to my mother. I never had. But what was I supposed to say? I’m bitching about you to a guy I used to bang but who is now a long-distance pen pal that I spill my secrets to?
If she noticed my lie, she didn’t say. “She’s so on top of everything, isn’t she?” She settled back onto the couch next to me, scrolling through the movie selections. “She runs that book club of hers with an iron fist.”
The thought of Emily distracted me from my anxiety and even made me laugh. “That’s putting it mildly. I think her lists have lists.”
I picked up the popcorn and put it between us on the couch. I could finish that email later.
Seven
Birds flew south for the winter, and apparently so did Renaissance faire performers. I’d never paid attention to the Faire circuit as an entity; it was just something I did every summer in my hometown. But since Dex and I had started—well, whatever you wanted to call what we were doing; I wasn’t sure I wanted to define it—I checked in on the Kilts’ fanpage on a regular basis, and it became clear that our Faire was just one stop among many. One small dot on a path that wound through the eastern United States, snaking through several states, sometimes ducking out toward the Midwest before coming back to the East Coast again. And as the weather grew colder and the holidays grew closer, that path moved farther and farther south, culminating in Florida just before Thanksgiving. After that they went home to Michigan through the new year, and then it was back down to Florida, where the whole thing went in reverse: Faires in the South as the path headed northward again and the weather warmed up.
Following their progress down to Florida, combined with Dex’s emails about his daily life—so different from mine—lit a fire in the back of my mind. Not a raging fire. Not even an especially bright or urgent one. More of a flickering candle flame, but it combined with that odd feeling of being left behind when Faire had ended this past summer. And together, that flickering light and that sense of yearning made me want something new. A life on the road. A life somewhere other than here.
But, as usual, I let that candle and those feelings flicker out and then I went back to work on Monday as though they’d never existed.
After Dex and the rest of the Kilts went home for the holidays, his emails came less often, which I tried not to take too personally. He was back with friends and family, after all; he probably didn’t need his online pen pal as much while he wasn’t on the road. But as Christmas slid into New Year’s Eve, the lack of emails showed me how much I’d made them part of my life. Made Dex part of my life. And I wondered if that had been a mistake. If he was just someone else who would move beyond me.
But I masked the feeling and sent him an email before I left to go out on New Year’s Eve. In the spirit of Auld Lang Syne and all that.
To: Dex MacLean
From: Stacey Lindholm
Date: December 31, 9:32 p.m.
Subject: Happy New Year
I’ve always thought that New Year’s Eve had a special sort of energy to it. Saying goodbye to the old, worn-out year, and looking forward to the promise of a bright new one. Like sliding into a bed with fresh, clean sheets on it. It’s not an energy that lasts. By February most people have forgotten the New Year’s resolutions they’ve made. I’ve stopped writing them down, myself—I hate the feeling of not living up to my own expectations.
I’m off to a New Year’s Eve party at Jackson’s with a bunch of friends. It’s a cold night, but I don’t think we’re getting snow. I hope that you’re safe and warm this New Year’s Eve, and I hope that you have a very happy New Year. I’m glad I’ve gotten to know you better these past few months.
There. Friendly, but not too friendly. If he really was backing off our little online relationship, I didn’t want to look too clingy. I slipped my phone into my clutch on my way out the door, but once I got to Jackson’s I tried really hard to not check it. Which meant I tapped the email icon every five minutes or so. I frowned at my email inbox, empty of new messages, until Mitch took my phone out of my hand and put a shot glass in it instead.
“Hey, give that back.” I made a weak attempt to take my phone, but Mitch was something like twice my height and just held it over his head. I wasn’t getting it back until he was ready to give it.
“Nope. Not till you’ve done a shot with me. And then a shot with Park over there.” He nodded over to where Emily leaned against the bar. She saw us looking at her and waved, a grin
spreading over her face.
“When did Emily get here?” I tossed back the shot—vodka, so there weren’t any accompaniments like salt or limes to contend with. I only coughed a little as it went down, warming me from the inside out.
