Wherever the Dandelion Falls (58 page)

"That's not true."

Faye turned to look at me for the first time in minutes. "I didn't mean it like that."

I didn't know what to say. There was some truth to what Faye had said. Not everyone could have sex with me, but four days a week my body was on display for anyone with a dollar. So while I could have clung to Faye's insult longer, I let it go.

"I know."

"Do you ever have sex as Riley?" Faye asked.

I chewed my lip, trying to block out my guilt as I contemplated what Faye was asking. Did I have sex as myself? Could I be an unadorned person, bare on the inside as well as the outside?

In an overwhelming, upsetting moment, I realized I didn't know.

"I... don't know," I admitted. "I've never thought about it."

Faye, who was calming and able to make steady eye contact, gave me a sad nod. "Do you think we could try?"

I felt worse still. This was Faye's first time with a girl, and rather than thinking about her own experience, she was caught up in trying to make me more authentic next time. I was willing to do anything to let Faye have a positive experience.

But the thought of having sex without slipping into Violet's body and mind was anxiety-provoking. I couldn't imagine it any differently than my first time with Damon. That hadn't been a bad experience, but it hadn't been a great one. It had been fumbling and painful and awkward, despite the love between us. I supposed this wasn't any better.

And because I adored Faye so much, I knew I had to try if I wanted to keep her around.

"Yeah," I said, swallowing what was left of my pride. "Of course we can try that."

Faye rolled towards me, wrapping her arm around my waist and letting out a relieved sigh.

"I don't like the word pussy," she mumbled.

Realizing my verbal playfulness had been part of the problem, I held her tighter. "Okay. I won't use that word with you anymore," I said, making a big mental note about it. I said it so many times at work, I had forgotten some people didn't like it.

Faye curled into me, tucking her head against my neck in relief. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? Intimacy.

I had forgotten how to pair sex and intimacy.

"Are there other words you don't like?"

"Cunt and most of the penis words," she said, sounding shy for the first time in weeks.

"Okay," I said.

"And I don't like being called a whore or slut or anything. I'd rather be a good girl than a bad girl."

Drawing her even closer to me, I resolved to learn a completely new way of being with someone.

"I wouldn't call you those things unless you wanted me to."

She tilted her head to look at me. "Do you like being called those things?"

Seeing the anxious curiosity in her eyes, I second-guessed myself. I had always thought I liked being told what a bad girl I was, but when faced with true intimacy, I wasn't sure.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I think I got used to a lot of things I thought I liked."

Faye ran her hand up and down my arm to soothe me. She could tell I was unsettled by what had just happened, and I was further discomforted by the fact that I didn't seem to know my sexual self like I thought I did.

"We'll figure it out." She hummed, running her fingers through my hair.

As I imagined Faye calling me a slut or a whore, I realized I hated the idea so intensely, it made me want to pull away from her.

"I'd rather be a good girl too."

She nodded and gave me her most beautiful, trusting Faye smile. "You are a good girl, Riley."

And even though I could tell she meant what she said, I had a hard time believing her.

To my horror, I felt tears stinging in my throat and eyes. They pushed their way to the surface and I curled toward her, hoping to hide my face in her hair so she wouldn't see me cry. I didn't want our first time to dissolve into tears for both of us.

But she knew me well enough to know when I was hiding.

"Baby, what's wrong?" she cooed.

I realized I was shaking with an effort to keep my tears quiet.

"I don't feel like a good girl," I squeaked.

She gripped me tighter and drew her head back. "You are," she said. "Don't worry."

I couldn't hold back my sniffles as she looked at me with such trust and concern. So I just cried, miserable and bewildered as to how I'd gotten here.

The funny thing about pride is that it often sits next to shame. I was so, so proud to be with Faye. I was proud that she trusted me and proud that I meant something to her. I was proud of the person she had decided to become, proud she had chosen to be with me when she could have easily chosen someone easier or more traditional. But she had chosen
me
.

And because she had chosen me, I felt all the shame other people had tried to force on me for the last year. All that stripper shame, the fallen woman story, the assumptions and scoffs and smirking leers. I felt all of that weigh on me in the one place I never thought it would. I had thought I could keep Riley and Violet separate, but I'd been wrong. Riley and Violet were the same person, and that person didn't believe she deserved Faye. If I was going to deserve her, I was going to have to work for it.

I took a deep breath. "What would make it better?"

"It's just - I don't know, you feel so far away. I don't want just a hand or a mouth coming out of nowhere. Like, I thought it would be more like… I don't know, like this," she said, sliding her body on top of me and rocking. She bent down and kissed me slowly before pulling back and saying in her lowest, sexiest voice, "I want
all
of you."

I shuddered and realized that giving Faye what she wanted was going to be scarier than I'd thought.

I took a deep breath, trying not to sniffle too much. "Now?" I asked, feeling anxiety wash over me at the prospect of stripping down in the way Faye needed.

Faye looked down at me, looking at the fear on my face before she shook her head. She stroked my hair before saying gently, "Let's just stay here for a while."

