Wherever the Dandelion Falls (46 page)

"She means well," I said.

"I'm sure," Justine said, though it was cool. She poured herself a glass of water and then walked back into the living room.

"Why didn't you tell me you liked someone at work?" she asked.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I decided I didn't want to hide from Justine anymore. I was giving up on Faye anyway.

"Because I don't like someone at work," I said. "I like Faye."

"Isaiah's Faye?" Justine asked, sounding surprised.

"Yep... Isaiah's Faye," I muttered. I couldn't bring myself to call her his fiancé.

Justine took a moment to process what I'd said before coming to join me on the couch. As the cushions gave under her weight, I felt myself release. I decided to tell her everything. Maybe keeping everything bottled up was what was making me feel so disjointed.

"I know she's straight," I said, weary. "And I know even if she weren't, I wouldn't have a shot with her. It just felt good to feel close to someone in a way that didn't involve being naked."

Justine nodded and looked at me with wide, serious eyes.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you... I didn't want you teasing me or saying anything to Isaiah."

"I understand," Justine said. "But you know you can tell me anything, right?"

"I know," I mumbled, ashamed. "I just thought that talking about it would make it more real and then I'd be more sad..." I felt my eyes start to sting and my throat tighten. "I'm so tired of being sad," I squeaked.

"What's making you sad?" Justine asked. "Is it work? Faye? Something else?"

"I don't know!" I said, frustrated. "I just feel like- like I'll never find someone who wants to be with me regardless of what I look like or what I do... who isn't
crazy
," I said, gesturing towards the door where Callie had just exited. "I want to love and be loved, but it seems so impossible right now."

My crying started getting more animated, and I felt so ashamed and foolish.

Justine reached forward and put her hand on my knee. "Riley, I want you to remember this," she said.

I looked at her and waited for her to continue. When she didn't, I sniffled and said, "Remember what?"

"How you feel right now."

I inhaled and said in a soggy voice, "Pretty hard to forget what sad feels like."

"Yeah, but I want you to really sit with it and remember how it feels."

I sat quietly for a minute, letting images of Faye play in my head. Her in my shirt making pancakes. Her at the diner, laughing at my dumb stripper jokes. The look on her face when I'd gotten scared by the Bush Man. I replayed those moments, telling myself I wouldn't get any new ones, and felt myself being pulled deeper into the couch.

"Why?" I sniffled.

Justine gave me a melancholic smile and said, "Because someday you are going to be so, so loved, and so happy, and so at peace with yourself, you'll forget what this feels like."

I scoffed at the impossibility of what she was suggesting.

"I mean it," Justine said. "Someday you'll look back at now as the time when you thought you were supposed to have it all together. Right now is what makes that future so much sweeter."

At that I started crying harder, curling forward into myself. I wanted so badly for Justine to be right, but it was hard not to let the doubt ruin the hopeful image she was painting.

"C'mere," Justine said. "I know it'll happen. You'll meet someone amazing soon."

I shook my head. "I just want
her
."

Justine rubbed my back, "I'm sorry, sweetie."

I let Justine envelop me and tried as hard as I could to be patient with the sadness that Justine claimed would make the future sweeter. Maybe if I could hold onto the hope she had for me, I wouldn't turn into a jaded, bitter stripper.

When I got back to the Box later that week, it was like that fable about the couple who complain their house is too small; the priest or rabbi advises them to move animals in one by one until they can hardly move. Then he advises them to move them out, and the house feels spacious. I was performing better, and I sold more Private Pleasures Booth sessions that week than I had in a long time. I put in a discreet request with management that Callie and I not be scheduled to work together when possible. On the rare occasions that I saw her, Callie gave me a reassuring smile that told me she was glad to see me back to my professional standard.

I got used to my old routine again. A few times I debated calling Faye, but I stopped myself. Who was I kidding, chasing her? She didn't want to be chased. If anything, contacting her would spook her more, and I had too many things to figure out before I could be with anyone. Faye deserved someone she could brag about, who was as thoughtful and kind as she was. If Isaiah was that person, then I would try to be glad for them, though I wasn't so deluded that I didn't let jealousy seep into my gladness. I'm human. All sixty-eight naked inches of me.

