Whiskey at Midnight, page 6
It’s still months before Emma has to face a classroom of children. Just one last semester of classes and then what she considers her trial run, her semester of student teaching. Emma’s hand falls from it’s position, covering her eyes, and Wren’s body comes into view. Every bit of her anxiety spews forth, directed right at Wren. “What if I’m no good? What will I do then? What if the kids hate me? What if… oh God, there are just too many horrible possibilities.”
“Hm,” Wren says. Nothing else. No words of comfort, no wisdom. Still, Emma feels her shoulders relax and the panic leave her body slowly.
The window is open again, and Wren crosses to stand by it and smoke. Her gaze never leaves the pane of glass as she smokes. When it’s down to the filter, she saunters over to her side of the bed and stubs it out in the ashtray. “Do you want to go out?” Wren asks.
Emma promises herself that she won’t talk about student teaching while they’re out, even if it does start to bother her again. She throws on her clothes and waits as Wren re-applies her makeup. Wren doesn’t go out without makeup, Emma’s learned.
The bar is not particularly busy when they arrive. Emma doesn’t see anyone that she knows. She stares at the pictures above her head while Wren orders them both a beer. A woman with brown hair and reindeer antlers stands in one of the pictures, her nose covered with a glowing bulb. In another picture, the bartender with the ponytail is smiling sweetly at the camera, holding a pint up.
Wren clears her throat, still holding onto both beers, and leans her head to the side, toward the other room. She begins walking and wades through the few people already there, until she comes to a table in the corner of the room. It’s secluded enough and anyone who walks into the room will be seen by Wren and Emma, probably before they can spot the two girls.
Only when she sits does Wren slide Emma’s beer over to Emma. Though it might seem strange, Emma sits next to Wren at the table, rather than across from her. They sit so closely, their legs touch under the table.
“Do you know their names?” Emma asks. She inclines her head to the left, where they would be able to see the bar if not for the wall dividing the two rooms. It’s one of the few areas of the bar that is split, as only a half wall divides the two rooms. “I feel bad, but I never asked them and it’d be awkward now.”
“The one with the ponytail is Taylor and the one with the braids is Reese,” Wren says.
It’s surprising that Wren knows their names. Truthfully, Emma hadn’t expected an answer, just another person who was in the same boat as her, to make her feel better for not knowing. It’s not like Wren goes out of her way to meet new people. But then, Emma has spent the last year or two considering Wren the weird girl and nothing else. Emma reaches down and grabs hold of Wren’s hand. It’s small, but fits nicely with hers. Wren looks at her from the corner of her eye but doesn’t take her hand away.
Cam arrives with Steve. They’re laughing when they walk through the door. Even though the door is close to the bar, Emma has a clear view of it. Too late, Emma thinks about her hand being in Wren’s, but Wren has seen the two strolling in and has pulled her hand away from Emma’s. The two of them disappear for almost a full minute, but then they walk into the room, laughing, and Steve spots Emma and Wren. Steve carries a beer in one hand, Cam has a mixed drink. Cam’s eyes narrow when she sees Emma sitting close to Wren, but she had to have missed them holding hands and she says nothing when she reaches them.
Wren vacates her seat, presumably for Cam to take her place. Steve remains standing and gives Wren a hug. “Shot?” Wren asks him. That’s all it takes for Steve to follow her back toward the bar.
Cam is cold next to Emma. The laughter she shared with Steve has died out. She drinks and scratches at her bare arm. “You’re not going to be weird, are you?” Cam asks.
It’s the same question she asks almost every time she is alone with Emma now. As if Emma’s answer might change. It’s all because of that damn date. It had been going so well, too. Emma had even worn matching underwear. If only she hadn’t opened her mouth when Cam invited her home.
“No,” Emma says.
“Okay then.”
Steve is the one who pulls Emma in when she tries to stand against a wall and just observe them all. Their table has been long forgotten. They stand closer to the speakers, still in the same room, but where they can see the bar now. The song is some horrible club tune from two decades ago but everyone is dancing anyway, either swaying or bouncing around like Steve. Steve grabs Emma’s arms and pulls her close, bouncing until Emma is forced to do the same. He laughs and looks down at her. For the first time, Emma sees that Steve has the ability to make a person feel like they’re the only other person in the room. Maybe that’s why Wren hangs out with him or why she fucks him. Emma is smiling and giggling by the end of the song.
