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If I knew his name, he wouldn’t have been a stranger anymore.
When I get to my car, I slam the door shut and hit the lock. I suck in a big, shaky breath before turning over the ignition and putting the car in gear. When I turn onto the empty street, I head in the opposite direction of my house.
* * *
As soon asI pull in front of Georgie’s house, I realize it’s nearly three a.m. I should just go home, but my hands have been shaking on the wheel ever since I left the parking lot. A light turns on in her living room, and a few moments later the curtain pulls open. My car idling in front of her house probably woke her up.
Resolving to shut the engine off, I walk up to the front door where she’s waiting for me with a concerned expression on her face.
“What happened? Is it Noelle?” she asks.
I love that she loves my daughter and it’s the first thing she asks when she sees me, shaken, on her front doorstep. After reassuring her it’s not Noelle, I step into her arms, needing the comfort of someone familiar. The buoyancy of my emotions comes to the surface, and as much as I try to stop them, I can’t.
Georgie lets me use her shower and lends me a pair of her underwear, telling me to keep them.
With my hair still damp, I explain what happened after she left me at the Italian restaurant last night. As I explain, she doesn’t judge, and she doesn’t state the obvious.
I’m adult enough to know the risk I took, and the recklessness in which I did it. Thinking about Noelle is what left me apprehensive and shaken, because I knew the gravity of my actions and what it could have cost me.
I recount every detail, from entering theTap Room, making out with a stranger in a record store alcove, to letting him take me back to his apartment where he carried me to his bedroom and fucked me so hard he left bruises where his fingers dug into my hips.
When I’m finished, she gets up from the kitchen table, digs around in the cabinet and produces a bottle of Baileys. She pours a hearty amount in her coffee mug and tops mine off, too. When she’s taken a couple of sips, she looks me in the eye and says, “Well, that was one hell of a birthday present.”
Placing my hand over my mouth, I break down into laughter. When Georgie snort-giggles, I laugh even harder. She pounds her fist on the table and squirms in her seat, having trouble catching her breath because she’s laughing so hard. I have to clench my thighs together so I don’t piss my pants and have to borrow another pair of underwear from her.
In between fits of laughter she asks, “How young did you say he was?”
I think about the skateboard under his bed and roll my eyes. “Old enough to drink and young enough to fuck me three times in one night,” I say, holding up three fingers and bite my lip.
Georgie almost spits out her coffee while I clutch my tender stomach from laughing so hard.
Pressing my face into my palms, I confess, “I don’t even know his name, Georgie.” Straightening up in my chair, I square my shoulders because I know I’m being ridiculous. “I didn’t want to know his name.”
It’s nearly five a.m., and the Bailey’s in my coffee is not helping my exhaustion. Georgie gives me a sympathetic look.
“You should go take a nap,” Georgie says. “You’ll be no good for Noelle if you don’t get some sleep.”
She’ll be home sometime this morning, and she’ll see how much of a wreck I am if I don’t get at least a few hours of sleep. There aren’t any secrets between us, and I pride myself on being honest with her so that she would do the same with me, but I don’t think I can look her in the eye and make this confession.
Georgie walks with me into her living room, setting me up on the couch with a spare blanket and pillow because I refused to use her guest room to just take a nap.
The truth is, once I sink into that mattress, it’ll be hell waking up. I’d much rather hang out in her living room, talking for as long as my weary eyes will let me.
Setting my mug on the coffee table, I feel the Baileys sitting nice and warm in my belly. Georgie always knows how to make things better, and it usually involves alcohol. Laying my head on the pillow, I pull the blanket around my shoulders nice and tight.
Georgie curls up in the chair opposite me, holding her mug with a thoughtful expression. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing pajama bottoms with little dogs printed on them, making me smile. We’ve been friends for a long time, meeting at work nearly fifteen years ago, and she’s seen me go through a lot of tough times since then. She’s like a sister to me and an aunt to Noelle, which I appreciate more than she knows. Thinking about how she reacted when I showed up on her doorstep makes me wonder.
“Do you regret not having any kids?” I ask.
“I have my fur babies,” she says without actually answering, but I understand what she means. Georgie is the kind of person who lives in the moment, no time for regrets, and always thankful for what she has in the present.
“Tell me about Charlie,” I say sleepily, thinking about the dog she had to help put to sleep last night.
“He had a tumor around his heart and the medication wasn’t working,” she explains. “He was having a hard time breathing, and we couldn’t make her wait until Monday morning.” Georgie pulls her legs under her body, propping her chin up with her palm. “I stayed in the room with Mrs. Hampton until he was gone.” Her voice is quiet but strong.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I say, my eyes beginning to flutter shut.
I can hear her sigh. “It’s hard, but in a way it’s a privilege to give an animal a peaceful way to cross over the rainbow bridge,” she says, her voice trailing away.
