Chapter Text
It was the three-month anniversary of Mon’s divorce when Vel and Cinta decided that she needed to be brought to a lesbian bar.
To be more accurate, Vel was the one who decided that her cousin needed to be nudged out of the closet. Cinta hoped that when the record was written, it would show that she had nothing to do with it.
‘How do you even know she’s a lesbian?’ Cinta wriggled her torso up on the sofa where the two were snuggled up, and playfully poked Vel’s side with her foot.
Vel sighed and rolled her eyes slowly and dramatically. ‘My love, I have known Mon since I was two days old. I have seen her walk into a lamp post because she was distracted by a beautiful woman on three separate occasions.’
OK, maybe it was only two occasions, but the point still stands.
‘Alright, I’ll give you that. But isn’t it too soon? There’s a nudge and then there’s flinging her to the sapphic wolves, so to speak.’
‘It’s not like I’m setting her up on a blind date. It’s a girls’ night out with the two of us, and it just happens to be a lesbian bar.’
‘A girls’ night out with ulterior motives.’
‘Would you object if we were bringing her out to a seedy straight club to shift some gormless fella?’
‘You are not playing the heterosexual double standard card.’ Cinta rolled herself off of Vel and onto her feet.
Vel stretched out her arms, dropping the blanket from her lap as she reached for her girlfriend, and whined after her, ‘C’mon Cinta. Just one teeeeeny little shove out of that ten foot thick glass closet Mon’s been walling herself into for twenty years. Pleeeease??’
Vel was nothing if not incorrigible. ‘Fine. But no tricks - alright?’
‘Who, me?’ Vel sprang up from the sofa and wrapped her arms around Cinta’s waist.
______
Mon wasn’t sure what to expect out of a girls’ night with Vel and her girlfriend. She and Vel had gone out before of course, but it was way back in their college days, long before her messy marriage and subsequent divorce. Her last experience of any sort of clubbing had been a hen party for a coworker about five years ago, and had ended with her sneaking home to sob about her and Perrin’s own lacklustre relationship, followed by a blinding hangover the next day. So when Vel told her they’d be going to a place called O’Farrell’s, she was relieved. O’Farrell’s sounded like a place for a sensible pint or two. Nothing too wild could come of a night in O’Farrell’s.
Vel rang the bell to her flat at a quarter past six. The shrilling made her jump a little. Mon was still getting used to the place, the unfamiliar noises of the immersion heater sluggishly moving hot water through the radiators and the chattering of magpies in the roof outside her window. Her home with Perrin had been vast, silent and icily still. On bad days she had felt as if she was a ghost in a crypt. But that didn’t mean she was comfortable here yet. The paintings that had lightened a few corners of the old house were too big for the small space, crowding the walls with loud brushstrokes of orange and green and blue. Random knicknacks balanced on her chest of drawers and coffee table, and simply on the floor. The flat was somehow too crowded and too bare at the same time. All memories, nothing for the future.
She buzzed Vel in, determined not to mope away the night. Vel embraced her as she stepped in the door. Her brow wrinkled when she saw that Mon was still in her Saturday ensemble of tracksuit bottoms and a cardigan. Mon ignored her look. ‘Vel! How’s it going? Where’s Cinta?’
‘She’s coming, she had to stay late at work.’ Vel didn’t mention Cinta’s consternation at leaving her to, as she put it, ‘lead Mon astray’. As if she would. Her cousin was well capable of getting into her own trouble. Since her divorce, she just needed a little push in the right direction.
‘What are you wearing?’ Mon took in Vel’s velvet-collared jacket and carefully ripped black jeans. Her hair was down in a messy style that looked like it had simultaneously taken no effort and also required numerous products and settings. ‘Is it a fancy place? I thought it was just a place for pints.’
Vel’s smile was rueful. ‘It’s not exactly - it’s more than pints, but it’s not a full on club. Dress for dancing.’ Her face brightened. ‘Wear that gold blouse you have. And jeans will do fine.’
