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“Hello,” she says, her voice raspy, her tone fearless.
“Hello. I’m Greyson. I… I really don’t want to inconvenience anybody by being here.”
She studies me harshly without apology, glancing at Indigo for a moment before holding out a hand. I take it, noticing how firmly she grips mine.
“We’ll let you know if you are,” she retorts stiffly as the woman who comes to stand next to her shakes her head with a smile. “I’m Marilla,” the first woman adds in a thick Scottish accent. “One of Indie’s mothers. This is Orpha, her other.”
“Nice to have you here,” Orpha replies in an American accent, her altogether more affable than mom number one.
“Well, thank you for letting me stay.”
“For now,” Marilla corrects and I bow my head, my gaze steering towards Indie’s. I can’t quite tell if she supports her mother’s prickly sentiments or wants her to tone it down a tad.
“Shall we get a drink?” suggests Yoshi and I nod, allowing him to lead me to an empty seat to the right of the pub. Eyes drift our way from across the room as we slide onto the varnished wood of a bench encased in the flanks of a booth and remove our jackets. I glance down at my designer shirt, aware it looks out of place amongst the more casual attire I see around me.
“Two pints, Gerry!” Yoshi shouts across the pub, and the barman puts a thumb in the air without looking up, drawing some ale from a tall tap. “Is a pint okay?” he asks. “Are you driving?”
“I can have one,” I reply with a smile. “I'll get a taxi back if need be. Pick up my car tomorrow.”
“An excuse to come back, right?” he suggests with a smirk, and I exhale as I realize there’s excitement in his demeanor.
I nod, my eyes sweeping to Indigo standing at the bar with her moms, leaning into them as she talks. Orpha flicks a long thin braid of her hair behind her shoulders as the warm glow of the pub bounces off her flawless brown skin. Behind her stands Marilla, her countenance altogether sterner, her short light-brown hair greying, her face pale as she leans into Indie, seeming to ask her questions.
Indigo’s gaze shifts, meeting mine from across the room, her face solemn, despite the jolt of current that she must surely feel when she looks at me. The collision is so powerful that my body radiates from it, as if plugged into the mains each time. I've never experienced anything quite like it.
I can’t be the only one who feels it…
The silent play of our gazes is interrupted by the clink of two pints of beer being placed onto the wooden table, the color of rust.
“Enjoy,” sings the barman, throwing me a grin as Yoshi lifts his pint carefully.
“Cheers!”
“Cheers,” I respond, bringing my glass to my lips. As I drink down a mouthful of the bitter, lightly sparkling ale, it occurs to me that I haven’t drunk beer for a long time. When I’m at dinner, it’s wines, and when I’m out with friends at a bar or club, it’s champagne, dirty martinis, bourbon or single-malt scotch.
I can’t remember the last time I drank ale, but I have a sudden urge to drink the whole fucking thing down to cleanse me of every tedious night I've spent in bars talking to people I feel nothing for.
I place the glass down onto a coaster, eyeing Yoshi who smiles widely, a smile I reciprocate seeing as he’s done everything he can to put me at ease.
“So… you… were just in the neighborhood, then?” he asks, concealing a smirk.
A breath of laughter flies through my nose. “Um… not exactly.” His eyes widen and he glances across the room quickly before studying my face again. “I came to see Indigo… if she even wants to talk to me.”
“Oh, I’m sure she will,” he replies. “She’s just a bitfiery.” He raises his brows. “You know that, right?”
“Oh yes, I do,” I reply.
“Yeah, just checking. She’ll calm down.”
“Well, I can’t say I blame her for being a bit—”
“Stabby?” he suggests.
“Yeah. I… I didn’t really say goodbye in a way that would make someone feel good.”
As I say it, a frigid mist trails across my skin as if a blast of winter air has rolled into the room as I wonder what has changed since that day. I’m not safe to be around. I still wouldn’t want to subject her to me, nor to my family. If she thinksI’memotionally stunted, she’d have to invent new adjectives to describe them.
My mind wanders back to the jumbled thoughts I had in the car, and the suggestion I intend to propose to her which I feel certain will be met with a very resounding “Fuck You”—the suggestion to allow me to fuck her out of my system, and me out of hers in exchange for pleasure and the release I know she may need.
