Gratitude

Mentor

Chapter 12 - Gratitude

Anita texted me on the Wednesday of that week.

Anita: "Thanks for covering for me w/Kennedy"

Me: "It's fine. Was a pleasure. (Literally. 😉)"

Anita: "Lol. Wasn't sure you would go there. I still want to thank you."

Me: "What do you mean?"

Anita: "Free Friday evening? Come over, rumors & I will make you dinner."

Anita: "Roomies*. Autocorrect"

Me: "You don't need to but if you want sure, Friday's good."

Me: "Red or white?"

Anita: "👀 red"

Immediately afterward my phone pinged again. I glanced at the screen, but a drop-down notification informed me that it was a different number.

Alex: "Hey u. TSF here."

Deja-vu.

Me: "A) you don't need to tell me TSF. My phone knows your name now. Also, B) I do have other straight friends."

Alex: "Not like me tho."

Me: "True enough, thank god."

Alex. "Hey. So, uh..."

Me: "🙄"

Alex: "I need 2 go dress shopping."

Me: "You're in a wedding? YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED??? HERE COMES THE BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE!!!!!"

Alex: "Dork. No. Halloween."

Me: "You figured out your costume?"

Alex: "Y. I was going 2 go shopping w/best friend Jen, but her boyfriend's coming now, so me=3rd wheel unless u come 2."

Me: "Saturday?"

Alex: "BF can't do Sat. BF's BF I mean. U know what I mean. Sunday 1pm."

Is stream-of-consciousness typing on phone chat a real thing? Alex apparently believed so.

Me: "Can do. Want me to pick you up?"

Alex: "There might be drinking 🍻"

