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“Nomi likes our Netflix & Chill time,” said Gael. “And speaking of private time, I’m off to the ladies’. Wanna come?”
“I’m good.”
“When Alex gets here, order me a sangria?”
The Twelfth Night (the owner was a reformed English major) was an oasis for Gael and Michelle. No matter how hectic life got, they never let more than two weeks pass without meeting at The Twelfth for a drink or two.
Gael stepped out of the July humidity and into the cool quiet of the bar proper. Adam was behind the bar.
“Surprised to see you on the day shift,” Gael said. “Big plans for tonight?”
“My mom’s 75th,” Adam replied. “The family’s taking her out to dinner.”
“Tell her ‘Happy Birthday’ from me,” said Gael.
Adam had been at the taps five years ago, the first time Gael and Michelle had stopped in. An unexpected snow storm had stretched a quick after-work drink into a three-hour stay. Had to wait ’til the plow came through. Safety first, after all.
That night Gael decided The Twelfth had been designed specifically for her. It was part pub, part restaurant, part used book store. Along the west wall, opposite the bar, were floor-to-ceiling bookcases. In addition to a half dozen small tables, The Twelfth had an area with overstuffed armchairs, where one could relax and read with their beverage of choice. The books (but not the drinks) were also for sale to-go, paperbacks for $2, hardcovers for $4.
The bookcases even had a ladder on an iron runner, like in Henry Higgins’ study. The ladder was padlocked to an iron ring. Gael looked at it now with equal parts embarrassment and pride. Once, on a dare from Michelle, Gael had hopped onto the ladder, slid the length of the wall, and acted out the bookstore scene from Beauty and the Beast. The Twelfth’s management chained the ladder the next day.
Banquet room was upstairs; restrooms were in the basement.
“Hey Gael,” said Alex, who was closing out a check at the hostess station.
Gael smiled. “Michelle’s gonna order when you get a chance. I’m off to powder my nose.”
“If that’s where your nose is, you should ask for a refund from your surgeon.”
Gael shook her head in mock offense, striking a “Girl, please” pose.
Descending the narrow stairwell, Gael remembered a time when smiling was rarely genuine. Michelle had remarked how, pre-transition, Gael never seemed to smile with her whole face. Lots to be grateful for these days, Gael reminded herself.
The sangria and Michelle’s prosecco (with fresh strawberries) were sweating on the table when Gael returned.
“How are things with Mari?” Gael asked tentatively.
“Better. We’re talking more, so that’s good.”
“The librarian thing? Still?”
Michelle winced. “She doesn’t bring it up, but I still feel guilty.”
“You know you didn’t do anything, right? It was harmless flirting. . .”
“That Mari and Bella walked in on. Shit, Gael. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
When Marisol and Michelle got engaged, they asked Gael for a wedding gift that wasn’t on any registry. Gael’s final act before HRT was a visit to a fertility clinic. And now Michelle and her wife had a stunningly beautiful five-year-old named Isabella.
About six months ago, Marisol was picking Bella up from daycare. They were meeting Michelle in the public library to pick up books for the week’s bedtime stories. Michelle arrived first and was chatting with the children’s librarian. She complimented the woman on her Tom Ford sandals. In Michelle’s defense, people who wear thousand dollar sandals to re-shelve copies of If You Give a Pig a Pancake are looking for attention.
The librarian, whom Marisol later christened “that Dewey decimal puta,” bent her leg to display the little gold lock on the sandal’s strap. Michelle leaned in to look. And that’s when Marisol and Bella walked in. Story time was a little tense that night and for several thereafter.
“I admire how you guys talk through your problems,” Gael said. “Communication’s never been my strong suit. You’d think, being a language teacher, I’d bring stronger skills to the table.”
“Appetizers, ladies?” Alex appeared behind Gael. “How’s that nose?”
“Thank you for asking,” Gael said with exaggerated perkiness. “My surgeon says it’s Hollywood caliber. I’m not really sure what that means, but I’m pretty sure it’s a compliment.”
