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In the background, I heard a barista call out her name and after she muttered her thanks at him, she told me, "I can’t believe you held out on me about Aidan O’Donnelly."
"There was nothing to hold out on," I admitted. "We reconnected a short while ago."
"For a one-night-stand?" Jen squeaked. "But you never have those."
"No. I don’t. It was... well, it felt right at the time."
"Not now? You regretting it?"
"No. Just wondering why things feel so right with him."
The bustle of the coffee shop disappeared and was replaced with the sounds of a New York street.
Over a horn and a gaggle of foreign voices that made me think she’d just dived into a crowd of tourists, she hollered above the noise, "I didn’t hear that, honey. Did you say he fucked you wrong?"
Chuckling at how she’d mangled up my words, I retorted, "No, he fucked meveryright."
"Okay, good, because that would have been very disappointing. I’ve been sniffing around him for years but he never took me up on it. That would have been depressing if all that yummy promise was for nothing."
That stupid wave of irrational jealousy took over me again, much as it had when we’d been talking about his cheerleader exes, and I gritted my teeth to contain it.
I had no right to be jealous.
It was insane.
Maybe if I repeated that a thousand times, I’d start to believe it.
"So, come on. What did he do wrong? Why are you calling, Aunty Jen? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s going on."
"He did nothing wrong." I admitted, because he hadn’t done anything. It was on him if he didn’t listen to me, and I was only butt hurt because I wanted things that weren’t possible.
Too fast, too soon, just too damn much.
"Savannah?" Jen called. "Are you still there?"
"Huh? What? Yeah, I’m still here. Sorry, just thinking."
"About what?"
"Have you ever loved someone?"
"Girl, you can’t love a one-night-stand. That’s just asking for trouble."
I snorted. "Trust me, I know, but it’s different."
"We always think that. I swear, it’s the patriarchy’s fault. Men can fuck whoever and whatever they want with no feelings involved but we have to get in our feelings just because some dick gave us an orgasm."
Because this wasn’t the first time I’d listened to a diatribe about a woman’s right to attachment-free orgasms, I muttered, "I know, Jen, but this is really different."
"How?"
"We met five years ago because he decided that instead of having me killed, he wanted to pick my brain." At her prolonged silence, I choked out a laugh. "Have I done the impossible? Robbed you of words?"
"You mean, you did something,wrotesomething that made the O’Donnellys consider taking a hit out on you?"
Her squeaky whisper was indicative of the fact that you didn’t say shit in this city about the O’Donnellys at top volume.
Even a mouthy bitch like my friend knew that.
