Chapter 10: Marcy

Friday, December 23, 2022

Sitting at the Pink Umbrella on the evening before Christmas Eve was depressing. Being surrounded by a bunch of women who were as lonely as myself made it worse. My moms were not thrilled about me going to a bar. They knew I drank with a fake ID. It wasn’t a huge issue because they knew I was responsible enough not to drink and drive. They worried I was hanging out there more often lately, drinking more than I used to, and coming home at odd hours of the night.

But it wasn’t the alcohol keeping me at the Umbrella. It was the pussy. And the fact that I still wasn’t sleeping very well. Instead of having dreams of a disembodied voice telling me to “Remember this,” I was having dreams of a different nature. Visions of me fucking Jade with a penis. A real penis.

These often left me horny with a pressure in my pubic area that wouldn’t go away. Most nights, I woke in the early hours and had to rub my clitoris until I came, but my orgasms were so weak they hardly sated my lust. Last night, I’d jilled myself three times, but I wasn’t sure I could even call those pathetic things climaxes.

I sat at the bar sipping a martini very slowly, trying to give off a Sex and the City vibe. I was dressed reasonably femininely tonight. I was in the mood to look nice. I’d touched up my face with some makeup, splashed on some perfume, and thought I looked pretty damn good. Unfortunately, I wasn’t getting any attention. A big group was having a bachelorette party, and I wasn’t sure if all the women in attendance were lesbians. The bride-to-be certainly was a lipstick lesbian. And I guess maybe a couple of her friends were too. But the party had almost twenty ladies in attendance, and they were loud and distracting. Other than the group, the bar was practically bare.

Kim, the waitress I’d hooked up with several days ago, was out of town visiting family in Korea and wouldn’t be back for three weeks. That left me trying to woo someone from the bachelorette party. Of those ladies, only one caught my eye: a Latina lady with olive skin, curly dark hair, and brown eyes. She was very short and cute, and our eyes had met a couple of times when I’d turned around to watch the bride-to-be open gifts. The second time this girl and I made eye contact, she smiled at me. I nodded in return.

When I’d gotten enough liquid courage into my system, I stood up from the bar, took my time arranging my clothes, and then purposefully strode past the table, brushing her shoulder quite intentionally on my way to the bathroom. Her big brown eyes met mine for the third time, and I nodded toward the restrooms.

I went into the fem bathroom, washed my hands, and touched up my makeup. If Jade had been watching me, she would have laughed at the sight of me primping. Once I finished my touch-ups, I checked my phone for a couple more minutes. I had nothing to see or read and was about to leave when the Latina woman entered. Her hands immediately went into her pockets, and she looked at me with wide eyes, like a lamb presenting itself to a wolf for inspection.

She wore a green and pink polyester blouse with blue jeans and something else I hadn’t noticed before: she was wearing Jordans. I was not a sneakerhead, but my ex-girlfriend Gina had been. I spent many hours shoe-shopping with her while we dated. The girl before me wore the Jordan 1 Retro High Pine Green, and they matched her shirt perfectly. She stood about two inches taller than Jade, a little curvier, and her hair was longer despite its curls. She had a pretty round face with a light dusting of freckles.

“Hi,” I said after examining her from head to toe.

She blushed back at me. “Hey.”

“I’m Marcy. I’ve been checking you out for the last forty minutes.”

“I noticed.”

I reached out and shook her hand.

“Fabiola.”

“Nice to meet you,” I kept her hand in mine a little longer than usual on purpose before finally letting it go. Fabiola’s smirk grew a little. “You’re beautiful. Are you lez or bi?”

With her hands stuffed back into her pockets, Fabiola shrugged her shoulders. “Not sure. I guess I’m open. Jams is lesbian. She’s the one getting married next week. But she and I never ... I haven’t ever been with a woman. Not like full-on sex. Just a little bit of kissing one time at a dance club. But it was nice. I never saw her again or anything. I didn’t even get a number. And I’m rambling. Sorry, I do that when I’m nervous, which I so obviously am right now, so ... yeah.”

She swayed from side to side, rotating her hips.

“Is it me making you nervous?” I asked, allowing myself to be flattered.

Fabiola shrugged again. “Maybe.”

I was intrigued by this woman. She knew she was pretty and that I was into her, but she played being coy and cute to perfection. It made me want her even more. The only question was whether or not she genuinely wanted to hook up with a woman or just wanted to fish for compliments and bragging rights to her queer friends.

I took a small step closer to her. “And is there something wrong with being nervous?”

“I guess not.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two. You?”

I was surprised. I thought she had recently graduated high school like me. “I’m nineteen.” Fabiola’s eyebrows shot up.

“I saw you drinking at the bar.”

It was my turn to shrug. “You got any plans? Or are you free later on tonight?”

