Whiskey at Midnight, page 7
Just when Emma might finally take Wren up on her offer to go back to Wren’s apartment, the front door of the bar opens and Cam and Mark walk in. Cam wears a dark green dress with thin straps and heels that give her two inches. It’s not a work outfit. It’s one of Cam’s date outfits. Emma knows the dress well, having seen it worn a few times over the years. Mark still wears his usual slacks and dress shirt, too nice for the bar, but he never looks embarrassed by it.
Cam sits near Wren and Emma, with an empty seat between them. Close enough to talk to the two girls, far enough away to send a message. But then Mark takes the empty seat for himself and shakes Emma’s hand as he sits. “Fancy seeing you two here,” he says, jovially. “We tried out this new restaurant downtown.”
“Oh, we don’t have to bother them about the food,” Cam says. “Emma prefers more traditional foods.”
“Ah, shame,” Mark says.
Emma corners Cam at the bathroom as soon as Cam leaves her seat. Whether it looks strange to Mark, to leave so suddenly after Cam has gotten up, Emma doesn’t care. She wants a quick conversation, to check in, because Cam’s dressed up and looks happier than she has in months and that makes Emma feel on edge.
“Camille,” Emma says, testing the name out on her tongue. It doesn’t taste right. “Is this going further? With you and Mark, I mean.”
The certain look on Cam’s face falls for a moment. They’re alone in the hallway, alone for the first time in what feels like forever. “Maybe,” Cam admits. “He’s a nice guy.”
“What about us?”
Cam winces and glances down the long hallway, toward the bar. No one can hear them. Still, Cam looks uncomfortable. She sets her jaw. “There is no us, Emma.”
“But you’ve known my feelings,” Emma whines. “That hasn’t stopped you from holding my hand or kissing me when you want to. You knew that would make me think there was a chance.” She looks down at her toes, unable to keep up eye contact. “You trapped me with this idea of one day. You haven’t even had the decency to give me a head’s up.” Emma roughly pushes her hair back, away from her face, and bites her lip. “You didn’t release me.”
Cam looks like she might bolt, but at the last words out of Emma’s mouth she laughs. “Release you? Did you get that out of a book? Sorry, that was mean.” She shrugs, her arms bending at the elbows and her palms raised to the ceiling. “I didn’t really know where things were going with Mark. It’s been a bit of a surprise. A pleasant surprise, of course.” She huffs, letting out a frustrated breath. “Why are you surprised? I’ve never given you promises. All I can do is try. And that’s what I’ve been doing. Mark is easy and nice. He doesn’t take every word that I say like I’m writing it down in stone. I need that right now, something easy and simple.”
“But Cam…”
Cam’s eyes grow hard, her patience gone. “You trapped yourself, Emma. Not me.” She leaves then, doesn’t even look back to watch the aftermath.
Emma cries. Choking sobs escape her throat and she barely has the presence of mind to escape into the safety of the bathroom. She hasn’t worn a lot of makeup. Lines of mascara won’t form under her eyes. Only the red rims of her eyes will betray her when she leaves the confining walls of the room. Someone knocks, harshly, but Emma ignores it. Eventually, they go to another bathroom. Emma can hear the toilet flushing next door.
Though Emma had entertained the thought of going home with Wren earlier in the night, when it is time to leave, Emma pleads to be dropped off at her own apartment. Wren has driven and she obeys in silence. The radio is tuned to a classic rock station and the volume is low enough to talk, though Wren doesn’t start any conversation. Buildings pass by quickly, and every light is green on the way.
When Wren finally pulls up outside of Emma’s apartment, she brakes softly and unlocks the door for Emma. “Don’t worry about it,” she tells Emma. “The guys never last.”
Cam dances with Mark in the darkened bar, right near the speakers. He can’t dance, not well, but he tries anyway. Mostly, he sways back and forth with his hands on Cam’s waist. When he leaves her for a trip to the bar, to bring her a fresh drink, she kisses him chastely on the lips.
