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greta was fighting with her girlfriend again.
or perhaps it was more accurate to say that sheena was doing all the fighting. they’d gotten to the bar and not five minutes after arriving, sheena was reaming greta out for some perceived slight, for some wandering eye that greta didn’t know was wandering. she’d stormed off soon after, threatening to leave greta for good, the same way she always did. greta knew better, of course. sheena would be back at the apartment, drunk and weepy, waiting for greta to come home so that she could cry into her arms about never wanting to be apart again, like always. and greta, like a fool, would believe her.
she rolled her eyes at herself and took a swig of her beer. she was sitting at the abandoned outdoor bar on the little porch off the dance floor at babe, their go-to saturday spot when they wanted to leave the house. she knew why she kept letting sheena do this—when they were good, they were good, and so was the sex. greta was a young, red-blooded woman with desires, and sheena met those desires. perhaps it was complacency. but until the day greta woke up and everything of sheena—her clothes, her makeup, the pink stains her hair left on the pillowcase—was gone, she would keep letting her in.
“can i sit here?”
greta looked up. standing by her side was a guy that looked about her age, maybe a little younger, brown hair, nondescript. plain. she shrugged. “sure,” she said. “you look lost.”
the guy made a face and shrugged. “i am,” he said. “um… it’s my friend’s birthday. i’m not gay.” he sat, then.
a tourist, greta thought. “i am,” greta said. “so, don’t feel the need to impress.” not that she drew straight men to herself often—the buttons on her jacket and her short haircut (and her hand around sheena’s waist) usually had men keeping their distance.
the guy chuckled, clearly a little uncomfortable. “no, no, i just meant that’s why i probably look out of place,” he said. “because i am. um, my parents are gay. i’m not.”
“oh?” greta said, interest piqued, if only slightly. “what, two moms, or…”
“no,” the guy said, “no, i mean, my mom and dad had me, and then when i was eleven they broke up. dad’d met dale. and then my mom met winnie.”
“oh, that all worked out, then,” greta said. blended families often drew her attention, given her parents. it never failed to make her heart a little soft. “they friends, your folks?”
“now they are,” the guy said. he examined the label on his beer bottle. “it looked hairy for a little bit. but now i think they’re even better friends than they were when they were together, y’know?”
“sure.”
“my name’s nathan.”
“greta. said you were here with friends?”
“yeah,” nathan said. he sipped his beer. “she’s gay. she just turned twenty-one. it’s me, her, one of her friends, and then another guy we know. it was just getting loud in there for me.”
“well, good of you to come,” greta said. “i guess you’re an enlightened straight guy.”
nathan laughed. “thanks,” he said.
they kept chatting over their respective beers, even fetching replacements. nathan was a fine listener. greta talked about sheena, and the gay bookstore she volunteered at, and how she was thinking about going back to school despite getting her bachelor’s just two years ago, and nathan talked about how he was starting to regret his psychology major.
“why?” greta said. they’d moved from the bar to the worn, rattan patio couch. it wasn’t very comfortable, but greta was getting a buzz going and didn’t care so much.
“my mom… she’s really great,” he said. “homeland security. she’s real smart. and i just feel like i can’t live up to that.”
“my mom’s a cop, too, sheriff, even” greta said. “uh, stepmom. basically my mom. um, and she’s really goddamn smart, too. i’d never touch law enforcement with a ten-foot pole, though. not for me.”
“i don’t wanna be in law enforcement, i just… wanna understand those kinds of people,” nathan said. “you know? they’re… when i was a kid, my mom’s, uh, ex-stepdad was murdered.”
“woah,” greta said. “intense.”
“yeah, um, and ever since then, i just…”
“do you feel like you have to live up to your mom? like, you have to? what’s your dad do?”
nathan smiled. “he’s an accountant.”
for some reason, that had greta in stitches.
they talked into the night, until nathan’s friends stumbled onto the porch and discovered the two of them there. they were all so plain-looking, to greta. the city hadn’t quite gotten to them yet, hadn’t seeped into their faces or their wardrobes. the birthday girl was wearing a little ribbon badge that announced her as such. as greta and nathan said goodbye, greta knew she would never see or speak to him again. he was going his way, and she was going hers. she closed out her tab shortly after, somewhat saddened by that fact, saying goodbye to those she recognized and those she didn’t. she took the bus home, like she did every saturday she went out. she half-stumbled up the stairs to her apartment, and she let herself in, locking the door behind her.
she shambled into the bedroom, tired. passed out on the bed was sheena, her neon pink hair a tangle on the pillow, her makeup streaky and smeared across her face. greta stripped, and laid down beside her, and fell asleep.