Whiskey at Midnight, page 32
“What’s that look for?” Emma asks, drying her hair with the towel. A few drops of water slither down her naked body. Wren looks away.
“Trudy’s out there waiting for you,” she says and laughs.
Emma looks confused and shakes her head, like this is something that only Wren will find funny.
Trevor has his arm around Trudy when they step out of the bedroom. Emma is still touching the ends of her hair, like her hands will dry the last bit of wetness.
Trevor’s hair is cut short. It’s tidy in a way that looks like he probably goes to get it trimmed every other week and never has a hair out of place. His eyes are large, almost too large for his face. When he smiles, his cheeks dimple in. Exactly the look of the guy a girl’s parents would automatically trust, except for the Bucktons.
“Wren!” Trevor calls out. “It’s so good to see you again. And this is?”
He knows exactly who it is. Wren plays along. “This is Emma,” she says. She watches as Emma crosses the room, toward the couch, and shakes hands with Trevor and then Trudy.
“Your girlfriend,” Trudy says.
“My girlfriend.”
Emma beams at them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you coming tomorrow morning, Trevor?”
From her vantage point by her bedroom door, Wren can see the cross look on Trudy’s face and the way Trevor looks down, his face sullen.
“No, Trevor can’t come for reasons beyond his control,” Trudy says. A bullshit response that means the Bucktons would have a heart attack. Wren smiles sympathetically at her.
“Shame,” Emma says and turns to look at Wren, ready to retreat back into Wren’s bedroom.
“Well, we were just going to grab some waters and then head back into the bedroom,” says Wren.
Trevor nods sagely. Trudy gives Wren a pointed look, like she knows they’re up to something. Wren leaves them all in the living room to go get two glasses of water.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Uh-huh,” Emma says and follows Wren back into the bedroom. Emma lets out a deep breath as soon as the door is shut behind them. “That was kind of unsettling and I don’t know why,” she whispers.
Wren grabs the remote from off the floor and turns on the television for background noise. She hasn’t watched it in so long, she’s forgotten that it’s still on the last channel Emma put it on. It’s a reality show with a lot of yelling and crying.
“It’s the calmness of Trevor,” Wren says and hands Emma one of the glasses. “He’s so cool that you worry something is wrong.” She lights a cigarette, sets her glass down on the nightstand and moves to open the bedroom window. She takes her pants off, citing the suffocating warmth, and idly touches her calves as she smokes.
“You know, you should quit,” Emma says and laughs at the glare Wren shoots at her. “Just testing it out. Doesn’t really work so well.”
Trudy has a change of heart sometime between when she speaks to Emma, when she kisses Trevor goodnight, and when she wakes up. Her banging around in the kitchen, looking for something that evades her, wakes Wren up but not Emma. Wren sleepily pulls on a pair of shorts and pads out of her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
Trudy wears a bathrobe. It’s one of the overly long terry cloth types, nothing like the silky one that Emma now owns. Her hair is messy from sleep and her eyes are red. She bangs another cupboard door closed, crosses her arms and waits for the coffee to finish being made.
“What the fuck?” Wren asks from the doorway. “What’s got you so wound up?”
Trudy moves her neck just enough to look at Wren. Her nostrils flare at the sight. She looks Wren up and down, as if inspecting her to see if anything is out of place. “I’m having second thoughts,” Trudy says.
“And that makes you stomp around like an elephant?” Wren rolls her eyes, crosses her own arms. “And second thoughts about what exactly? Today? You were the one who set it all up.”
Some of the anxious energy escapes through Trudy’s shoulders. Her eyes still look defiant, her mouth presses into a straight line. She looks at Wren like Mrs. Buckton looks at Trudy. “Be that as it may,” Trudy says, “I’m not so sure about it this morning. Faced with all of it, I’m not sure my parents can handle actually seeing lesbians.”
Wren laughs and then does her best impression of sympathy at Trudy’s hard look. “It’s not like we’re going to be making out in the church, right?”
Trudy pours a cup of coffee, sets another mug out like it’s a peace offering. Wren moves over to the counter once Trudy sits at the kitchen table and pours some coffee into her mug, no sugar. “Maybe you could be best friends,” Trudy says, helplessly.