“About three checks of your phone ago.” He took the empty shot glass away and handed me a bottle of beer as a chaser. His face darkened slightly, which was an odd look for the world’s most cheerful guy. “You getting stood up or something?”
“No. Nothing like that.” I wasn’t about to explain my odd online relationship in the middle of a crowded bar on what was supposed to be the most festive night of the year.
“Hmm.” Mitch looked me over critically and handed me back my phone. “Well, come on. That shot was just a warm-up. Come join the party. But let me know whose ass I need to kick later, okay?”
“You got it.” I turned off my phone and stuck it back in my purse. Screw it. Dex wasn’t writing me back tonight. He was probably out celebrating New Year’s Eve, just as I was. Except he wasn’t wasting the whole night staring at his phone.
Enough. I took a swig from my beer and clung to the back of Mitch’s shirt as he led us through the tight crowd. Funny how I’d had such a crush on Mitch when we were in high school. But now I was grateful that the crush had dissipated, replaced by a big-brotherly feeling. I truly believed that if someone hurt me, Mitch would hunt the guy down and make him regret it. And then get me drunk to help me forget. Of course, he’d do it with beer and tequila, never remembering that I liked wine better. It was the thought that counted.
Sure enough, when we got to Emily’s side of the bar, her sister April was there next to her, lining up shot glasses and lime wedges.
“Not too many,” Emily cautioned. “Tequila is not my friend.”
“Tequila is nobody’s friend,” April said as she handed each of us a lime wedge. “That’s the point.”
Mitch scoffed. “It’s one shot. That’s all.”
Emily squinted at him. “Since when is it only one shot with you?”
“She has a point.” Simon appeared on the other side of Emily, two longneck beers in his hand. He passed one over to Emily and kept the other for himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stop at one.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve!” Mitch protested. “If you can’t let loose on New Year’s Eve, when can you?”
“I agree with Mitch,” I said, my usual bright smile back in place. I punctuated the statement by reaching for one of the shot glasses and the saltshaker and lime. Lick it, slam it, suck it. “Nothing wrong with saying goodbye to the old year.”
“I agree.” Emily followed suit, chasing the liquor with a swig of beer. “It’s been a pretty good year, after all. It deserves to go out in style.” She fiddled with the diamond ring on her left hand and stole a glance up at her fiancé. They exchanged a smile so intimate that I felt I was intruding by seeing it.
Bah. I nudged away my beer bottle and reached for another shot of tequila. So what if I didn’t have anyone to kiss at midnight. I wasn’t the only one. April and I clinked shot glasses and knocked them back together.
“I meant to say . . .” April leaned on the bar in my direction, and I leaned toward her in response, because it was getting kind of loud in here. “I’m so glad you joined book club. Sorry the books are so depressing, though.”
I waved a hand. “It’s okay. I’m one of those ‘history shouldn’t be forgotten’ kind of people.”
“Oh, me too.” April nodded earnestly, probably a little too earnestly, but we were both a couple shots in at this point. “Totally. But I’m also one of those ‘let’s read something fun after a long day of work’ kind of people.”
“Well, you should join Emily’s book club then.” I motioned between Emily and myself. “We’re reading fun books. Didn’t Emily tell you?”
April considered it, her head bobbing left and right on the end of her neck. Finally the bob became a nod, followed by a head shake. “I don’t know. You think this town is big enough for two book clubs?”
That was a valid question, considering that Emily’s book club still didn’t have a ton of members. But tequila made me optimistic. “It’s been great so far. They can have the depressing, important books. We read the fun ones with sex in them.”
A laugh escaped April’s mouth, a loud guffaw that I wouldn’t have expected from her. She clapped a hand over her mouth to contain the sound, but her eyes grinned at me. “Now that . . .” She trailed off. “. . . That is something I can get behind. I mean, if that’s the only way I can get any, I’m in.”
“I hear that.” I grinned, a little harder than was necessary, but again, tequila. “Go to the store. Emily will hook you up with the book.”
