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“I’m so sorry. That’s an impossible one. I’ve heard a lot of reasons something isn’t working out—I’m like the queen of it not working out—but haven’t dated anyone poly before. Are you okay? Wait, that’s a dumb question. Don’t answer it. Why don’t you just tell me what you want to?”
“I don’t know what to say.” Derrick wiped at his nose again, this time with the cloth napkin. “We’d been together for two years and were talking about buying a van. Running away into the desert night and going wherever we felt like—when we felt like it. Spending less but living more. I’m such an idiot. The signs were there.”
“You’re not an idiot—” Gia started but was interrupted by a server there to take their order. She’d gone with a tilapia filet and vegetables. Courtney’s voice was in her head—it was all about building muscles.
“Want some wine?” Derrick tipped the chilled bottle in Gia’s direction.
Telling people about her abstinence from all things implied to be social requirements was a lot like coming out. It wasn’t as if someone could look at her and know, “she’s sober.” No more than they could look and her and know, “she’s queer.” In both cases, she had to take initiative and spell it out. It never ended. When she knew someone well enough to trust them with her truth, she told.
“Nah, thanks. I don’t drink.” Gia clasped her hands together on top of the table, the tan of summer on olive skin quite a contrast to the bright tablecloth. “I have a—why is this so hard?” A pause. Then, “I’m an alcoholic. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about—in a backward kinda way. Later. Tell me about Jude. You were saying you felt like an idiot. But I’m saying you shouldn’t.” There. It was done. And the subject was changed.
“Oh, dude, I’m so sorry.” Derrick pushed his glass away. “I didn’t know.”
Why did people do that? It was a move of support, but for Gia, the push made it worse. “No, no. Don’t worry about it. Enjoy your wine. Please.”
“Are you sure?”
They always did that, too.
“Yep, I’m sure.” Gia’s pulse was in her wrists, but not in the way Roxi’s presence put it there. It was like when she was working out—elevated heart rate, a little breathless. An uncomfortable comfort, she told herself. It meant she wasn’t complacent in her recovery—she was active in it.
“Okay,” Derrick sighed. “I feel like an idiot because there were signs, like I said. He was a huge flirt. But that’s not unusual for gay guys. And there were times when he wouldn’t be very responsive to my texts. But he always assured me he was with me and told me I worried too much.”
“Ah yes, the gold ol’ redirect. It’s you, not me.”
“Exactly.” Derrick sipped his wine.
“But you loved him and it hurts.”
“I did. It really does. My mind knows this is the right thing, but my heart hurts. I wish I could take back the last two years and do it differently. I’d rather be alone than feel like this.”
“Hey,” Gia said, grabbing his hand, as Mrs. Edelman had with her. “What can I do for you?” Just like her neighbor modeled, she held back. He hadn’t asked for advice. She wouldn’t offer it.
“You’re doing it. Thanks for having dinner with me. It’s on me, by the way. I just sold a two-million-dollar home in Palm Desert. So, we’re celebrating.”
“I should’ve ordered the lobster!”
“You should have.” Derrick raised his glass. “Now, what’s troubling you, Ms. Barone?”
“What isn’t?” Gia laughed at the mimic.
“Touché.” Derrick flipped his tie over his shoulder and leaned over the table. “But really. What’s up?”
Behind them, silverware clinked plates and laughs echoed. The song had changed, but its style was the same. Was it Vivaldi? Perhaps. Gia knew nothing of classical music and always guessed Vivaldi.
“Okay. I’m having sort of an opposite problem. There’s this girl. But like I told you, I’m in recovery, so I made a rule that I would avoid relationships for a full year from the day I quit. It’s standard practice. I’ve always broken my rules in the past, and this time, I don’t want to break a promise to myself.”
“That’s very noble.”
“I guess? But it’s making me kinda insane. We hang out a lot and she’s been great about not crossing the line, but how long can it go on?”
“How much longer till the year is up?” Derrick leaned back and sipped, holding the wine glass on its stem to not warm the wine. New Gia noticed the little things about other people’s mannerisms that OG never would’ve seen.
“Technically, May seventeenth.”
In mid-November, May seventeenth may as well have been in ten years.
“Shit.”