“I don’t think that’s an option. You said you already told them I’m dating an Emma,” Wren says. She sits opposite Trudy, flips through the same magazine as the other day. Wren’s fashion is apparently not in this season.
“I don’t want to disappoint them again,” Trudy says. “It’s weird. It’s not like I have any control over you. And they’re being brilliant about it all.” Trudy looks down at her coffee and stares at it like it might give her some answer.
Wren sighs and shrugs her shoulders. “It’ll be fine, Trudy. They’re not going to be disappointed in you because I’m fucking a girl.” Trudy blushes and glares at Wren. “Sorry, dating a girl. They’re smart enough to know that what I do has nothing to do with you.” Wren blows on her coffee and takes a sip. It’s still too warm but not so bad that it burns her tongue. “Trudy, maybe you’d be happier if we didn’t live together next year. Find someone who is a little less wild, a little more your style. You’d be able to enjoy yourself more instead of worrying that the apartment will be trashed before your parents arrive for church.”
The corners of Trudy’s lips tug up into a smile and her eyes stop looking so worried. “Maybe,” she says.
“Definitely,” Wren says and laughs at Trudy’s ever growing smile.
Mrs. Buckton does inspect Wren when she arrives. She touches the crucifix that hangs around her neck with nervous fingers and lets her eyes roam over Wren and then Emma. Both are dressed in the most appropriate clothes they own. Conservative cuts that cover them and make them look utterly sexless. Mrs. Buckton lets go of the necklace as if she’s going to twirl her finger around to signal to Wren to pivot on her heels so she can really make sure everything is fine, but she resists the urge and smiles at Mr. Buckton, who looks rather embarrassed by it all.
“And your pictures, Wren?” Mrs. Buckton asks.
“Going well,” says Wren.
Mr. Buckton clears his throat. “The car is idling down in the parking lot,” he says. “We should be on our way so we’re not late.”
Emma, being perfect in these situations, nods her head. “Good idea.”
All the way to the Buckton’s car, Trudy has a spring in her step. Her parents take it for excitement to go to church. Wren sits in the middle of the back seat, creating a barrier between Emma and Trudy. Despite Wren mentioning as they got dressed that they should probably keep the public displays of affection to an absolute minimum, Emma grabs onto Wren’s hand and squeezes it hard.
On the hard wooden pew, the Bucktons sit closer to the middle, followed by Wren, and finally Emma right next to the aisle. Mrs. Buckton murmurs throughout the service as she always does and Mr. Buckton’s eyes water exactly once when the preacher says that those who don’t obey are sentenced to Hell. For the first time in Wren’s memory, Trudy doesn’t duck her head while the sermon is preached. She stares straight ahead, confidently. Though she doesn’t nod like her mother, Wren can see the resemblance between them more than ever.
Across the aisle, Trevor sits as close as he can without drawing attention to himself. He never looks at them, though Emma looks over a few times. Wren can’t remember if Emma grew up in a religious household or if maybe the Nielsens are the type to only go to church for special occasions, but Emma looks at home in the pew, like she’s been going every Sunday for all of her life.
Lunch is at the usual deli. Mr. Buckton gets a roast beef sandwich, Mrs. Buckton eats a cobb salad. “I’m delighted to meet you finally, Emma. It’s nice to know Wren has some kind of social life,” Mrs. Buckton says. It doesn’t feel like a dig at Wren.
Emma finishes swallowing a bite of her club sandwich. “I’ve heard so much about the both of you. I’m glad I could finally meet you.” It’s not exactly true. Wren has only told Emma about the old arrangement between her and Trudy and that the Bucktons came across Wren in a very compromising situation once.
Trudy, knowing that Wren wouldn’t have actually spoken about her parents all that much, gives Wren an amused glance.
Mrs. Buckton looks delighted.
Right as they’re about to leave the deli, along with all of the other diners who are wearing suits and ties and dresses with pearl necklaces, Trudy clears her throat. “I have an announcement to make. Wren and I have decided to find new roommates.” She tears her napkin into tiny shreds. “Just to see what it’s like to live with someone else,” she adds.
