Goodnight or Goodbye

Before you begin reading, please be aware that this is a non-erotica, emotional drama piece of work, with a focus on toxic families. Also, I'm a British writer so there may be anomalies. I give special thanks to my writer friends for your advice and support, you know who you are. As always, feedback is welcome.

***

September

"To saying

'fuck you'

to that shitty job!"

"To saying

'come and get it'

to the future!"

Our highball glasses chink together splashing vodka cranberry over the rim. Neither Fred nor I care. We've both drank enough that we giggle and ineffectively lick our sticky fingers before taking a large gulp.

The club around us heaves. Bodies jump on the dancefloor to music that vibrates our chests. The table we're standing at is cluttered with our empty glasses and discarded beer bottles from passing revellers. There's a strange familiarity in the tackiness of the dark carpet under our heels from years of spilled drinks.

I glance around, unable to hold back the bite of ageing. Every face seems like a damned teenager. I wonder if I look old. I don't often think I do. The mirror is usually kind to me, and I don't care about the few wrinkles that wave at me from the corners of my hazel eyes. The occasional strand of grey is, for now, blending well with my sandy highlights. But sometimes, like now, when surrounded by an energy I remember once having, I feel old. Forty is coming at me, though not yet.

"No." Fred pokes me in the arm.

"Ow! What?"

"I see what you're thinking, and no, we are not old, goddamn it. These are fucking babyface aliens. You and me, we're normal. We're real. And we're not going to be intimidated by these kids, okay?"

Fred shouts over the music, her arms waving wildly, close to smacking those nearby. I grin at my best friend. We're chalk and cheese in almost every way. I conflict her shortness with my extra inches. I rebel against her Jimmy Choos with my high-street finds. And when I get caught up in cynical darkness, she lifts me out with her luminous positivity. But she gets me. We're soulmates, she says. That's been her line for nearly twenty years.

"I couldn't agree more," a voice shouts from behind us. We turn around to see two men in our age bracket holding beer bottles.

"I feel fucking ancient in here," the blond yells.

I glance at Fred, who's already stepping closer, cranking her neck to look up at him. I try not to smile as I watch my elfin friend work her magic.

"Hi, I'm Fred and this is Harry."

"Fred? Harry?" His eyebrow lifts. "Code names for nights out are getting weirder. This is Wolverine and I'm Thor."

Dark haired Wolverine smiles and lifts his bottle in salute at us. I reply in kind.

"No, they're really our names," Fred grins. "Technically, I'm Fredericka but only my Gran is allowed to call me that. This is Harriet but only God herself is allowed to call her that. To everyone else, we're Fred and Harry."

"Got it. Good to meet you, Fred and Harry. This is Sal. I'm Chase."

Chase's head bends lower to reduce the shouting. Fred continues to gaze up at him. Sal shifts closer to me, but his body language reads differently. He isn't going to hit on me, and for a moment I'm disappointed. I take another swig of my drink. I'd not come out looking for anything, that was a young person's game. But he's cute, in a lanky, lop-sided way, and it could've been fun to flirt the night away.

"So, come here often?" Chase's grin flashes at us both but lands firmly on Fred.

"Ugh, so original," she teases. "Actually, we're out celebrating the fact that I got a new job, and even more importantly that I was able to escape my last one."

"Hey! Congrats. Do you want to dance?"

"Absolutely."

I look to Fred and wait for her to throw me the look that says,

'are you okay with this?'

. Fred throws it. I nod and she's gone. Awkward minutes tick by where I pretend not to feel the pressure of conjuring small talk with the man whose eyes are as dark as his hair.

I've always been useless at the small talk thing and I'm pretty sure that this, combined with my resting bitch face, makes me appear unapproachable. I've come to realise that this usually suits me well. I'm not a big socialiser. But at times like this, when I have to actually put thought into smiling, I often end up feeling like the Joker. Too much false effort for something I don't care about. Except, right now, it's not that I don't care. I'd be happy to talk to the tall stranger standing nearby. But I still can't grasp at a coherent conversation starter that doesn't sound ridiculous in my head.

"So, what do you do?" Sal asks. I throw him a grateful smile.

"I'm an Educational Psychologist. How about you?"

"Impressive! I don't think I want to share that now."

"Ah, sorry, did I say Educational Psychologist? I mean I'm an, uhm, receptionist? Sorry. I get too big for my boots sometimes and fantasise out loud. I just type up notes for people in fancy suits."

