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“Target,” Michelle corrected.
Gael immediately fell into her trademarked process of talking herself out of something, barricading feelings with reason. “This is probably just Barista Syndrome. You flirt; you think, ‘Was that real?’ A rational person understands that the answer is always “Hell, no!” She’s doing her job. It’s a transaction. She gives me the illusion that I’m attractive enough. In return, she gets a loyal customer who tips well.”
“You don’t really think Alex is that mercenary, do you?” countered Michelle.
“No, I meant in general. Look, male or female, I don’t want to be that obnoxious jerk who feels entitled to hit on the hot waitress.”
“That’s not what you’re doing. Alex knows your sitch. Even if the answer is no, she’d put it in the right context. Maybe she’d even be flattered. Hold that thought; voy al baño.”
“Promise you won’t say anything to Alex?”
Michelle squeezed her friend’s hand reassuringly, then walked inside.
After transitioning, Gael had made herself a number of promises. Be kinder to yourself. Stop apologizing so much. And as to romance, be patient; wait for someone else to take the lead. If you change the dynamics, you might change the outcome. But, come on! Ten years and four months! Pretty soon you’re gonna need an archaeologist to find your, uhm, nose.
“What if Alex isn’t interested?” Gael fretted. “I’d be too ashamed to come back here. Being with Michelle at The Twelfth is part of what keeps me balanced. I can’t lose that. Yeah, there are other places, but this is our spot. I don’t want to ruin it.
“What if Alex is interested and I bollix it up. Again. Michelle’s right; this would be my first time in the right body, but is that enough? I’m not good enough for someone that gorgeous.
“Maybe she’s a smoker, or she’s religious, or she wants kids. Oh my god! What if she likes reality TV shows? I’m screwed either way. If she turns me down, I’ll spiral into depression. If she says yes, the anxiety will eat me alive. Goddammit, I thought I was healthier than this. Why do I. . .?
Michelle returned to find Gael scrunched up in the chair, knees against her chest, eyes screwed shut.
“Shh, it’s OK. You’re safe. Give me your hand and let’s focus on the breathing. In — two, three, four. Release slowly — two, three, four, five, six. Keep your eyes closed, but let’s put your legs back on the ground. Slowly, now. Good. Another breath in; hold it; out. Open your eyes.”
“I’m sorry,” Gael said. “I worried myself into a bad spot. I couldn’t breathe. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re safe; I’m right here. Take a sip. You OK now?”
Gael nodded, wiping her eyes on the cocktail napkin.
“Fortunately for you, I solved your problem while I was in the bathroom. I know what you need.”
“More Lexapro?”
“No. You need Narcissist Radio.”
“What’s that, a phone app?”
“No, it’s a game. You get all tense, right? When you think about being with someone? Narcissist Radio is what you need.”
Gael considered being offended. Was Michelle saying she was an egomaniac? I frequently have my head up my butt, but narcissist?
“Just listen,” Michelle smiled. “I was sitting inside and Joe Cocker came on the playlist. So, I started in on something I do on my commute. I swap the 1st and 2nd person pronouns in love songs. So, I’m in there peeing away, and singing about how I’m everything someone hoped for and needed.
Together they crooned the chorus. And they laughed.
“See? That’s the point. Self-doubt freezes you. But if you break the tension, you can move past that shit. Laugh and release. Narcissist Radio is so silly it pulls you outside yourself. Then you’re grounded in perspective, not panic.”
Gael considered the idea. “Like how a scare will cure hiccups,”
“I was thinking, more like how a toddler can be distracted out of their tantrum,” teased Michelle.
“Shut up. Does make sense, though.”
Michelle adopted a faux radio DJ voice. “Narcissist Radio. W-E-G-O. All me, all the time. You try one.”
Gael thought for a moment, then, focusing on the exquisite image of the back of Alex’s neck, she began. Applying the rules of the game to Prince’s lyrics, she waived the requirements of wealth, cool, and astrological compatibility in favor of a. . . kiss.
