When I think about what I’d like my future partner to be like, Shay ticks every box: kind and caring, family-oriented (even if her brother doesn’t feel the same way), passionate about her business, happy to go out and do things like spur of the moment boat trips, but equally happy to curl up at home and binge cozy TV shows. She doesn’t want kids, and neither do I. She’s a cat person, and I’m a Croissant person at the very least. She likes ABBA, and I like watching her sing ABBA.
But mostly… she makes everything a little quieter. A little more peaceful, a little brighter, a little better. A lot better, in truth.
I have to try and wrap my head around the possibility that she doesn’t want more. If she wants to keep things casual, to keep sleeping together, but never be more, I’ll survive. At least I’ll still be spending time with her. But there’s a chance, however small, that she’ll decide to call things off altogether. And I’ll somehow have to be okay on the other side of it.
The unknown, as frustrating as it is, is safe, but it’s not maintainable. Working together, there was a guarantee of when we’d be seeing each other next. I have no idea where Shay and I will stand as of tomorrow morning.
I watch her, my heart screaming at me to cross the dance floor and just talk to her. She looks amazing, as always. She’s wearing a pretty light blue dress with pink flowers. It’s strapless, making her locket stand out against the hollow of her throat.
The actress shows Shay something on her phone, and insecurity creeps over me. She’s beautiful, yes, but that’s not what makes my stomach twist. She’s a successful actress who probably doesn’t hate her job and has her life together. Sure, I don’t know that for certain, but there’s one thing I do know: she’s closer to Shay’s age than I am.
Asking Shay to be in this with me, for real, is asking her to deal with all the downsides of age gap relationships that Rora and Uncle Henry talked about. I would be asking her to deal with the small-town gossip, to come out to her parents and explain not only that she’s dating a woman, but that I was born when she was a junior in high school. Her relationship with them is already strained, and I don’t want to make it harder.
Maybe the right thing is to walk away, to take the decision out of her hands and call it a day. But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be on the other side of the room watching someone more age-appropriate touching her arm, asking her a question, leading her to… the dance floor.
Oh.
I turn away before I have to watch the woman I’m falling in love with dance with someone who isn’t me.
“Fuck.” I don’t mean to say it as loudly as I guess I do, considering the gasps and shocked looks from the ladies’ running club sitting at the table near me. I have to get out of here.
Not waiting to be admonished by the townsfolk who have watched me grow up but failed to accept that I’m a whole-ass grown-up, I flee. A very grown-up thing to do, if you ask me.
I ignore the bang of the door as it closes behind me, taking the town hall steps two at a time until I’m standing in the parking lot. It’s quiet out here; everyone else is inside enjoying themselves. I can still hear the music as I walk across the parking lot, gravel crunching beneath my heels.
There aren’t a lot of opportunities to get dressed up in Wintermore, and I haven’t had the chance to get out of town in a while. I’m not much of a dress person, but tonight… Hell, I dressed up for her.
I’ve only worn the amber-yellow dress once—my mom and I convinced Rora (begrudgingly) to have a baby shower, and she chose a sunshine theme before any of us knew Sunny’s name. The crepe dress is more suited to a spring baby shower than the parking lot outside a fall party, but this is the nicest dress I own. It seems like a waste as I perch on the edge of the bed of my parents’ truck, kicking the gravel.
The breeze tickles my hair, and I look up, frowning at the black and gray smudges dotting the sky. The air smells like it does right before a downpour, and, though I appreciate the weather mirroring my demeanor, I’m not dressed for a storm.
If I start walking home now, I might make it before the sky opens, but I don’t get the chance to leave before I hear the town hall doors open, and Shay appears in the shadowy doorway. Shescans the parking lot, something like relief flickering on her face when she spots me.
“Hey,” she calls as she crosses the lot. “Are you okay? You kind of just ran out of there.”
“I’m fine,” I answer, and Shay stops short of me at my tone.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Well, I am,” I bite back. “You looked like you were having fun.” I don’t mean to say it, don’t mean it to sound so bitter, and I watch as realization dawns on Shay’s face the second the words leave my lips.
“You’re upset that I was talking to someone else?” There’s no judgment in her tone, but I still deny it immediately.
“No.”
She raises a brow, twisting her mouth.
“I’m not upset that you were talking to someone. I’m upset that I should’ve been the one asking you to dance.”
A soft smile lifts Shay’s lips, and she takes a deep breath. “Karina—that’s her name—didn’t ask me to dance.”
“But I watched you go onto the dance floor with her.”
“Right. Because she was taking me to meet her husband, who was dancing with their daughter. He grew up in Oakland, and she wanted to introduce us,” Shay explains, but instead of relief that she wasn’t dancing with her, I feel a sudden crash, like the adrenaline that propelled me to bolt from the party is gone in a flash.
Because if it’s not Karina, it’ll be someone else. For as long as Shay and I arecasualfriends, there could always be someone else.
Stepping down from the truck bed, I rub my face with my hands, finding it hard to care that I’m almost definitely fucking up my makeup.