Sal throws his head back and laughs. It's a pleasant sound that pulls my smile wider. "Well, that's still impressive. I couldn't type for shit on a computer."

"These fingers," I hold up my waggling fingers, "move at an impressive rate."

"They do, do they?" His expression subtly shifts, raising one eyebrow.

"Oh, no, no, not what I meant!"

Heat burns my skin as my smile drops. I clench my rude fingers into fists. I know how to flirt. If I'd thought he was open to flirting, I'd have done it a hell of a lot better than that. But his interpretation has caught me off guard. His laugh, however, eases my discomfort, and coaxes butterflies to flutter. I'm ready to flirt properly now.

"I know, sorry, I'll behave. I'm a chartered accountant but hoping to become a self-employed arbitrator soon."

"What? Oh, no, I'm back to Ed Psych. You can't job gazump me like that."

"Fair play. But yours still sounds more interesting than accountant."

"True, but I bet yours is calmer with the lack of crying children."

"Crying men are worse."

"You win."

"I shall remember this brief moment of victory."

We clink our drinks to toast the moment.

"So, is this a regular Saturday night thing for you two?" I ask.

"No, ugh, not at all. Chase dragged me out. He's had a crappy time with an ex-girlfriend, so I had to do what I could to cheer him up."

"You're a good friend."

"He's my guy," Sal shrugs.

I smile wryly at him, eyebrows rise ever so slightly and I nod in mock sympathy. It takes Sal a moment to get my drift. I like that he's understood. I like the fake scowl that he pulls as he shakes his head.

"Not like that." His elbow lifts as if to nudge me, but it doesn't quite reach, as if social convention of my being a stranger stops him from being physical. His scowl gives way to chuckling and I can't help but join in. "I just meant he's my best bud."

"Okay."

Sal waves his hand toward the dancefloor. "How about you and..."

"Fred? Oh, yes. We're part-time lovers. I'm used to her getting off with dudes, but she always comes running back to me. Sometimes, we even let the guy join us, but only as one-nighters."

"Uhm, that's great..." Sal chokes on his beer while I practice my neutral face.

"In her dreams," I continue. "Sadly, our friendship is too important to let sex mess it up. That and I'm straight. I think."

My tone hasn't changed, and I watch him once again figure out my humour. He grins, and we toast again. "Tie."

"So," I pause to sip my drink. "Not gay?"

"No. Actually, I have a girlfriend."

"Ah. Excellent. She's a lucky girl." I mean it, despite my heart sinking. It makes sense, that this guy is unavailable. "Where is she tonight?"

"Oh, this is 'Guys Only.' Chase is selective about who's allowed to witness his emotional angst."

At his reference to his friend, we both look back to the dancefloor. Fred's arms are stretched to wrap around Chase's neck as they grind obscenely against each other.

"Yeah, it looks like he's really upset," I say.

"I guess the night has done its job."

"You're free of your duties."

Sal nods and swigs his beer. Silence settles between us again as we absorb the thumping beat in the smothering hot, stale air. An unexpected yawn threatens to push through, reminding me I'm not as into the club scene as I used to be. I try to discreetly cover it.

"I'm boring you already?"

My cheeks burn again at the thought of him witnessing my resistant gurning. I awkwardly mumble a dismissive apology and say it's been a long day. "And we're basically chaperoning them now. They'll try to dump us to run away together soon, I reckon."

"True. By the looks of it, we're definitely going to be abandoned soon."

The urge to keep control of the situation drives me. I don't want to be the not-chosen girl who lingers like a lost puppy hoping for social interaction from a stranger, especially one I'm attracted to and who has a girlfriend.

I briefly lean in towards him to make sure he hears me. "I think in that case, I'm calling it a night. I'm going to go let Fred know I'm leaving."

Without waiting for a response, I bump my way through the crowd. Reaching Fred, I rest one hand on her shoulder and yell over the music. "I'm going to go home. Are you okay here? Or shall I stay?"

Fred doesn't stop dancing. Her fun filled eyes sparkle as she shouts back. "No, go home, I'll be fine. I'll text you later. Love you!"

"Love you too, be safe."

I smile to myself as I jostle my way through the swathe of bodies back to Sal. As I reach him, I impulsively stick out my hand. I know it's odd, I even question myself as I watch my hand move. But it's there now, hovering between us. Sal looks at it and accepts with a smile. I'm ignoring the stomach flips. His strong fingers envelope mine and I'm surprised by the urge to whimper. I force myself to look into his amused eyes and keep my chin up.