Mon bowed to her cousin’s superior fashion sense. Vel followed her into her room as she went to her wardrobe to find the blouse. A thought occurred to her deep among the pantsuits and twinsets. ‘This pub - it’s not in Temple Bar, is it? I’d rather not step in horse shit or have to listen to any drunken renditions of ‘Country Roads.’’
‘What do you take me for?’ Vel called out from behind her. ‘You know I’ll keep you away from any lurid tourist traps. Cinta made me promise.’
Mon emerged with the blouse at last, and an assortment of dowdy jeans. She plopped the pile down on the bed and sighed. Vel raised an eyebrow at the pile. ‘You need to get better at ‘fun’ clothes.’ She reached into her bag and drew out a bottle of wine. ‘Something to start the night?’
It was the Pinot Grigio that Mon had loved since she was young. Her face broke into a grin and she cackled quietly. ‘Oh, so you are trying to get me in trouble!’
Vel grinned along with her. There was the Mon she knew.
_______
Off the bus in town, Mon felt the November air wrap around her. The wine was still warming her core and she could almost imagine the cracking of ice crystals as the cold met her body. If she stretched her fingers out in front of her, she thought, they would glow like they were outlined in yellow highlighter marker.
While Mon loved the cold, Vel did not. ‘Hurry up!’ She set off at pace, boots clomping on the pavement. Mon hurried after her, glad that she’d not opted for heels. Her old comfy sneakers caught her up to her cousin in seconds.
Cinta was waiting on the corner of Parliament Street. ‘You took your time.’ She reached out to hug Vel, who melted into her with a grin.
‘The bus took its time,’ she corrected. ‘Come on, let’s get my cousin to a gay bar ASAP.’
Mon turned to look at her as Cinta rolled her eyes in the background. ‘I’m sorry, let’s get me where?’ Her heart started thudding. ‘Why do you - what possessed you -’ She drew herself up to glare down at her cousin and her girlfriend. ‘Why do you think that I -’
‘Relax, Mon,’ Cinta untangled herself from Vel’s hug. ‘We didn’t mean anything by it.’ She ignored Vel’s silent objection. ‘Vel and I come here a lot, it’s a really nice place and they do amazing cocktails.’ She adopted a practiced cheeky grin. ‘Plus, the men here don’t bother you.’ Behind her, Vel had no choice but to concede that her girlfriend was clever. ‘Come on, we’ll take care of you.’
Mon forced herself to breathe regularly. ‘Alright. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I overreacted like that.’
‘Work stress,’ Vel answered promptly with a smirk.
The bar in question was only a few metres away, tucked around the corner. It would be an unassuming Irish pub, one of five dozen in the vicinity, if not for the bright purple paint on the facade and the multicoloured fairy lights strung across the window. The name O’Farrell’s was spelled out across the front in weathered gold lettering. Despite herself, Mon smiled. This looked like somewhere she might have picked out herself. And she did love a cocktail.
Vel pushed open the door and Cinta and Mon filed in behind her. The inside of the pub looked like an old lady’s tea shop but for alcohol. Chairs and sofas were upholstered in floral patterns, soft oil lamps hung in brackets on the walls and the tables were like those from a country kitchen. The bar was far more alive than any tea shop, though. The patrons were mostly women, with a few men interspersed. Mon found herself wondering if Erskin from work ever came here. The few men here seemed like his type.
She looked around the bar area to see that Vel and Cinta had already left her in search of a table. Well, best to face up to the tigers. She squeezed her way over to the bar. The woman behind the counter didn’t look over, she was occupied pulling a pint. Mon drummed her fingers absent-mindedly on the counter. There was music playing over the speakers. From Mon’s attempts to connect with Leida via youth culture, she knew it was a Chapell Roan song. Something about good luck? It was catchy.
‘Can I get you something?’ Mon looked up, still a little jumpy. The bartender was looking pointedly at her, hand reaching down for a pint glass.
‘Oh, I - ah, a glass of wine please.’ The bartender stared, unimpressed. She had dark, steady eyes and a look on her face bordering on contemptuous. Her hair was arranged in a neat coiffe, not a hair out of place. She looked quite lovely, Mon thought, and flushed slightly.
‘What kind?’
