Wherever the Dandelion Falls (35 page)

I smiled, appreciative of the delicate way she asked questions. "When I started, Callie told me the most important thing I needed to learn if I wanted to last was that I needed to commit to spending a lot of time taking care of myself."

"How do you do that?"

"It's different for everyone. I'd say ninety percent of the girls consider weekly pedicures the bare minimum for self care. Our feet are always sore from our shoes, but it's a psychological thing too."

Faye nodded and took a bite of her food, waiting for me to continue.

"I get massages every few weeks, but exercise, dancing, and sleep are how I take care of myself best."

Faye kept nodding pensively as she chewed.

I pointed to my bowl with my spoon. "Food too," I added. "I make sure I have good fuel. I'm lucky Justine is a good cook."

Faye smiled and asked how Justine was doing, and the conversation drifted off towards food, drink, and the weather.

After we said goodbye to the clerk at the counter, we trudged back towards my apartment on the way to the massage parlor.

Once we got inside the waiting area, I was fidgety and resentful that I'd agreed to do this. She didn't need me to hold her hand while she bought a gift. It had just been a dumb reason to hang out with her and now I had put myself in an awkward position.

Faye approached the counter and looked at the framed spa menu. "I wanted to get a gift certificate for a massage," she said to the attendant.

"Great," the man said. "We offer a variety of options. We have a standard fifty-minute Swedish, which is always good. You could go a bit longer or deeper with a ninety minute or a shiatsu. Some people prefer the lighter touch of the hot stone option, which is popular. Personally, I like the Thai massage. Some people say it's better than sex."

Cringing at his casual mention of sex around the most vanilla person in the world, I tried to pretend I was looking at the overpriced lotions and oils on a wooden shelf beside the counter. Faye studied the prices and then said, "Oh, they have a couple's massage." She looked up at me and lowered her voice as she asked, "What do you think?"

I clenched my stomach at the thought of her undressing for a massage next to her boyfriend as I forced myself to smile and nod.

She turned back to the man and said, "We'll do that."

The man gave another inauthentic spa-smile. "Great choice. Did you two want to schedule that now?" He glanced at me as he turned to the computer and my whole body hurt.

He thought Faye was buying a couple's massage for her and me to have together. His assumption that we were a couple was an unexpected punch in the gut.

"Oh, it's not for us," Faye said, mumbling a bit.

I tried to take comfort in the fact that she didn't laugh, but it was hardly a consolation.

"My mistake," the man said.

"I'll just take a gift certificate," Faye said, avoiding looking at me.

She seemed to take forever to purchase her gift certificate while I feigned interest in some organic hypoallergenic massage oil. She asked if I'd help her pick out a few more things and I begrudgingly agreed. I put myself on autopilot like I did in the Private Pleasures Booth sometimes, avoiding any conscious thought or feeling.

By the time we were done picking out a card and a nice tie for Isaiah, it was time for me to go to work. Somehow leaving Faye to go take off my clothes was both relieving and awful. It accentuated the contrast in our lives: she went to classes and on tasteful dates with her boyfriend when we weren't hanging out; I went to an electric pink petri dish and took off my clothes for anyone with a dollar.

Heavy with the understanding that she was perfectly committed to her vanilla boyfriend, I let Faye drop me off a block away.

When I got inside, I set about putting on my fake schoolgirl outfit; the white button-down shirt was no bigger than a bra and rested beneath my breasts, and the skirt was literally three inches long and looked more like a belt. Paired with my Ellies and two neat braids, I looked like a perverted Britney fantasy. Jez's dress code was the opposite of any school dress code. Our skirt couldn't cover our whole ass or pussy and our nipples had to be visible at all times.

As I stepped out of my everyday panties, I saw there was a small dark smudge on the fabric. At first I was surprised. With birth control, I always knew when my period was coming and I could plan for it. But since I'd stopped sleeping with Turner, I'd gone off it, so my cycle was all out of whack. Cursing, I looked in my locker for my toiletry kit. But when I looked in my usual spot, it was nowhere to be seen. I realized I had brought it home to refill a few weeks ago and hadn't put it back in my bag. I could even picture it on the top of my dresser next to my deodorant and bowl of bobby pins.

