change.” It was the truth.
Nat smiled and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth briefly while fixing her gaze on Isabella. “Fair enough, but you know, everyone needs a little tenderness now and then.”
“Is that what you call it? Tenderness?” Isabella wondered what was tender about bringing home a new girl every Saturday night.
“I have a lot of respect for my elders. I refrain from using crass language in front of them.”
“At least it excludes me from your advances. Being old and such.” It stung more than Isabella had expected.
“A dog like me?” Nat spread her elbows wide, pushing her chest forward. “No one’s safe as far as I’m concerned.”
“I’ll remember to double lock my door at night.” Isabella reluctantly peeled her eyes away from the cleavage peeking through the V of Nat’s t-shirt. “Now, can I give you some friendly advice?”
“I thought you’d never ask, Doc.” Nat let her hands fall into her lap, fatigue suddenly conquering her face—that and the amount of Scotch she’d ingested.
“For the next two weeks, don’t give in to your baser instincts. Don’t pursue tenderness as if there’s no tomorrow. Focus on something else. For instance, why after three years, you still feel the need to get shit-faced in remembrance of Claire leaving you.”
“I get shit-faced on a much more regular—”
“I don’t need arguments,” Isabella cut her off. “I only need a yes or a no.”
“Fine. No sweat.” Nat uncrossed her legs and rested her elbows on them, her breath so close Isabella heard it sing in her ears. “But quid pro quo, Doc. It’s the least you can do.”
“What do you have in mind?” Intrigued, Isabella leaned in a little closer.
“You let me set you up with a friend of mine.”
A small pang of disappointment flared in Isabella’s stomach. “Deal,” she said anyway.
NAT
Nat wasn’t completely oblivious to Isabella’s interest in her. She noticed it in the twitch of her muscles as she restrained herself from putting a hand on Nat’s thigh. In the widening of her pupils when Nat shed that tear earlier. In the way her features deflated when Nat suggested she’d set her up with a friend. For a shrink, Isabella had a really bad poker face.
“Sophie’s a class act, I’m sure you’ll like her.” All this banter of other women—and the sudden promise of abstinence—had gotten Nat’s mind off Claire. She had to give Isabella that. Truth be told, her yearly pilgrimage into complete drunkenness because of Claire was bordering on ridiculous, but one day a year of self-pity wasn’t too bad. Nat cursed herself because she was the last person to believe her own lies. “When are you free?”
“I’ll let you know.” Isabella massaged her temples. “What will you do with all this time freeing up in your schedule?”
“What I always do when I have some time on my hands.” Nat straightened her back, getting ready to leave. “Dream of a better future.”
“I’d love to know what that entails.” Isabella’s eyes flashed with intensity again, one last sparkle before the day ended.
“Let’s save that for the next session, Doc.” Nat winked at Isabella and stood up. “I’ll let myself out.”
Later, alone in bed—and in the flat, as Alex spent most nights at Maddie’s—Nat wondered if this was what an existential crisis felt like. Or if it was all still down to Claire. Claire, the one woman she couldn’t have, who, out of the blue had turned up on her doorstep and told Nat she’d broken up with Amy and that she was available now. Claire Foster and Amy Perez, banker and literary agent, New York’s ultra-power lesbian couple, at least throughout 2005 and a good chunk of 2006. You couldn’t find a woman more loyal than Claire, until she was done with you. Then you might as well not have existed anymore.
Nat had managed to keep hold of her for three years. “Longer than anyone else that came before you,” Claire used to tease, in
Nat smiled and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth briefly while fixing her gaze on Isabella. “Fair enough, but you know, everyone needs a little tenderness now and then.”
“Is that what you call it? Tenderness?” Isabella wondered what was tender about bringing home a new girl every Saturday night.
“I have a lot of respect for my elders. I refrain from using crass language in front of them.”
“At least it excludes me from your advances. Being old and such.” It stung more than Isabella had expected.
“A dog like me?” Nat spread her elbows wide, pushing her chest forward. “No one’s safe as far as I’m concerned.”
“I’ll remember to double lock my door at night.” Isabella reluctantly peeled her eyes away from the cleavage peeking through the V of Nat’s t-shirt. “Now, can I give you some friendly advice?”
“I thought you’d never ask, Doc.” Nat let her hands fall into her lap, fatigue suddenly conquering her face—that and the amount of Scotch she’d ingested.
“For the next two weeks, don’t give in to your baser instincts. Don’t pursue tenderness as if there’s no tomorrow. Focus on something else. For instance, why after three years, you still feel the need to get shit-faced in remembrance of Claire leaving you.”
“I get shit-faced on a much more regular—”
“I don’t need arguments,” Isabella cut her off. “I only need a yes or a no.”
“Fine. No sweat.” Nat uncrossed her legs and rested her elbows on them, her breath so close Isabella heard it sing in her ears. “But quid pro quo, Doc. It’s the least you can do.”
“What do you have in mind?” Intrigued, Isabella leaned in a little closer.
“You let me set you up with a friend of mine.”
A small pang of disappointment flared in Isabella’s stomach. “Deal,” she said anyway.
NAT
Nat wasn’t completely oblivious to Isabella’s interest in her. She noticed it in the twitch of her muscles as she restrained herself from putting a hand on Nat’s thigh. In the widening of her pupils when Nat shed that tear earlier. In the way her features deflated when Nat suggested she’d set her up with a friend. For a shrink, Isabella had a really bad poker face.
“Sophie’s a class act, I’m sure you’ll like her.” All this banter of other women—and the sudden promise of abstinence—had gotten Nat’s mind off Claire. She had to give Isabella that. Truth be told, her yearly pilgrimage into complete drunkenness because of Claire was bordering on ridiculous, but one day a year of self-pity wasn’t too bad. Nat cursed herself because she was the last person to believe her own lies. “When are you free?”
“I’ll let you know.” Isabella massaged her temples. “What will you do with all this time freeing up in your schedule?”
“What I always do when I have some time on my hands.” Nat straightened her back, getting ready to leave. “Dream of a better future.”
“I’d love to know what that entails.” Isabella’s eyes flashed with intensity again, one last sparkle before the day ended.
“Let’s save that for the next session, Doc.” Nat winked at Isabella and stood up. “I’ll let myself out.”
Later, alone in bed—and in the flat, as Alex spent most nights at Maddie’s—Nat wondered if this was what an existential crisis felt like. Or if it was all still down to Claire. Claire, the one woman she couldn’t have, who, out of the blue had turned up on her doorstep and told Nat she’d broken up with Amy and that she was available now. Claire Foster and Amy Perez, banker and literary agent, New York’s ultra-power lesbian couple, at least throughout 2005 and a good chunk of 2006. You couldn’t find a woman more loyal than Claire, until she was done with you. Then you might as well not have existed anymore.
Nat had managed to keep hold of her for three years. “Longer than anyone else that came before you,” Claire used to tease, in
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