Still, I felt emotionally and socially paralyzed. Sex had become a weird, elusive thing, and I had done a strange job of sectioning off each part of my life so nothing could overlap. I had almost resigned myself to feeling disjointed for the rest of my life. I probably deserved as much.

Which is why I was utterly stunned when Faye called me after two months. She called in the middle of the day on a Thursday, when I usually would have been working, if I hadn't swapped shifts with Nora so she could spend Saturday with her son for his birthday. I froze for a second when Faye's name popped up. Then I raised it to my ear, blurting, "Hi."

"Hi," Faye said. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," I said, wary. I didn't want her to know I'd been pining over her as I drifted between home and work and the few social obligations I had.

I let the silence set into the line for too long before I asked, "How are you?"

Faye's breath seemed to shake for a moment before she said, "Better."

I paused to see if she would explain herself. What did
better
mean? Was she better now that we weren't talking? Better now that she'd agreed to marry Isaiah?

"I want to see you," she said, determined but timid.

"Okay," I said, before any other feeling could set in. I did want to see her. And I didn't want my hurt or frustration or self-doubt to convince me otherwise.

I wanted to see Faye, and in that moment, that was all that mattered.

I locked the door of the bar and let myself sag against it, still shaking. I felt like I'd been at work for three days without eating or sleeping. Every part of my body hurt and I was running on adrenaline and sheer will. It took the rest of my strength not to slide to the floor.

"You okay?" Abby asked. Her tone indicated she didn't care.

How could she be so indifferent to what had happened? Hadn't she seen the paramedics wheeling Tommy out, the mask strapped to his face, and the blank, fearful faces of the patrons who moved so the stretcher could roll through?

I wasn't even supposed to be here tonight. The only thing I wanted to do was go home.

And I realized with a jolt that when I pictured home, it wasn't my apartment with Justine. It was Faye's chaotic apartment with her messy, comfortable bed.

Trying to still my hands as they shook, I took out my phone. I could see some residue from my makeup on the screen, no doubt sweat off during my conversation with the 911 dispatcher. I smeared it against my leg to wipe it off and then called Faye. She was probably asleep, but I needed to talk to her.

Not wanting to unravel in front of Abby and her abrasive indifference, I slunk toward the bathroom. I didn't look at the men's room as I pushed into the women's, which was sparkling clean and looked as though it hadn't been used all night. It smelled like citrus and didn't have any muddied toilet paper on the floor.

The phone rang and I closed my eyes, praying Faye would answer. On the second ring, she did.

She sounded groggy. "Hey."

"Hi," I said, trying not to sound panicked or upset. "I'm sorry to call so late."

"'Sokay," Faye said. I pictured her rolling onto her back in her bed, eyes still closed as she spoke to me.

"I had a bad shift," I said, hearing my voice shake. "Can I
—
can I come over?"

"Of course," Faye said.

Exhaling in shaky gratitude, I felt some of the tension leave my body. "Thank you," I said. "I'll probably need to shower."

"I have water you can use."

Shuddering with forced laughter, I smiled. "Okay.” My voice sounded so small and meek.

"Call when you get here."

"Okay. Thanks. I love you."

There was a deafening pause.

"Okay. See you soon."

I slid the call off and then realized what I'd said.

Shit, shit, shit.

Why would I ever say something so important and powerful so casually?

Eager to distract myself, I went back into the main room of the bar and began wiping down the bar. If I kept moving, I wouldn't freak out. I was more relieved than ever that we had a custodian who came in the wee hours of the morning so neither Abby or I had to venture into the restroom to clean up Tommy's vomit. I would be happy to never set foot in that restroom again. It smelled bad and looked bad and made me feel horrible about what I did for a living. I was so tired and so frightened, and above all, I felt guilty about being a bartender. Sure, a drink or two on a dance floor was harmless fun, but there was a dark side of my job that I had turned my head from intentionally. I knew alcohol hurt people. I just avoided seeing it until someone was inches from death right in front of my face.

