Page 22 of Ready to Score

A few minutes later, they were joined by the rest of the women. Janet, a Black woman who exclusively wore purple. Charlie, a tiny white woman who always seemed to be channeling Stevie Nicks. Last to arrive was Carmella, a Mexican woman who always came after babysitting her grandson on Sunday afternoons.

The chatter didn’t start until they were all gathered around their two designated lanes, shoes on, food secured, waiting for Barb to give them the go-ahead to start. The woman always insisted that they go in the same order every game for structure. Everyone else seemed to be amused by it but put up no fight.

The first time Franny had shown up, she’d worn a thrifted vintage bowling shirt and a pair of cuffed khaki pants, completely expecting to be among a bunch of ironic, mullet-wearing, Diet Coke–drinking queers. She knew nothing about bowling; she could have counted on one hand the times she’d ever even been to a bowling alley. She figured they might sit around and pretend to sip on beers and shoot the shit long enough that she met her self-imposed socialization quota.

Instead, what she’d found were five sixtysomething lesbians in crewnecks and mom jeans who set the lanes ablaze. The gals were serious about bowling. And when Franny had tried to worm her way out of actually participating, they’d heard none of it.

“I had a hell of a week,” Charlie said in her small, soft voice after she’d sunk seven pins. “One of my favorite girls who works at the crystal store in Port Royal quit to follow her boyfriend to Houston.Then the health food store ran out of mullein tea.” She dug an elbow into Franny’s side. “I need that to clear my lungs out after my daily smoke sesh, you know. And I think there are starlings nesting in my attic.”

To Franny, that didn’t seem like too bad of a week, but she figured retirement came with its own special set of troubles.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Franny told her, trying to make her hand on the woman’s shoulder as sympathetic as possible.

“How was yours, Francesca?” Janet asked. “Please tell us something exciting happened. I feel like I spent my week watching my lawn grow and counting the cans of soup in my cabinets.”

“How many cans did you have?” Franny was genuinely curious.

To her credit, Janet’s eyes lit up a bit at the question. “Fourteen cans of Progresso and twenty-five cans of Campbell’s.”

“That’s impressive,” Carmella commented.

“Not as impressive as whatever Franny’s gotten up to, I’m sure.”

“I hate to disappoint you ladies, but my life is absolutely boring as shit.”

“That can’t be true,” Janet argued. “You’re what, thirty? You’re just getting started at this whole life thing.”

“I remember when I was thirty.” Charlie’s eyes took on an almost mystical effect. “I had this girlfriend named Big T. She drove a motorcycle and had the biggest arms you’ve ever seen. The things we got up to…”

Franny smiled with interest. “Like what?”

Barb cleared her throat. “Francesca, please do not goad this woman into telling us about getting fisted in a river bend in South Dakota again. We’ve only got the lanes for two hours.”

Franny turned her mouth down. “Aww, but now I really want to hear it.”

Charlie patted Franny’s knee. “I’ll tell you after. It’s a hell of atale. She ended up leaving me for a Denny’s waitress in the middle of Montana, and I had to hitchhike home.”

“Yeah… my life isn’t nearly as interesting as that. All I’ve got is a hot coworker who basically wants me dead. That’s literally it.”

“Hold on now.” Stella held up a hand. “Those coworker romances are some of the best ones.”

“And the worst ones,” Barb interjected as Charlie left her seat for her turn at the lane.

“Me and Connie met at work,” Janet said, a soft smile on her face as she spoke of her partner. “We used to complain about our supervisor at the paper mill together so much that we ended up falling in love.”

Franny laughed, reflexively tightening her ponytail. “Yeah… I don’t think Jade and I are anywhere close to falling in love. Like I said, she hates me.”

“Hate and love aren’t always that far off,” Charlie said, almost wistfully. “People confuse the two all the time.”

Janet nodded. “Exactly! Maybe it’s just passion.”

Franny wasn’t a big enough fool to deny that there was passion between her and Jade. It was obvious. The air between them practically sparked every time they were together. But that didn’t mean much of anything…

Nor did it mean anything that Franny’s heart pounded faster in her chest every time she so much as looked at the other woman. All of that was just… well, she didn’t know, to be honest. Sometimes it felt like they were playing some big, elaborate game of cat and mouse. Sometimes, she stood toe-to-toe with Dunn, looked in her eyes, and thought she saw the exact opposite of hatred.

In another life, maybe Franny and Jade would have met for the first time at a lesbian bar in Houston. They would have danced, shared a couple of drinks, gone home together, and put that spark to good use. Maybe it would have even led to something more.

She also knew that she didn’t hate Dunn. Not in the slightest. Franny wanted—needed, even—the coaching position. As it stood, she was floundering. Her breakup with her ex, Caroline, had been traumatic in and of itself. She had spent a couple of weeks of PTO—and unpaid leave—holed up in her apartment listening to Tegan and Sara, trying to cope. But when the initial shock and awe of the abandonment had worn off, Franny had found herself surprised when the overwhelming emotion left had been a profound sense of loss. Not for the girl or the relationship they’d had but for herself. For the parts of her that she’d packed up and tucked away in a suitcase under her bed.

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