The woman, Betty the name tag reads, nods her head sagely. “I’ll be here waiting.”

  Away from the watches, Cam asks, “What do you want to look at for Wren?”

  The question is startling. Emma hasn’t thought about buying Wren anything. Here Cam has come to the conclusion that Emma will be buying her something. And why wouldn’t Cam think that? They’re some kind of together, her and Wren. It’s what people do when they’re together.

  “I don’t know,” says Emma. She looks around the store. Floral dresses, pillows, strange electronics that seem to serve only one purpose. What does Wren like?

  “She wears lots of bracelets,” Cam says. “Hard to miss that, the way they snake up her arm. You could get her another. She’d probably like that.”

  Emma almost says no, but it’s petty. Just because Cam has noticed something about Wren that would make a pretty decent gift idea doesn’t mean Emma isn’t a good whatever she is to Wren. And looking at bracelets is a great place to start.

  Cam takes charge, wandering around the jewelry section, holding up possibilities. Cam holds up one bracelet that has large black beads. “Don’t get this one. She already has it. Or something like it.”

  Emma bites her lip. She might have gone for that one, if she’d seen it. The thought that Cam knows anything about Wren at all is frustrating. A bracelet is nothing, not really, but that doesn’t stop the annoyance.

  “What we really need,” Cam continues, “is Steve. He knows what Wren likes better than anyone. I’d call him to meet us down here but he’s probably holed up with that hostess from work.”

  Emma nods as if she knows exactly what Cam is talking about. How many years has she known all of them? Too many to realize she knows none of them at all. Her mood takes a nosedive. She makes it another twenty minutes before she’s gritting her teeth. “I don’t feel so well. I’m going to head home,” she says.

  “See you at karaoke,” Cam calls after her, confused.

  Emma tapes a note to the mirror in her bathroom that says “pay attention” in big bold letters. It’d be embarrassing if anyone saw it, but no one comes to her home. She goes to Wren’s or meets Cam out and about. Every morning when she brushes her teeth, she stares at the sign and tries to come up with new things she has learned.

  There are times when Steve is talking to Cam and she starts to giggle before he’s even finished speaking. Emma has never noticed it before, the way they have a kind of shorthand between them. Or the way Cam sometimes completes Steve’s sentences. Cam will be explaining some injustice in the world, maybe something about American prisons, and answer the question Steve seems to want to ask before he can interrupt her. It’s not rushed or said with an edge of frustration in her voice. They just know each other.

  Wren drinks her coffee black unless it’s a special occasion. Then, she puts a little bit of sugar in it. A special occasion is sometimes going out to a coffee shop with Emma or like the time that Emma snuck out of Wren’s apartment--one of the few times Emma has woken up without Wren already being awake herself--and came back with donuts. Sometimes, rarely, Wren says “fuck it” and adds the sugar, but they are days when Emma wakes up in Wren’s bed and Wren is already smiling.

  Emma spends more time thinking about Ed at work. Ed has a tan line where his wedding band should be. The fingers of his right hand graze the spot where the ring was. He nods to everyone when they come in to start their shift, but he always says “hello” to Emma. Seeing that makes Emma feel guilty. The feeling grows and becomes something that feels like it’ll never go away when she wonders how many Eds have been in her life. People who smiled at her or invited her out for coffee that she brushed off. People who never meant anything to her at all.

  Wren becomes more uncomfortable when Emma and she are alone and Emma says something about being happy with Wren. It’s hard to tell at first because Wren acts as flippant about it as she does anything else. She might make a remark about holding hands in a field of roses when Emma says, out of the blue, that going to get sushi with Wren is still something she thinks about. Other times she stares at Emma when Emma says something like that, or focuses on the cigarette between her fingers. It takes a week for Emma to notice the way Wren’s brows furrow or how she licks at a spot on her bottom lip when Emma says those kinds of things. The comments, meant to be nice and pleasant, feel dangerous and out of order after. Emma goes back to how they talked at the very beginning. All fucking and drinking with no feelings at all.

