Page 21 of Kiss My Glass
It won’t change Dad’s opinion one iota, but it feels like a small victory, nonetheless.
ChapterThirteen
FRANKIE
Part of me hopes that Danny is having a worse time than I am. Part of me hopes he isn’t, because not even Danny deserves that. Another small but insistent part wishes he was here. I could do with some back up. And a witness, because I’m pretty sure this violates some international human rights treaty.
I’m at The Silver Saddle with Shelby and Chiara. Brendan, who owns the place, gave up long-haul trucking to buy the bar, but he still looks like an extra fromSons of Anarchy, blond and beefy with a bunch of dubious tattoos. He also holds the title of all-time most ornery in a proud tradition of ornery barkeepers. Luckily, he adores Shelby, so I’m acceptable by association. Although Brendan’s default expression is “bite me”, I detected a flicker of mistrust when Chiara approached. A hundred percent warranted, as I’m now finding out.
At first, I think I’m safe; Shelby and Chiara catch up about Shelby’s health, and then feel obliged to discuss their other bestie Jordan’s renewed crush on Brendan, despite him being ten years older and showing no interest in her whatsoever. I say “renewed” because apparently Jordan was miffed to discover (from Chiara, of course) that Brendan had a secret girlfriend, an actress, who lived in L.A. and sneaked up here undercover for their trysts. When Chiara subsequently informed her that the actress and Brendan had broken up, Jordan was even more miffed because he’d failed to tell her himself, and so she didn’t speak to Brendan for a couple of months. But now – and I promise this story will be over soon – Jordan’s back on her Brendan-crush bullshit. When I ask the obvious question, has Jordan told Brendan how she feels, both Shelby and Chiara stare at me like I’ve grown two heads.
“Of course not,” says Shelby. “That would kill the crush buzz.”
“You mean, Jordan wouldn’t be able to gaze longingly from a distance when she’s here?” I clarify. “Or continue to wallow in completely pointless emotions instead of channeling them productively into a real relationship?”
“Precisely,” says Chiara. “And speaking of relationships…”
At this moment, I sense the conversation is about to slide rapidly downhill.
I am correct. Because Chiara follows up that opening with, “When will you and Danny Durant admit you have feelings for each other?”
“Frankie!!” Shelby’s wide-eyed and grinning like a loon. “You and Danny! That’s adorable! You’re such a cute couple!”
I’m not normally at a loss for words, but then I’m not normally surrounded by people who’ve gone collectively insane.
“Back the truck up!” I insist. “Danny and I are not a couple! We will never be a couple because my only feelings for him are?—”
“Complicated?” says Chiara. “Conflicted?”
She’s playing with me. Winding me up like those clockwork teeth on legs, so she can watch me dash madly in all directions, gnashing away.
I engage lawyer voice mode. “I am not having this discussion. Not now, not ever. Got it?”
“You two have more in common than you think.” Chiara has failed to get it. “You should set aside your grudges and take time to get to know him.”
“Grudges?” She’s chosen that word on purpose, to wind me up further. “You mean, perfectly reasonable objections to toxic male behavior?”
Chiara smiles. She’s enjoying this, damn her. Most people probably cave in to her immediately, so a bit of cut and thrust with me is an entertaining novelty.
“I admire that you’re not afraid to call out poor form in others,” she says. “I also think you look for any excuse to keep your distance. How many long-term boyfriends have you had, Frankie?”
Shelby’s shifting in her seat, discomforted by Chiara’s full-frontal attack. Me, I want to smash a beer bottle and threaten Chiara with it. But I’ll settle for taking her down verbally.
“My personal life is none of your business,” I say. “And you have no idea which way I lean. Could be gay or bi, could be asexual. Don’t impose your cis-het norms on me.”
Chiara sits back in her seat. Taps her immaculately manicured and nonsensically long nails on the table.
“Hmm,” she says, apparently to herself.
Before she can regroup for a second charge, Brendan appears with food. Cheeseburgers and curly fries all round. Hot damn.
“Jordan not joining you?” he says.
His tone suggests he couldn’t care less either way. The fact he uttered words when his usual demeanor is a surly silence says otherwise.
“It’s summer camp season,” says Shelby. “She’s taking a whole group of teenagers rock-climbing and abseiling. I don’t know how she does it. I’d be terrified!”
“Of heights?” I ask.
