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We never spoke again of personal things though. Every spoken interaction was purely professional and I responded in the only way my mind could cope … with a cold guarded wall.
I didn’t want to be that person, and I certainly would not do anything to make her job more difficult or affect her career in any way. I couldn’t imagine causing her any pain intentionally. But I couldn’t stop the cooler tone in my voice. The lack of eye contact, the minimal connection. I had to keep her at arm's length just so I could make it through the day without breaking down.
And then I went home and sobbed about it because all I wanted was to give her warmth and care.
She was always professional and though I could see the hurt in her eyes she never responded with anything other than softness which only made it worse for me.
The time at home was the worst. Hours and hours of alone time, of thinking about her, of being lost in memories and filled with regret. I had nearly called Matt so many times to rant and rave at him for pushing me into saying anything.
Then the rational part of my head acknowledged that he hadn’t actually done that at all and it was in fact my own feeling for Arya that had been the thing to push me into my confession. I do regret it now, because it has left me with nothing.
The days are beginning to draw shorter and the air is thick with the autumn chill. This is already my worst time of the year, the limbo between summer and winter. Where you left the house in shorts only to be poured on an hour later. When you took a thick coat for the wind only to be sweating as you took ten steps. I know, you may say, that spring is the same, but spring gives you hope. The days growing longer, the sun smiling down at you telling you she is bringing summer soon. Autumn only brings the inevitable cold and gloom of winter.
I take a few conferences I would normally make some excuses for just to get out of the city, out of my house, out of my head. It does the trick of being mind numbingly boring but it doesn’t help in the long run.
After a couple of months, I decided to venture out and I make the bold choice of going to a gay bar in the center of the city. I was never much for bars in the first place so I am not sure why I thought this would be my kind of thing but I feel like it is important to experience it.
I have doubts about my sexuality. I still am not sure if I am bisexual or gay or just Arya-sexual. Could another woman make me feel the way she did? Could any other person for that matter? It all seemed highly doubtful. I am surprised when I enter at how light it is, busy, and just normal. I walk up to the bar and sit at a stool; my eyes as wide as saucers.
“First time?” The tender asks with a knowing smile. I must still look like that fifty something straight woman I was before Arya. Maybe I should have dressed less conservative and more… I don’t know… more.. gay? The bar tender is stunning, tall and beautiful with cheekbones I would kill for. She has long thick dark hair and perfectly lined eyes that I couldn’t do if you offered me a million dollars. She looks effortlessly cool in a way I could only imagine being.
I nod.
“You a cop?” She asked as she pulled the liquor down from the top shelf and slid the bottle down to another patron.
“Cop? Me? No.” I stutter. “Why?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, you just looking at me like those cops do before they bust my ass,” she says with an eye roll but I see a smile creep at the corner of her mouth and I have no idea if she is joking or not.
“Well, no I am not a cop. Can I take one of those?” I gesture to the tequila she is about to pour for someone. I have never chosen a tequila shot in my life before.
She doesn’t respond just tosses a shot glass down the smooth oak and slides the plate with lime and salt. When she has finished pouring the others, she fills me up. I line a trail of salt over my delicate inner wrist and with a swipe of my tongue I lick ... Reaching for the glass … Downed in quick succession, the lime barely brushing my lips as I take a full deep suck of its juiciness. The tequila burns as I close my eyes taking a deep breath before I nod for another. I repeat a few times until a haze kicks in.
I have piqued her interest and she begins to clean the glasses but she shoves the tray down with her hip so she can chat to me as she works.
“So, if you’re not a cop…” I look up at her with raised eyebrows.
“I am a doctor. A heart surgeon to be precise.” I say with a mock cheer as I raise another shot glass and down the tequila.
“Explains it.” She says with assurance in her own instincts and continues to clean.
“Explains what …?”
“Oh, you know, the look you gave me. Like my mama used to when I stole sweets from the store and she just knew from the way I walked I’d done a bad thing. Not sayin you think I had done a bad thing but you made me pause for a second you know?”
“Actually, yes I do know. We are trained to assess physical features for signs and symptoms within the first 30 seconds of meeting someone for the first time. The look I gave you, it me subconsciously reading your vitals to see if you are in cardiac arrest. Another.”
“Well, then sugarplum you go ahead and keep checking on that for me won't you.” She said with a grin as she filled my glass. “But I got my own power like that. They didn’t teach it me in no fancy college though. I learned it right here behind this bar.”
“Yeah?” I ask intrigued.
“Mhmm. Like I knew it was your first time in here. I know you are also nursin’ some kinda broken heart. And I can tell you for free you aint gonna find the cure at the bottom of this bottle.” She leans in a little closer. “I can also tell you that what you are lookin for … you aint gonna find in here full stop sugar. I been in this place a long time. Too long. You wanna experiment? Get drunk, get high, spend a night or two that might make your toes curl for the right or wrong reasons … sure, you in the right place. But if you coming here for answers, when we both know you got them already? This place is only gonna make it a whole lot worse tomorrow. You feel me?”
I sigh. My fingers curl around the shot glass but I don’t take the drink. I slide it back “You are right.”
“Mhmm, I know sugar. I read hearts, just not the same kind you do.”
I smile and leave some notes on the bar. It is way too much for the drinks, but not nearly enough for the counsel.