Me: "Sigh. I'll take an Uber."

~~~~~

I started work early on Friday so that I could leave early to change, arriving at Anita's at six o'clock. I was dressed casually, but since I was meeting Anita's roomies for the first time, I had put some thought into my outfit, selecting a white blouse, lightweight peach below-the-knee skirt, and medium-heel boots with short black socks instead of hose. More importantly, I carried two bottles of red wine, which clanked together loudly in the bag.

Anita opened the door for me. I was surprised to see that her eyes seemed tiny behind large round glasses. She had to be a contact lens wearer. I was not a fan of contacts.

Inside was a scene of domestic chaos. Three students, two male and one female, were fighting for counter space and for access to the stove, the negotiations consisting of rapid-fire Chinese.

"What's going on?" I asked Anita, bemused.

"Everyone's assisting in cooking," she said. "I'll rejoin the fray in a moment." She took the bag containing the wine from me.

I took one bottle back from her, produced a corkscrew from my bag and opened it. "Do you have glasses?" I asked. "I have plastic cups if not."

"We can find glasses," Anita said. She took the open bottle and set it on a corner of the counter on the borderland of the conflict, then squeezed through the throng of her roomies and liberated five glass tumblers from a cupboard. These she set on a table away from the melee.

"I'll pour in a few minutes," I said. "Adding alcohol to the mix right now is probably a bad idea. Especially with those kitchen knives."

Anita laughed. "It's not as bad as it looks, but that's valid. Can you entertain yourself for another ten minutes while I finish my part?"

"Sure," I said.

Anita flashed me a grin and dove back into the kitchen, weaving and dodging until she could grab a knife and chop veggies.

Alright. I exaggerate. A little. It was clear they were having fun and hamming it up for my benefit, but it really was impressive how four of them could coexist and cooperate so well in a small kitchen. And it was interesting to hear my friend, from whom I'd never known anything but unaccented English, conversing in Chinese, as quickly and effortlessly as her roomies.

After a few minutes, Anita's roomies ejected her from the kitchen. She laughed as they waved her away. She sat at the table, and I poured us both wine.

"They have everything under control, they say," she told me. "And they don't like to see you sitting alone."

"I don't mind," I said. "I've been enjoying watching. Is that Mandarin you're speaking?"

"Very good," Anita said.

"When I started work, we had an engineer from mainland China," I said. "He spoke Mandarin. He left not long after I started. I'm sure I couldn't tell the difference between Mandarin and Cantonese or any other language.

"You drove him away, did you?" Anita teased.

"I did not," I said. "I liked him." I smirked at her. "I'd have asked him out if he'd stayed around any longer."

Anita gave me a pained look, then the corners of her lips twitched up. She called something in Mandarin. One of the guys raised a fist and they all laughed.

"What did you tell them?" I asked, frowning at Anita.

"That you want to date a Chinese man," she replied.

"I don't!" I yelped.

They were all listening now, and at that, one of the guys buried his head in his hands, while the other shouted, "What's wrong with Chinese men?"

"Nothing," I cried back. "I don't want to date anyone! But especially not a guy. Not right now."

He said something to Anita, who laughed. I didn't ask for a translation.

"Am I getting myself in trouble?" I asked her.

"No, you're not," she replied, before taking a sip of her wine. "

I'm

getting you in trouble."

"You know," I said, "I think you do that well."

There was a commotion from the kitchen, and a moment later one of the guys - the one who'd hidden his face - brought a tray with four soup bowls. There were ceramic spoons and chopsticks for all, and an additional fork for me.

Everyone sat, and Anita introduced us. The guy who'd hidden his face was Jiao, the one who'd asked what was wrong with Chinese men was Ben, and the girl was Mey. I gave each a quick handshake. then poured the wine into the tumblers, topping up Anita's glass and my own.

I was determined to avoid using the fork. The clear broth was easy enough, though I wasn't used to slurping from the oddly shaped spoon. The transparent noodles were a different matter. I studied Anita closely to try to copy her. She caught me watching her, and winked at me, which sent an odd flash of heat through my chest.

Emulating Anita's chopstick technique as best I could, I attempted the noodles. It wasn't a disaster, but it was far from a complete success. I leaned forward to avoid spilling soup.

One of the guys - Ben - made a comment to Anita, who glared at him.

"What did he say?" I asked.

She considered for a moment before translating. "He said that if you're not careful your boobs will be in the soup."

"I'm not that clumsy," I objected.

"He's not talking about clumsiness," Anita explained, patiently, while Ben grinned at us. "He's saying they're big."

"Anita doesn't have that problem," Ben explained, then added a comment in Mandarin, as if daring her to translate.

I didn't ask, but she shook her head and translated anyway. "I don't have a problem because I have no boobs," she said.

"That's not true," I said, coming to her defense. Which I realized was a mistake as soon as I said it.

"How do you know that?" Ben asked.

"A girl notices," I replied, primly.

"You don't even notice that yours are covered in noodles," he said.

I glanced down. Yes, I had dropped a noodle. I picked it off my clean blouse with my napkin. It left a damp line, though I didn't think it would stain. I sighed and switched to my fork.

In another time and place, I'm sure I'd have taken offense to a stranger discussing my boobs, but the joking went no further than that, and was clearly good-natured. I liked Ben. Jiao and Mey hadn't said much, but they seemed friendly.

When the soup was finished, Mey collected the soup bowls while Ben and Jiao brought empty plates and plates of food which they set in the center of the table. There were various vegetables, not all of which I recognized, thick noodles and chicken.

These I could handle with chopsticks without too much trouble. I collided with Mey and Anita a couple of times reaching for food from the center plates.

It was excellent, the greens crisp enough to have a nice crunch - making them fairly easy to pick up - and the chicken was quite spicy. Some of the greens were bitter enough to make me wince, but the flavors went together so well that I found myself enjoying them anyway.

"Do you always eat so well?" I asked Ben.

"Yes, of course," he said, while both Jiao and Mey said "No."

"We don't have this..." Anita waved her hand over the plates, taking in the quantity and selection. "But yes, we eat well. We take it in turns to cook. Today would have been Mey's turn, but this was a joint effort. As you saw."