‘What kind of -’ Mon blinked several times, as if trying to broadcast an SOS signal.
‘Of wine?’
‘I -’ Mon could feel herself flushing red. ‘Pinot Grigio, if you have any.'
The bartender nodded, and turned to the shelves behind the bar. Mon leaned against the counter for support, heart thudding insistently.
‘That’ll be eight forty-five,’ the woman said, holding out the card reader. Somewhere in Mon’s brain it registered that she had a hint of a British accent. She took a breath to calm down before reaching for the wine.
All Vel’s fault. Dragging her here and not telling her before what sort of place it was.
‘Mon? Over here, Vel’s got us a table at the back.’ Cinta strode through the crowd and joined her at the bar. ‘What’s that you - oh.’ She was rendered dumbstruck, staring intensely at the bartender. Mon let out a relief squeak of laughter - so it was perfectly normal to be struck dumb in front of this particular bartender.
‘Kleya?’ Cinta continued to stare at the woman, until she looked over and blinked in surprise.
‘Cinta? Gosh, it’s been so long.’ The bartender regained her composure quickly and smiled a polite and closed-mouthed smile.
‘You work here?’ Cinta was less good at hiding her emotions, she grinned widely at the bartender. ‘Wow, good gig.’
‘Oh, tell me about it. The hours are good for being in college. Siobhan put me up for it, she knows the owner.’
‘Oh you still see Siobhan around?’
‘Sometimes.’ The woman drew herself a little tighter. ‘What brings you here tonight?’
‘Oh - I should’ve introduced you.’ Cinta reached for Mon’s arm, and Mon, herself again, smiled politely. ‘This is Vel’s cousin, Mon.’
‘We’re celebrating Mon’s divorce!’ Vel appeared at Mon’s shoulder. Ignoring Cinta’s glare and Mon’s ever-reddening cheeks, she pressed a kiss to the corner of Cinta’s mouth and slung her arm around her shoulder. The bartender (Kleya? The name finally registered Mon’s brain) raised one eyebrow.
‘Congratulations, then,’ she said, the smile never dipping. ‘Cinta, I’ll come talk to you later. But do you want a drink? On the house for you, and Vel too I suppose.’
Mon stepped back from the bar as Cinta and Vel placed their orders - delicate cocktails from a flowery menu that they didn’t even need to glance at. Kleya served them with a smile and steady gaze.
As they made their way back to the table, Vel laughed her surprise. ‘I can’t believe she’s working here. Kleya Marki! Well, they do say the community’s small.’
‘I haven’t heard from her in ages.’ There was a hint of guilt in Cinta’s voice. ‘I should’ve texted her or something. I didn’t know she was back in college or anything.’
‘She knows where we’re sitting. You can chit chat all you want later when she finishes up.’ Vel held up her drink. ‘To Mon’s budding career as an eligible bachelor.’
Mon snorted, but raised her drink, along with Cinta.
____
The evening went by in a delightful blur. Mon hadn’t made enough time for Vel lately, and Cinta was someone she was still getting to know, what with Vel’s secrecy about her until recently. Cinta seemed serious and sensible compared to Vel, but it only took one drink before she was telling Mon about Vel’s latest exploits.
At some point, Mon found herself back at the bar for another round. Kleya was still there, though it was quieter than last time. ‘Hello there,’ Mon said, then blushed at her turn of phrase. Then blushed further over the fact that she’d blushed the first time.
‘Can I get you something, recently divorced cousin of Cinta’s girlfriend?’ Kleya looked for a moment immensely proud of herself for this. Mon giggled.
‘I’ll have two of the lavender margaritas for Vel and Cinta. And for myself - ahhh.’ She craned to see the menu behind Kleya.
‘I can recommend something if you’d like.’ Kleya leaned in a fraction. Mon let out a sigh of suprise, feeling light-headed. Kleya smelled of perfume, something citrusy and subtle, and foundation, and maybe a slight hint of sweat.
‘Oh, I’d better not. I might have had too many.’ An insistent voice at the back of her head reminded her that two glasses of wine was not that much.
