Whiskey at Midnight, page 12
Chapter Five
Maybe life isn’t quite what Emma imagined all those summers ago when she laid on her floor in a princess costume, tracing patterns in the beige carpet. Her fingers shake more now, whether they’re inside Wren or holding onto a drink. Sometimes Emma’s whole body won’t seem to cooperate. She sits with her advisor and her leg bounces up and down uncontrollably. And yet nothing is wrong now, not really. Cam is being friendly, Wren is being Wren. Her classes aren’t going badly. No, life isn’t what she expected, but it’s not so terrible.
Emma waits for Wren in the parking lot of the burger joint. The sun is bright in her eyes and she’s forgotten to bring sunglasses since it’s finally chilly out. Wren’s instructions had been precise. Waiting in the parking lot was fine, but don’t go inside. So Emma sits on the hood of her car and waits.
Wren walks out soon after, wearing street clothes and holding a bag that must contain her uniform. Her makeup looks like it’s just been applied. She’s given up on a tanktop, it’s too cold, but she still wears short sleeves.
Emma looks away for a moment, to keep her eyes from watering due to the sunlight. She’s missed the camera in Wren’s hand, only realizes a photo has been taken when she hears a clicking sound.
“You bitch,” Emma laughs.
“Come on then. Want to take me home?”
Wren looks comfortable in Emma’s car. She slides the window down and lets the wind blow her hair around her face. She closes her eyes for a moment, a blissful smile on her face, and when she opens them she stares right at Emma. It’s another moment that Emma wants to file away in her mind.
They stay up until five in the morning despite Emma having to be at work at the craft shop before noon the next day. They don’t drink much, just enough to keep a small buzz. Candles are lit around Wren’s room and they lay in bed in their underwear. The television is on and they stare at it blankly. Every so often, one of them leans over and teases the other for a few minutes. Kisses that are hungry or a hand that slides down one of their bodies. Then, they fall back against their own pillow and act like the other isn’t becoming frustrated.
Wren keeps lighting and blowing out a candle on her side of the bed. The movements are calm and deliberate. She’s just lit the candle again and Emma leans over to kiss her during a commercial. It catches Wren off guard, despite their previous touches and kisses, and she yanks the hand holding the candle away. Hot wax falls onto Wren’s torso. Wren hisses through her teeth. Her eyes close and her chest rises and falls more quickly.
Emma pulls back, shocked. “You…” she whispers.
Wren looks at her with the closest imitation of her blank expression she can muster. Her eyelids are half-closed and the hand holding the candle is shaking slightly. It’s a little scary, all of it, but Emma reaches over and takes the candle from Wren.
“Do you want me to?” Emma asks.
It’s a stupid question. Wren doesn’t really ask for things. She takes or goes without. Emma has caught onto this before, but she asks anyway.
Wren has this look on her face like she’s not completely there anymore, like she’s off in some other world that might or might not include Emma. Her tongue snakes out to lick at her lip, the spot that scabbed over after Halloween. It’s all healed up now. Emma almost misses the minute nod that Wren gives her, she’s so focused on those lips. Wren puts her hands over her head, to hold onto the headboard, like she’s waiting for Emma to get out the scarves and tie her up. They haven’t done that again. Neither of them has talked about it.
They never talk about anything a normal couple would. Emma might tell Wren that she enjoys fucking her, or that she likes spending time with Wren. Everything she says is true, but Wren looks a little uncomfortable at some of it, smirks when Emma talks about them having sex because Emma can’t stop the resulting blush. All of it is why it feels like they’re still just fucking with random moments thrown in that make them seem like a couple, moments that sometimes confuse Emma. Having Wren laid out beside her, watching the rise and fall of Wren’s chest, that’s natural. That’s them.
It might be a big deal that Wren has shown interest in Emma doing something else to her, besides tying her up, but it’s still about fucking, still something safe. The thought is comforting and frustrating all at once.
Emma stares at the candle. It’s a brilliant red color. The flame flickers. Emma’s hand is trembling above Wren. Emma has held Wren down before, bitten her, but never anything like this. Emma concentrates on her hand but it continues to shake.