"Shit," I breathed. I turned to the girl changing next to me. "Do you have any tampons?"

She shook her head, not making eye contact. "I use a cup."

"Dammit," I breathed. I tried the lock on Callie's locker, but I didn't know the combo.

I rushed into the bathroom, remembering there was a machine that dispensed tampons for a quarter. But after feeding the machine three quarters and getting nothing in return, I hit it with my hand, letting a satisfying
bang
reverberate through the tiled room.

I was so fucked.

Frantic, I pulled out my phone.

There was a message from Faye:
I had fun with you today :)

Trying not to get sucked into her sweetness and forget that she was off limits, I ignored her note and called Justine. She didn't pick up three times in a row.

I had to be onstage in five minutes. I couldn't leave to go pick up tampons or I'd be knocked down the pay scale again or maybe even fired. I couldn't lose my job over my period.

But I also couldn't work with blood dripping out of me. My anxiety about my dilemma settled into my stomach, and I started feeling overwhelmed.

Desperate, I called Faye.

"Hey!" she chirped.

"Hey," I said, trying to keep my panic low. "Are you busy?"

"No, why? Aren't you at work?"

"I just got my period and I don't have any of my stuff. No one else is in the dressing room and I'm screwed."

"Oh," Faye said. "I always wondered what strippers do about that."

I gave a pained chuckle. "We cut the strings off our tampons."

"Makes sense," Faye said. There was a brief pause before she said, "Do you need me to bring you something?"

I let out a relieved sigh. I couldn't believe I'd actually called her to ask her to bring me tampons.

"If it's not too much trouble," I said.

"What kind do you want?"

"Just regular tampons and some Motrin. I'll pay you back."

"I'll drop it off in the next twenty minutes. Will that be okay?"

"Yeah," I said, hopeful I could fake something until she showed up.

"Do I just go to the front desk?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'll tell the attendant I'm expecting something."

"Perfect."

"Thank you so much," I said, sighing in relief.

"No problem at all," Faye said. I could hear her smile.

She was such a sweet girl.

I finished getting dressed, jerry-rigging a temporary solution to my flow problem that I hoped would last for the next twenty minutes. Then I steeled myself and clopped up the stairs into the Box.

The next fifteen minutes were the longest I'd ever spent in the Box. I was so nervous about bleeding on something. After what felt like five hours, there was a tap on the door and I raced over to it, slinking down the stairs to receive the bag the attendant was holding out to me. I was disappointed I wouldn't get to see Faye, but I didn't want her to see me with my tits out because I knew it would make her uncomfortable.

The bag the attendant handed me was heavy for what I'd asked for. I frowned and opened it, peering inside.

Tucked next to the tampons and Motrin was a bottle of water, a bar of chocolate, and a big, gooey brownie from Starbucks.

At that, I burst into tears. I liked Faye so, so much, and her sweetness felt like torture. I sat in the dressing room crying for ten minutes before I wound my way back into the Box, not caring if I got in trouble.

I followed Faye to her car in shock, feeling like a dog with its tail between its legs. Why had she slapped me away like that? I knew she was temperamental, but I didn't think she would be cruel to me like that.

I let myself stew in my confusion the whole way back to her apartment. It was an awful, sickening quiet that made the drive feel hours long. Faye busied herself flicking through songs at stoplights, humming to ease the tension.

As I sat in her passenger seat, awkwardly shifting my legs and looking around, I started to feel angry. Why was it always her that got to determine what we did and didn't do? Why was sex always on her terms? The anger started to simmer under my skin.

When we got to her apartment, my instinct was to run back to my apartment. But I needed her to know I was angry. I had a tendency to let my anger fester until I exploded, and I wanted to take a different approach with her.

So I followed her into her apartment. She seemed surprised, but she didn't object.

I closed the door behind me, my purse barely making a thud as I tossed it on a pile of laundry by the door.

"What's going on?" I asked. "We hang out every day, we have a great time, we have mind-blowing sex, but sometimes you won't give me the time of day. I don't get it."

Faye crossed her arms, bristling. "I can't give you attention every minute of every day."