I had seen so many patrons leave the bar perilously drunk, never thinking it was my place to ask how they were getting home. I never knew if they were getting into cars or beds against their better judgment. I knew Chad had been wasted through most of his hookups, and a handful of other regulars had DUIs. Even me, who knew better than to drive when I was drunk, had been drunk when I first got into bed with Faye. Maybe it would have been easier for us to figure out where we stood if we'd had a more formal dating process. As it was, we did things and figured out what they meant later.

After I stacked the chairs, I went back behind the bar and helped Abby wipe everything down. As I picked up each bottle and placed it in its spot on the shelf, I thought of each one differently. Which bottle would be the cause of an injury? Car accident? Breakup? Act of infidelity? Death?

I was working in a minefield that I would never decode.

As I made my way home, I felt myself warm at the promise of being near Faye. I was mortified that I'd blurted out that I loved her. At least I'd hung up quickly. Perhaps I could just pretend it had never happened and we'd carry on like nothing was wrong. As soon as I could shower and wash off the stench that club to me, I wanted nothing more than to be held in her arms and sleep until late into the afternoon.

I arrived at Faye's apartment and called up, desperately sniffing the air for fabric softener from the closed laundromat in front of me. I thought I smelled a hint of it, but it could have been wishful smelling. I was searching for anything to comfort myself. When Faye plodded downstairs, swaying on tired, bare legs in her soft cotton sleep shorts, I felt myself nearing relief. Not wanting to explain anything while I still reeked of vomit and alcohol, I pointed to her shower. She gave me a sleepy nod and slid back into her bed, wrist over her eyes as I sealed myself in her bathroom and scrubbed for a long time.

When I finally emerged, softened by soap and steam and heat, she kept her eyes closed, but scooted to her side of the bed. I stopped only to pull on a pair of her clean underwear and a t-shirt. I lay down, hoping she would wrap me in her arms and kiss the worry out of me, but she stayed where she was. All the relief of the shower I'd taken left, and I knew she was probably freaked out by what I'd accidentally said on the phone.

"How was your night?" I asked, hoping to inspire at least polite conversation.

"Fine. Sorry you had a bad shift," she mumbled.

I shivered a little as my body adjusted to the warmth of her bed. "It was awful."

Faye hummed and then it was quiet. I felt tense, partially because she didn't know what had happened, but mostly because I'd told her I loved her on accident and had no idea how she felt about that or if she'd even heard.

She had to have heard. There was no way she'd missed it.

So I decided to lead with the least scary subject. "There was a guy unconscious on the bathroom floor covered in vomit, and I had to call an ambulance."

Faye turned toward me, alert and sympathetic. "I'm sorry," she said. "That's terrifying."

I nodded, placing my hand on the sheet between us. "He seems like such a sweet kid."

"Can you call the hospital and see how he's doing?" Faye asked, lips lazy with tiredness.

"No," I mumbled. "They won't tell me anything because I'm not related to him."

Faye sighed. "That sucks."

I nodded.

Pausing for a moment, Faye scooted towards me. "C'mere," she said, wrapping her arms around me.

She pulled me toward her body and I rested my head in the crook of her neck for a minute before pulling back to kiss her. We kissed slowly for a few minutes before I felt relaxed enough to shift onto my other side, tugging her arm over my waist, tucking myself into the nook of her hips.

And though she hadn't said anything about my slip-up earlier, I felt we were okay. I took a deep breath, letting out my previous anxiety. "I'm glad to be here right now," I mumbled.

"I'm glad you're here too," Faye murmured, kissing the back of my neck. "Try to get some sleep, okay?"

I nodded, sighing again before I let myself soak into Faye's warm embrace and sheets, drifting into a peaceful sleep.

