Wherever the Dandelion Falls (22 page)

"But everyone knows him," she said. "He's not a little-known."

"True," I admitted. "But you gotta hook readers in with something they're familiar with. Once they start reading, you can write about more interesting things."

Faye gave me a shy smile. "Okay."

Faye's phone was vibrating against my coffee table. It had been doing so for about a minute. At first I thought it had been a call, but when I tilted my head to see the screen over the glare from the window, I saw it was an alarm. I wondered why Faye had an alarm set for three in the afternoon.

Regardless, she was fast asleep, curled in a ball on my couch, and she wasn't hearing her phone.

I slid my foot forward so it was under her calf. "Faye," I whispered, jiggling my foot. "Your phone's going off."

She stirred but didn't wake.

I poked at her a little harder with my foot. "Faye!" I hissed. "Your alarm!"

At that she wriggled and frowned, displeased at being woken up. Then she opened her eyes and seemed startled. Her hand darted forward and grabbed the phone off the coffee table, sliding the alarm off as she got her bearings. Then she lifted her head, surveying the living room with a grumpy, disoriented expression.

"When did I fall asleep?"

"About halfway through
Midnight Cowboy
," I said, tilting my head toward the DVD case on the table.

In the emergency room a week before, we talked about my film class as an undergrad. When we started hanging out the next day, she'd asked me to screen my favorite movies for her. So we'd started with American classics.

"Shit... I'm sorry," she mumbled, smoothing her hair on one side of her head. "That's what I get for staying up to help you close."

I smiled, adoring her grumpy little face in what I hoped looked like the friend way. "I told you, I can work just fine with one hand."

"You wouldn't have gotten home until five if I hadn't helped you."

"True," I said. My smile grew at the memory of her wiping down tables and stacking chairs as I attempted to close the bar single-handedly. All week she'd been taking care of me, helping me with everything but bathing and dressing. "Thank you," I murmured.

She shrugged it off and sat all the way up and sighed. "I gotta go to class." She scrolled through a few things on her phone and then shivered. "Aren't you cold? It's
freezing
in here."

I didn't point out that she had hogged the entire afghan at the beginning of the movie and that I didn't think it was that cold, but I supposed that her body was used to a different climate, having grown up in Texas.

"I'm gonna freeze my ass off on the way to class," she muttered.

"Here," I said, shrugging out of my sweatshirt and handing it to her.

She paused and then gave me a grateful smile. "Thanks," she said softly. She studied it in her hands before lifting it over her head and pulling it down.

I tried to keep my smile steady as she stood, collecting her hair into a messy bun, then gathered her belongings as she headed out the door. She gave me a wave and a promise to see me soon before she closed the door and I heard her feet thundering down the stairs.

This was how it had been for the last week. Somehow deciding we were friends had meant that we saw each other every day, shared every annoyance and joke, and fell asleep at each other's houses. Mostly she fell asleep at mine, since Justine and I had a TV and a couch. Watching a movie on her laptop together would mean snuggling in her bed and that would be too romantic for friends.

Being her friend felt like drinking the watered down end of a good drink, when the ice has melted but you're still thirsty and want to get your money's worth. So you drain the cup through your straw until all you have is the ice cubes, the dissatisfaction of the diluted flavors, and the desire to order another drink, no matter how drunk you already are. Some drinks are just that good.

Later that day as I entered the laundromat with several large bags of laundry, I was flooded by a smell that now only reminded me of Faye. I felt the pleasant tension in my belly start to increase, excited by her mere proximity — which I know is not how you're supposed to feel about a friend. I was trying hard to control it. But it's hard to get your body to stop doing something it just does on its own, like breathing or pumping blood through you. Trying to get my body not to respond to Faye was like trying to stop my heart from beating. It just didn't work.

Sorting the laundry was awkward and slow, since my hand was still bound in its dressings. The stitches wouldn't come out for another few days, but the pain and swelling had gone down.

After the machines were whirring, I couldn't stop myself from texting Faye. I could see her pale gold SUV across the street, so I knew she was right upstairs. I could almost feel her warmth radiating through the floor, drawing the scent of the fabric softener into her skin.

Hey, I'm downstairs doing laundry. What are you up to?

She replied immediately, not answering my question, but giving a far better response.
Come up :)

Feeling gravity leave most of my body, I rose from my chair and walked out of the laundromat.

I waited at the gate for her to come down and open it for me. She looked relaxed in her yoga pants and tank top.
I tried not to stare at her backside as we walked up the stairs.

We entered her apartment, which was in less disarray than usual.

"Hey, you cleaned!" I cheered. "It looks good!"

She gave skeptical expression and said, "Yeah, I do that every three or four months."

I tried to laugh, but it didn't feel right. Something about her messy studio was sad, like she was constantly surrounded by her own chaos. But her apartment didn't seem like hers when it was clean.

"I clean when I'm stressed out," I said. "Justine always knows I'm upset when she comes home to a clean house."

My mind flickered back to my last big cleaning spree, which had been brought on by discovering Faye in this very apartment barely past the throes of passion with another girl. I sank. I didn't like thinking about that, or how I still wanted to be naked around her.

Faye raised her eyebrows. "God, I'm the opposite. Cleaning stresses me out."

"If you ever want me to come over and clean, let me know," I offered, before realizing how strange that sounded. Did friends offer to come over and clean each other's houses? Probably not.