Emma listens to Mark’s work tales. Even he has some trouble making insurance sound interesting and instead tells her about some of the places he’s traveled to, supposedly for business. With Mark around, Cam doesn’t complain about work anymore. She doesn’t complain much at all. Emma smiles when she is standing with them, smiles so hard that her cheeks hurt.
When Cam and Mark go back to dancing together, Emma leans back against the wall and watches the world around her. Other couples dance, though no one does so very well. Standing alone, holding her drink with two hands, Emma feels like an imposter. It doesn’t help that Wren is always staring at her.
Wren looks like she’s lost some weight. The ring that she wears on her right ring finger with the onyx stone is more noticeable than normal against her slender fingers. There’s a certain symmetry to Wren losing weight when Emma has finally gained some of her own back. If only Wren was at a weight where her body could stand to lose it.
While Emma leans, alone, Wren sidles up to her. A smirk crosses Wren’s face when she looks toward Cam and Mark. “So, Steve won’t be coming for the next few karaoke nights.” She glances at Emma and her eyes grow curious. “It’s not a death sentence. No need to look so serious.”
“It’ll be weird,” says Emma. “Like the group is splintering.”
Wren takes a sip of her gin and tonic. “It’s about making money, not leaving the group.”
It’s a new theme among Emma’s ramblings, she knows. In Wren’s bed, she asks Wren if Cam is leaving them, if things can ever go back to normal. Wren smokes and shrugs her shoulders, never giving Emma any kind of answer. With Steve gone for the next few weeks, Emma is forced to stand with Wren more.
She and Wren dance sometimes, with Steve gone and no one else to entertain them. It had been Wren’s idea at first, said in a mocking tone so that the suggestion could be considered a joke if Emma didn’t agree to it. Usually it is some kind of silly dance, nothing like the kind of dancing Emma had walked in on that one time, when Wren was holding Cam. Wren has found a way to dance to just about any kind of music without looking like a complete idiot. It’s impressive.
They’re not dancing together on this particular night. It’s too early for it. Emma normally drinks one or two drinks before joining Wren in the wide space considered the dance floor. They’re not even standing near one another. As Emma scans the room, she sees Cam has a wary look on her face. Confused, Emma takes a sip of her drink and tries to figure out the reason behind Cam’s look. Mark is at the bar, probably getting the two of them something fruity. Emma glances back at Cam, hoping for some kind of hint, but sees nothing. Emma can’t figure it out, this look, until she scans the room again and finds Wren. Wren who is just staring back at Emma. That’s what Cam saw, Emma thinks. Wren staring at Emma. There’s no emotion on Wren’s face, just the same mask of blankness that no one has quite worked out.
“You need to be more discreet,” Emma tells Wren when they go outside to smoke.
“What?”
“Watching me all the time,” Emma explains.
They’re standing by the front door again. The music is loud enough to hear from their spot. It’s a classic rock song with loud guitars. Wren taps her foot along with the music. The laugh that comes from Wren sounds like a bark. “There’s nothing different going on. Nothing for people to question.”
Emma huffs, ignores Wren’s words, whatever they mean. “I just don’t want--”
“Okay,” Wren says. She takes a deep drag off of her cigarette then hands it to Emma. “I think you need some of this.”
Wren is somewhat true to her word, as far as Emma can see. The blatant staring is replaced by glances when Emma isn’t supposed to be looking. Wren always lets her eyes flit away quickly when she is caught. It’s enough for the moment.
Emma’s phone is on the bed, the last text message still open. It’s an invitation to dinner from Cam, just the two of them. For two hours, Emma gets ready. She tries to find the perfect outfit and then tries to tame her hair. Despite everything, she pulls out her favorite red bra to wear. It’s dumb to put it on. This won’t be that kind of dinner. She settles on a dress she hasn’t worn in months and waits to find out where she’s supposed to meet Cam.
Her heart drops at the next text message. They’re to meet at the same Italian restaurant as before.
It’d be easier if Cam didn’t look so beautiful when Emma gets there. Cam wears a brown top that is striking against the dark green of the booth she sits in. It’s not the same booth as their first date, Emma realizes. Cam’s hair falls to just below her chin. She’s wearing a light red shade of lipstick. Damn her, Emma thinks.
