Havisham chuckled, but then it became a full laugh.
“What’s so funny?” asked Salcedo.
“Just the idea of asking the three of us to bring burly boyfriends.”
“Questions like that are why so few movies and books pass the Bechdel Test.” Salcedo shook her head while stirring her coffee.
“What in blue blazes are you talking about?”
I was glad Havisham asked, so I wouldn’t have to.
“You know, the Bechdel Test. Does a movie—or book—have at least two women characters? Do they talk to each other? And do they talk about something other than men?”
I opened my mouth to refute the need for such a test, but my brain scanned through all the movies I’d seen, and I had to close my mouth with a “huh.”
“I’m not saying I’m opposed to a romantic relationship,” she continued. “But even our petty project tends to focus on men.”
“Because the patriarchy is a helluva drug, and too many men are getting high on their own stash,” Havisham said.
“Well, I, for one, have no intention of dating anyone for another six months,” I said. “I declare myself on sabbatical.”
Even as the words left my lips, I thought of a certain man who looked good both in a suit and while doing burpees.
Both Havisham and Salcedo stared at me. The former finally said, “That seems like an arbitrary length of time.”
“I promised myself not to date for at least one year from the day I walked back into your bar,” I said. “I’ve had a boyfriend or partner for almost my entire adult life, and I’m gonna do that cliché where I work on me. I’d do the wholeEat, Pray, Lovething, but I don’t have the money to travel. Obviously.”
Salcedo whistled. “Except you said your intentions out loud. To the universe. You know what that means.”
“No, what does that matter?” I didn’t even hide the irritation in my voice. Salcedo wasn’t yet twenty. What the heck could she know about these things?
“It means the universe is going to plop the perfect person right in front of you and dare you to break the promise you made to yourself.”
“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I’ll extend my sabbatical to a lifetime. Become a cat lady or something.”
“Fifty bucks says you get your freak on before a year’s out.” Havisham extended her hand.
“Deal,” I said before shaking her hand. I turned to Salcedo. “This is gonna be like taking candy from a baby.”
“Ha! That’s what you think. Now the idea is in your brain, tempting you like chocolate cake when you declare yourself on a diet,” Havisham said. “I’ve been on a relationship recess for over forty years. When needed, I scratch the occasional itch, but I’ve always been glad to kick him out once he’s done his job. Let a man stick around too long, and he’s gonna want you to either make his breakfast or do his laundry. No thank you.”
Salcedo looked from me to her and back again. “Oh, you’re both in for it.”
“Say, Havisham, why did you swear off marriage?” I asked, both because I was curious and because I wanted all such conversations to avoid me.
She sighed deeply. “Back when I was nineteen—a stupid age, Salcedo, so you should find a padded room and stay there until your twentieth birthday—I got engaged. Planned a wedding. The groom didn’t show.”
My stomach roiled at the thought. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. They’ll never find his body.”
Salcedo’s eyes went wide.
“I’m kidding. I’m way too pretty for prison and definitely too bougie for toilet wine. Last I heard he was living his best life in Peoria.”
“But what did you do when it became clear he wasn’t going to show?” I asked.
“My mother, God rest her soul, offered to get in front of everyone and tell them the wedding was off, but I made the announcement. Figured I owed it to myself to start in the way I meant to go. Everything had been paid for, so”—she paused, and for a moment, I could see her as the vulnerable bride of nineteen—“I told everyone to go on to the reception and enjoy the party. I danced as though I weren’t dead inside, then took a solo honeymoon to Cancún. Had such a great time doingwhatever I wanted whenever I wanted that I decided to marry myself. Haven’t looked back.”
