Claire
Fall semester began, my tan clinging for dear life. The afterglow of a few days away was a salve I hadn’t known existed. Even with our fight, the trip had been like a magical unicorn.
I’d put Aiken’s suggestions aside, pretending he hadn’t said them. And he didn’t dare bring them up again.
We’d had incredible morning-after-the-fight sex, taking our time, speaking our apologies with our bodies, and moved on to less-stressful conversations, like the weather and food. We also took walks on the beach, holding hands, and roamed the farmers’ market, stopping to kiss and whisper sweet nothings.
From the outside, our interaction looked idyllic.
Yet, it was a classic case of avoidance and denial. I may have been the only one who knew the correct terminology, but we both knew what we were doing.
Happy to be back at Frable, I was teaching three sections—two Introduction to Human Development, one Advanced Developmental Psychology with Adolescents—and proctoring a small group of grad students finishing their research projects. I was also applying for a grant to do some research of my own. I hadn’t done that in years, but I was inspired to help others.
Maybe because of Aiken’s harsh words combined with his giving heart? Maybe I was healing? I didn’t know. Either way, I was trying to get some national funding for a teen-pregnancy project.
I desperately wanted to be able to say all this to him. Explain maybe he’d been right, but I was too proud.
Aiken had finished up the project for Juicey’s and picked up two more clients, but I knew his time in Pennsylvania would eventually come to an end. He’d given no indication, but he seemed to love his father and being on a farm. Not to mention my childlike behavior. I imagined he’d put up with me for only so much longer.
We ate together most nights, and it didn’t feel strangling or suffocating.
We slept together most nights too. Always at my place, Abby’s intact room looming down the hall.
Smitty was smitten with Aiken. As for me, I was smitten as much, if not more.
But there was no convincing me that this relationship didn’t have a shelf life.
Still fearful it would end abruptly, I decided to take a Friday night off and head out with Mary.
I met her at happy hour, something else I hadn’t done in a long time—better to be all-in than half-baked. At least, that’s what the therapist version of myself told my inner psyche.
“Hurry up.” Mary waved at me from the back bar at Juicey’s, of all places—her suggestion, not mine.
“Hi,” I said as she lugged a huge tote off an empty stool.
“These pricks weren’t going to let me hold this stool forever. This place is such a pigfest.”
“Pretty sure you’re the one who wanted to come here.”
“Chalk it up to wanting to recapture my youth. Now I want to leave my youth right where it is. In my past.”
“I could’ve told you that. Anyway, it’s cool to see the new logo.” I pointed above the bar. There was a caricature of a male orange kissing a caricature of a female lemon,Juicey’sin bold red script above them. It was super cute, especially since I’d watched Aiken transform the clip art into the exact logo.
“Yeah, yeah, I know you’re so proud of your boy toy.”
“Stop with that.” I gave Mary the stink-eye and called for the bartender. “Hey.”
“White wine, whatever’s on special.”
“My pleasure,” he said with a wink.
“See, these young guys are drawn to you like a baby to the tit.”
“That is not a good analogy. Not at all. Not one bit. In fact, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.”
“I got you the first time. I don’t need multiple explanations. So, how is lover boy?”
With her fire-engine-red lips, she took a sip of what I guessed was vodka and cranberry and pushed her hair behind her ear before staring me down. “Spill,” she demanded.