“Nevermind,” Wren says and sits up to light a cigarette.
The voice and the movement cause Emma to start and a fresh bit of wax falls onto Wren’s thigh. Wren lets out a breathy sigh and takes the candle back from Emma. It looks so small on the nightstand.
Emma glances at Wren, who is taking deep drags off the cigarette. Wren shrugs at Emma, doesn’t say anything.
Emma spends the night, falls asleep with an arm around Wren. She wakes up by Wren repeatedly poking her in the arm. “You still have time to get home and change,” Wren says.
But then Emma has the brilliant idea to take a shower and pulls Wren in behind her. The shower has been a source of weakness for Wren. Emma’s barely gotten her hair wet when Wren kisses her and pushes her back against the tiles.
“I’m going to be late,” Emma warns.
“Do you want me to stop?” Wren’s fingers slide along Emma’s hips, move lower until she’s almost touching Emma’s cunt.
“No,” Emma whispers.
“Good,” Wren says. She nips at Emma’s shoulder. Her fingers drift back up, past Emma’s ribs to rest on Emma’s tits. “You feel nice,” she breathes.
Ed’s face is a deep red when he finds Emma. She’s put on the extra uniform she keeps in her car, brushed her hair out of her face, but the look on her face is guilty. Emma’s supposed to be the golden child of the store, always there early with a smile on her face. Ed rubs at his chin while he looks down at her.
“You’re my example. You’re the person I rave about during training,” Ed says. He shakes his head sadly. “Now look at you. Dropping merchandise, coming in late. Give me something to work with, Emma. Anything at all. Because I can’t keep coming up with excuses for you.”
The red in Ed’s face is fading away, turning to sadness and worry. His eyes are pleading, like he really is trying to get her out of this. But saying she’s thirty minutes late because she was too busy getting fucked in the shower is out of the question. It might give Ed a brain aneurysm.
“What do you mean coming up with excuses?” she asks instead.
“The complaint,” Ed says, his eyes squinting at her.
“Oh, right,” Emma says. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind she recalls a customer complaining about her in the last month. Supposedly Emma had walked away, never turned around when the woman called after her, trying to get her attention. Emma can’t quite remember. There are any number of explanations. Emma might have been hungover or still in a state of afterglow. Ed hadn’t asked, just told the customer Emma was hard of hearing.
It’s an official warning for being so late, a write-up in the book. Ed’s face softens under the dim lightbulb of the office. “There’s nothing else I can do for you,” he says. “Don’t mess up like this again.”
That’s what hurts the most, the descent into mediocrity that gives Emma none of the perks she’s always had. The descent that must have started a long time ago.
Emma works her ass off all day. Whether she stocks or helps at the register, she’s as friendly as possible. She moves as quickly as she can, asks everyone she sees if they need any assistance. When she leaves at the end of her shift, Ed smiles at her, though it’s not as friendly as it used to be.
“I can’t be late again,” Emma tells Wren later that night. They’re at the bar again and Emma has to lean in so that Wren can hear her. Wren smells a little like grease and a lot like cinnamon. She always does when she’s only had time to change after work. It takes her at least one drink before she smiles, as if she’s finally forgotten that she didn’t have the time to shower.
“Okay,” says Wren, though she doesn’t lean in so that Emma can hear her.
Emma yawns often enough that she stops trying to hide it. Her jaw pops and her eyes water. Wren seems unaffected. She doesn’t yawn or even have dark circles under her eyes. It’s as if Wren never gets tired.
It’s not karaoke night. A man sits on a stool and plucks at the strings of his guitar, creates a loop so he can layer chords and notes. Every musician who plays at the bar does this now. Some even attempt to beatbox. Not this guy. His goatee quivers as he sings. His voice is high and he keeps his eyes closed while singing.
It’s just Reese bartending. She moves around the bar like she’s dancing. Her eyes crinkle when she smiles at her bar guests. “You need two shots,” Reese announces and twirls around to make them.