"I know," I said, trying to stay gentle so she wouldn't retreat any further. "But when I tried to take your hand just now you practically slapped me."

Faye frowned. "I didn't
slap
you," she whined. Her shoulders hunched as she raised her arms higher over her breasts. "I just didn't want to hold your hand."

"That's fine, but you didn't have to be so mean about it."

"Not everyone can be all sweet and nice like you all the time." Her words were in stark contrast to her venom-laced voice.

"I'm just saying that sometimes you do things that hurt my feelings."

“Well,
sorry
," Faye snarled, giving an exaggerated, indifferent shrug.

I was stunned. This was the meanest I'd ever seen her.

"Why are you being like this?" I asked, holding my hands open at my sides to show that I wasn't holding any weapons. "I just want to talk, and you're acting like I'm asking you to commit murder or someth
—
"

"I'm not out!" Faye snapped.

I was shocked, like a rubber band had snapped back and hit me in the face.

"What?" I whispered.

"I'm not out," she echoed, glaring at me. Her voice was cold and bitter as she continued. "I know you're happy in your little love-who-you-love hippie utopia, but some of us don't have that luxury."

I was frozen for a moment as I processed what she had said.

I thought everyone knew Faye liked girls. It was one of the most obvious things about her. At least to me.

"To your parents?" I asked.

"To anyone except the girls I've been with," she muttered. Then her voice dropped to almost a whisper, and she said, "No one knows I'm gay."

How was it possible that Faye was completely closeted beyond her bedroom? She was too confident, too practiced in her flannel Casanova ways to be closeted.

And yet she was.

"Oh," I murmured, feeling my body go soft with sorrow. "I didn't realize."

Faye looked away and raised to her eyebrows, as if to tell me it should have been obvious.

Suddenly everything about her made sense. Why she was so anxious all the time, why she'd slapped my hand away, why she was most authentic in bed.

Looking at her now, knowing the sorrow and loneliness that lived within her, I had the sudden, overwhelming desire to remind her she wasn't alone. I stepped toward her but grew cautious when she seemed to bristle.

"It's okay," I whispered, lifting my arms to her. I held them there until I saw her arms drop to her sides, laying down her armor. Then I enveloped her, drawing her to my chest and holding her gently. "It's okay if you're not out," I hushed.

She remained rigid for a moment, as though I might try to crush her or shove her away. But gradually she softened, and I hoped she felt relief at finally telling me the truth.

I thought back to what it had been like for me to come out. In high school, one afternoon when we were snuggling in his bed, I'd spontaneously told Damon that I thought girls were sexy. He adjusted his arm under my neck, smoothing hair away from my cheek as he smiled and said, "Girls are very sexy." After he said that I realized I'd been nervous to tell him. Even though I knew he'd be okay with it — his older brother was gay and he loved his brother — it still was a big deal to say it out loud for the first time.

But it had been different then. I was committed to him and imagined the rest of our lives together. My attraction to girls was theoretical, and for all I knew, would be forever. When Damon and I broke up, I didn't think of being with
anyone
for a long time. Maggie appeared right when I needed her. She was already out, so by simply holding her hand on the quad, I outed myself to the campus without having to announce anything. I don't know how I would have told my friends otherwise. They just figured it out.

Kimi and my parents were another story. I had to tell them with words. I don't remember what I said exactly, only that I told my mom when we were peeling potatoes for Thanksgiving. I can still feel the grit from the potato skins on my hands when I think about that conversation. I told her I was dating someone named Maggie and she said she was glad to hear I was dating again. We didn't talk about what it meant or how I identified. When I told Kimi later, she was more taken aback. She wanted to know how long I'd been a lesbian and if Damon knew. I told her I wasn't a lesbian, I was bisexual, and that of course Damon had known. She calmed down and asked if I'd told mom. When I told her our mom hadn't even blinked, Kimi realized she had overreacted. She gave me a hug and echoed my mom's sentiment that she was glad I was dating again. We went on to have a normal Thanksgiving dinner and my sexuality didn't come up again other than the few times my mom asked how Maggie was.