In the morning I awoke, feeling my legs and arms ache, strained under relentless surges of adrenaline the night before. Faye was sitting at her desk typing quietly, hair draping down her back in tangled glory. She looked so beautiful. I felt something ring through my body.

It was that same phrase I'd blurted the night before.

I love you.

She hadn't responded or brought it up. I was suddenly dying to know how she felt.

My stomach was churning with anxiety, and I felt hot and cold all over at the thought of bringing up such a delicate topic, but I had to know.

"Hey," I said.

Faye turned around and gave me a quick smile. "Morning," she said.

"Are we gonna talk about what I said last night?" I asked.

Faye turned back to her computer. "You had a bad shift, and then you came over and we snuggled."

Her avoidance of the real issue made me uncomfortable. I needed to be closer to her to read her body. "Come back and keep snuggling," I mumbled.

She turned back and smiled before closing her laptop and rising, only to sink down into the bed on her side, letting me pull her into me.

"I'm surprised we didn't do a little of this last night," she said, voice low and sultry as she leaned up to press against my lips.

As much as I wanted to sink into her body and escape the anxiety I was feeling, I knew sex wouldn't make me feel better about having blurted
I love you.
I put my hand on her chest and gently pushed away.

"What's wrong?" Faye asked.

"I'm sorry about what I said on the phone. It just slipped out." I almost said
I didn't mean it
, but I couldn't bring myself to say the words.

Faye stiffened and pulled away, rolling onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling for a minute before saying in a rigid voice, "I mean... I don't want you to get the wrong idea," she said. She suddenly felt miles away.

"The wrong idea?" I said.

"We're just friends. It's not about... what you said last night."

I felt like the entire world started spinning the wrong way. Faye thought we were just friends? How in the world could she think that? Hadn't we told each other over and over we were special to each other? Wasn't that code for 'I might be falling in love with you'?

Not willing to accept Faye's idea that we were friends with benefits, I held my ground. "Faye, we're not just friends."

Faye remained motionless.

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if we were just friends," I pressed. "At least acknowledge what we have in private."

Faye sat up. I watched the wings of her bird tattoo move as she twisted her hair up into a messy bun.

"I think you're confused," Faye muttered before rising and going into the bathroom, closing the door loudly behind her.

And I was left alone in her bed, gutted by what she'd just said.

I lay there, feeling my stomach churn and my heart thump against my ribs. I wished there was a way out of my body for minute, a place I could go to get some quiet so I could think clearly. But I would have no such luck.

When Faye finished peeing and brushing her teeth, she emerged, head tucked down as she stepped over a pile of clothing and approached the sink. She took off her sweatshirt, picked up a sponge, and turned on the water.

I was so tired of the push-pull, I decided just to drop my end of the rope. I didn't know what else to do. Her body and her eyes told me so much: of her longing and the way she loved to be held and to hold. But her head and her words told me otherwise. I didn't know which to believe.

"Faye, what's going on?" I finally said. I sounded more snappish than I meant to. "I know you're not out, but it's just us right now. Am I not understanding something?"

Faye kept her back to me over the sink. "What is there to understand?" she asked.

It was a punch to the gut. I was still warm from being in her arms just minutes earlier, which made the blow feel harder, as though it was supposed to knock out all the softness she'd given me.

"Do you only want to have sex with me? No-strings?"

Faye's arm moved more forcefully as she pushed the sponge into the plate in front of her, hoping to scrape the three-day-old crust off. "I don't know," she grumbled. It sounded resentful, like she didn't want to have to say it out loud.

"Do you want to date me?"

Faye's head bent as she pretended to concentrate on the dish in her hands.

"I don't know," she finally mumbled.

I tried to pretend that didn't make my whole chest droop into the mattress with the weight of the nagging fear that was dragged out by everyone I liked. Damon, Dr. Turner, and now her. Everything was making the snag in my chest gape wider and catch on more things. If this kept happening, I would eventually unravel and be no more than a clump of dirty yarn by the side of the road.