Emma’s always been clumsy in uncomfortable situations. She knocked over the urn that held her grandfather’s ashes when her grandmother made a bigoted remark about lesbians. The ashes didn’t spill out, but it was still the worst possible thing Emma could do and her grandmother wouldn’t stop talking about it for months. It’s the same now, like Emma’s body is not fully in her control and she is on the verge of ruining something precious just by being there. She has to drink half a glass of wine, carefully bringing it to her lips so as not to spill any, before she can ask how things are with Mark.
“Good. But he’s not…” Cam shakes her head, closes her mouth.
Emma shoves pasta into her mouth, drinks some wine when she’s done chewing. Anything to keep from asking Cam what she really wanted to say. She’s eating something different this time around. She couldn’t order the same thing as the last time they were here. Cam knows her too well, knows that it would mean something.
She’s saved by the arrival of the server. He bends slightly at the waist when he speaks. “And how is the food, ladies?”
The food is kind of bland and tastes like it’s been microwaved, but Emma grins up at him. “It’s the best I’ve had all month,” she says.
The server looks down at her, his eyes squinting, his expression saying that he’s not buying it. “I’m glad,” he says and wanders off.
Cam stabs at a bit of mushroom on her plate and bites into it, a sound of appreciation follows quickly after. “The boss has been driving me crazy,” she says, seemingly done with the previous conversation. “Do this, do that. No thank you, no recognition at all. That’ll change soon. He’ll see that I’m useful. It’s nice having a friend in Mark at the office. He laughs along with me when Ariel is being particularly stupid.”
“Is that the bitch?” asks Emma.
“Yes, little Miss Coffee. She did it again recently. Did I tell you? Comes in all happy, carrying the tray of coffees, and then apologizes profusely when she hands them all out and I’m the only one without a coffee. Fuck her.” Cam takes another bite of mushroom. “I think someone said something to her. The next morning she brought me in a coffee. I didn’t drink it though. I’m not stupid. She might have poisoned it or something.”
“Poison?” Emma says, uncertainly. “I don’t think she would poison you.”
“Maybe not poison, but she might have spit in it. I don’t trust her either way.”
Emma understands finally that Cam hasn’t changed, not really. She just doesn’t want to complain in front of Mark.
They pay separately and head outside, where the sidewalk is thick with people walking around. A young girl cackles gleefully on her father’s shoulders. A man with a large stomach grumbles that he doesn’t want to wait for a table to the woman standing next to him.
“We can be friends, right? Without any weirdness?” Cam asks.
No. No, they probably can’t.
“Yeah, of course,” Emma says.
That night, Emma doesn’t try to get in touch with Wren. She sits in bed and pulls the pink covers up to her chin. She thinks of all the reasons she ever loved Cam. She shivers under the covers despite the warm temperature in her apartment. The first thought that pops into her mind is Cam’s confidence. It’s fitting. It was the first thing Emma had ever noticed about her.
They were in a dumb morning class, back when Emma thought it was a good idea to take as many classes early in the morning as possible. Emma drank too much coffee then and wore pajamas to class like a lot of the other girls did. She needed the coffee to not fall asleep while her professors droned on and on. Most of her classmates were the same way, drinking and yawning. Not Cam. Cam argued with the professor, indirectly called him arrogant, flared her nostrils when he refused to see that he was wrong. That’s what made Emma want to talk to her.
Even though Emma had originally agreed with the professor, and it still took awhile to fully understand Cam’s point, she was intrigued. No one else in the class was. They looked at Cam through their greasy hair and sighed. Some of them barely glanced at Cam, boredom written all over their faces. But Cam got the professor off track, and the students kind of liked that. Wren wouldn’t have cared either way if she had been in the class, Emma was sure of it.