I didn't tell my dad directly. At that point my parents were friends again and I figured my mom would tell him. This proved true when, right before Christmas, he asked if I'd be bringing my girlfriend home with me. I loved his gentle way of showing his acceptance, especially since he and I didn't talk about much besides my studies. I told him Maggie and I had broken up, and his reaction was, "That's a shame. I would have liked to meet her."

As I thought about my coming out experience, I realized how easy I'd had it. I'd known every time I told someone that they would be accepting or at least polite. But not everyone had that. From the way Faye was acting, I was certain she knew she'd get a less favorable reaction if she came out. I knew nothing about her family or friends, but part of me wanted to apologize for them. Whatever they'd done to make her so afraid and ashamed of who she was was unfair.

I put my hand on the back of her head, easing her closer, hoping she would rest on my shoulder. To my relief, she laid her head down and I felt her torso expand and contract as she took slow, shaky breaths.

After I felt all the tension leave her body, I pulled back and brushed her hair away from her face.

"You were so confident when you were trying to pick me up that I assumed you were out."

She gave a faint, forced laugh and kept her eyes down.

"I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable," I said.

And I meant it. I never wanted to make Faye uncomfortable. All I wanted was to cushion her in whatever way I could.

"From now on, no more PDA," I said, tucking some hair behind her ear. "If you're uncomfortable, just tell me. Scratch your nose or blink fast or something."

Faye studied me, seeming surprised.

"It doesn't bother you?" she asked.

I tilted my head, confused. "Why would it bother me?"

Faye gave a timid shrug. "You just seem like you want someone to be handsy with all the time."

Surprised that Faye would interpret my desire to be close as a desire to be publicly affectionate, I gave her a playful frown. "As long as we can be handsy in private, I'm fine."

Faye looked up at me with a terrified, helpless expression.

I drew her to my chest again, finally understanding why she hadn't been able to formalize our relationship.

"You don't have to shout anything from the rooftops," I said. "You're special to me even if all you do is whisper."

At that, Faye let out a relieved exhale. When she spoke, her voice was almost too quiet to hear. "You're special to me too."

Feeling like all Faye's mystery was finally stripped away, I squeezed her to my chest again, silently promising not to do anything that would frighten her.

Since I had started dating Faye, my job had gotten even more boring. The days seemed to double in length, the hum of the air conditioner vents over my desk droning louder and more incessant with each passing minute. I took to playing the radio quietly from my computer just to feel like there was some life in the office, but even that didn't make the day go faster.

The trouble was that now I had something to look forward to after work. Faye and I were too excited about dating to see each other only on weekends; she took me out of dinner or a movie or a comedy show at least once during the week, and on the days we didn't see each other, we texted back and forth as much as we could. We'd even started talking on the phone most nights.

Monday afternoon I was sitting at my desk struggling to keep the data in front of me from swimming when Dr. Turner leaned into my office, rapping his knuckles on the door frame. "You have a delivery," he said with a smirk.

Surprised, I got up and followed him out into the main office, and then into his. When I entered, I saw a colorful arrangement of flowers sitting on his desk. It was even more beautiful than the first bouquet. I
knew
this one was from Faye. I couldn't hold back a dopey smile.

"Seems you're quite the popular lady lately," he said, his voice syrupy and coy. "You must be doing something right."

I tried to brush his comment off, picking up my flowers to take them back to my desk. As I turned around, Dr. Turner said, "It's good to know why things didn't work out with Vance."

I was caught off guard by the reminder of Dr. Turner's stupid nephew.

"What?" I asked.

Dr. Turner just chuckled and turned back to his computer. "Nothing," he said.

If he had been anyone but my boss, I would have pressed to get more information about what he meant. But he had come down off the pedestal and I honestly didn't care.

Confused, I took the flowers back to my desk. I turned them about, admiring the way they'd been arranged. As I turned the vase, I saw a small white envelope tucked between two blossoms. I pulled it out, seeing my name written in Faye's handwriting on the front. I turned it over and saw the flap was already opened, a piece of the envelope stuck to the adhesive flap where it had been torn.

Dr. Turner had opened it.

I pulled out the card and winced as I read,