"It was good to meet you, Sal. Enjoy the rest of your night."

"You too."

I'm reluctant to let go but I'm convinced he can see my heart pulsing in my throat, and I desperately need fresh air. I throw him the most carefree smile I can muster and duck away through the crowd.

As I step out into the street, the autumn night air chills my appreciative lungs while my ears buzz from the evenings' assault. It always surprises me how I never notice how oppressive clubs are until I leave. I take a moment to acclimatise. My figure-hugging black jeans protect my legs, but the sheer wrap-around over my purple vest top is doing nothing to stop the unseasonable coolness from prickling my upper body. As I cross my arms and rub either bicep, I scan the street.

Further down, bodies in short skirts spill out of a different noisy club. They squeal and grab at each other in a group effort to keep upright. Couples and small groups scatter the pavements on either side of the road as they head to the next venue or maybe, like me, head home. An occasional car drives by and I imagine they've locked their doors in case of an unfortunate incident where some drunkard mistakes them for a cab.

Three taxis wait for fares across the road. It was always the plan to taxi it home, but hunger kicks in and right now I want a greasy burger that I'd never touch when sober. I ignore the cabs, confident I'll manage to hail one in twenty minutes instead. I begin my mission to find a nearby takeaway and as I walk an ache in my calves make me question why I thought the highest heels I own were a good choice for a night on the town. They clack on the pavement as I focus on food.

"Harry, wait. Harry!"

I hear a man's voice calling behind me before I register my name. I don't expect it to be aimed at me, but being nosey, I glance around. Sal is coming up fast from behind me, jogging effortlessly.

"Not getting a taxi?" He asks as he catches up.

"Uhm, no. I decided I wanted to get food first. What are you doing?"

"Food sounds great."

I try not to frown at his self-invitation. I don't mind. On the contrary, my stomach does that silly little flip again. In the open air, we don't have to lean in so close to speak. We're not being jostled so our arms brush against each other. Yet here on the path, the intimacy of choosing each other's company for longer is firing electricity through my veins.

A voice from the deepest depths of my psyche tells me I should refuse. I know he's not single and even though I'm certain absolutely nothing physical will happen, it's wrong to choose to socialise with a taken man. Then another voice offers the possibility that perhaps Sal is attempting to offer some kind of misplaced chivalrous protection. This thought prickles me.

"Why would you want to join me?"

My frown matches the coolness of my words and takes Sal by surprise.

"Oh, sorry. I just, erm, I..."

I try hard not to find his fumbling endearing. I'm tempted to intercept and assure him it's okay, but I want to know his motives. I remain quiet and wait for a coherent answer.

"When you said food, I realised I was hungry enough to eat too," he shrugs. "And we were okay in the club, I mean, we seemed to get on, so I thought it wouldn't be an issue to walk somewhere together."

"So, you're not trying to be all manly?"

"What do you mean?"

"Escorting the delicate little woman, insisting you be her protector, whether she wants your help or not, because god forbid, she should be able to walk a street alone, especially at night."

"Ok. That didn't even occur to me. You said 'food'. I thought

'food, hell yeah.'

But hey, if you want to go on your own, that's cool."

I watch as Sal steps back. I'm not sure if he's angry at me. He's turning away when I speak up.

"Food?" I ask.

He looks back at me, confused.

"I'm okay with you wanting food," I say. "I'm going for a burger if you want to join me."

He's still eyeing me with uncertainty. My chin remains tilted defiantly upward, but I allow my lips to curl just enough to break the resting bitch face.

"Just to be clear," he says slowly. "You'll let me join you for a burger, as long as I don't try to protect you if a group of clowns jump out of the bushes and drag you off to their big top?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Are you saying that I should belong in a circus?"

"I don't have enough evidence to make that kind of judgement yet. I'm merely establishing the boundaries of white knighting."

"It's very simple, really. If I ask for your help, you may give it."

"What if you ask for it and I don't want to get involved because I'll get hurt?"

"That's your prerogative."

"Even if it ends up with you murdered?"

"I'm not saying I won't come back and haunt you for your decisions."

"I don't think that's fair."

"Neither life nor death is fair."

"That's true."

"I'm usually correct about stuff."

"That's a bold statement to make."

