Page 18 of Christmas Sunrise
"Merry Christmas, Niall," I say and I raise my drink up at him.
"Merry Christmas, Jake Forester," he says before turning and walking away.
It's only after Marty has taken Niall's seat and launched a barrage of questions at me - most of them checking on my welfare - that I realise I didn't even ask Niall what his surname was.
Chapter Seven
Maeve
Ilove her. I really, really love her.
When she leans her weight on me as she talks, when we hold eye contact for countless long, brilliant minutes, and when she grabs my hand as she reaches the punchline of the funny story she's telling me, I feel nothing but pure love for Arabella Salisu. I know the wine is only adding fuel to these feelings, but as she continues to talk, and I continue to hold her gaze, I feel more for her than I've ever felt for any man I've dated.
Surely this means something?
"So, he did the show wearing my tights. The absolute muppet." Arabella's laughter pushes her back in her chair as her hand comes to her mouth as if to catch the giggles that spring out of her. "Lucky for me I had a spare pair or I would have been wearing his baggy ones myself. That would not have been a good look."
"I don't know," I say. "You would have pulled it off. You can pull anything off, Bella."
"Not a saggy crotch." Arabella taps my arm and as her hand comes to rest there, I have the strongest urge to place my palm over it and pin it down over my forearm, keeping her tethered to me.
Surely that means something too?
I'm not adverse to touch, but I certainly don't chase it or go out of my way to give it. Even as a child, I would recoil from my parents when I felt they'd pulled me into one too many hugs and I wasn't one to link arms or hold hands with my female friends at school. As for boys, and, in more recent years, men, I've often gone out of my way to avoid their flirtatious touches no matter how seemingly innocent to others. Arabella has always been different. Maybe it's because we met at ballet classes and not in school and thus spent less time together than we would like. Maybe that limited time and the physicality of learning ballet twice a week for years and years, maybe that makes me more comfortable with her naturally tactile ways. I've always felt safe with Arabella. I've always felt safe enough to be touched by her and to reach out and touch her myself.
Surely that means something? Something real that I shouldn't ignore.
"Jesus, we've finished that bottle," Arabella says as she pours out the last of it into my glass. "Will we have another?"
"Jenna's barely drinking now. I'm not sure I can drink a whole one with you," I say, unable to admit the real reason why I don't want to get that drunk, because I want to be somewhat sober when I tell Arabella how I feel. How IthinkI feel.
"Ah, go on. I'm not working until Stephen's Day."
"But you don’t want to be hangin’ on Christmas Day, surely?"
Arabella shrugs. "What difference will it make? I'm spending tomorrow with five of my six siblings plus their ten or so crotch goblins, one set of grandparents and countless aunties. I'm going to have a headache before noon no matter what I do tonight."
"Crotch goblins," I say after nearly spitting out my mouthful of wine. "You can't call your nieces and nephews that."
"I just did. And I stand by it. You want the best kind of birth control there is? Come over to my parents' place tomorrow around two o'clock in the afternoon when they're all hungry and feral and lunch is still nowhere near ready. I swear it will make your ovaries shrivel up and take a month off menstruating, at least."
How about being a lesbian? I guess that's pretty good birth control too.I bite back my smile as the words bubble up in me but I don’t speak them out loud. Maybe that's how I should pitch it to Ma when I come out to her.IfI need to come out to her because I know I'll only do so if this thing I feel for Arabella means something.
Surely it means something.
"Not that I need birth control right now. Do you know it's been over two months since I last got fucked." Bella tells me, in a voice that part of me thinks is a little too loud to divulge that sort of information.
"That's not like you," I say, because it's not.
"It's this fecking show. It's taken over my life. Matinees four days a week, only one night off every seven days. There's no time to go out and look for mischief. And nobody in the cast really does it for me, you know. Maybe I'm just getting older."
"And thinking about settling down?" I offer with curiosity and possibly, possibly hope.
Arabella looks down at her empty glass. "Maybe. Not like kids and shit. But I do wonder if maybe I should try dating again."
I snort. "You're constantly on dates."
"Those are dates to get laid. I'm talking about dates to maybe find out more than how to get them off."