Fabiola gestured over her shoulder. “Jams has us all booked for the evening. It’s a big Christmas thing. But maybe another night? I could give you my number.”

I handed over my phone so she could put her info into my contacts. She handed it back to me. I sent her a text right away. An emoji of a broad-eyed face with its tongue sticking out, along with the following text:

Me: Preview of coming attractions?

Fabiola laughed and showed me her screen, so I knew she’d gotten it. “Clever.”

I left the bar soon after, but Fabiola and I flirted via text for most of the evening. I spent the rest of the evening with Diane and Phoebe. We put on our pajamas and drank hot chocolate while watching Home Alone. A little after ten o’clock, I received a text from Jade’s mom asking me to come to the side door. I went down the steps and found her standing on the small landing, shivering and bundled up with two large flat packages wrapped in holiday paper.

“Come in, Ruby,” I said, stepping aside for her. Ruby Seymour’s dusky face peeked out under an oversized winter coat and a big woolen cap. Her white teeth shone as they always did. I rarely saw her not smiling. She was one of the nicest people I had ever met. She had always been kind and treated me like a daughter. “Merry Christmas,” I told her. “I haven’t reached out to you since everything happened. It’s been a weird month.”

Ruby was a beautiful blend of Filipino and black ancestry. Jade’s mocha coloring came from her pale white father mixed with her mother’s dark complexion. She set down the packages and hugged me. “It’s good to see you, Marcy. Merry Christmas to you, too.” We hugged for a long time, and part of me felt like I was embracing Jade through her. “How have you been? How’s plumbing?”

We chatted briefly about my work and her online crafts store. Then we talked for a few minutes about Jade. “She misses you,” Mrs. Seymour said. “I can tell. She wanted me to give you these. She bought them a while ago and didn’t know what else to do with them.”

I glanced at the wrapped packages. They looked like framed posters. “Thanks.” I leaned against the wall, gazing at the presents on the floor. “Did— did she tell you what happened?”

“Yeah...” Mrs. Seymour’s ever-present smile flickered as she looked at me and then away again.

“I am so sorry for hurting her,” I said. “If I could go back and undo it, I would. I just...” I fumbled for words to explain what I had done, but there weren’t any.

“I understand, actually,” she replied. “Better than you think. I once committed a terrible act of infidelity. It nearly destroyed my marriage. And I hadn’t fathomed beforehand how much hurt it would do. I’m lucky Jade’s father stuck with me; our marriage has only improved since we worked through it. I can’t imagine ever doing such a thing now. But it took a seismic shift to make us both realize that we couldn’t take our relationship for granted.”

“Will you tell her thank you for the gifts? I didn’t buy her anything because...”

“It’s okay. Who knows what the future holds? Maybe this will end up being a small bump in the road. Merry Christmas again, Marcy. Take care of yourself. Tell Diane and Phoebe hello from us.”

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

Mrs. Seymour returned to her car and pulled out of the driveway. I grabbed the door and saw a second person in the passenger seat. My breath caught in my chest. Jade. She’d been in the car. She’d been right here, and I could have talked to her.

“Don’t cry,” I told myself. Holding my breath until the emotion passed, I locked the doors and carried the gifts upstairs to my bedroom. Sitting on my bed, I lay them both flat on the floor. One of them had a small card attached to it. I opened the card first.

Marcy,

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I hope that 2023 finds you well and prosperous with wonderful new beginnings.

Jade

The gifts were the same size and weight. I opened them simultaneously—signed posters of Robert Downey Jr. as Iron Man and Chris Evans as Captain America. Immediately, I knew what had happened. Jade had bought one for me, then saw the other and bought it herself. Not wanting to keep the one she’d gotten me and not wanting to have to see Chris Evans and be reminded of the poster she’d given her ex-girlfriend, she gave them both away.

I sent her a text thanking her for the gifts, wishing her a Merry Christmas, and apologizing for not buying anything for her. She did not answer right away. About five minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was from Fabiola.

Fabiola: want 2 c ur Xmas gift early?

Me: Sure.

The text that followed was a heavily filtered selfie with one breast exposed, and her face puckered up in a kiss. I texted back a fire emoji and a panting face. Then I pulled up my private file of Jade and gave myself another pathetic orgasm. Toward the end of my orgasm, I took a short video and sent it back to Fabiola so she could hear me moaning and see me rubbing myself.

Fabiola: mmm ... hawt!

Me: thx

Fabiola: when do u want to get together?

Me: tomorrow night?

Fabiola: Christmas Eve??? maybe. Where r u?

I sent her the details of my neighborhood without giving her my actual address.

Fabiola: not 2 far from me. Ya I can do that if ur hosting?

Me: Sounds good. What time?

Fabiola: 9?

