That smile of Maeve’s doesn’t slip as she stands and positions herself between the two young women. Now I’m looking at them all lined up together, I can see they have the same loose waves in their long hair as Maeve, they wear skinny jeans and boots like she does, and they both have a collection of gold necklaces on, just like Maeve. These young women look up to Maeve. They admire her. They want to be her.
And yet from the conversation we were just having, I got this sense that there’s a part of Maeve that she herself doesn’t necessarily admire. There’s a part of her that she doesn’t want to be.
I feel sad handing over their phones after the photos are taken. Sad because of this new suspicion I have about Maeve, and sad that our conversation was interrupted because, rather than sit down, Maeve is gathering her bag and telling me we should head back.
“I’ll go pay on my way to the Ladies room,” she says and before I can say anything, she’s walking away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Maeve
We’re quiet as we walk back to our hotel and I’m grateful for it. I really did want to talk about sex back there. I really did want to see if I could be more comfortable talking to somebody who knows more about sex than the average person. And I know I wanted to do it because of what that dickhead said earlier.
Prude. FuckingPrude.
Even thinking the word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
But talking about it with Loncey hadn’t exactly gone as I expected. I’d imagined them telling me stories about the kind of videos they make. I imagined them telling me about the kind of capers they get up to with the people they… fuck. I imagined them having funny and weird and entertaining things to say about all the things I struggle to think about. I imagined myselfhaving to control my cringes and flinches so I could at least look like I was interested and not in the least bit repulsed.
But they didn’t. Instead they talked about intimacy and connection and affection. Which was unexpected, yes, and also highly annoying. Triggering, in fact. Because those are words that don’t repulse me. Those are words that have shapes and colours and smells in my mind. Those are the things I crave, no,yearnfor. Those are the things I’m petrified I’m never going to experience in my life. Those are the things I’m trying to be okay about missing out on.
“Hey, where d’you go?” Loncey’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, thank fuck.
“I’m right here.” I give them a big smile.
“Oh no,” they say, then point a finger at me. “No, you don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Give me that Instagram smile with those perfect TikTok teeth.” They waggle their finger warningly. “I don’t want that bullshit smile. I want the real Maeve grin.”
“My smile’s my smile, you dope.” I grab hold of their finger and mean to push it away, I really do. I mean to usher it out of my face and keep walking to our hotel, but somehow my grip doesn’t loosen and more of their fingers get involved and we end up sort of holding hands across my chest, which has me walking at a funny angle.
“Let go, you fucker,” I say, and I mean it to come out softly, but apparently you can’t call somebody a fucker gently. Lesson learned.
Loncey drops my fingers.
“Sorry,” they mumble, and then they yawn, really yawn and it must be at least the seventh time I’ve seen their tonsils in as many minutes.
“You really are tired,” I comment, happy to ignore their awkward apology because of course I’m the one who should be apologising. “Don’t tell me, jet lag.”
Their laughter is light. “From my forty-minute drive, yeah, sure. No, I didn’t sleep much last night. I kind of got kicked out of my room.”
“Your own hotel room?”
“Yeah, my friends, they’re a couple and they wanted some privacy.”
“Then tell them to get their own room,” I point out with a loud tut.
“They’re also my exes.”
“Both of them? Jesus.”
“We were all together at the same time. An open polycule.”
“A what now?”
“A polycule is a romantic or sexual, or both, relationship shared by three or more people.”
