When Mary Met Halley

Eleven

I did not envision spending the evening getting drunk with my ex's mistress (ex's ex-mistress?), but the best laid plans and all.

She spotted the bottle of wine as we were getting paper plates out for the frozen pizza. "Wow, I don't even remember what wine tastes like," she said dryly.

Drinking was one thing I didn't do much of. "You're welcome to it."

"Really?" She took the bottle. She was dressed once again in her favorite jeans, the laundry done and a white shirt that made her eyes even more turquoise. "I haven't had anything to drink in like a year. You know how Cale is about alcohol." She rolled her eyes and began searching through the drawers for a bottle opener.

I half admired and half resented her familiarity with everything from my fiance to my utensils. "Third drawer down, there should be one."

There was and she got it open and poured two water glasses mostly full. "This is way too much," she said, but didn't do anything to change it. I followed her--in my own house--to the couch and we sat more or less awkwardly.

"What do you watch?" I asked politely, trying not to sound like it was through clenched teeth. I picked up the glass because it was there and took a sip. "Fuck, that's gross." Vinegary. I drank a little more.

She laughed, an exhalation from her nose. "It's not Cristal," she agreed. "I'm guessing you don't drink much, because of Cale."

My eye twitched at the nickname and I drank more of the wine. "Right."

She raised her glass. "Well, he's not here now," she said, kind of bitterly, and gestured to the TV. "Anything's fine." Her bun was too loose and starting to droop. Her ears stuck out a little bit but it worked for her. 

Of course it did.

I put on something and a few minutes later found I was drinking the last of my wine. It didn't taste that bad anymore. I could definitely feel it already. It was getting dark and I thought I should probably turn some lights on but I was too lazy to move.

After fifteen minutes of what I considered awkward silence, I stood and went to the door, inviting her with a look. "I don't smoke inside because of the bird and all," I told her as we sat on the front steps. The alcohol was making me feel super relaxed, fluid, good. Too good. "Cigarettes, anyway."

"Cale didn't get around to mentioning the crow." Her bun was now a looped ponytail at the base of her neck.

"Stop calling him that," I said without meaning to. "Sorry. But seriously. Makes him sound like a leafy green." I lit my cigarette with only a little bit of trouble and inhaled. "Damn, that's good." I took another drag and caught myself almost passing it to her. Fuck. Drunk me ran on automatic.

She was lighting her own, anyway. "Sorry," she said, her head bowed in embarrassment.

"No, it's just weird. All of it." I lived at the end of a lane with few streetlights, and the stars were speckled mercury drops across the sky. I felt like I was floating. I put my empty hand flat on the porch boards to feel the solidness. My head radio was playing Arctic Monkeys. Landed in a very common crisis, everything's in order in a black hole, everything was pretty in the past though.

"You and Leif seem close." She picked up one of the gravel pieces Leif had been playing with earlier.

"We are," I said, with a mixture of pride and defiance and possessiveness I always felt when someone questioned me about him. "He's not perfect like Caleb, certainly, but he's a great person. He's underrated."

She blew smoke rings into the night, looking down the lane. I wondered if he'd watched her do it and thought of me since it was a trick I loved to do. "You guys never . . . ?"