  There’s a girl one night at karaoke who sits at the bar and looks around at everyone. Her hair is as dark as Cam’s, her skin olive like Reese’s. Emma didn’t notice her at first. Steve was already trying to grab her attention, pulling her into him to dance. Steve smells of cologne and the girl who came with him gives Emma a sour look. It’s when Emma is looking for Wren, who is standing at the bar talking to Reese, that Emma finally sees the girl. She’s dressed in dark jeans and a black long sleeve shirt that is pushed up to her elbows, showing a tattoo that snakes around her lower arm. The girl looks Wren over, squinting almost, and then does the same to Reese.

  “What’s up?” Emma asks Wren, placing a hand on her back.

  “Reese is trying to convince me to take a shot,” Wren says.

  Reese looks giddy. She tugs absently at one of her braids. Her eyes skirt over to the girl with the tattoo then back to Wren. “Shots are always a good idea.”

  “They are,” Taylor says as she walks behind Reese toward the other side of the bar.

  The muscles in Wren’s back are tense beneath Emma’s hand. Wren has shed her coat somewhere in the bar, leaving her in a shirt that is torn in places, showing a lot of skin while the pieces still together swallow her up. She lifts a leg up to rub it against the back of the other. She’s wearing Emma’s favorite skirt of hers with tights that should have been thrown away at some point, they have so many holes in them.

  “Do it,” Emma says.

  Wren turns to her, finally, and raises an eyebrow. “Okay,” she says.

  The shot is a light blue color and Wren knocks it back without even really looking at it. She licks her lips after, nods to Reese in approval.

  “Want one?” Reese asks Emma.

  “No, no. Not yet anyway.”

  Wren retreats from the bar, toward Steve, and is easily pulled into his space for a dance. The girl he’s come with, who Emma should really learn the name of, is nowhere to be seen.

  The girl at the bar smiles at Emma. It’s unnerving the way she looks and doesn’t blink, the way she stares at the bottom of Emma’s skirt.

  “Can I have another gin and tonic?” Emma asks Taylor. Once it’s poured, she hurries away to Cam. A grin is on Cam’s face while she watches Steve and Wren.

  “They’re both insane,” Cam says, laughing.

  Steve is twirling Wren around, his mouth open in a silent laugh. Wren’s lips form a straight line. Her eyes are neither happy nor angry. Selfless, she looks selfless. As if she is letting Steve toss her around just for his amusement. How many times has she had that look on her face that Emma has missed? Steve sets Wren down and whispers something in her ear that makes her grin.

  Cam elbows Emma in the gut and looks pointedly toward the bar. The girl with the black hair is walking over toward Emma, her glass empty on the bar. Her lips are fuller than Wren’s and Cam’s. Her hips are curvier than them, too.

  “Want to dance?” A stud in her tongue becomes visible when she speaks. Although Emma hasn’t responded, she reaches out for Emma’s wrist and pulls her away from Cam.

  Cam, snickering, snags Emma’s drink from her hand. She makes a whooping noise as Emma is pulled away.

  Emma is a few inches shorter than the girl. She’s shorter than everyone, really. The song is an old comedy song, meant to make everyone laugh. Steve, just a short distance away, is down on one knee pretending to sing to Wren. Wren glances around, looking between Steve and Emma, her hips rocking back and forth to the beat. But then the new girl is tugging at Emma’s wrist again and Emma is forced to look at her.

  “What’s your name?” Emma asks.

  The girl continues dancing, her arms moving side to side. She barely looks at Emma. Her eyes slide closed and Emma starts to repeat the question. “You can call me Kate,” she says.

  Kate’s a good dancer. She doesn’t draw everyone’s attention like Wren, but then Wren draws attention not because she’s a fantastic dancer but because she’s Wren. She’s not as boisterous as Steve either. Kate is better than Emma too, who is barely moving along to the music.

  “Don’t you want to know my name?” Emma asks.

  The music fades away and in its place a country song begins to play. A young man stands up front and taps his foot along with the music. The hand holding the mic is shaking. He begins to sing, his eyes shut tightly. He sounds like a professional.

  Kate shrugs her shoulders. “Thanks for the dance.” She leans forward and kisses Emma on the lips. Not hard, not demanding, but not sweet either. It’s one of the strangest kisses Emma has ever received. She keeps her eyes open throughout. Kate opens her eyes and smiles. She heads back to her spot at the bar without a backward glance.