“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me about it. Em, why didn’t you tell me about the sexy book club?” She glanced over her shoulder, and I stifled a giggle. Emily’s arms were around Simon’s neck and he had her backed up against the bar, his hands low on her hips. She fiddled with the hair at the nape of his neck, and they didn’t have eyes for anyone else. There was no way Emily was thinking about book clubs, sexy or not.
My instinct was to avert my eyes, that feeling of being an intruder on someone else’s happiness coming back to the forefront. April obviously felt no such desire. Instead she whacked her little sister on the arm. “Get a room, you two! You do know you’re out in public, right?”
Simon backed away a step, a flush climbing up his neck as he ran a hand through his hair. He at least had the grace to look a little mortified, but Emily just rolled her eyes and whacked April right back with a grin.
“Nothing wrong with kissing my fiancé at midnight,” she said.
“It’s not midnight.” I handed her a shot glass.
“That’s right, it’s eleven forty-seven, so keep it in your pants for another thirteen minutes.” But April was smiling through her admonition, and we three girls did one more shot together for good measure.
Ooof. That was four shots in a very short amount of time, and with the way my fingers and toes were tingling, I was feeling the effects pretty quickly. I ordered a glass of water and squeezed two lime wedges into it. The alcohol had taken hold, and my muscles felt loose. I took slow sips of water as the room got just swimmy enough for me to feel good. A little silly. A lot happy. Happy New Year.
I’d taken an Uber to the bar, and I took another one home. Good planning ahead, Past Stacey. After another glass of water with a couple aspirin to stave off tomorrow’s hangover, I crawled into bed, switching on my fairy lights so I could see enough to plug in my phone. When it blinked to life, there was a notification. An email.
To: Stacey Lindholm
From: Dex MacLean
Date: January 1, 12:32 a.m.
Subject: Re: Happy New Year
I hope that you managed to stay warm, and that you didn’t get any snow while you were out tonight. I like to think of you as being as safe and warm as you wished I was. And I am. There are usually bars to hit up and parties to attend, but I ended up staying in tonight. Long talks with family ended up being a good way to say goodbye to this old year.
And now I’m sending you an email to say hello to the new year. Start as you mean to go on. I hope you had a great time out with friends, and that there was someone there to kiss you at midnight since it can’t be me.
I thought about getting my laptop, but it was on the other side of my apartment and I was tucked in bed with Benedick purring in my lap. So instead I pecked out a response on my phone.
To: Dex MacLean
From: Stacey Lindholm
Date: January 1, 1:13 a.m.
Subject: Re: Re: Happy New Year
It was a great evening, thank you. A smidge too much tequila but that’s how a lot of these nights go. No one at the bar worthy of kissing, but I gave Benedick a smooch and he didn’t seem to mind.
> A response came almost immediately.
To: Stacey Lindholm
From: Dex MacLean
Date: January 1, 1:16 a.m.
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Happy New Year
I take it back. I don’t know if I want someone there kissing you. Who the hell is Benedick, and why did his mother name him after a Shakespeare character? I can’t believe this. You’re out there getting kissed while I rang in the new year at the kitchen table with my uncle Morty.
A warm glow bloomed through my skin, almost as intense as the tequila buzz that had subsided about a half hour ago. Dex was jealous. This was wonderful.
I flipped to my camera and scooped up a sleepy Benedick. He barely moved as I took a selfie of the two of us, me planting a kiss onto his fluffy head. He’d lived with me long enough that he was used to me demanding photos; sometimes he even seemed to enjoy his little bursts of Instagram fame. If a cat knew what Instagram was. I deposited him back into my lap, where he purred and snuggled into my belly as I cropped the photo, brightening it since the fairy lights were kind of dark. I started to switch back to my email, but after a moment’s hesitation, closed out of the email and opened up my contacts instead. I’d never sent Dex a text before, because texting had felt too intimate. I wasn’t sure if it was the lingering tequila, the lateness of the hour, or the buoyant knowledge that a man who looked like Dex was actually upset that someone else might have been kissing me. Whatever it was, I was feeling intimate. Besides, pictures from phones sent better via text than email. So I selected his number and attached the picture to a text.
Meet Benedick. He’s an excellent kisser. Or kissee, really.