Cam wore a thumb ring all of her junior year even though it had gone out of style ages ago. The fact that she was so out of touch, and probably wouldn’t care if she did know, had been endearing. Besides, it was the thumb ring that reminded Emma of the lesbians in high school. Girls she had never really talked to because they intimidated her, even if they did have at least one thing in common. Maybe that’s what started it all. Maybe that’s what started the feelings. Like a thumb ring could point out who might be gay. Cam lost it at the end of the school year and grumbled about it for a week.
If the daily arguments with professors wasn’t enough to clue her in, Emma got to see how passionate Cam was when they became proper friends. It looked more like Emma followed Cam around like a puppy dog, which wouldn’t be completely off the mark. Cam talked about getting into missionary work after college. But everything around them was based on religion and Cam wanted to help people, not sell a God to people who just needed a decent meal or two.
Next came Cam’s dream of getting into the medical field. Nurse or doctor, it didn’t really matter. She was so convincing about it all. She spoke with fervor about helping people, especially low income families. It made Emma’s falling into teaching seem civilian in comparison. But then Cam had ended up in insurance somehow. She had shrugged her shoulders and said that she could volunteer on the weekends. She refused to discuss it at any length.
It was the first time Emma felt bad for Cam for something that wasn’t a boy not returning a phone call. On those occasions, Emma had only gone through the motions of comforting Cam. They were going to end up together. Then, Cam would never have to worry about someone not replying again. With Cam’s refusal to talk about her career change, Emma didn’t have to worry about learning how to really try to console Cam.
Emma turns over onto her side and closes her eyes. There has to be more.
There was the time Emma’s family had given her a lukewarm response about her going into teaching. Cam told her they could just fuck right off. Her family was only worried about her. Teaching didn’t come with big paychecks or a lot of respect, not anymore. Cam didn’t tell her to write her family off completely. Emma was too much of a good daughter for that sort of talk to work. But it was Cam who cuddled with her on the couch and told her that it was going to be a great career because Emma herself was great.
Emma falls asleep that night with a grin on her face.
She wakes up feeling like shit.
Over coffee, she reminds herself aloud that she has a friend that has done all of those things, has all of those qualities. She’s happy, once again, that she doesn’t have to share her apartment. She doesn’t have to worry about who drank the last of the milk or someone overhearing her little mini-breakdowns that seem so frequent these days.
The reminder of what Cam really is to Emma is hammered into her head soon after. She’s at Wren’s, curled up on the bed, recovering from another round of fucking. She has a friend in Cam and she has someone she can sleep with in Wren. That’s more than some people could ever dream of having. It’s too bad she’s too selfish to remember that sometimes, she thinks.
Wren’s patient through all of it. She kisses Emma in clandestine corners, away from Cam’s eyes. She doesn’t flinch when Emma realizes that they’re in public and practically runs away. She always answers the door when Emma shows up unexpectedly. Wren might be the weird girl, but she also might be a little too good for Emma.
Wren touches her arm with one finger, glides it down until she reaches Emma’s wrist. “We should go on a date,” she says. “Nothing fancy. I know you don’t want to be public. Just something to make you feel better.”
It’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for Emma in some time. “Okay,” she says.
Wren looks so unlike herself when Emma agrees, like she’s been holding her breath in. She smiles down at Emma, a genuine smile, the kind that has been happening more and more often. Emma leans over and tilts her head up, kissing Wren and wiping the smile away.
On the day of the date, Emma has just enough time to change out of her work uniform before Wren picks her up. The clock in the break room had moved so slowly during Emma’s break. Even Ed seemed to notice that something was happening later in the evening that kept Emma’s mind from thinking about sequins and weaving baskets. Ed’s the kind of guy who lives for work, actually loves his job even though most people would see it as some kind of sentence to death by boredom. He takes the job seriously and barks at new employees who don’t care one bit about much of anything. But he took Emma’s mood in stride, giving her one slacking off day, and even smiled at her when it was time to go, like he was really happy for her.
Wren’s car is ridiculously small and an electric blue color. It has to be a gift. There’s no way Wren would ever pick it out for herself. Behind the wheel, she looks so carefree, like she might actually be the kind of person who takes a long drive on her day off just to enjoy the view.
