“No. Not a lesbian. I’m just… I was married once. To a man. A long time ago and…” George sucked in a big breath of air, forcing the tears back. Funny how the laughter and the crying were so close, so wrapped up inside her, so intertwined and interchangeable. When had she so lost control of herself that she couldn’t talk about her past without opening the floodgates to an emotional deluge?
Never. She’d never talked about it. Any of it. To anyone. She couldn’t start now.
Rather than go on, she cut it short, nipped it in the bud, clammed right up. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Oh.” Jessie looked taken aback, and George’s skin heated with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry. I’m really bad at this.”
“At what?”
“Friendships. With women. With anyone, I guess.” The words tripped George up, but they kept coming despite her mortification. “I’m not good at it. I always say the wrong things and don’t say the right ones. I’m really—”
“Girl, do you have any idea how hard it is to have friends when you have a kid?” Jessie shook her head ruefully. “I had Gabe young. Nobody, I mean nobody, could be bothered to hang out once he was born. And then, as a mother? I’ve always been the wrong kind of mother, you know? Couldn’t do playdates ’cause I was in school and then waiting tables and then constantly working. I had a big, scary brother in prison. Not exactly conducive to developing close ties with other young moms, you know?” She paused, leaned forward, and grabbed George’s hand. “You’re doing fine, George. Trust me.”
“Thanks.”
“So.” Jessie refilled their glasses and lifted hers in a toast. “Now that we’ve both established how bad we are at friendships… Here’s to new friendships.” They clinked glasses and drank. “And to better dates than the ones I’ve been on in the past few years.”
“Here, here,” said George.
“I mean how unsexy is it when dudes are like, ‘May I touch your breast, please, ma’am?’ and I’m like, ‘Seriously? Shall I have you fill out an authorization form first?’”
“I had the opposite,” George replied. “I went out with a man once, only once, who pushed me against my car, trying to make out in a parking lot after a crappy, boring date.”
“D’you deck him in the balls?”
“No,” replied George with regret. “I wish I had, now that you mention it. He had this cold, wet tongue, and he kept sort of swiping it over my mouth.”
“Ew!”
“Oh Lord, I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but… You know what he said to me? I’d forgotten all about this.” George giggled, happy to share with someone—finally. The words emerged through the laughter. “He kept saying, ‘I want to lick you, George. I want to lick you.’”
“Oh gross. In that accent?”
“Yes, he was a visiting professor from Oxford or Cambridge or… I don’t remember. But, it gets better. Listen to this. I said, ‘You want to lick me? You are licking me!’ because the way he did it, he had this big, flat, rough cat tongue, and he was licking my mouth and my face, but when I said that to him, you know what he said?”
“What?”
“‘I want to lick your clit, George.’” She could barely get the words past the hilarity now, and Jessie had joined her, groaning, laughing. “I…want…to lick…your clit.”
“Eww, oh my effing God, that is gross!” Jessie leaned back, wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, and slapped her hand down on George’s knee. “Lady, there is no doubt about it. You’ve got me beat. Thank you for that.”
“Anytime,” said George.
“So, new objective: get George laid.”
With a grimace, George said, “No. Not really. I mean, yes, I wouldn’t mind, I guess, but I’ve given up.” She glanced at Jessie before letting herself talk. “I’m doing IUI.” Saying the words out loud to someone who wasn’t a medical professional was weirdly liberating.
“What’s that?”
“Intrauterine insemination. Like in vitro, except more…natural, I guess.”
Jessie’s eyes opened wide. “So, turkey baster but no petri dish?”
“Kind of. Yes. I want babies.” George glanced down the hall to where Gabe was fast asleep. “One. One baby. A kid like him would be great.”
“Wow. Well, I’d give you mine, except…”
