Stevie laughed, shaking her curly fringe out of her face. She knew Ren loved Adri and Vanessa just as much as she did, but, yeah, she wouldn’t mind if they took their little midday make-out sesh elsewhere. She had a feeling that the Shakespearean fortress was for her benefit—don’t show PDA in front of the ex—but it wasn’t exactly successful.
“They’re fine,” Stevie said, even as she thought the opposite. Ren eyed her, their quintessential I’m calling bullshit expression firmly in place. Stevie waved a hand and loaded the hopper with more glossy espresso beans. “It’s fine, Ren.”
“Okay, sure, whatever you say, Stefania.”
“Oh, bringing out the full name, I see,” Stevie said. “I must be in trouble.”
Ren shrugged. “I’ll bring out your middle name too if you don’t grow more of a goddamn backbone.”
Stevie’s stomach pinched and she looked away. She knew Ren didn’t mean to be harsh. They understood—better than anyone, lately—that Stevie’s struggles with Generalized Anxiety Disorder were very real, but Ren tended to have a tough love approach to things, which, sometimes, made Stevie even more anxious.
Not that she’d ever tell Ren that.
“They’re dating, Ren, what do you want me to do?” she asked.
“I want you to bring someone into the Empress and stick your tongue down their throat in front of Adri,” Ren said calmly, tapping at something on their phone. “That’s what I fucking want you to do.”
The idea was so preposterous, Stevie couldn’t help but laugh. The Empress was Adri’s theater and they all loved it dearly—small, all-queer right down to the gaffer. Stevie had acted in nearly every production when Adri was first getting it off the ground, but about a year ago, she’d sworn off community theater. Adri hadn’t been happy, but she’d understood—if Stevie was ever going to make a living off of acting, she had to go for bigger roles, bigger theaters, bigger exposure.
Lot of good that had done her lately.
“Who would I even make out with?” Stevie asked. She couldn’t decide what was more unbearable—thinking about her flailing career or her nonexistent love life.
“Ever heard of a dating app?” Ren asked, a smirk on their face.
Stevie shuddered.
“A bar?” Ren said.
Stevie pretended to nearly throw up.
Ren laughed. They both knew Stevie was horrible at talking to people she didn’t know, bordering on disastrous. Extreme anxiety made her literally nauseous, and nothing triggered that lovely symptom more than trying to charm a beautiful stranger.
“Okay, fine,” Ren said, picking up their cold brew, “but something’s got to give, or else you’ll end up watching former lovers metaphorically bang in your place of employment for the rest of your life.” They jutted their thumb toward Adri and Vanessa, who were now making out with such gusto, the screenplay had fallen and Adri’s hands were tangled in Vanessa’s lustrous hair.
Stevie’s stomach, jerk that it was, leaped into her throat and set up shop. It wasn’t that she wanted Adri back. She didn’t. They had fizzled out long before they officially broke up, and deep down—way the hell deep down—she was happy for her two best friends if they wanted to be together.
But goddamn.
Just once, she’d love to be the one doing, instead of the one watching.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Stevie startled as Bitch’s Brew’s owner, Effie, came up next to her. She was dressed all in black, as usual, and her thick Cockney accent always seemed to make her sound pissed off.
Granted, this time, she was pissed off.
“Oi!” she yelled in Adri and Vanessa’s direction. “This ain’t a fucking brothel, you two.”
Adri and Vanessa sprang apart. Vanessa fumbled with the screenplay, which she’d clearly only just realized had fallen from her fingers, and opened it back up to a random page. Adri just laughed and ran a hand over her chin-length hair, that dimple Stevie used to kiss at night before bed pressing into her pale skin. Her lipstick was bright red, as always, but now it was smeared all around her mouth.
Stevie mimed wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
“Sorry, Effie,” Adri said, taking Stevie’s cue and pressing a napkin to her mouth. “You know how it is.”
“The fuck I do,” Effie muttered, then went back to the tangled string of rainbow-colored lights in her hands. Bitch’s Brew’s normal decor was dark and cozy—shelves full of colorful bottles and jars, lots of potted plants scattered about, vintage posters depicting recipes for home remedies using mugwort and sage and feverfew. But now, with Pride month officially begun, Effie brought out her full queer witch, dousing the place in rainbow flags and lights. She also offered seasonal drinks like Pansexual Pistachio Cold Brew, which Ren was currently enjoying.
“Get these untangled, will you?” Effie said, thrusting the lights into Stevie’s arms. “And handle your mates. I’ll take over the bar.”
“Sure,” Stevie said while Ren narrowed their eyes at her. Stevie gave them a befuddled look and came out from behind the counter. Effie was her boss—what did Ren expect her to do, refuse to comply with a hearty fuck you? Easy for Ren to say—they already had their dream job that paid six figures and included a wardrobe allowance.
“Hey,” Adri said as Stevie approached.
“Is now a good time to talk?” Stevie asked.
“Yes, absolutely,” Adri said, except there were only two chairs at this table, and Vanessa was in one of them.
Silence reigned for a split second.
An awkward, fuck-Stevie’s-life kind of silence.
She adjusted her simple black tee, feeling suddenly plain and underdressed. Vanessa Rivero-Domínguez was the single most beautiful person Stevie—or most people—had ever seen. She had dark, impossibly shiny hair, high cheekbones, a mouth that looked like it was designed for pouting, Disney-princess eyes, and a voluptuous figure she knew how to dress. Stevie once witnessed a middle-aged white man run headfirst into a lamppost on the street because he was checking her out.
Needless to say, the fact that Adri’s first girlfriend after Stevie—whose wardrobe consisted mostly of youth-sized thrift store T-shirts with things like Oak Elementary Believes Kindness Counts printed on them—ended up being their goddess-like best friend didn’t do much for Stevie’s self-esteem.
Stevie cleared her throat.
“Oh shit, sorry,” Vanessa said, standing up and gathering a pile of papers she seemed to be grading before she’d locked mouths with her girlfriend. She taught Latin American literature at Reed, so she was yet another full-blown adult in their foursome, and a literary genius at that. “I need to get back to campus anyway.”
“Bye, babe,” Adri said, lifting her chin for yet another kiss.
Vanessa complied—Stevie tried not to notice Adri’s pierced tongue briefly getting into the mix, she really did—then whispered, “Let me know how it goes.”
“I will,” Adri whispered back.
“Go easy on her,” Vanessa said to Stevie as she slung her messenger bag over one shoulder. Her long wavy hair got caught in the strap, and it seemed like everyone in the café watched, open-mouthed, as Vanessa worked the glossy tresses free. “She’s desperate.”