Whiskey at Midnight, page 17
Wren waits for Steve after work. She still doesn’t go out, but sharing a cigarette in the parking lot is enough for Steve to feel assured that Wren isn’t broken. Victoria joins some days and Steve goes back and forth between bumming from Wren and Victoria even though Victoria smokes menthols and Wren doesn’t.
Wren changes her schedule again. It’s only up to four days, with the ability to work all day on the weekends, and Dave gives her shit for it for a few minutes. It’s not so bad since Victoria is still out of her hating Wren phase and that means she’s not punishing Wren with shitty tables.
Emma pouts in Wren’s bed when Wren breaks the news, says with her student teaching and still having to work most evenings they’ll rarely see each other. Wren lies right through her teeth and tells Emma she needs the money and Emma’s complaints immediately die out. Money is one thing Emma understands.
Steve keeps asking Wren if she’s fixed it, though it’s apparent to everyone involved that nothing has changed. Emma looks at Wren like she can end the world at the touch of a button and Cam looks at her like every word out of her mouth might as well be “I’m going to win” or “fuck you.” Through it all, Emma looks uncomfortable, Wren refuses to show any emotion at all, and Steve puts forth some effort to make it seem like a normal night, like things aren’t ready to implode.
The day is different when Wren wakes up. The sun is shining a little brighter and her bedroom window isn’t freezing when she touches the glass. Calm. That is how everything feels. Wren doesn’t go to class because of it. She’s seen the signs. Today is going to be a big day, might as well enjoy it.
She starts drinking before noon. Not in the desperate way of her teen years, as she watched Lily start to shrink away from the family. She drinks like Steve would on a boat with a limited supply of alcohol, making each sip count and enjoying the sunlight. It’s karaoke night and she can’t drink so much that she’s wasted before she gets there.
Wren walks to the bar. There’s no way that she’ll be able to drive at the end of the night, that is already certain. It takes some convincing for Emma to meet her there. Emma likes to go to Wren’s straight after school, to shower and change and tell Wren about her day. Emma’s almost to the point where she’ll get to help out in the classroom, do more than just watch, and Emma’s growing more jittery by the day.
“Whiskey night,” Wren tells Reese when she arrives. Her cheeks are pink from the temperature outside and her fingers are cold even though she walked with them in her pockets. Emma might be inside, but Wren doesn’t look around yet.
“God, I wish I was you tonight,” Reese says as she hands Wren her drink.
Wren smirks. “Maybe not,” she says, but Reese is already gone.
Wren watches as Reese whispers something in Taylor’s ear that makes Taylor smile. For once, Wren doesn’t want to watch them. She doesn’t want to see how the months have changed them from co-workers and friends to whatever they are now, because Wren has never asked for actual details. She turns abruptly and heads into the other room.
Cam and Emma are already standing around, holding drinks and talking to one another. Whatever it is that they’re talking about, Emma stops when she sees Wren. She heads over and grabs onto Wren’s hand, pulls her over to where she’d just been standing. Cam’s wearing that damn bracelet. Good, why not. Wren’s is gone. Wren has all of her others still. And then Steve’s walking up to them, his hands lifted high in the air, a bottle of beer in one hand.
“Time to party!” Steve says.
“Where’s Victoria?” asks Wren.
“Vicki needed an early night in,” Steve says. He pulls Wren to him and starts dancing. The song is a folk one and everyone else in the bar looks a little confused. It’s not easy to dance to and it’s such an unusual choice that most stand in place, gawking at the DJ.
“Come on, get into it,” Steve says. By the middle of the song, he gives up, pats Wren on the back. “Not every song is meant to be a dance hit.”
Emma’s eyes follow Wren around, whether Wren is standing next to her or if she goes to the bar for another drink. She looks undecided about God knows what. But then that’s not quite right, because the only thing Emma is ever truly undecided about is her love life. So Wren takes shots with Steve and Emma looks at her with concerned eyes.
“So what’d you do today?” asks Emma when they go outside to smoke. Emma bums one from Wren even though she hasn’t had nearly enough alcohol.
“Nothing really. Just relaxed.”
