The door opens, and Eli walks in. I knew he’d check on me at some point.
“Where y’at?” He’s not loaded, but, judging by his bright eyes and resting grin face, he’s not a hundred percent sober, either. Still in better shape than me.
Yeah, good, thanks. Happy for you. Happy for me. I chuckle to myself. I can’t slur my words, but I think I would if I could still talk. Maybe if my hand movements become chaotic, that’d be the equivalent?
“Happy for yourself, too, huh? Tell me everything.” He sits opposite me.
I’m dizzy, but it’s making me laugh.I’m happy because… I think for a moment.Because she’s beautiful. Inside and out. And everything is just a brighter color since she showed up.
His smile broadens still further. “Yeah, Liaden’s really something.”
Frère, you have no idea. I sit up and sigh.I’ve found my Emily. I just blurt that out, but the truth of it settles into my bones. The least likely person ever to find his ‘one’ has actually found her. No idea how, but she’s here, and it’s a precious gift just for me, and I need to decide what I’m going to do about it, instead of just moping and clinging to my PTSD as an excuse not to live my life.
Eli blinks. “Wow, man, that’s…awesome.” He looks as stunned as I’ve been feeling since she walked into my studio,and I’m hardly surprised. He looks foggily thoughtful for a few seconds. “You need to tell her. I mean,” he says, leaning forward so whatever he says is for my ears only, “don’t be allLeoabout this, OK? One day at a time, like I said, but don’t let this slip through your fingers. I need - ” He sighs. “Ineedto see you happy.” His lips twitch. “Make that my wedding present. I don’t need another blender.”
Well, hey, that solves the problem of what to get him, I guess.
‘I need to see you happy’, he said.Need, not want. Eli has always walked next to me as I went through hell. If he needs something, and I can give it to him…
“Eli,” Leo booms, his footsteps coming closer, “you and Em haven’t booked any time off for your honeymoon. What gives?” He pokes his head around the door, greeting me, and then giving Eli a pointed look. “You know you’re taking her to NOLA. Show her Bourbon Street. Show her Esplanade. Show her the French Market, she’ll love that.”
“That’s the plan,” Eli agrees, heading to the door. He turns to me to make sure I’m all good, and then goes back outside to raucous cheers.
I recognize the track that starts playing in the garden. It’s Bon Jovi, definitely. But which one…
Got it. It’sIn These Arms. Man, I haven’t heard this song foryears.
I listen to the lyrics, and they grab hold of my mind and shake it awake.YES, Jon! That’s exactly right! Jon Bon Jovi clearly knows how it feels to be crazy about a woman, to want her more than you want to breathe. He gets me. He gets itall. This song…these lyrics…they’re for Liaden O’Brien. They’re everything I have to say to her. I want to write to Jon and thank him for saying everything that’s in my heart. Am I drunk? Huh. And I should…
You know what? Idefinitelyshould tell Liaden about this. I mean, fuck: these are the words I can’t say, but put to music. I don’t need to reinvent the wheel here.
I head to the YouTube app on my phone and find the official video forIn These Arms. This is the cool guy thing to do, the thing a suave, experienced man of the world would do for his woman. The Leo-style romantic grand gesture she’s gonna remember, the attention grabber I need.
Heart pounding, unable to stop smiling at what a fantastic idea just landed in my lap, I copy the link and head to Facebook.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Liaden
“...so I thought, motherfuckety WHAT, and turned to the judge and said, your honour, with respect, BOLLOCKS, she should have been able to walk homestark nakedand have nobody so much as lay ahandon her, and the length of her skirt was not an invitation to feel her up, and the defendant’s lawyer was perpetuating rape culture by even having the nerve to ask me that question, and he was also lending credibility to the moronic fucking idea that men are incapable of self control and women are just sperm dumpsters there for the gratification of slimy misogynists like him and the defendant, and that he was an irresponsible twat and the laziest, most unimaginative lawyer I’d ever even heard of, and I didn’t see why I should have to answer his so-called ‘questions’.” Sadie makes sarcastic air quotes, in full flow after rather a lot of margaritas. Her Korean sheet mask has stayed admirably in place during this tirade relating her one and only time as a witness in court, and her eyes are glittering with righteous anger in the mask’s eye holes.
“So what happened?” I ask, half-laughing, fully impressed by her guts.
She shrugs. “The judge said it was his first time seeing the witness badgering the lawyer, found me in contempt of court, fined me five hundred pounds, and had me escorted off the premises by security. Still, Gropey Gus got convicted, so hey, job well done by all.”She grabs another slice of one of the pizzas I bought earlier.
“That’s my girl,” Em grins from behind her own fibre mask. She brought them over for the three of us to enjoy, and I have to say I’m a convert.
“And,” Sadie continues, looking as ferocious as Boudicca despite her Rainbow Brite themed pyjamas, “it’s like I tell the boys, every time I hear the whole ‘her skirt was so short that she was asking for it, he couldn’t help himself’ fuckery, it should make themfucking livid, and I downright expect them to act accordingly. Not only because it’s offensive to the sisterhood, which theyshouldcare about because we arefellow human beings, but because the implication is that they’re so brain dead that it assumes their default position is ‘rapist’, that they can’t be trusted to be around a woman wearing a short skirt because they have a cock and are helplessly out of control, and that’sfucking outrageous, andan insult to the brotherhood. It’s true ofsomemen, but not all, and I’m not about to get all ‘not all men’, because fuck that nonsense, but they need to get it together andcall that shit out, for fuck’s sake.”
“Someone really loves the word ‘fuck’,” I laugh. “The whole thing about it originating from Irish church clerks using it as shorthand for ‘forbidden use of carnal knowledge’ is a load of rubbish, by the way. It’s got Germanic roots. Bit of Dutch in there, too:fokken, meaning ‘to breed’. Bit of Indo-European hiding in the roots.”
They both smile at me. “That’s interesting,” Emily says, “I’ve often wondered.” She sounds sincere, and I feel warmed inside that they haven’t looked at me like I’m odd, and they haven’t rapidly changed the subject. Or asked me questions to try to trip me up. Or disagreed with what I said to try to sound smarter or cooler than me. I could get used to this ‘having girlfriends’ malarkey. It’s been a great evening so far.
“Sometimes ‘fuck’ is the only word that will fucking do,” Sadie continues, “especially when smashing the patriarchy. Saying ‘fuck’ loud and proud is a massive two fingers to all the douchbag men who think women shouldn’t say such ‘unladylike’ things, and should fuck off back to the kitchen or the nursery instead. The fuckers.”
“God, you wouldloveMitchell,” I reply, rolling my eyes at the thought of him. I’m sure he’d rather I fucked off to a kitchen and made fairy cakes all day, instead of showing him up all the damn time.
“Who’s Mitchell?” Emily asks as she pulls on the hem of one of Eli’s oversized Metallica t-shirts, borrowed for the evening and pulled over a pair of leggings because she doesn’t own any pyjamas.