"Thanks," she mumbled. There was a moment of awkward silence before she took a breath and plastered on a smile. "So how are you? How's your hand?" she asked, gesturing towards the dressings.

"It's okay," I shrugged.

And then there was more awkward silence. I wanted to fill it, but I didn't trust myself to not speak what was on my mind, which was how beautiful she was, how smart she was, and how painful it was to just be her friend.

I reasoned with myself that for now it was probably good to be just friends, since we were still getting to know each other and my injured hand would have made having sex difficult. I knew that was terrible logic, but it was the only thing I had to convince myself that being just friends was okay.

Just when the silence was getting excruciating, Faye looked up at me as though she'd had a sudden thought.

"You get your stitches out on Friday, right?"

I nodded.

"We should celebrate," she said. "Friday night is Cockblock. Wanna go?"

Without hesitation, I said yes.

I had been to Cockblock, a queer women's dance party, once before. I went with Justine and was disappointed that none of the girls had asked to dance with me. So I'd danced with Justine the whole night. Dancing with Faye was sure to be better.

As Friday approached, I found myself wondering how two girls who both like girls and are attracted to each other but are just friends would go about dancing. Was there a specific distance we should keep from each other, or could I dance on her like I'd danced on Justine?

Or maybe — my heart raced at the thought — maybe Faye was taking me dancing because she had changed her mind. Maybe she
did
want to date me and this was kind of a trial date. I grew excited at the possibility.

Faye arrived at my house that night, dress and makeup bag in hand. She seemed as though she'd already had a drink and was high on party vibe. She was excited to be around lesbians. I liked being around Faye when she was this happy.

After Faye wriggled into her impossibly form-fitting dress, she fluffed her hair over her shoulders and examined me. "What are we gonna do with you, sister?" she asked, hands on her hips. She marched over to my closet and rifled through my clothes before finding a short pleather skirt and sequined tank top. "I am pleasantly surprised," she said, as though she'd expected to find nothing but button-downs, hoodies, and yoga pants. She tossed the clothing at me and said, "Put these on."

I started heading for the bathroom when she called after me, "Wait!"

I turned back and found her holding up a finger as she bent into my closet. She picked up my shiny black pumps and held them out to me. "These too."

I loved her confidence in my ability to pull off a daring outfit. I scampered into the bathroom to change before I realized that I didn't have the proper undergarments. I went back into the bedroom to find Faye peering at herself in the mirror on my dresser as she did something with her eyebrow and a small brush. My Dutch heritage had graced me with thin, easy-to-maintain eyebrows, so eyebrow shaping as an art form was completely foreign to me.

"Underwear," I said, pointing to the drawer in front of Faye.

Faye opened the drawer and started rifling through my underwear.

I was stunned for a moment, then anxious, hoping my underwear weren't too shabby or — god forbid — stained. Why was she looking through my underwear? That was not a
friend
thing to do.

I had realized there were different rules for us than for straight girls. We didn't change in front of each other, nor could we talk about our boobs or waxing habits like straight girls did. But other than those absolutes, I wasn't sure what our rules were. All I knew was we had to stay strictly above water or any other kind of wetness.

"Thong or boy short?" Faye asked.

"Uh-" I stuttered. "Thong."

Faye's hand sifted through a few garments before finding my black lace thong and tossing it toward me. As she did, she looked up at me and winked.

Did that wink mean that she enjoyed knowing what I'd be wearing under the skirt she'd selected for me? Was she flirting? Implying she wanted to take them off later? Was it evidence that supported my theory that this was a trial date?

I tried not to think about it as I went into the bathroom, shimmied out of my current underwear, and slid my legs into the flimsy thong. I zipped the skirt up and wondered again if this evening was a date. Did two single girls who liked girls and were attracted to each other go out dancing as just friends? Why was my brain making this so difficult?

After I pulled the sequined tank top over my head and slid into my pumps, I ventured back into my bedroom, heels staking the ground. When I appeared in the doorway, Faye turned away from the mirror. Her jaw half-fell as her eyes swooped over me. "Damn, girl," she said. "The girls will be on you like flies on Gaga's meat dress."

Frowning at her strange analogy, I said, "Is that a good thing?"

Faye scoffed, looking me up and down again. "Trust me, it's a good thing." Then she turned back to the mirror and continued applying eyeliner.

While Faye seemed engrossed in adding to her already stunning beauty, the quietness after a compliment made me feel awkward. "Should I put on more makeup?" I asked. Surely an outfit as outrageous as the one she'd selected for me warranted more than a coat of mascara and tinted chapstick.

Faye finished her second eyelid and then turned to me with a smile. "Want me to do it?"

I nodded and a minute later she had seated me on the bed. With her face mere inches from mine, she dragged brushes over my cheeks and eyelids and waved wands over my eyelashes and lips. Her closeness and warmth were so palpable, I worried I was leaning too far forward to get closer to her, to breathe her air, to see if I could taste her. After what felt like just two minutes, she patted my knee and said, "There you go. All done."

I opened my eyes and walked over to the mirror, stunned by my sudden transformation. She had made me up to be a modern-day pinup girl, glamorous with dramatic lashes and lips. At first it was shocking, but I loved it. I giggled and smoothed my hands over my skirt.