Wren purses her lips, smiles when Reese sets two glasses down in front of them. Whatever the shot is, and Reese never likes to say what it is, there’s a hint of citrus in it. Emma’s phone buzzes on the bar top as she takes the shot. She ignores her phone.
“Smoke?” Wren asks.
“Sure,” Emma responds.
Emma pulls her jacket closer to her when they step outside. The nights have been growing cooler steadily. Anyone who has stepped outside any of the previous three nights would know this. It makes Wren’s choice to wear a short-sleeved v-neck seem all the more ridiculous.
Wren lights her cigarette and takes a deep drag off of it. Her eyebrows are no longer furrowed; all of the annoyance of not being able to shower has evaporated from her face, leaving only the blank stare that is customary.
“I’m sorry you were late,” Wren says as she looks down at the sidewalk. Wren’s shoulders shiver a fraction, the only indication that she feels the chill in the air.
“Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?” Emma asks. She steps closer and puts her arms around Wren, runs her hands up and down Wren’s cold bare arms.
Wren smirks and lets out a small laugh. “Someone wanted to get to the bar as soon as possible,” Wren reminds her.
It’s true. Emma had bothered Wren over text until she showed up. Emma’s never been the kind of girl to have fun at the bar alone. She’s stayed in many nights because no one responded to her calls or texts. Nights that Wren was probably out on her own, having fun in that solitary way that Wren can.
Wren is slight in Emma’s arms. She always is, but there are times when Emma notices it more. Those are the times that Emma bites her lip, feels her heart hammer in her chest. Wren would brush it off if Emma voiced any sort of protective thoughts about her. Wren’s kept herself alive so far. She can look after herself. But that’s not really the point at all. So Emma stays quiet, hugs Wren a little closer to her and breathes deeply. Emma closes her eyes and rests there.
Emma’s not good at staying quiet for long. “I don’t think I’ve done that badly at work,” she says, her voice muffled against Wren’s shoulder. Wren moves in her arms. First, she flicks her cigarette away and then grabs another from her back pocket and lights it. She takes care not to dislodge Emma, but Emma pulls back anyway.
“You’re always late,” says Wren.
“I am not! Only today. And everyone is late every so often. It’s a part of life. Yeah, there was the complaint from the customer, but that’s it. I’m not a bad employee, right?” Emma takes the cigarette from Wren for a moment, inhales.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen you at work. But you are always late.”
“But I’m not. I said I wasn’t.”
“You’re always at least five minutes late. I timed it. You’re not a speed demon and you leave my apartment too late.” Wren cooly takes another drag, her eyes challenging. But Emma doesn’t pay that much attention to the time and assumes Wren is right. Wren takes the cigarette back, plucks it from Emma’s fingers.
“Fine. I’ll just have to have fewer sleepovers at your place,” Emma says with a grin.
Emma reads the text message over and over again. The words are simple. Loaded, possibly, but simple. Cam wants to hang out, just the two of them, like old times. There is no hello or how are things. Direct and to the point. It’s exactly Cam’s style.
Emma mentions it to Wren. She hasn’t sent a reply to Cam yet. She pulls at the sheets below her fingertips as she sits on Wren’s bed and tells Wren in an unsure voice. Wren has never put expectations on Emma. Wren doesn’t even say Emma is her girlfriend. Wren’s the type of girl who wouldn’t care if Emma never mentioned it, what with her fly by the seat of her pants lifestyle and the way she hops from person to person. Wren has no need for the standard rules of dating. Still, Emma tells her and can’t quite meet her eyes as she does so.
“Okay,” Wren says. She’s drinking a cocktail, some drink recipe that Reese gave her. She wouldn’t make one for Emma until Emma left the kitchen.
“You’re fine with it?” Emma asks. She looks up then. Wren’s wearing a white tanktop and panties, her knees up almost to her chin. Wren absently runs a fingertip along the sides of the glass she holds.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
That’s the problem, in so little words. Emma feeling guilty and having to ask, considering not asking because of the guilt, and Wren’s seeing nothing at all wrong with it. Why would it be strange for Emma to hang out with one of her closest friends? Besides the fact that Emma has been hopelessly head over heels for Cam for years and Wren knows it. It’s another reminder that they’re not in anything like a real relationship.
