Anyway.
Stevie eyed the happy couple from her spot behind the espresso machine, black apron tied around her waist, batting a rainbow-hued streamer out of her face while she finished up a flat white. She and Adri used to do the exact same thing—up until about a year ago—giggling and kissing like teenagers in a coffee shop behind whatever screenplay they were studying at the time.
“Didn’t she come here to talk to you?” Ren asked. They were sitting at the bar, two different cell phones lying in front of them, along with a sleek silver laptop and a large glass of cold brew.
Stevie shrugged. “I think that’s what she said.”
Stevie didn’t think—she knew. Adri had definitely texted her this morning and asked if she could stop by Bitch’s on one of Stevie’s breaks so they could chat. Granted, this wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary. She and Adri were still friends. Best friends. Vanessa was Adri’s new girlfriend as of a month ago and, incidentally, also one of Stevie’s best friends. Ren, the fourth member of their little queer crew that had bonded together during freshman orientation at Reed College and hadn’t let go in the ten years since, worked remotely at Bitch’s nearly every afternoon.
Stevie knew this situation wasn’t unusual in queer communities. With such tight-knit groups, cemented together because of sheer numbers and shared experiences, it was pretty common for friends to have slept with each other once or twice, or at least engaged in a kiss or two. Still, Stevie and Adri had been together for six years—from senior year of college to... well, six months ago—and while Stevie had agreed when Adri instigated their breakup and everything had been mutual and mature and all that adult shit, Stevie wasn’t quite prepared for Adri to jump into bed with one of the very people on whose couch Stevie slept when she first moved out of Adri’s apartment.
She should’ve chosen Ren’s couch.
But Ren, god bless them, lived in a luxury apartment in Portland’s most expensive neighborhood, which also meant their place was the size of a toaster. It was immaculately decorated, all the finest linens and furniture, but their king-size bed took up the entire bedroom—for real, they didn’t even have a nightstand—and a single love seat and coffee table made up the whole living space. It was all very Ren, who either invested in high-end stuff or went without.
But this was fine, because Stevie had found her own place, just a block from Bitch’s where, yes, at twenty-eight, she still worked in between auditions and any roles she actually managed to land.Which, lately, wasn’t many. Her most recent acting job had been nearly a year ago, a modernized remake ofThe Importance of Being Earnestin Seattle, where she played Gwendolen and got decent reviews, resulting in absolutely zero interest from other directors.
Needless to say, she was in a bit of a rut. Ren, a publicist for an ethical clothing company, said she simply needed to remake her brand. Whatever the hell that meant. If Stevie had a brand, it was an underwhelming amalgam of anxiety and childish dreams she couldn’t seem to relinquish.
How very inspiring.
“They’re extremely unclassy,” Ren said, glancing at Adri and Vanessa with a white stylus pressed to their cheek, head tilted elegantly. Ren’s apartment wasn’t the only thing that was immaculate. They were dressed in a three-piece gray suit, purple-and-green paisley tie, and three-inch purple heels. Their hair—black, short on the sides and long on top—coiffed and swirled upward in a way that would make Johnny Weir jealous. Their makeup was also perfect, silvery-purple eyeshadow, winged liner, shimmery lavender lip. Ren was Japanese American, nonbinary, pansexual, and the single coolest person Stevie knew.
Stevie laughed, shaking her curly fringe out of her face. She knew Ren loved Adri and Vanessa just as much as she did, but, yeah, she wouldn’t mind if they took their little midday make-out sesh elsewhere. She had a feeling that the Shakespearean fortress was for her benefit—don’t show PDA in front of the ex—but it wasn’t exactly successful.
“They’re fine,” Stevie said, even as she thought the opposite. Ren eyed her, their quintessentialI’m calling bullshitexpression firmly in place. Stevie waved a hand and loaded the hopper with more glossy espresso beans. “It’s fine, Ren.”
“Okay, sure, whatever you say, Stefania.”
“Oh, bringing out the full name, I see,” Stevie said. “I must be in trouble.”
Ren shrugged. “I’ll bring out your middle name too if you don’t grow more of a goddamn backbone.”
Stevie’s stomach pinched and she looked away. She knew Ren didn’t mean to be harsh. They understood—better than anyone, lately—that Stevie’s struggles with Generalized Anxiety Disorder were very real, but Ren tended to have a tough love approach to things, which, sometimes, made Stevie even more anxious.
Not that she’d ever tell Ren that.
“They’re dating, Ren, what do you want me to do?” she asked.
“I want you to bring someone into the Empress and stick your tongue down their throat in front of Adri,” Ren said calmly, tapping at something on their phone. “That’s what I fucking want you to do.”
The idea was so preposterous, Stevie couldn’t help but laugh. The Empress was Adri’s theater and they all loved it dearly—small, all-queer right down to the gaffer. Stevie had acted in nearly every production when Adri was first getting it off the ground, but about a year ago, she’d sworn off community theater. Adri hadn’t been happy, but she’d understood—if Stevie was ever going to make a living off of acting, she had to go for bigger roles, bigger theaters, bigger exposure.
Lot of good that had done her lately.
“Who would I even make out with?” Stevie asked. She couldn’t decide what was more unbearable—thinking about her flailing career or her nonexistent love life.
“Ever heard of a dating app?” Ren asked, a smirk on their face.
Stevie shuddered.
“A bar?” Ren said.
Stevie pretended to nearly throw up.
Ren laughed. They both knew Stevie was horrible at talking to people she didn’t know, bordering on disastrous. Extreme anxietymade her literally nauseous, and nothing triggered that lovely symptom more than trying to charm a beautiful stranger.
“Okay, fine,” Ren said, picking up their cold brew, “but something’s got to give, or else you’ll end up watching former lovers metaphorically bang in your place of employment for the rest of your life.” They jutted their thumb toward Adri and Vanessa, who were now making out with such gusto, the screenplay had fallen and Adri’s hands were tangled in Vanessa’s lustrous hair.