Steve comes out then and bums a cigarette from Wren. Emma shoots looks toward Steve meant to make him feel uncomfortable, to get him to leave, but he just ruffles her hair and wonders aloud when Victoria is going to try to get buddy buddy with Wren, maybe paint each others nail or something. Wren rolls her eyes and Steve laughs.
Emma’s so intent on trying to get Wren alone that she asks to smoke another cigarette when Steve stubs his out and makes to go inside. It’s so obvious, like everything that Emma does.
“Come on inside,” Wren says. “If we really need to talk, we can go to one of the bathrooms. Like old times.” She winks. It’s meant to embarrass Emma, make her blush and say nevermind, but she agrees to it.
Wren sighs as she follows Emma toward the back of the bar. It’s all going to happen before she expected it to, and there isn’t time to stop at the bar and get another drink.
As soon as Wren locks the door behind them, she kisses Emma. She pushes her hands underneath Emma’s shirt and runs her hands up and down her sides. Emma wants to talk, but Wren has gotten good at shutting her up. Wren has never been shy about fighting dirty. She kisses along Emma’s throat, pulls her hair to the back of her neck to keep it out of the way. Whatever Emma has wanted to say dies the moment that Wren pushes her thigh between Emma’s legs.
“Let’s just have fun,” Wren says.
The only response she gets is a brief nod of Emma’s head, but it’s enough. Wren unbuttons Emma’s jeans and pulls them down to her knees. She feels Emma through Emma’s panties. Wren nips at Emma’s earlobe, does the same to her neck and shoulder, right over the fabric of her shirt. And then she moves Emma’s panties to the side to slip her fingers into Emma’s cunt.
Wren’s made her mark on Emma. Left her with scratch marks down her back some nights, taught her what Wren likes done to her body, shown Emma things that she likes that Emma would have never tried before. Emma couldn’t think about sex before Wren without blushing and now she’s the kind of girl to fuck in a bathroom and ask for more.
Wren holds her up against the wall and watches as Emma’s eyes close. She doesn’t know how Emma and Cam fucked, never wanted to ask for details. If it was in the car or one of their apartments. If Emma came.
Wren uses her palm to put pressure on Emma’s clit, adds a third finger. She works her fingers in and out until Emma’s head thuds back into the wall.
Emma likes to kiss while she’s being fucked. Sometimes, when Wren is kissing her shoulder or using her mouth on one of Emma’s tits, Emma gets frustrated and pulls on Wren’s head until she kisses Emma again. But tonight, when Wren can feel Emma is getting close to orgasm, she watches, refuses to kiss her at all. Emma’s mouth is open, trying to keep her breathing somewhat under control. When she orgasms, Emma’s eyes are open, staring at Wren with a mixture of pleasure and confusion.
Emma pulls Wren to her, hugs her, and tries to switch their positions. Wren, however, walks calmly over to the sink and washes her hands. But then Emma is behind her, right up against her back, trying to pull on Wren’s hips and get her back toward the wall.
“I’m not doing this anymore,” Wren says, looking at herself in the mirror. “Figure it all out, Emma.” She wipes her lips on a paper towel to get rid of Emma’s lip gloss, kisses Emma on the cheek and heads for the still locked bathroom door. “I’ll see you around.”
Despite the alcohol and the feeling of inevitability all day, the world doesn’t end after all.
Chapter Seven
Someone is knocking on the bathroom door. Someone is intruding upon the moment that Emma’s life has been thrown into upheaval. The door is unlocked from when Wren left. How easy it had all seemed to Wren, too. Saying it’s over, just like that. Like she was changing what she wanted to drink.
There are small mercies in life. Whoever it is on the other side of the door is still knocking instead of barging in. And if they did walk in, they’d see Emma sitting next to the toilet with her chin resting on her knees. She’s not sobbing. That would require fully comprehending the last thirty minutes. What a roller coaster it had been. Only Wren would fuck someone and then leave them devastated. It’s selfish. A trait that Emma has never associated with Wren. A fresh tear trails down her face.