Emma chooses to meet Cam at a coffee shop. Going to a bar risks it being loud and unsuitable for talking. Eating dinner only serves to remind Emma of their disastrous date. Coffee is the mark of a mature meeting, two adults getting together to discuss very important things. There’s not much to talk about, that Emma knows of, other than their lives, which don’t seem all that important after all. The two teenage girls sitting at the table next to them, both wearing their hair up in identical ponytails and slurping out of their straws while they pussyfoot around the elephant in the room--they both like the same boy--ruins any notion that coffee automatically means maturity.
Though Emma has been wearing a jacket for a few weeks, Cam is still holding onto her short sleeves with a death grip. Tiny goosebumps stay on her arms for ten minutes after arriving. Cam has come straight from work. Her blue shirt doesn’t scream insurance. And insurance is the first thing Cam talks about. Between gulps of coffee, she informs Emma that work is going so well she wouldn’t be surprised if she’s up for a promotion within the year.
With some trepidation, Emma brings up Mark. Cam smiles, waves her hand in front of her as if swatting the name away from her. “Same as usual there. Good. We’ve both been swamped with work, but that means neither of us can get too lonely,” she says.
As if Emma has ever known Cam to get lonely.
“I miss you,” Cam says. She says the words with her head down, staring at the cup of coffee in her hands. Emma has always considered Cam’s fingers thin, graceful looking even. But Emma has also gotten to know Wren’s fingers and they are more slight than Cam’s.
“I miss you too,” says Emma. The words come out easily. They don’t feel like a betrayal. Of course Emma is allowed to miss Cam. They’re friends.
“How did things get so weird?” Cam’s hands fall from around the cup onto the wooden table.
Emma tugs on a strand of hair to keep from answering. For once, she does have all the answers. Because Cam strung her along again. Because Emma ruined it all by mentioning her love for Cam. Because Emma started fucking the weird girl. Because Cam started dating a guy. There had been boyfriends before. Guys who stayed around for a month or so. Guys who claimed to like the fact that they wouldn’t be number one in Cam’s life. Emma had been there when it all ended, every single time, holding out pints of ice cream for Cam, who hardly ever cried. And maybe it’s wrong to call Wren the weird girl after everything they’ve done together. Emma does like spending time with Wren, likes that Wren will let her ramble on and on. But that’s how it all started. Emma fucking the weird girl.
“I don’t think you want to get into all of that now,” Emma says. It’s not a warning like it would be if Cam said it. It’s a statement of fact.
Cam takes a sip of her coffee. It’s growing cold. “No, you’re probably right. You know, you’re the one person I’ve kept around. From the beginning of college to now. You and Steve. I guess I just realized I don’t want to lose that.”
“Maybe things will be better now that I’m not chasing after you,” Emma mutters. The way Cam flinches at her words is impossible to miss. It feels powerful to say it.
It’s Cam’s idea, a week later, to go shopping together. Emma doesn’t tell Wren about it since it’s not a big deal, as Wren has made clear. When they hit the stores, Cam rolls her eyes. It’s mid-November and Christmas decorations have already made their way out.
“Some places roll them out the first of November,” Cam says. “It’s so stupid.”
It gives them a purpose to shop besides looking for things for themselves. They look at watches for Mark. Rows upon rows of them that range from practical to obscenely complicated. Emma could have sworn watches were out of style. People can look at the time on their cell phones. There’s no need to get a tan line of a watch on your wrist anymore. Still, Cam looks at each one. She talks to the woman working the area, asking about certain models.
The woman looks like she’s been selling watches for decades. Laugh lines crease the sides of her face. Her fingers are constantly moving, even when her arms rest by her sides. It’s as if her fingers are always working a watch. It’s creepy.
“I need more time to think about it,” Cam says. “I’ll come back later.”