Mr. Buckton is unable to conceal the look of relief on his face, like maybe Wren was the reason Trudy wasn’t at home for all of those months. Mrs. Buckton looks stricken, caught between worry that Wren will deteriorate without the calming influence of Trudy in the apartment and concern that maybe Wren was helpful in her own way to get Trudy back to being the good girl she used to be.
“But you’ve been such good roommates,” Mrs. Buckton says, fingering her necklace again. “Did you have a fight?”
Wren says nothing. She can feel Emma’s fingers digging into her thigh, asking what the fuck is going on since Emma can’t say it aloud.
It’s Trudy who speaks up, which is fine by Wren since she was the one to make the goddamn announcement. “No,” she says. “We didn’t have a fight or anything like that. We made a good little home together but it’s time to part ways.” It sounds like a rehearsed line. Maybe Trudy has been practicing in her mirror, hoping that Wren would bring it up first so she wouldn’t have to do it and feel like the bad guy.
“You’re not thinking about moving in with a boy, are you?” Mrs. Buckton asks, her voice raising an octave.
“No!” Trudy looks guiltily away. She had, at least for a moment. Wren smirks.
Mrs. Buckton takes her napkin and dabs at the corner of her eyes. “Well, I guess we should get you girls home,” she says.
In the living room, Mrs. Buckton gives Emma a hug and then Wren. She holds onto Wren tightly. “You still have my number, right?” she whispers into Wren’s ear. “Call me any time, day or night, if you need anything. It doesn’t matter if you and Trudy aren’t roommates anymore.”
Though Wren hadn’t planned it, when Mrs. Buckton releases her she tells them to wait for a moment and goes into her bedroom. On her desk, amid a pile of pictures, is the one she took of the Bucktons and Trudy in front of the Jesus painting. She snatches it up and brings it into the living room. She presents it to Mrs. Buckton who bursts into tears.
Mr. Buckton doesn’t do emotional farewells. Even though there are two more months on the lease, everyone seems to know that Wren won’t be around anymore, or at least won’t be joining them on Sundays. He clears his throat and shakes Wren’s hand. “You’ve been a good friend to Trudy,” he says.
They leave after hugging Trudy. Mrs. Buckton continues to wipe at her eyes as the front door closes behind them.
Trudy collapses on the couch, reminiscent of all of those days when she did the same while waiting for the right time to leave the apartment again. “That went well,” she says. And then, “what?”
Trudy’s gaze is focused on Emma, who appears to be gritting her teeth together. Emma smiles sweetly. “Do you want to go on a walk, Wren?”
Trudy slides across the couch and mumbles that she has something to do in her bedroom and leaves them in peace.
Emma begins walking ahead of Wren as soon as they’re out of the apartment, past the parking lot, and down the street. The park is out of the question then. Emma prefers to drive there and then walk around. She walks until she finds a bench on the corner of a street and sits. Wren is not far behind and sits rigidly next to her.
“So, what was that?” Emma asks, all of the frustration gone instantly, replaced by mild confusion.
“Yeah, I didn’t get a chance to mention it. I told Trudy we should find other roommates this morning. I didn’t know she’d bring it up at lunch.” Wren reaches into her pants pocket and pulls out her cigarettes and a lighter. “I like to be prepared,” she says.
“So what are you going to do?” No judgment, just a question.
“I could pay Trudy off, put my things in storage and drive around for the summer. That might be fun,” Wren says after thinking a moment. Emma glances up at her again, disapproval dripping from her features. “Or not. I guess running around whenever I want doesn’t work so well in a relationship.”
“Why get a storage unit?”
Wren shrugs. “I guess now that the option to leave is there, I kind of want to be out sooner rather than later. If that makes sense.”
Emma nods, though she still looks confused. She bites her lip. “If you want to get out…”
Wren takes another drag off of her cigarette and waits. She ashes onto the ground, watches people that walk down the street. “Well, spit it out,” she says finally.
“If you want to get out,” Emma tries again, “you could move your things into my apartment. There should be enough space.”