One night, when they were at Wren’s apartment and had had too much to drink, Wren had become more talkative than usual. She said that it was dangerous to trust people. If you trust someone, they hold power over you. Love was just a different word for trust. Emma had laughed at her, pulled her into a hug and kissed her. She argued Wren’s point. The whole purpose of putting your trust in someone else was to choose someone who wouldn’t wield that kind of power in a bad way. Sitting on the floor of a bathroom, Wren had a point.
She’s used Wren. She’s admitted it. But Wren has become a constant. Cam gets busy with work or disappears into a relationship. Wren is steady and Emma always knows what she’s getting from her. Until tonight.
The person knocks again. Any anger inside Emma boils over and is directed toward the knocker. “Fuck off! Someone’s in here.”
Unfortunately, the person doesn’t go away. They stop knocking and turn the door knob. Emma buries her head in her knees, as if she’ll become invisible.
“Hey,” the person says. Cam. Cam has come in search of Emma. She still doesn’t look up. It’s embarrassing. Emma can hear the lock turning and then Cam walks closer and sits down on the toilet. Cam lets the silence between them stretch on a little longer. If there are any tears left in Emma, she stops them. She won’t cry anymore, not for an emotionally unavailable young girl, not in front of Cam.
“Steve and Wren are taking shots at the bar. Steve looks downright gleeful and Wren looks as sad as I’ve ever seen her.” Cam touches the top of Emma’s head. “And here you are hiding.”
Emma raises her head. Cam’s full attention is on her. It’s such a rare thing that Emma kind of hates Wren in the moment. Of course Wren has invaded Emma’s life to the point that even her interactions with Cam are tainted by Wren.
“Wren broke up with me,” Emma whispers. Her voice doesn’t sound like her own. It’s bitter and full of hatred.
“I thought you weren’t really in a relationship. Your words.”
“I lied,” Emma seethes. “It was like a relationship. And now it’s over because I couldn’t make her believe that I was over you.”
Cam nods and grabs hold of one of Emma’s hands. Her thumb caresses the back of it. “It sounds like we need to get the fuck out of here. If I know Steve, you won’t want to be here much longer anyway.”
Lucky for Emma, Cam hadn’t driven her car to the bar and can still legally drive. They stop by the bar long enough for Emma to take a shot and for Cam to pay their tabs. Emma makes sure not to look toward Wren and Steve.
Cam’s never been behind the wheel of Emma’s car, not that Emma can remember. Whether Cam drives carefully in Emma’s car or not, Emma doesn’t pay attention. She only speaks once during the car ride to ask Cam to pick up a pack of cigarettes on the way to Emma’s.
Cam sniffs at that, but obediently does as requested. She also buys a lighter for Emma. It’s a bright pink one with unicorns. Cam has never come outside when Steve and Wren wanted to smoke, has never seen Emma steal a few drags from Wren. This is probably why Cam stares at Emma when she lights one as soon as they walk into Emma’s apartment. Emma’s not prepared. She has to rummage around in her kitchen until she finds a bowl she doesn’t give a shit about to ash in.
Cam’s the one who goes to find something to drink. But Emma has been spending so little time at home that there’s nothing alcoholic in the apartment. Just as well, it’s nearly midnight and Emma has to be awake in six hours.
Fuck Wren for doing all of this on a school night.
There’s no time to talk. They both have work in the morning and Emma wouldn’t even know where to start. Instead they stare at the wall while Emma smokes.
After months of indecision and procrastination, curtains now cover the windows in her living room. They’re white and fragile looking. Sheer, like the ones Emma grew up with. Coming home and putting them up had been one of those adult moments, when Emma can forget that she doesn’t actually have any idea what she’s doing. The curtains look depressing in the middle of the night, but in the mornings they’re breathtaking.
Cam clears her throat and says something about Emma needing some sleep. So Emma puts out the cigarette and wanders toward her bedroom with unsteady feet. She doesn’t change out of her clothes or even strip down, just gets under the covers and smiles when Cam leans down and kisses her on the forehead. Her alarm is already set. It’s one little thing she won’t have to worry about.
She doesn’t hear Cam leave.