  Cam casts amused glances Emma’s way. Like a deer caught in headlights is probably how she looks. She hasn’t moved at all and people meander past her, either to the bar or to come closer to watch the man singing. Wren brushes past her, barely touches her hip, and says, “Nice dance.”

  “Well, that was something,” Cam says, coming to stand next to Emma. She hands over Emma’s drink, a smirk firmly in place. “By the way, she’s still looking at you.”

  Cam’s right. Kate is staring. She doesn’t look a bit self-conscious about it either. Emma blushes and turns away, sees Wren grabbing a drink and heading outside. Right, it probably is time for a cigarette. Emma dips her head down and follows Wren out.

  Wren’s putting her pack of cigarettes back into her jacket pocket when Emma joins her. The jacket seems to have mysteriously appeared out of nowhere, because Wren wasn’t wearing it inside with Steve.

  “Did you mind that?” Emma asks and motions for a cigarette.

  Wren hands Emma her own cigarette and reaches into her pocket for another to light. Her lips purse together until the new cigarette is lit. “Mind what?”

  Emma rolls her eyes. Wren isn’t stupid. She knows exactly what Emma is talking about. “The girl and me. Dancing. Then she kissed me.”

  Wren shifts onto the heels of her feet until her back rests on the brick wall behind her. She plucks at the hem of her skirt, takes another drag of her cigarette. She looks at Emma with a bored expression on her face. “Why would I? We’re just fucking. You’ve said it yourself.”

  Wren’s voice isn’t accusing. It’s a bland statement of fact, but Emma’s cheeks begin to burn anyway. She had said that. And Wren had kissed her in return. Emma runs her fingers through her hair. “I was just checking,” she says.

  Another bar guest sloppily walks out for a cigarette. His face is red and sweaty, his eyes unfocused. He reaches into his back pocket and his face morphs into confusion. He pats around but finds nothing. “Fuck,” he mumbles and makes his way back inside.

  “Come here,” Wren says and moves around the corner into the alley. A cloud of smoke follows her around as she exhales. Emma is good at following, has had lots of practice between Wren and Cam. “Didn’t want to grab his attention,” Wren explains. “He’ll be back out soon.”

  Emma smokes too much now that she’s around Wren all the time. It’s not every day that it happens, it’s not even every other day. Usually she only borrows Wren’s cigarette rather than smoking a new one from Wren’s pack. But there is no denying that she has smoked more from the beginning of the semester until now than the entire year of high school that she tried to become a smoker.

  “I should really stop smoking your cigarettes,” Emma mutters. Honestly, it’s the smallest step in becoming more like herself again. A better step would be to pay attention in class or become the best employee again. Maybe choose between actually trying with Wren or stopping what they’re doing rather than this back and forth in the middle bullshit. It makes her head hurt.

  The cigarette in Emma’s hand is plucked out and thrown onto the ground. Lips cover the spot where the cigarette had last touched her mouth. Hands wrap around her torso and hold her tight as she falls back against the brick wall. There’s a memory associated with it all. The other night in the alley, the night she still dreams about. A moan escapes her lips, topples out into the cool night air.

  An errant thought after dancing with Kate inside, about feeling attractive and wanted, is extinguished. Cam never looked at her like she was something beautiful on display, but Wren has treated her that way, is treating her that way. When Wren reaches up and touches Emma’s chest, her cigarette dropped on the ground some time before, the unspoken thought makes Emma blush. Just thinking it had been a kind of betrayal to the weird girl who has shown her kindness in her own way.

  Pay attention, Emma reminds herself.

  They don’t fuck. The drunk man from before has found his way back outside and it’s not worth it to draw his attention by making any noise. Wren has proven her point. It doesn’t matter who Emma dances with, she can make Emma feel things that others can’t. They both take a shot when they go back inside.

  The other people sitting around the bar could be anyone for all Emma sees of them. All Emma sees is Wren and the way she taps a finger thoughtfully against her lips, a look of concentration on her features. Wren doesn’t say what she’s thinking and Emma doesn’t ask. A few chairs down, Kate is sneaking glances at Emma and Wren. Kate smiles at Emma and Emma doesn’t return it.