"Well, the longer I stand here getting colder and hungrier, the more ballsy I'm going to get."

"We should get you warm and full, then. Soften the edges again."

"I'd be offended by that except it's probably true. Burger?"

"Burger."

Sal falls in beside me as we head to find food together. I suggest we head towards the main strip in town where most of the eateries will still be open. As we walk, I shiver and hug myself again. I hear him chuckle and ask him why.

"

'Delicate little woman',

" he quotes. "Sorry, Harry, but I'd never have labelled you delicate or little."

For a moment, I'm appalled to hear him say this to me. I know I'm not delicate. I'm too blunt in my manners and too boisterous in my actions. And I'd only ever be considered little if standing next to an eight-foot person. I know what I am, and what I'm not. But to have a guy -- a good-looking guy -- voice my giant oaf-ness is my worst nightmare. I want the pavement to swallow me right now.

"You can't be delicate and little if you're an Amazonian," he continues. "You would be swinging axes and fighting Minotaurs if you could, I reckon. If anyone needs protection, it's probably the ones who cross your path."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Hell, no."

His smile sends a shiver down my spine. I look away and wrap my arms around my cold body.

"If I were wearing a jacket, I wouldn't offer it to you," says Sal.

"I absolutely wouldn't take it anyway," I say. But now, I imagine him shrugging off a leather jacket and placing it on my shoulders. The warmth of his body caressing mine via its soft lining. His scent lingering in the creases of the leather. Every sense assaulted by the promise of him. This is bad. So bad.

I refocus on food. That's all that I'm doing. That we're doing. We bypass the first two takeaways, unsure of their cleanliness because we're not that drunk. At the third, there's a sign in the window that claims respectable food hygiene standards. There's a lack of grime gathering in every crevice and the staff wear aprons that look like they were clean at the start of their shift. We order food. While we wait, I present the awkward question of whether to take our food to our respective homes, or to sit together and eat at one of the wobbly plastic dining sets in the window. He suggests we stay because he's too hungry to wait for a taxi then eat a cold burger at home, and I don't argue.

The following ninety minutes disappear in the blink of an eye. The stacked burgers and not-quite-cold cokes are devoured whilst sharing anecdotal musings of life, of opinions about recent world events, and disagreeing on the worst kind of pizza topping. The local radio blares and other customers come and go, but we barely notice.

Neither of us ask the typical personal questions that involve family or relationships, as if we've somehow agreed the conversational limits. But it's easy and we laugh often. I learn about his fear of seagulls and his love for Turkish Delight (powdered, not chocolate covered). Only once do we find ourselves in a frozen moment of time, where our eyes meet and our smiles falter. That fraction of a second disappears and I know later that I'll question if it even actually happened or if I just imagined it, but it's scorched my core to forever remind me.

Eventually, we find ourselves standing on the street again.

"I am definitely going home now," I say. "Thanks for the company."

"Right back at you, it was good to meet you."

Sal hails a passing taxi and opens the rear passenger door. He wafts his hand, clearly beckoning for me to climb in. I debate whether to crack a joke about white knighting again, but I keep my mouth shut this time. As I slide onto the worn pleather seat, I wonder if he's planning on sharing. I begin to scoot over, but the door closes behind me leaving Sal on the path. He bends down and waves at me through the window. The taxi pulls away before I can wave back.

I offer the driver my address and slump back into the seat. The warmth and gentle rocking of the cab as it weaves between other taxis all on the same mission makes me sigh happily. It's nearing two in the morning and tiredness is fast enveloping me. I'm relieved the driver isn't one for talking too much and I get chance to reflect on the evening. I think I talked more than Sal did, which surprises me. I'm the master of throwing questions and avoiding answers. I remember him laughing a lot which makes my veins tingle. Then that voice returns to tut at me and scornfully points out that I'm wasting my time. I shift in my seat and tell myself that it's ok. It's not like we swapped numbers. It's not like I'm going to see him again. It was a good night, that's all. That's all I wanted. All I needed.

October

I'm sitting in my car when I send my confirmation text to Fred that I'll take the spare ticket that Chase has for a Comedy Club on Saturday. As I scroll through the barrage of messages from the previous days, I send up a silent prayer that Fred won't sustain lasting injuries from the supersonic speed this new relationship is riding. She often loses her grounding early on, but I've never seen so many texts involve a guy's name before. It's been nearly three weeks since they met at the club.