Emma wakes up with a puffy face and a sore throat. Her bedroom feels foreign. The pink covers on her bed look ghastly in their bright shade. The papers scattered on the floor mean nothing anymore. They could be essays that Emma has no recollection of or even grocery lists. A poster of a kitten has fallen down off the wall, the tape still stuck to each corner.
She showers quickly, ignoring her hair. She can pull it up into a ponytail and no one will notice that it’s gone unwashed. This leaves her a few extra minutes to drink her coffee in the living room and smoke a cigarette.
People have always told Emma that the best cigarette of the day is the first one, right after waking up, when you’re still groggy and drinking coffee like it’s magical. That might be true for some people, but it’s dreary to Emma. Even the curtains look lonely this morning. And Emma’s not really a smoker. She throws the rest of the pack of cigarettes away, drops the bowl into the trash after them.
For once, Emma’s glad that she doesn’t have to do anything but observe when she gets to the middle school. She wears one of her so-called big girl outfits but frowns when she goes to the bathroom and sees herself in the mirror. Makeup. She’s forgotten to put on makeup. This must be why divorced women look so haggard the first few months of separation. Not only is sleep not as easy to come by, but you forget the little things and end up showing the cracks in your life on your face. Not that Emma and Wren were together long. Not that their relationship was anything like a marriage.
The first part of the day is spent on a story that Emma hasn’t read. She meant to, but she forgot. It doesn’t matter anyway. As long as she watches what happens in the classroom, she’ll get by. Tony will try to make a joke and end up pissing off the teacher. He’ll complain about not going out for recess. Everything goes on as normal, like the world hasn’t ended. Mrs. Everett tells Emma that when she first began teaching, there was a certain amount of respect given to teachers. Now, parents will come up with any excuse to prove their darlings aren’t monsters. Emma nods, still unsure if Mrs. Everett is trying to scare her or has just become cynical.
Emma only has to work for a few hours at the craft shop. By the end of her shift, she’s yawning so hard that her jaw pops. She’s not bubbly or overly helpful. The very things she’s been for the past month.
Ed stops her when it’s almost time to leave. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
It’s the best thing she’s heard all day. Ed’s concerned look means she really is in his good graces again, back in the good worker category. Still, there’s only so much she can mope before his concern gives way to annoyance again.
She hangs her head a little. “Just a really rough day. It won’t become a problem,” she mumbles.
He puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes. It’s amazing how the smallest form of human contact can set a person off, and Emma is no different. Tears threaten to fall again and she mutters a quick goodbye. She won’t become that kind of person, crying everywhere, especially since she’s done it to herself.
She’s almost to Wren’s apartment when she stops at a stoplight and looks at the street sign. Auto-pilot is dangerous when it takes you to the one place you’re most definitely not welcome. Though Wren wasn’t angry when she spoke to Emma, more resigned, she’s sure she’s not on the list of people Wren wants to see. She’s not sure she wants to see Wren herself. She does, but she doesn’t, and that starts a headache behind her eyes.
She turns away from Wren’s apartment and heads toward her own. Her mother cleaned a lot when she was having problems with Emma’s father. The house had never been spotless before that point. It doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, especially now that there’s the smell of cigarettes in her apartment. There’s still no alcohol. Emma couldn’t bring herself to spend more time in public. She drinks water instead while she sets about cleaning. She sneezes when she dusts the ceiling fans. Great long lines of dust fall onto the floor. Every surface Emma sees, she runs a rag over until they shine. All of the dishes she’s ignored are put into the dishwasher.
Emma saves her bedroom for last. It takes three bags to hold all of the papers that she’s let take over the room. The kitten poster is placed back on the wall with new tape. At some point the headache goes away and Emma begins to smile. She hums while she hangs clothes up in her closet. For the first time in months, the dirty clothes all make it into the laundry bin and all her clean clothes make it into their respective spaces.
The nightstand is the last thing to wipe off and tidy. The lampshade is straightened out. All of the books she’s read and left on the nightstand or on the floor by the bed go back onto her bookshelf. A stray eyeliner pencil is put back into the bathroom. The picture frame that Wren gave her for Christmas still sits on the nightstand. Emma dusts it off. It can stay, for now, since it’s a picture of Emma.
