Women

I excitedly tell one of my bisexual friends about my weekend. She shakes her head. You guys shouldn’t do that. I play dumb and ask, Why not? She raises her voice and says, Because you’re not a lesbian! Because she has a girlfriend!

She is hot, though, she adds, and I agree.

When my father visits, I show him the city on foot, walk to restaurants, and take him to plays. It is good to see my father, who I consider one of my closest friends, and I enjoy showing him what my life is like in this city. I invite Finn to meet us for coffee. She will be the only friend he meets. My dad and I arrive at the café first. Finn walks in a few minutes later, and immediately I can tell she is not what he is expecting. She tells him her name. He flinches, and I wonder if Finn notices this too. He wants to know what Finn is short for. Nothing, she says, winking at me. She walks to the counter and orders a coffee. The three of us talk about writing, a reading Finn recently attended, what plans my dad and I have for the rest of his visit. Finn hugs me before she returns to work. Her sweatshirt is white, pristine. After I hug her, I notice some of my makeup has rubbed off on her shoulder. I feel humiliated and pray she doesn’t see it. Finn is fastidious in her appearance, everything always looks brand new, clean.

My dad reiterates twice how much he enjoyed Finn. I liked her a lot, he says. She’s really sharp. Looking back, I find it odd I invited her to meet my father. I had other friends I could have invited, yet I chose her. By this time I had made some girl friends, co-workers who were closer to me in age, but it was not important to me that he meet them, only that he meet Finn.

On an unusually warm winter Friday, so warm I am wearing a tank top, Finn comes over for drinks and to see my new place. I am renting a renovated basement from our mutual friend Shannon, who works with me at the library. I have a photograph a friend took of me in the park just hours before Finn came over. I am jumping. Wearing jeans and a tank top. In the bright sun, on the green grass. I’d been drinking coffee into the evening, and it made me feel frisky. Before Finn comes over, I take a shower, put my hair up. When she arrives, the three of us sit in the living room and drink whiskey and Cokes. After a while, Finn gets up from the chair she’s in and sits on my legs, which are stretched out the length of the couch. We are talking, making flirtatious banter. I’m complaining about my male co-workers and Finn shakes her head and says, See, I don’t hate men, I just think they’re stupid.

While Finn is sitting on my legs, Shannon, who is smoking a cigarette across from us, furrows her forehead, rolls her eyeballs, and says, Go have sex. Even in that moment, I don’t think we will have sex. Ha-ha funny, hysterical. Having sex doesn’t occur to me. How does one have sex with a woman? Besides, I’m straight. But I do take Finn’s hand. I am sitting up now, next to her, Indian-style, and under the blanket I take her soft hand in mine, then rest it on my thigh. We quietly sit that way for the rest of the night, never letting go of each other’s hands. After midnight, when I announce I am going to bed, Finn follows me downstairs to the basement to say goodnight. The walls are teal and we will take to calling my basement apartment The Aquarium. Finn first goes to the bathroom, and when she gets downstairs, I am already in my pajamas, in bed. She lies next to me and I turn toward her and we are kissing. Completely unspoken – there is no conversation such as: Can I kiss you? or Is this okay? As she describes it later, there is no teeth clanking, no awkwardness, just fucking, and no fumbling. In my head I think something like: So this is how they do it. Her hand up my T-shirt, her palm tenderly placed on my lower back. Her mouth open and warm.

In my memory it happens quickly – everything of hers in everything of mine. Fingers and tongue. Her palms on my back, her hands in my hair, her breath in my ear saying babybabybaby. I want you so bad, I say. I remember this surprising me. It rolled out of my mouth so naturally: I want you so bad. Where did it come from? Since when had I wanted her so bad? Why had I not been conscious of it? She puts me in different positions: fucks me from behind with her hand, on her face, against the wall, on the bedroom carpet. I moan. At one point I ask her how many and what is inside of me, and she laughs and says she doesn’t even know. Go have sex.

Never have I ever had sex with a woman. I don’t want to take my leggings off because my legs aren’t shaved. It is winter and I haven’t been having sex so I haven’t shaved in weeks and now I am embarrassed. But Finn says, Girls don’t care about things like that. At the edge of the bed, after we both finish, she smooths my hair from my forehead and says, I could totally fall in love with you. How do you know I’m already not? I begin to cry. I am already aware this will not turn out well. We are both aware. When I start crying, she says, Oh no, what are we doing – this is not what you need. No, it was not what I needed. But maybe what I wanted.

Waking up the next morning, I feel as though I am a different person. I feel high, invigorated with adrenaline. I call my best friend, Lily, and tell her what happened. Was it like, the best head of your life? she asks. I have an email from Finn, checking to make sure I am okay. I write back, telling her I’m great. Better than ever. And she says, Who fucking knew, right? It’s like we starred in our own movie last night. She calls me after we email. When I answer the phone, we both immediately begin laughing. We keep laughing and laughing together. From nerves and from how ridiculous our night seemed.

Finn tells me on her drive home she saw a cop. If they pulled me over I would have been screwed, she says, because I smelled like whiskey, wine, and pussy. We decide we want to hang out again tonight, and that Finn will meet me where I am babysitting.

The kids are asleep when Finn shows up and we sit on opposite ends of the couch watching Seinfeld on TV. We’re shy about touching now, after all the fucking. She drives us back to The Aquarium where I take a shower after setting her up with an episode of The Sopranos. I love seeing her comfortable in my bed, hearing her laughter as I shower. I get into the bed with wet hair and we sleep some, kiss some, and talk some. We’re both drained, emotionally, physically. She leaves in the wee hours of the morning to let out her dog.

Sunday night I call her to come back again. I am upstairs drinking wine with my roommate but I lie and say I have to go to the basement and Skype with my mom because my roommate knows Finn has a girlfriend. Finn drives back over and sneaks through the back door. We’ve been in bed making love for three days and no one but us knows. She tells me about the song ‘Those Three Days’ by Lucinda Williams. Later I will learn how terrified she is of anything dark or depressing – films or music or literature, so looking back, I am surprised she suggested we listen to that song. She did warn me ahead of time, Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s depressing. But I want to, and she holds me while we listen to it, not talking. In the early morning, when she is getting ready to leave, she stands at the foot of my bed. She finds my foot under the comforter and lifts it to her lips, kisses it, sets it back down. I don’t know any other way to say this, but you rock my world, she says. We both giggle. Well, she chuckles. (Girls like me don’t giggle, she says.)

A few hours later my phone interrupts my sleep. It’s Finn. She says she wanted to hear my voice. She has left work for her lunch break and is walking to buy a slice of pizza. She tells me she is trying to write about our past three days, but all she comes up with is blue and womb and holy fucking hell.

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