Archie, Darling. A Queer Romance

Archie, Darling Part 3

7

"One of my best friends is non-binary," Ellie says, taking a sip from her thick-shake. She has her hair down today, flipped to one side, less of a friendly Viking more of a masc lesbian. Female Hozier. The Luna café has been a staple of northbridge for decades, its charming art deco style interior has barely changed since it opened and you would be forgiven for thinking the chairs we sit in, were the originals. The rough corduroy of the upholstery presses into the backs of my knees while I enjoy an under-priced piece of mud cake. Its bay windows look as though they should each contain a chaise lounge for idealistic young writers to sit and pen their problems.

"Yea?" I say.

"Yea, they came out about a year ago," she adds

"Nice, it's kind of interesting," I say

"Mmm?"

"Thinking of gender as a spectrum."

"So, what were they like?" she asks.

"Really nice, I had a good time. It felt a bit different to my usual dates but they're cool."

"Did youuuu...." she says, raising her eyebrows suggestively. How is she so unbothered by this?

"Oh, nah, we both had an early night," I pause "You're so casual about this, wouldn't you rather not know?" I almost want her to say she cares; it'd be simpler if she called it now.

"No!" she exclaims, "I mean, you never have to tell me, but I like hearing about it; It's nice to hear people enjoying themselves." She's so sincere it almost convinces me out of my worries.

"But, doesn't it make you feel jealous or like... less than?"

"Not at all, besides it kind of benefits us too you know?" she says, in an inscrutable tone.

"How'd you mean?" I ask.

"Well, I mean, you get to explore a lot of different things and, well, if someone else introduces you to something you enjoy... then maybe we'd try it together sometime," she smiles. I feel a buzz in my stomach and my face flushes a little bit. I take another mouthful of cake and pretend to take interest in the menu between us. I can't react like this every time she says something flirtatious. I'm not a schoolgirl.

"What's on your mind cutie?" she teases.

"Who're you calling cutie!" I scoff, kicking her under the table playfully.

"You," she says in a slightly firmer tone, locking eyes with me. The silence between us pulls tight, the tension held by its fibres threatens to snap. The buzz in my stomach has taken flight and is bouncing around my ribcage. I am not used to this; I have always been the one "in charge". I am used to giving compliments, and paying for dates and all the things that you see in films. I've never been cute. I've never been held around the waist as I walk with a partner, and I have certainly never been stared down by a woman who looks like she is ready to devour me. My god. I don't know how to reply, I feel like I left all my charm and wit at home.

"You are the devil," I say. Shifting nervously in my seat. Why do I feel like this with her? I feel giddy. I'm not supposed to feel giddy; I'm supposed to be calm and collected. I'm supposed to be suave. It's like she disarms me, invites me to be something else.

She gives a mirthful laugh, "Well, I do like to torture you," she says, in that rich voice of hers. She relaxes in her seat, apparently happy having made me sweat.

"How was your day anyway?" I ask, changing the topic.

"It was good, stressful but good."

"Whycome?" I say.