When we went inside and I introduced her to Vyla the orc and Rizlan the dragon behind the bar, her eyes widened to the point I was ready for them to pop out of her skull and roll across the floor. She took a handful of deep breaths, shook their hands with a tight smile, and plopped onto a stool at the bar, eager to order her first drink. After Vyla sauntered away to retrieve the glasses for our drinks, Lindsay turned to me and whispered, “Wow, monsters. Okay. I’m good.” And that was it.
“Is it Billy? Or someone new you’re seeing?” I ask Lindsay.
She lets out a sardonic chuckle. “Billy. No, he’s too busynotbeing a deadbeat loser with his new girlfriend. Guess who finally decided to become a fucking grown-up? Not that I’d be into him anyway.”
I believe her. She can barely stand Billy, but it’s always weird to see an ex move on, especially when they start acting the way you wanted them to act with someone who isn’t you. “I didn’t realize you were dating anyone.”
Lindsay shrugs. “Nothing serious. I reactivate my dating apps every few months, go on some horrible dates, and turn them off again. There was just this guy…” She gulps her martini, winces as the drink slides down her throat, and smooths her slick-straight ponytail. “It was casual, until it wasn’t. I’m such a moron, Nat,” she whines as she drops her head into her hands. Then she peeks over her hands with a sheepish look on her face. “He’s twenty-five years old. Why did I–”
I press my hand to my mouth to avoid a spit take. “I’m sorry. Twenty-five? You were dating a twenty-five-year-old?” It’s not funny, but I can’t help but laugh. Linds is such a buttoned-up, no-nonsense mom and corporate badass, I’m blown away by theslip-up in her everyday rigidity. I’m proud of her. “Oh my god, does that mean he never had a Myspace page?”
A surprised laugh tumbles out of her as she nods. “Never knew the cutting betrayal of being bumped from a friend’s top eight.”
“Well, clearly, you’re better off.”
“Know what else?” She pauses, looking around us to see if anyone’s listening. “He didn’t know who Madonna was.”
I smack the top of the bar, aghast. “You are kidding me.”
“He put on some EDM club cover of ‘Like a Virgin’ and when I told him the original was better, he had no idea what I was talking about. It devolved into a twenty-minute education of her impact on pop music.” She shivers. “It waschilling.”
She lists a dozen more examples of aging herself in the presence of this manchild, but when I catch her staring off into the distance, biting her lip, it’s clear why those moments weren’t enough to make her end it.
“Sex was good then?”
“Yeah.” A swoony sigh bursts out of her. “It melted my brain. I truly believe that’s what happened. That hairless fuckboy with three percent body fat dicked me down so well that it killed the part of my brain responsible for critical thinking.” She’s laughing too, now, and the dark cloud above us feels like it’s finally cleared.
“Well, brain-melting sex will do that to ya,” I say with a nod. Is this a good segue to letting her know about Winston? I certainly have my own sexcapade stories to share as of late. After looking at the bloodshot state of her eyes, I decide against it. This is about her. She needs me to be there for her right now. I lean close to her ear, “I’m going to need explicit details.”
She slows her drinking as she fills me in on the many positions they tried. Each one sends a throbbing ache intomy joints as I wonder how Lindsay managed to execute them without breaking a hip. Particularly, the Golden Gate.
“A decade of yoga,” she replies with a wink.
I need to start exercising.
“The best was when he took charge.” She looks wistful, devastated, as if she’ll never find another sexual partner that can meet her needs. The reason she’s so devastated is that this Gen-Z shithead love-bombed her for weeks, got her addicted to the athletic sex they had, and then ghosted her. She facepalms. “I’m so embarrassed. You’d think I haven’t been walking this blue marble fifteen years longer than he has.”
“Was this your first time being ghosted?”
Amazingly, I have yet to experience this particular brand of torture. But when you don’t put yourself out there, you don’t get rejected.
“No,” she grumbles, chewing on her olive after draining her glass. “This is the first time I cared. That’s the difference.”
“I’m so sorry, Linds.”
Vyla comes over and drops her elbows on the bar. “Settle a bet for me, pretty babies.” She gestures to Rizlan as he waits by the kitchen for plates of food to be ready. “We’re trying to figure out what you are,” she looks at Lindsay pointedly. “Rizlan thinks–”
“Ugh, seriously?” Lindsay groans dramatically. “Even in a fucking monster town? My dad is second-generation Italian American, and my mom was born in Korea. Okay? Jesus.” She’s definitely buzzed, because her words are starting to slur, and she’s not aware of the amused look Vyla shares with Rizlan.
Normally, she’d be delighted to have the opportunity to mess with a well-meaning person (in most cases, a white person) when they try to guess her ethnic background. But that’s not what’s happening.
“Cool,” Vyla says with a patient smile. “Not what I was meant, though.”
I put a hand on Lindsay’s forearm. “Linds, she means ancestral monster line.” I explain the requirements to enter the town, and that she must have some kind of monster blood in her since the house was in Penelope’s name and was able to pass it on to her.
“I’m betting you’re a witch.” Vyla says, then, louder, “Rizlan thinks you’re a werewolf. Can you please tell him how extraordinarily stupid and wrong he is?”
Rizlan saunters over with a crooked smile. He’s, well, I wouldn’t describe him as traditionally handsome, but youcannotmiss him in a crowd. His features are striking and rough and a little terrifying. I’d be nervous to be near him if I hadn’t already learned he’s a ridiculous softie. Whenever we need a bouncer, Rizlan plays the role like the Meryl Steep of Mapletown, but those who know him well know that his look is the only tough thing about him.