  At the end of the night, Cam says, “I need to come out more often without Mark. How many times have I missed girls coming onto you, Emma, while I was talking to Mark?”

  Steve laughs heartily at that. Emma rolls her eyes.

  Everything of importance is always said when Wren and Emma have just finished fucking. When their heartbeats are still calming down and the taste of Emma is still on Wren’s tongue. It’s Emma’s devotion to her new personal mantra that makes her see this, when her fingers still feel warm from being inside Wren and she’s comfortable enough in the moment to bring up the subject of Christmas.

  “So, what about Christmas?” Emma asks and wipes her fingers on Wren’s bedding. “Do you celebrate? Visit family? Do gifts? Do you want to spend it together?” The last question is rushed and quiet, easy to ignore.

  Wren’s lips are still wet but she sets a cigarette between them anyway. “I have to go visit my family this year,” she says.

  “Oh, I see.” The small flutter in Emma’s chest is unexpected. She rolls over onto her side, away from Wren. “I’m going to take a nap.”

  Just before Emma falls asleep, the light in the room is turned off and a hand brushes through her hair. The touch is so light, it could be imagined.

  Emma’s days become routine. Fuck Wren, go to work or classes, see Cam for a bit. Rinse and repeat. It keeps expectations low and Emma has always enjoyed the structure of routine. She leaves Wren’s bed where there are bite marks and no promises to see Cam, who seems to want every innocuous phrase to be taken as a vow. It’s strange and exciting all at once. Emma’s heart beats a little faster every time she’s with one or the other.

  It keeps her busy, doesn’t let up for the second she needs to wonder if what she’s doing is acceptable. Gone are the thoughts that she’s using Wren, that maybe she’s not over Cam at all. The questions that buzzed around when Wren did something downright domestic or sweet have vanished. Half because Emma doesn’t think about it and half because Wren isn’t really doing them anymore.

  Cam tells Emma that they really need to get their Christmas shopping done. She picks a Saturday afternoon when Emma isn’t working and says that they won’t be going home until they’ve both bought gifts for their significant others. Emma bristles at the non-invite, but goes along anyway. It’s the same shops, the same merchandise, but new deals. Cam walks briskly between aisles, holds up scarves and sweaters that are particularly ugly to make Emma smile.

  In those fleeting moments when Cam has made Emma a priority, she has always been able to make Emma happy. Sometimes she would sing in the car in a deep voice that would make Emma giggle. There was the time Emma failed an important test and Cam showed up with microwave popcorn and the dumbest comedy she could think of for a girl’s night in. It’s the moments in the middle, when work or other people are in the way, that are hell.

  “You should get Wren this,” Cam says and holds up a bright yellow blouse. Emma can see it now: Wren carefully unwrapping the gift and holding the blouse up as if it might burst into flames at any moment.

  They wind up in the jewelry section again with the same woman working, Betty, as if she’s been waiting for them to return. Betty watches Cam, asks her if she’d like to look at certain watches again. But Cam is already holding onto a bottle of cologne in a death grip. “Less meaning behind it,” she tells Emma.

  Emma’s drawn to the bracelets again. She picks up the one Wren already has with the black beads for inspiration, but it makes the decision that much harder. Emma’s mantra hasn’t included the adornments on Wren’s arms. The only time Emma ever notices them is when they brush against her body, along her stomach, when Wren is touching her.

  “What about this?” Cam holds up a silver bracelet. It’s small with a strange looking circle engraved in the middle of it, a snake eating itself, it looks like.

  It’s weird and it makes Emma uncomfortable just looking at it. It’s perfect for Wren, the weird girl. Emma takes it from Cam, holds it delicately in her hands. At the register, she looks at the gift wrapping options. “That one,” Emma points out. It’s a cartoonish Santa roll that is sure to make Wren roll her eyes.

  As the days grow colder, so does Wren. There are exams to think of, even though Wren is only taking a few classes this semester. She walks around with a camera strapped around her neck. She doesn’t take any pictures of Emma. The camera looks like an expensive fashion accessory. Calling Wren cold isn’t completely accurate. She is just as she was a few months ago. She doesn’t ask Emma about work, but then Emma doesn’t really wait for her to ask. As soon as she gets to Wren’s apartment, she talks about her day and Wren listens.

 

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