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As if summoned, Alex appeared and asked, “Karaoke night already?”
Caught mid-lyric, Gael looked up at Alex and blushed.
“Tell me you didn’t hear that,” she said. “Michelle, did I ever tell you about that time I was babysitting? Bella told me I was the worst singer she ever heard. ‘In my entire life,’ she said. She was three.”
Alex chuckled. “From the lips of babes. One more round?”
“We’re good,” said Michelle.
“Right back with your check.”
Gael watched her go. To be honest, it is kinda hard to breathe around Alex. Those grey eyes, the raven hair, thin lips. Those silver labrys earrings: definitely a top.
They paid the bill, left 50%, and sat quietly in the moment. Gael re-centered by being grateful. A dear friend, a safe place to be vulnerable, cold drinks on a hot afternoon. The friends gathered their things and hugged goodbye.
“I’m gonna check out the bookshelves before I go,” Gael said.
“The bookshelves, huh? Right. Good luck.” Michelle smiled, crossed her fingers, headed toward the parking lot.
Gael sat back down. The cost of being closeted was eternal vigilance. She’d hidden herself behind a defensive wall for thirty-five years before coming out. Over time, the inner voice had devolved from protective to critical to downright abusive. It spoke now in soothing tones.
You don’t need to do this today if you’re not ready. You don’t need any more books. Let it wait. There’ll be other Saturdays. You can work it into a conversation with Alex more casually. There’s no shame in knowing your limits.
The voice was so very reasonable. This wasn’t surrender, just a strategic retreat. Another time then.
“Change your mind?” asked Alex.
Gael started out of her reverie. She fumbled for a cover story. Maybe she should pretend to fiddle with her phone. Maybe she could pull off being light-headed in the sun. Or maybe she should, for once, just be honest about what she wanted.
Before Gael could speak, Aretha Franklin’s voice wafted over the patio speakers. The Queen of Soul reminded her that even a lost soul can be reclaimed by something as simple as a kiss.
Gael looked at Alex and smiled. With her whole face.
Chapter Two
Mateo surveyed the K-Cup selection in the basement of First Congo. He plunked a pod of Green Mountain Coffee’s Nantucket Blend into the cockpit and punched the single serving button. The machine whispered, burbled, and sluiced caffeinated goodness into his paper cup.
The coffee maker was a donation from a former group member who’d since moved out of state. One of the many effects of COVID, Mateo thought. Recovery’s hard enough without worrying about whether someone coughed over an open coffee pot.
He fit the plastic lid on his cup and took his usual seat in the circle of folding chairs.
Leonard called the meeting to order and explained the ground rules. These were affectionately known as Leonard’s Laws. Leonard held up a laminated poster of these rules superimposed over an image of stone tablets. The Ten Commandments of Anger Management.
There were fewer than a dozen people in the circle tonight. Mateo knew three from previous meetings. Christy was a single mom with twin boys. Vic split his time between AA and this anger management group. And the Rachel Maddow looking one, whose name Mateo could never remember.
Leonard requested that the noobs introduce themselves, then asked for a volunteer to begin. Mateo’s voice was low and thoughtful.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said at the last meeting, Leonard. About trying to locate where in your body you feel the stress, or the anger, or whatever. How paying attention to that can help manage the feelings. Rule #7, right? Anger is an Emotion, Not a Strategy.
“I started thinking back to my second tour in Afghanistan. Our FFB was near Herat, not too far from the Iranian border. Up in the mountains, there isn’t much the Taliban doesn’t know about. Their recon is outstanding. Two tours there, one in Iraq, I never lost the feeling of being watched. Like a constant background hum. What’s that saying? ‘You’re not paranoid if they really are watching you.’
“One day, a foot patrol found an IED near the Jebrael Library. The patrol contained it; nobody got hurt that day. But we were all on alert. Next day, I went out with a mounted patrol, five of us in an APC. Like I say, no stealth required. The Taliban knew we’d be coming. The APC is blasting Megadeth in all directions. Let ‘em know, y’know? Don’t fu. . .sorry, Leonard. Rule #4: No Cussin’. Don’t mess with us.
“I was thinking about that day. My patrol and I stayed sharp, clear heads, deliberate actions at all times. No mistakes. But inside, I remember a sensation. Like I was leaning into the rubber band on a slingshot. A tightness sort of in my chest, but beneath the surface. Didn’t mean anything in the moment; we had a job to do. But now that I was on the outside lookin’ in, I remembered it.
“Anyway, that was then. Now, at work, there’s this manager guy. He’s an absolute. . . jerk.”
Leonard nodded appreciatively. Christy gave Mateo a double thumbs-up.