Relieved, I nodded and burrowed into the crook of her neck, glad to have time to figure intimacy out before we tried again.

After a few minutes of laying in tense silence, Faye broke from my embrace. I knew we weren't going to be able to stay there forever. She had to have brunch with her parents, and the bed wasn't going to hold us together forever. She took a shower, and since I didn't have anything else to do, I made her bed and picked up a few pieces of clothing on the ground.

It was odd, looking at her bed made like that. I'd never seen it made. It seemed almost like we would never return to it, which made me anxious.

After her shower, Faye was more withdrawn. I expected it, since she had to pull herself together to go see her parents for a final few hours. Wanting to give her all the fortitude I had, I drew her gently into my arms, not as a lover would, but as a mother or a friend or a kindergarten teacher would.

"You're almost there," I said. "Once they leave you can come back and sleep the rest of the day."

"I'll need it," she mumbled. She almost sounded like she was sniffling, but she was fresh from her shower, her light coat of a makeup perfectly painted on.

I pulled back and held her hands. "You look great," I said.

Faye laughed as though I was joking and pulled away. She bent down and picked up her purse, barely making eye contact as she walked toward the door.

I wanted to know when I'd see her again, wanted to be sure that we'd get back to where we'd been. I hadn't seen her in so long. So I took a risk.

"There's this cool singer playing tonight at Michael's. I know it's not your scene, but I'd love it if you'd come see my new work. It should be pretty mellow."

Faye swallowed and gave a subtle nod, which sparked a flicker of hope.

"Yeah?" I asked, surprised and happy.

"Sure," she said. Her voice was so tired, I felt bad asking. But I wanted to make sure she didn't come home and spend all night crying, especially since I couldn't be with her.

"It's tame," I said. "Not too…" I made a sparkling motion with my hands and Faye gave me a weary smile. Then it faded, and I was left still unsure.

I wanted to know something about the future, wanted to know if I was still welcome in Faye's oddly made bed, but I couldn't ask outright. So I did the next best thing. "What should I do with the key?" I asked, pulling it from where I'd stuck it in my pocket.

If it were possible, she avoided eye contact even more.

"Just leave it on the desk."

My heart sank as I gingerly set it on the desk and picked up my own keys.

"Have fun with your parents," I said.

She nodded and didn't say anything more as we walked downstairs out into the fog.

I went back to my apartment, suddenly feeling exhausted. I'd gotten up in the middle of the night, not realizing how hard it would make my day. I didn't have time to go back to sleep before I went to work to start setting up for our evening event. I barely had time to shower before rushing to Church Street to open for the day.

I texted Faye once I was certain that she had dropped her parents off at the airport. I gave her the address and time for the event, telling her I was happy she was coming. She didn't respond, but I figured she had gone back home to sleep. The image of her sleeping made my heart mellow a little. She was at peace in sleep usually, and now that her parents were gone, hopefully she could start to recharge and get back to the girl I knew and loved so much.

I was started to get the hang of things at Michael's. I knew the opening procedure and had stopped getting my keys confused. I knew which of the kitchen staff were more likely to be friendly to me, and I was starting to recognize a few faces among the patrons. The small bar felt dusty and ridiculous compares to Jules', where only the top shelf bottles stuck around for long. At Michael's, guests never ordered more than a glass or two of wine to go with their food, and it was rare to see the liquor used.

I put a little
Reserved
sign on the smallest table in the back of the cafe for Faye. I wanted to do what I could to put a smile on her face tonight. I found a tiny vase of fake flowers and put it next to the candle that would be lit shortly before the show started. This wouldn't look like a date, since I was working, but I wanted it to be a nice night out for her.

I still hadn't heard from Faye by the time the performer arrived to do her mic check. I figured Faye must be as tired as I felt, only emotionally exhausted too. I thought about the way she'd shook in my arms last night, unable to tell me what was wrong, and sent as many wishes for gentle dreams as I could in the direction of her apartment.

By the time people started arriving for the show, I still hadn't heard from her. Maybe she wanted to slip in the back unnoticed. I busied myself helping the performer set up her mics and checking the balance in her monitor. I checked in with the waiter and the sound board operator. I checked my phone; still no word from Faye. But it wasn't like she needed to send me a text that she was on her way.

But after Michelle had sung her first song of the night, Faye still wasn't there. I started to get anxious. Was she upset again? I tried to reason with myself that she was often running late — usually because we'd been having sex and she didn't want to get out of bed to get to class — but I was still on edge. When Michelle took her set break, I was frantic with worry. Had Faye gotten in a car crash? Was she drinking alone again? Was she angry with me? Lying in bed crying?

I texted her what I hoped wasn't an accusatory
You okay?

She answered right away, a mysterious,
Yeah
.

Where are you?
I asked.

She paused before typing out,
At home.

I stared at my phone before scrolling up to check that I had sent her the address and correct time for the event. It was there. She'd gotten it.