‘Please, let me suggest something. I can make it a mocktail if you’d like’ Her voice was sleek and warm, and again had a British bent to it. Mon resisted the urge to check her cheeks, she was sure they were glowing red. Kleya reached across to a menu on the counter, her hands inches away from Mon’s. She tapped a line on the menu with finger. Her nails were short but manicured. ‘How about an orange and cinnamon margarita? Non-alcoholic, if you’d prefer.’
Mon stared up to meet her eyes. ‘That would be very kind, thank you.’ Kleya’s eyes were even darker than Mon had thought, almost black. Her lashes were pale and thin in comparison, leaving nothing hidden. There was a knot twisting in Mon’s stomach as she looked longer than she should’ve, suspending her there in front of the counter until Kleya looked down and busied herself making the drinks. Mon struggled to get her breath back. Probably best she cut herself off now. Clearly she couldn’t hold her alcohol any more, she was far too flustered. Perhaps it was best to cut the evening short and go home to bed. She’d been reading a great book earlier this afternoon, she could read a few more chapters and call it a night.
Kleya brought Vel and Cinta’s drinks, and Mon smile politely, tapping her card without making eye contact this time. ‘I’ll bring these back to the table, then come back, is that alright?’
‘Sure.’ Mon picked up the cocktails and steered her way through the bar to their table.
‘You were gone a while,’ Vel grinned. ‘Talking to someone?’ She winced as Cinta elbowed her sharply.
Again the tugging at her chest. ‘Just trying to pick a drink,’ Mon said noncommittally, then turned and power-walked back to the bar. She grabbed the drink from the counter, garbled a ‘Thanks!’ to Kleya and sped back again. If Kleya replied, she was oblivious. Plopping herself down again at the table she sighed and brightly sipped her drink. ‘Cheers!’
Vel looked at her suspiciously. ‘Are you up to something?’ she mocked.
‘Up to something? What would I be up to?’
Vel gave her a knowing look, and was opening her mouth to reply when Cinta jumped in. ‘Let’s dance, come on!’ She grabbed Mon by the hand and pulled her into the centre of the bar where a few people were already jumping around. Vel protested, still holding her drink, then sat back down wearily, scowling jokingly at Cinta. Cinta blew her a kiss in return.
Mon smiled as Cinta twirled her around, somehow spinning her easily under her arm despite being a good half a foot shorter than Mon. She felt a little unsteady on her feet. Blame it on the wine.
‘Are you having a good time?’ Cinta yelled over the music and chatter. Mon nodded enthusiastically.
‘Oh yes!’ The bar was one of the nicest she’d been to. ‘By the way, how do you know Kleya?’
‘Our mams were in hospice care at the same time. We met in a support group and stayed friends through ssecondary school.’ Cinta’s voice was level without any emotion.
Mon winced, wanting to cover her face. ‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It’s - it is what it is.’ Cinta flashed a smile. ‘She’s been a good friend over the years. Though I’ve not talked to her enough recently.’
‘She seems lovely.’
No way. Cinta glanced over at Vel, who was guarding their drinks and looking at them dancing, apparently bored. She was loath to admit that Vel might’ve been right.
‘Yeah, maybe we can talk later. Now let’s dance, come on!’ Cinta sprang into action, moving her shoulders and hips and nudging Mon into doing the same.
Mon found herself jumping around energetically, worrying slightly that she might knock someone over, but she found she didn’t especially care. Cinta seemed adept at steering her out of harm’s way, and she felt herself letting go. Everything was upbeat pop music and shimmering fairy lights and magic.
_________
Kleya found herself staring across the bar to Cinta and her friend/girlfriend’s cousin on more than one occasion. Mon was an enthusiastic, if not especially graceful dancer, Cinta was guiding her good-naturedly away from knocking anyone’s teeth out. Watching some of the worry lines melt away from the woman’s face, Kleya wondered what it might be like to touch that pretty, flushed cheek, or run a hand through the wavy auburn hair coming loose from its updo.
Shit. Well, this was inconvenient. She picked up the pace on the glass she was polishing and squashed the thought far down to the back of her mind.
She could not be getting a crush on this Mon.