He lets her go, bows so low that his arm touches his toes, and then pulls Cam in for a dance. The song is slow and a guy with a mohawk nearby yells the lyrics at the top of his lungs.
Emma looks around, free from dancing, and can’t find Wren. She wanders toward the bar, but still she doesn’t see Wren. That leaves outside as the most likely place for Wren to be. A few people are out there smoking and none of them look like Wren. On a whim, Emma rounds the corner toward the alley. Of course, Wren is standing in that spot, hidden away. The very spot where they fucked. Emma blushes and something like nostalgia hits her.
“You missed me dancing with Steve,” Emma says when she stops in front of Wren.
Wren smiles, really smiles, and takes a drag off her cigarette. “I bet that was something.”
Around the corner, Emma can hear the smokers going back inside. Someone kicks a patio chair on the way back in. Someone laughs. Once they’re all inside, the only sound left is Wren’s infrequent exhaling and her toe tapping against the pavement. She’s wearing tights and a skirt. All dark colors, all Wren.
“It’s always going to be hard, isn’t it?” Emma asks.
Wren raises an eyebrow at the sudden question and throws her cigarette butt on the ground. “Sure. Ready?” She passes by Emma, her shoulders slumped down, but then turns and grabs Emma’s hand. She squeezes it once then lets it go and heads inside.
Steve and Cam are still laughing together when Emma returns. Steve twirls Cam around. Emma has missed them getting close somehow. Sure, they’re friends and have been for years, but Cam has never mentioned confiding in him and even when she’s mentioned hanging out with Steve it hasn’t sounded like it’s a common thing.
When it’s time to go, it’s apparent that Cam rode with Steve and plans to leave the same way. Of course, Emma thinks, they did arrive at the same time. It’s not a romantic connection. It can’t be. Steve fucks Wren and if Wren is his type there’s no way that Cam is. But then, Emma is fucking Wren and loves Cam. So maybe he would. Emma watches it all in confusion.
“Her car broke down,” Wren supplies while Emma watches Steve and Cam leave.
“I just didn’t realize they were close. Like at all.”
“Mm,” says Wren.
Wren’s new favorite thing is fucking in the shower. At Wren’s apartment, the shower is big enough for the both of them. It would never work at Emma’s. Wren takes her from behind, holds her close, and lets her fingers dip into Emma’s cunt until Emma’s legs shake and her breaths come out in gasps. It’s a great position for both of them. Sometimes Emma can’t help the tears that run down her face and the shower water beating down on them masks the tears so that even she can ignore them. Wren doesn’t ask much, and the tears are one subject that she never asks about, ever, just lets Emma have her moment. Other times, Wren is down on her knees and can’t see the tears anyway.
After, when they’re in bed and all Emma wants to do is curl up and forget everything in the world, Wren smokes cigarettes and plays with Emma’s blonde hair. It’s so fucking domestic that Emma almost laughs the first time it happens. But truthfully, she likes it, can’t help the easy grin that settles on her face. She makes sure not to say anything that might make Wren stop doing it.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m the last to know everything,” Emma says, her eyes closed. Fingers sift through her damp hair. The smell of smoke hits her nose. The television is on with the volume muted.
“How does that feel?” Wren asks. Her fingers never leave Emma’s hair.
“Weird.”
Holding hands with Cam and then fucking Wren starts to feel normal. Cam’s hands are warm beneath the table and her nails send tingles down Emma’s spine when she traces Emma’s palm. At the end of the night, Emma leaves scratch marks all over Wren, whose hands are cool and hard.
Then, Cam throws a curveball. She invites Mark from work to karaoke. He is tall, though not as tall as Steve. His hair curls at the ends and his smile looks practiced.
“Mark, Emma. Emma, Mark,” Cam says. Her tone is bored, but as Emma shakes his hand and opens her mouth, Cam flinches.
