“Says the woman who suggested sex in my Jeep at the Kennedy Center parking garage,” Toni teased. “And tried to seduce me in my office.”
“So no sex at work? Either of our places of work?” Addie said, still sounding like she might laugh.
“What about phone sex tonight? Or video again?”
Addie’s breath caught. “Maybe, but I thought you had an early flight.”
“I’ll sleep better if I know you’re resting and relaxed,” Toni pointed out. She stopped herself then and added, “I didn’t like hearing you afraid and vulnerable, love. I’m on edge now.”
“I’m safe. I swear.” Addie paused. “There are two locks on the door, and I’m on the second floor staring down at the French Quarter.”
Toni sighed. “Can I ask that you also lock the balcony before I hang up to sleep?”
Addie was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Done. You don’t need to worry, though. I’m not worried. He was drunk, and I should’ve looked through the peephole and—”
“He is angry, drunk, and homophobic.” Toni forced back her temper. Men like Philip expected a level of entitlement just because they were cis, het, white, able-bodied, reasonably attractive men. When she was a child, she used to believe that there was fairness at some point.
If she was educated enough.
If she was strong enough.
If she wasn’t poor.
If she didn’t lookso queer.
If she didn’t flinch at their rudeness or sexism or homophobic jokes.
Now she realized that for some people, there was never a point at which they would become tolerant. Their fear was permanent—from discomfort with drag shows to book bans to trying to legislate away women’s bodily autonomy. Some people would always let their baseless fear drive their actions.
But that doesn’t mean that Addie ought to have to face it alone. No one should, really, but Addie, especially, Toni wanted to protect.
And while Toni couldn’t protect everyone, she was damned if she was going to let her… whatever Addie was be at risk.
There ought to be a word for people you like to spend time with and have sex with. More than “lover.”Her brain filled in:Thereisa word, and you know what it ought to be. “Girlfriend.” “Woman.” “Partner.” “Beloved.” Pick one.
Toni couldn’t sit still. She shoved that series of dangerous thoughts away and started throwing assorted clothes into a bag. She paused and filled up the cat’s autofeeder and autowaterer.
“I’m not okay with Philip’s behavior, love,” Toni said softly. “I’d feel that way if I didn’t know you. I’d feel that way if you were any actor who had the lead in this show.”
“So it’s not personal?” Addie asked quietly.
“Damn it, Addie. Of course it’s also personal. You’re mine, and you shouldn’t have to suffer for that.” Toni’s temper had always bubbled up like a geyser, but she’d spent the last decade learning how to control it.
Until Addie.
“Yours, huh?” Addie replied, voice soft and sweet.
Toni could kick herself for the slip. “My friend, the actor in my show…”
“Your lover,” Addie filled in the space.
“Yes.” Toni closed her eyes, trying to keep the other words from spilling out her lips. She wanted that for the first time in her life, but it wasn’t what was best for Addie. Instead of the other words that curled at the back of her tongue, Toni said, “I don’t ever want to cause you problems, and because you were with me—”
“Toni,” Addie interrupted. “You were my first and my only, but if I was not with you, there would still be someone else eventually. I was still a lesbian before we were in bed. So… just don’t borrow trouble that’s not yours.”
Toni switched the topic to resist the reaction she had to the idea of someone else touching Addie. She said, “You’ve used that phrase before, you know, about borrowing trouble.”
“One of my therapists said that a lot, because my parents were such a disaster, I took on blame that wasn’t mine. I was borrowingother people’s baggage, basically. I think about that a lot. I guess I use it a lot.” Addie sighed. “The point is that I don’t need you to carrymybaggage, Toni, and Iwon’tcarry yours.”
