Nia called to apologize. I forgave her easily, though the sound of her scorn bled into my dreams. I woke from them rattled, drenched in sweat and shame. There was also the whole me-sleeping-with-her-boyfriend thing, so I couldn’t be but so mad at her.
She sounded like she was pacing a grand hallway. “I was distraught about the lecture cancellation stuff, I just, it wasn’t about you. And then, I’m sure you heard, I mean, it’s been all over the news, Israel’s surprise strikes in Gaza, and now—” Worked up, breathless, “We have this disciplinary hearing. I just found out, because of the protests on campus.”
I’d read about the strikes but was initially confused. I didn’t know you could just break a ceasefire like that, drop bombs in the middle of the night as though there’d been no agreement at all. What was the point of it if it was that flimsy? Or maybe that was the point, to show you could do whatever you wanted, grab people from behind in the dark. Anwar told me he wasn’t surprised, that everyone had been holding their breath.
“A hearing about what?” I’d only heard of hearings in Congress where some senator presented a pie chart to stall.
“About the protest.”
“Why do you have to have a hearing? I don’t get it.”
“Me neither, but we have one.” She exhaled through the phone. “Are you coming to the studio?”
“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”
“Of course I do!”
I smiled after we hung up, happy to be in her good graces again.
She was holding a painting under the light, a portrait of a woman with green eyes.
“Who’s that?”
Turning over her shoulder, she tossed me a mischievous smile. “My ex.”
I knew what she expected me to say.
“I didn’t know you dated women.”
“You couldn’t tell?”
How was I supposed to tell? Her nose ring? “No.”
“I was so over men. I wrote it on a scrap of paper, ‘MEN ARE OUT IN 2024,’ and set it on fire.” She sighed. “But then, Tristan.”
I was treading too close to the sun, but I wanted to know. “Why him?”
She leaned against the desk. “You’ve met him.”
I coughed into my elbow. “I actually don’t know him that well.”
“He’s, he’s…” Her eyes traced the ceiling. “Smart, like we can talk for hours about anything. He has that touch of tormented-male thing. I hate myself for saying it, but I love it! Don’t you love it?” I nodded weakly. “But he’snicetoo. He’s the nicest guy I know.”
I wanted to laugh. Tristan was smart, funny. Butnice? This was the man who threatened to set my ass on fire when he was fucking me on his stove.
I began worrying that I was receiving some lesser treatment from him. Because I was unlabeled, like a missing package, it meant I required a different type of handling. I recalled his cool affect over the phone at Jay’s, the ease with which he turned us to strangers.
I glared at Nia, her supple, feminine features. Upturned nose, full lips, tame brows, not wild and hairy like mine. A challenge, her words. That’s why she wanted to paint me. I bristled with agitation; it was always women like this who were conferred a certain kind of reverence. Uncomplicated beauty, soft-looking even when hard. Women like Nia didn’t have to bend to receive special treatment. When I bent even a little, it felt like breaking.
“Does he know you like women?” I bit out.
She laughed brightly, oblivious. “We’ve slept with girls together.”
My breath halted. I stammered out, “I didn’t know you were open.”
Nia moved behind her canvas. “Oh, it’s not like that,” already abandoning the conversation.
She offered to drive me home. I was still thinking about her calling Tristan the nicest guy she knows as we walked through the parking garage.