“Nice to meet you,” says Emma.
“A pleasure,” Mark replies, his shoulders squared back and his hands coming to rest at his sides.
“I don’t remember you mentioning him before,” Emma whispers into Cam’s ear later, when Steve is talking to Mark and Wren has gone off somewhere. Cam just rolls her eyes and steps toward the boys to join their conversation. Again, Emma is left with the feeling that she has missed something.
Mark speaks confidently and looks at every person in the group equally. A born speaker, that’s what Emma’s mother would call him. But quickly, it is evident that he speaks mostly of work and Cam. Emma’s attention wanes. She nods her head, as if she is listening to him, like Steve and Cam are, but her eyes turn to Wren.
Wren looks unimpressed by Mark, by the man singing karaoke, even by the drink in her hand. It’s a light beer, and the bottle appears larger than normal with Wren’s slight fingers wrapped around it.
“How about a shot? Everyone here takes shots, right?” Mark asks. His eyes scan the group, waiting for confirmation.
“I’ll help you carry them,” Emma offers. Wren shoots her a look, as if trying to figure out Emma’s motivation. Cam looks pleased.
Mark pays with cash, counting each bill carefully, and then adds a few more for a tip. He calls Reese “sweetheart.” Reese smiles like she hears it all the time. Emma grits her teeth even though he doesn’t sound particularly flirty when he says it.
“Camille has mentioned you a few times at work. She says you two are close. And you’re a teacher?”
Emma’s jaw tightens and she forces a smile. “Almost.”
“It’s a hard job. I wouldn’t do it, that’s for sure.”
Mark glances back at the group of friends. Steve is making Cam laugh and she has a hand covering her mouth. A new song has started playing, classic rock, and Emma immediately looks toward Wren upon hearing it. Wren is staring back at her, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she bobs her head to the music.
“She’s a special lady,” Mark says.
“What?”
“Camille. She’s a special lady.”
Wren’s smile slowly fades and Emma can hear the shots being placed down on the bar behind them. “Oh, right. She is.”
Cam stands close by Mark as they all prepare to take their shots. Both of them are in their work clothes, a little too dressed up for the bar. To Emma’s left is Wren. Mark has no words he wants to say, just raises his glass and tosses his head back. It’s house tequila. Wren and Steve drink as if they haven’t had water in days, as if it is the best thing that has ever touched their lips. Emma and Cam grimace, barely able to get it all down in one go. Emma doesn’t watch to see how Mark drinks.
“Right. Thanks, Mark. Now, to dance,” Steve says, setting the shot glass down on an empty table. He easily finds a drunk girl to dance with him. Their movements are jerky and ridiculous, but something to watch other than the way Mark looks at Cam. Mark is confident and lets Cam’s name fall from his lips too often. When Wren goes out for a cigarette, Emma follows. No one seems to notice their leaving.
“He calls her Camille,” Emma seethes. “Fucking Camille.”
Wren frowns. “That’s her name, Emma.”
“But that’s not what we call her. She’s Cam.”
Wren flicks the ashes from her cigarette onto the ground. She pulls a ponytail holder off her wrist and pulls her hair back. The cigarette bobs between her lips. Her hair still falls past her shoulders with it up. “So, she goes by Cam with us and by Camille at work.”
“But this isn’t work!” Emma kicks at the brick wall.
Wren shrugs. “You can still call her Cam.”
“It’s not that. Nevermind. You just don’t get it,” says Emma.
It’s not fair to take it out on Wren, but it’s easy. That’s the problem. Everything is so easy to take out on Wren. Her shoulders slump sometimes, in quiet moments that Emma almost misses, but then they’re back again and so is the bored expression that Wren wears most of the time.
Emma shuts herself up and paces in front of Wren until Wren tosses her cigarette into an ashtray and they go back inside.
Cam and Mark waltz into the bar two nights later while Emma and Wren are sitting and talking with Reese. Again, the two are dressed in their work clothes, unless Mark always dresses like he’s about to go into the office. Cam’s face is unworried and utterly beautiful. Emma squeezes her hand into a fist and jumps at the brief touch on her leg. Wren eyes are on her and then drop to the clenched fist, but Emma isn’t sure what Wren is trying to say.