Me: It’s a date.

We said goodnight, and I went to bed. Despite getting off just before falling asleep, I woke up again around 2 a.m., needing to cum. I fingered myself for ten minutes before climaxing and falling back asleep. I spent Christmas Eve shopping for presents for my moms, texting Fabiola on and off, and trying not to think about Jade’s gifts.

Phoebe must have seen the way I was grinning as my new friend and I texted because she saddled up to me and asked, “Who’s the new catch?”

“I’m not sure yet. Not sure if she’s a catch. We just met yesterday at the Umbrella very briefly, but we’re going to hang out later tonight.”

That news excited both of my mothers, so I had to tell them the full story, which wasn’t really all that interesting, but they were happy I was getting back out there. We had a tradition of volunteering at a food shelter for an early Christmas Eve dinner, so we dressed and headed there. For about three hours, we served food to everyone who came through the line, talking with them and wishing them Merry Christmas. After we got home, I exercised, played video games, and then showered.

I had three texts from Fabiola when I got out, which I assumed was her begging off our date with some flimsy excuse. But I was wrong. She had finished her family stuff early and wanted to hang out with me earlier. I quickly replied that she was welcome to come over anytime and gave her my address and instructions on which door to come to when she arrived, then dashed back into my bathroom to get ready.

Knowing she had only seen me in my more feminine look, I tried to do something halfway between that and my everyday look. I put on a bit of makeup, but very little. I wore a pair of jeans, cute but a bit more boyish. And I topped it off with a t-shirt that wasn’t baggy but not super girly. I left my hair down and curly the way I usually wore it when I wasn’t working on pipes, sinks, and toilets.

Fabiola texted me ten minutes later to say she was outside my house. I ran downstairs and let her in. Fabiola was dressed to the Christmas nines in festive green leggings, a bright red skirt, and a cute white sweater with snowflake patterns. Her hair was curled, and her makeup said she was trying to look her best.

“Wow,” I said. “You look amazing.”

Fabiola blushed and said, “Thanks. You pull off the casual look way better than me. You’re beautiful.”

“Come upstairs,” I said. “I have the whole upper floor. It’s great.” I opened my bedroom door for her and showed her my room, mini kitchen, and bathroom. “My mom and stepmom live downstairs, but I don’t have to see them if I don’t want to. I have everything I need here.”

“Cool. And you said you work already? In plumbing?”

“Started in high school.”

Fabiola had already told me in texts she was a cosmetologist saving up for her own salon. She had been doing it for three years. She lived at home with her parents and five siblings, of which she was the oldest.

“Do you want a drink?” I asked her, showing her my small liquor cabinet. “I have some wine, bourbon, or tequila.”

“That’s impressive for someone who’s only nineteen.”

I grinned widely.

“I’ll have a glass of wine.”

“White or red?” I asked.

“Of course, I have choices,” she said, laughing. “White.”

I poured us both a glass of white wine. “I swear I’m not an alcoholic. But I take my drinking seriously. Someday, I’m going to have an impressive collection of drinks. And maybe I’ll take a mixology course.”

“Plumber by day, drink mixer by night?”

I sipped my wine. “There’s worse things I could be.”

We sat on my couch and chatted about our families and jobs. Fabiola had never dated a woman, nor had she ever had a crush on one, but she did find women attractive and often thought about what it would be like to be intimate with one. I told her briefly about my two ex-girlfriends.

“So it sounds like I’m your type,” Fabiola said.

“Possibly,” I said with an intentional air of mystery.

We started talking about music as I got us our second glass of wine, red this time. Fabiola’s tastes in music were different than mine, so I put on some of her recommendations and listened to the songs while she talked about some of the concerts she’d seen in Denver. She was passionate about music. Her eyes lit up as she spoke animatedly about her favorite artists.

“You ever thought about a career in music?” I asked.

Fabiola nodded. “It’s pretty difficult, and I’m not a performer. I’m not gifted musically. I just enjoy it.” I felt a nice buzz from my second glass and was comfortable sitting and watching her talk. She was pretty and easy to look at.

“What about you? Did you ever consider a career other than plumbing?”

“My mom is a travel agent. I thought about that. But I don’t travel nearly as much as they do. I also thought about flight attendant school. But ... nah.”

Fabiola patted the cushion next to her on my couch, so I left my spot and sat next to her, my leg tucked under me and my arm stretched out so it was next to her shoulder. She leaned a little bit toward me. “I told you you’re pretty, didn’t I?” she asked quietly.

“You said I was beautiful, actually. And I said you looked amazing.”

“That’s the thing about saying, ‘You look,’” she pointed out. “It makes someone like me think if I weren’t wearing these clothes or didn’t have my makeup done just right, I wouldn’t look amazing.”