And she'd decided not to show up.

I was nervous for Faye to meet my friends. I wanted to make a good impression on her, and even though my friends were all smart and witty and fun, I didn't know if they were anything like Faye's friends. My anxiety translated into arranging every cracker and carrot stick meticulously on its plate, sweeping up every crumb, and inspecting every glass for smudges. Justine gave me a subtle warning with her eyes that I was getting too worked up, but she didn't say anything, only went back to making one of her amazing salad dressings before sprinkling it over the lettuce I'd washed three times.

My friends Kendra and Julian arrived before Faye did, and while it was good to catch up with them
—
I hadn't seen them much since I'd been dating Faye, had I?
—
my anxiety didn't settle until I saw Faye outside the door, smile beautiful as ever, graceful as she handed Justine a bottle of wine. Seeing her face gave me the usual rush I got around her, which made my anxiety flare for a moment before calming. We were still waiting for a few more of my grad school friends to arrive, and I found myself shifting awkwardly on my feet, not knowing what to say.

It's harder than it should be when you try to mix two groups of people. Justine was one part of my life, Faye another, my friends another, my job another. I started thinking this had been a terrible idea or that maybe I was introducing everyone too soon. Maybe we could go see a movie after a quick dinner so we wouldn't have to talk.

But once everyone had arrived, all the anxiety I'd felt about keeping conversation flowing disappeared. I realized Faye was one of those people I would never need to babysit in social situations. She talked to everyone and was interested in what they had to say. My friend Kendra gave me a thumbs up behind Faye's back, and I blushed a little.

The conversation didn't die down once we sat around the living room with our plates. Everyone turned their attention to Faye when Kendra asked about her journey towards working at
The Chronicle
. Everyone was in awe of her success, and I felt my chest puff up with pride.

But the story Faye told wasn't one I'd heard before. When Kendra asked about college, Faye paused, contemplating her fork for a second before she said, "When I came out, my parents tried to pull the plug on my degree. So I got a job and took out crazy loans to stay in school. My friend Isaiah helped me out a lot. I stayed with his parents over the summer so I didn't have to go home. After a year of that, I dropped out and went to Columbia for journalism."

It was silent for a moment and I was worried.

"Wow," Kendra breathed.

Faye gave a shrug that attempted to downplay how hard she'd worked to be where she was. "It was what I had to do."

Kendra nodded, and then there was silence. I'd had no idea that Faye's parents had been so vicious in their reaction to her coming out. I felt foolish for not knowing something so basic about my girlfriend. Had I just missed the details of that story? Forgotten them in my relentless attempts to protect myself against Faye's charms? Or had she just not told me?

Faye redirected the conversation back to my friends, asking how they'd all met me and how long they'd been in San Francisco. I watched it all play out in front of me, amazed at the grace of Faye's social skills, feeling for the hundredth time like the luckiest girl in the room.

Time flew by and I could tell from my friend's faces that they were having a good time. I was shocked when someone said it was almost midnight and they should be getting home. Faye said goodbye to everyone at the door with me, then turned to me with a gentle, triumphant smile.

"Think they liked me?" she asked, face smug with certainty that they did.

I toyed with the idea of teasing her with a noncommittal response, but I was so proud of her and so grateful she'd carried the conversation all night, I didn't feel right doing that. So I wrapped my arms around her neck and drew my body close to hers. "Definitely," I said, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, "But not half as much as I like you."

Faye gave me a peck on the lips and then pulled away.

"Lie down," she said, gesturing to the couch.

Suddenly tense with uncertainly, I glanced at the couch. Was she going to make a move on me now?

But she didn't even catch my gaze as she turned and walked into the kitchen. I heard the tap go on and she started moving dishes.

She was cleaning up from the dinner party I'd thrown for her.

"Sweetie, you don't have to do that," I called. It was such a sweet gesture, but I couldn't have asked for anything more from her that night already.

"I know," she said, "but you did all the cooking, so I'll do the cleaning."

"Justine did most of the cooking," I pointed out.

Faye didn't respond, and I heard the scrape of plates as she continued doing the dishes.

I walked into the kitchen to find her with Justine's apron fit snug around her waist, gloves up to her elbows as she ran the sponge over a plate.

"Stop," I said, trying to shut off the tap.

She swatted my hand away and gave me a pointed look and yanked her head back toward the living room. Feeling reprimanded and grateful, I slunk back into the living room and lay down, feeling exhaustion seep from my body into the couch. I listened to the sounds of Faye doing the dishes and thought, for the thousandth time that night, how lucky I was to have her.

After twenty minutes the tap shut off, and Faye came back into the room. She had shed the apron and gloves, and though her eyes looked a little tired, she was smiling. I moved to sit up but she said, "Stay, stay." Instead she gently lifted my head and sat on the end of the couch, placing my head in her lap. She leaned down to peck my lips, and I felt her body go soft, a stark contrast to her poised alertness around my friends. After a few moments of soft kisses, she pulled back and murmured, "Tired?"