Emma looks down at the cracked pavement around her feet. Weeds have surfaced between the cracks. A driver, right in front of them, yells at a cyclist who turns right on red. Emma watches this and then another woman as she walks by, anything that isn’t Wren’s face.
“So we can play the good little married couple? Cook for each other and all that?” Wren’s tone isn’t angry or condescending, just curious. She watches Emma, who still doesn’t look at her, and sees the way Emma flinches. “Sorry, I’m trying to wrap my head around it. Very lesbian.”
“You say sorry a lot now,” Emma says, matter of factly.
“Yeah, that happens when you start talking without thinking,” says Wren. She raises a hand and brushes a finger along her forehead. She drops the hand and slowly moves it closer to Emma until she can hold onto Emma’s hand. “It’d be kind of crazy to do. I’m not the move in and get married right out of college type.”
Emma laughs and shakes her head. “I know who you are, Wren. I know that you put flowers in your apartment for me once. And there was that picnic. You have your moments. I know what I’m getting myself into. And it’s practical. I’m not going to want to go out all that much during my first year of teaching. I’ll be tired and cranky and you’ll grow to hate being around me at the bar because I’m going to be thinking about being in bed.”
Wren nods and drops her cigarette on the ground, crushes it under her heel. Then, she picks it back up to throw away later. “Fuck it,” she says. “Two conditions though. When is your lease up?”
“Two months. I was planning on renewing it.”
“When it’s up, we get a two bedroom place. We can have our own space and not feel like we’re suffocating. Well, so I won’t feel like I’m suffocating. Second thing, you have to take a week off this summer for a road trip. I’ll take care of it.” Wren grins. “But fuck it, yeah, why not?”
Emma kisses Wren like it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever been said to her and Wren almost falls backward on the bench from the force of it.
Emma sits on Wren’s bed and reads a book that she’s found hidden away in Wren’s closet. It’s a book that has to be from Lily, there’s no way Wren would have ever purchased it herself, and Wren is unsure how it’s managed to survive so long in her room without being tossed out.
Boxes line one end of the wall. It’s not that Wren has a lot to pack, or at least she hadn’t thought of it that way, but there are more pictures to pack than she originally thought. The other side of the bedroom has a pile of garbage bags full of belongings that Wren sees no reason in keeping anymore.
Wren gets face down on the floor and peers under her bed. Another book stares at her from the darkness as well as the box she’s kept there forever. She doesn’t look at the book, just tosses it toward the garbage bags. She opens the box from her spot on the floor, takes out each item one by one and turns them over in her hands. The bracelet Emma gave her glistens on her wrist in the sunlight from the window. She carefully places the items back in the box and sets it to the side along the trash wall. She doesn’t need it anymore.
“How much longer are you going to take?” Emma asks and yawns.
Trudy is locked away in her bedroom. Wren can still hear muffled sounds. She’s probably talking to Trevor on the phone. She’d been alarmed when Wren voiced her decision to leave early and only seemed a little relieved when Wren said she’d still be paying her share of bills until the lease was up. “I’m going to miss you,” Trudy had admitted. They’d hugged, awkwardly, before Wren came up with an excuse to go into her bedroom and shut the door.
Emma was the one to come up with the idea to only take Wren’s necessities over to Emma’s to start. A small bag carried Wren’s makeup and toothbrush, another larger one carried her favorite outfits and a few work uniforms.
When they have a few hours, they go to Wren’s apartment and Wren slowly packs up her life. To make it all less stressful, Emma reasons. They won’t finish today, but Wren is determined to get enough packed so that if she never returns, just leaves boxes and bags behind to be taken care of by other people, she won’t miss anything.
“I’ll be done soon,” she promises.
Thirty minutes later, Emma lets the book she’s been reading fall from her grasp and land on the bed. “Please take a break and spend some time with me,” she pleads. “This place grows more depressing by the second.”
Wren doesn’t have any words to counter Emma. It is starting to look a little depressing. Though Wren has never been into decorating or worrying about her bedroom reflecting her personality, it’s impossible to stay in a place for long without it picking up some aspects of a person’s personality, like the pictures of the park that Wren taped to the walls. The pictures are all down now, along with most other personal touches. It’s becoming a bland, blank room.
