It’s too soon to tell.
I don’t think I’ve set foot inside of this bar since I was twenty – never carded, but always served. Julia says it’s a favorite, which gives me a chuckle, because it’s rare that she ever goes to a bar.
Tripp’s focus is trained ahead of him, honed in on a metal sign hung on a wall which reads ‘it’s five o’clock somewhere.’ A flickering light hangs above it, the neon outline of a pair of flip flops; one in a vibrant shade of green, the other a bright pink.
“You’re uncomfortable,” I comment.
Tripp shakes his head, tapping a thoughtful finger against the neck of his beer bottle.
“It’s just new territory.” He looks toward his wife, taking a sip from the beer before resting it back into its place on the small table. “You’ve dated around for a long time – and I don’t mean that as a negative, I just mean, we haven’t.”
Sipping from my rum and coke, I lean against the cushion behind me.
“Andwe live in Miami,” I add, “andyou’ve never been out with a man in public.”
He turns to me with his brow furrowed, his lips pressed together.
“I don’t give a shit about that. You both think this is some weird new thing for me, but it’s not,” he says, pulling a sip from his beer with a shake of his head. “I never understood it; how Brody only ever dated girls or Edie only ever talked about crushes she had on boys. I just knew I couldn’t ask my parents about it or let them overhear me asking my siblings, because I’d get in trouble for it.”
Moving a few inches closer to him, I twist my body to drop my elbow onto the back of the booth behind him. My knee rests against his as I pull my leg up onto the cushion, and I reach for my own drink again.
“Well,” I say, “now you don’t have to worry about them.” My eyes move to him as he pulls another swig from his bottle, watching his adam’s apple bob as he swallows down the liquid. “Unless you do?”
“Nah,” he answers with a shake of his head, curling his lips. “Fuck ‘em.”
I offer my fingertips the freedom of brushing against his shoulder, keeping my eyes trained on the rest of the patrons inside the bar. Some are watching a game on the small and outdated TVs mounted above the bar. Others are sitting in booths like we are, sipping and talking to each other. It’s slow and quiet, in spite of the lively music playing around us.
Julia bounds toward our table with a fresh, brightly-colored drink in her hand, her platinum hair bouncing in wide curls as she drops quietly into the opposite side of the booth wearing a tight smile on her face.
Maybe it’s not just Tripp. Maybe all of us are a little bit uncomfortable – or at least, we all need to adjust.
I’ve only ever tried this once before, and it took me far too long to realize that, on the rare occasion that the three of us would go out in public together, I was more of a third wheel than I was a date. I watched who I thought were my partners flirt and fawn over each other while I sat and waited for my turn to come.
To feel like I meant something to them.
I answered every call to their bed without question, and I never stayed to sleep in their bedroom with them, just like they’d asked of me.
My body was a service for them, but the rest of me was never seen as an equal.
It’s hard not to find myself lost in my own head while the three of us sit quietly, trying to navigate this thing between us and the ugly road we started on; and it’s hard not to worry that the same thing will happen to me again.
Warmth hits my skin as Tripp’s hand settles at the base of my neck, his fingertips pushing up into my hair. I let my own run over his shoulder again, each of us making a quiet gesture for the reassurance of the other.
Slapping her palms against her thighs, Julia stands, extending her hands to us.
“Come dance with me,” she demands.
Behind her, the small open space of the bar is empty; I’m not even sure that it’s meant to be used as any kind of dance floor. All of the patrons here are either leaned against the bar or seated comfortably at their tables. The most ‘dancing’ anyone is doing is a shimmy of their shoulders or a gentle sway in their seat when a familiar or particularly catchy song starts up.
Julia’s fingers flex, beckoning us toward her, and Tripp laughs as he reaches for his beer.
“I don’t dance,” he says with a shake of his head. Moving his gaze toward me, he offers a soft gesture with his chin. “Go ahead.”
‘Do you wanna break something?’
That was the first thing he said to me when I’d told him about Brian and Toni. I expected a lecture or an ‘I told you so,’ because he’d warned me that I was going to wind up hurt, getting involved with them the way that I was.
Instead, he grabbed a handful of cheap breakables, took me out to the shop’s back lot, and let me chuck them at the asphalt until I felt better. From there, he offered me a couch to crash on until I could find another place, away from theirs.