“I think I love this place. I couldn’t stay away,” Mark tells them with a cheesy grin. He pulls out the chair next to Emma for Cam and then sits on Cam’s other side.
Steve hasn’t come out and Wren hasn’t mentioned if he plans to join them or not. With them all sitting in a row, Emma knows not to touch Cam. Even the smallest brush of her fingers against Cam’s khakis would be taken badly.
From Mark’s endless rambling, Emma learns that he holds a position higher than Cam. He’s not her direct boss, and so there is nothing wrong with them getting close. “Camille had to remind me three times that it was my turn to bring in some kind of breakfast,” he says.
“Almost four times. You surprised me when you finally remembered,” Cam replies.
Reese is the only bartender working and she keeps herself busy behind the bar, only approaching the group when someone needs a new drink. Her braids are a few inches shorter than before, the ends jagged and uneven. She looks up, right at Wren, and smiles in an amused way when she looks back down, her hands deep in soapy water.
“I think it’s time for a smoke,” Wren says, her voice husky in Emma’s ear.
“I’ll come,” says Emma, already moving to get out of her chair. “We’ll be back,” she says to Cam and Mark.
The sky is full of stars and no clouds. An ashtray sits on a patio table near the front door, full of cigarette butts. Wordlessly, Emma picks it up and dumps the contents into a nearby trash can. “No one can clean up after themselves anymore,” Emma says.
Wren holds her pack out to Emma, her own cigarette already placed between her lips, unlit. Her eyeliner and eyeshadow make her eyes appear larger than normal, almost unnerving in the dark.
“No thanks. Well, maybe. Yeah, fuck it. No!” Emma says. “No, thank you.”
Wren pulls her hand back and tucks the pack away. In one swift motion she lights the cigarette between her lips. Her hair is down, tumbling toward her shoulders in waves. Emma can never get her hair to do that.
“I think I hate Mark,” Emma says, her voice low. Cam never follows them outside, but Emma won’t risk it anyway.
“Why?” Wren crouches with her back against the wall. They rarely stand out front anymore, preferring the privacy of the alley. There’s no need with the few people in the bar, and no one is outside but them. “Because he’s making a move on Cam?”
“He’s not,” Emma says immediately. “Why would someone so committed to their career get involved with someone they work with? Cam’s not that dumb.”
Wren shrugs and lets smoke drift out of her nostrils, as if she’s some kind of bored dragon. “People like that have to meet other singles somewhere. If you only care about work, you can only meet people there.” She flicks the ashes from her cigarette and traces a circle on the concrete with a finger. “I’m not saying anything to hurt you. Take a look inside. You’ll see.”
Through a small window, Mark and Cam can be seen, still sitting at the bar, facing one another. Cam’s face is visible from outside and her smile is so genuine her entire face lights up. Mark bends closer to her for a moment, to say something, and Cam laughs. Her hand comes down to rest on his left wrist. His right hand covers her hand instantly. Emma looks away.
“Still doesn’t mean anything will come of it,” Emma says.
“Sure,” says Wren, still tracing symbols on the concrete and smoking her cigarette. She doesn’t look up when Emma passes her to go back inside.
Two nights later, Wren convinces Emma that they should go out again. It’s still early enough in the semester that Emma is not so worried about saving up for the spring, saving up so that she doesn’t have to work full-time at the craft shop as well as focusing on student teaching. She is easily swayed to go with Wren, who promises with a wicked grin that she will buy the first round.
They sit at the bar, and this time Wren tells Emma that Steve is not coming out. “He has to close,” Wren explains. Both Reese and Taylor are working. They clumsily dance around each other behind the bar at first. Reese stands on the tips of her toes to reach a bottle of liquor and Taylor leans over to help, almost causing Reese to drop the bottle altogether. Soon enough, they find their groove and don’t run into one another or get in the other’s way.
“What a dull night,” Emma remarks. She’s finished her first drink while Wren still sips at her own.
“We can always go back to my place and have some fun.”
“Later,” says Emma, a blush creeping across her cheeks.