The wine bottle was almost empty, so I opened the second and let it sit on the table until we were ready, which didn't take long.

All four of the residents were working on BS degrees, though Ben was in arts plus video game design and other tech classes. Anita and Mey were comp. sci, while Jiao was a mathematician. Ben, like Anita, was US-born, while Jiao and Mey were from Shanghai. Their English was good, though more heavily accented than Ben's or Anita's. Still, they mostly used it for my benefit. It was Ben who used Mandarin for wisecracks, to embarrass Anita, who translated everything.

When dinner - and most of the second bottle of wine - was done, Ben and Jiao started clearing away plates. I offered to help, but was rejected by all. Instead, Anita had me follow her to her room.

"I like your roomies," I said. "Even Ben, but don't tell him."

"Your secret's safe with me," she replied, motioning for me to sit on the bed. After I did, Anita followed suit, sitting a couple of feet from me.

"So why the big deal about thanking me for looking after Kennedy?" I asked. "You didn't owe me a thing. The evening was its own reward."

She laughed. "I'm glad about that," she said. "She was nervous about visiting at all. I talked her into it, then the project issues came up - yes, those were real - and I had to find someone I thought she'd trust."

"I think she'll be less nervous, now," I said.

"Why is that?" Anita queried.

"Reasons," I said, recalling my promise not to share details. "She may tell you herself, but I won't."

"That's fair," my friend said. "She's hinted at it. And turned deep red. Along with your text comment, I have a pretty good idea, and you were doubly the right person to guide her."

"Even though I took advantage of her?" I asked. "I mean, even though I could

potentially

have taken advantage of her?"

Anita shook her head. "You didn't. I know that. You wouldn't. Whatever you did was with her complete consent, and likely something she asked for."

I sighed. "Why do you have so much faith in me, when I

potentially

took advantage of you, too?"

Anita gave me a half smile, her eyes amused behind the circular lenses. "You know you didn't. Didn't we already talk about that?"

"We did," I admitted.

"So," Anita said, holding my gaze. I felt that she'd lost the amusement she'd had while we'd been bantering. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" I asked,

"Don't be an ass," she replied. "I think we know each other enough to know when something's off. You went almost radio silent on me. Then just one or two word comments. I didn't miss you changing the subject when we talked last week. And Kennedy noticed. At the start of the evening, she said, you were distracted. She said you looked sad. I know you wouldn't be trying to win her sympathy to get her into bed. That isn't you."

"You're sure about that?" I asked, raising my eyebrows in an attempt at levity.

"Kay, we're friends," she said. "Maybe it's none of my business, but all the signs are that it's something to do with Gabby's. That makes me feel responsible, and also feel that it might be something I can help you with."

I studied her for maybe half a minute. I saw empathy in her gaze. I knew that she trusted me. If I told her the truth, would I lose that? But if I kept it hidden, would I hurt her and push her away?

There was certainly no one else at the club I could talk to. And I really, really needed to uncork my feelings.

I sighed. "Do you think the others will have finished all the wine?"

"Wait here," Anita instructed, bouncing off the bed and scurrying away. She returned a moment later with a six-pack of beer. Setting it on her desk, she pried two cans free, handed me one, then sat beside me. Close, this time.

I smiled thanks, popped the top, and drank about a third of the can. "After I tell you what happened, you're going to lose respect for me, and I hate that." Anita frowned, and I knew she wanted to contradict me, but I pushed ahead. "But I think I need to tell you anyway. Not because you need to know, but because I need to tell

someone

. And you're right. Even though we haven't known each other long, you're a good friend. If I tell you, though, I'm going to have to get specific. It will need to stay between us, because it could hurt others, with no upside."

"No naming names?" Anita queried.

"Or any other part of the story, really," I said. "It would be too easy to make whatever connections there are."

"Alright," she said. "I promise." With a slight smile she added "I don't promise to lose respect."

"Thanks," I said, attempting to return the smile. "You recall Ann's bombshell a few weeks back? How I'd led her roomie astray?"

"I hope that isn't the story," Anita said. "There was nothing there to be embarrassed or upset about."

Shaking my head, I said, "No. Before that. When Ann gave me her number. She'd caught me eyeing the bartender, so she gave me a paper with her number on it, and a warning that the bartender was straight."

"Michelle?" Anita asked. "But I thought she was..."

"Mm-hmm," I agreed. "It seems Ann doesn't know her well. If she did, the warning wouldn't have read 'The bartender is straight.' It would have said 'The bartender is

married

.'"

"Yeah... I think I'd heard that," Anita agreed. "But to another woman. She's not str..." Then her eyes opened wide. "Oh. My God. You didn't..."

"Yes I bloody did," I said, angrily, though I couldn't have said to whom my anger was directed. Raising my voice, I added, "I didn't fucking know!"

Anita took my arm in her hand. Setting her beer down, she covered my fingers with her other hand. "How did it happen?"

"She invited me to a gig," I said. "We ended up at her place. I was pretty drunk. That's no excuse. The outcome would have been the same if I'd been stone-cold sober. I was a willing participant, and so was Michelle. I mean, she definitely made the first move, and probably the second and third, including telling me that gigs made her horny. So I'm not the first to end up in her bed. That isn't a prudish concern, it just means that this wasn't the first time she was unfaithful."

"Oh, love," Anita said. "It wasn't your fault!"

"I know," I said. "I mean, I kinda know, but all I can think about is that there's a woman who probably worships Michelle and thinks she has the perfect marriage, while Michelle is fucking any girl who's lucky enough to be around her at the end of a show. And I was part of it."

"I'm so sorry," Anita said. "I think I understand how much that hurts you."

"Do you?" I asked. It wasn't a challenge, I honestly wondered. I looked at her. The powerful lenses shrank her eyes, but didn't hide the sympathy in them. "Yeah, I think you do."

"If you hadn't been there, Michelle would have found someone else, you believe?" Anita asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure of it," I replied.

"Then her wife would have been betrayed anyway," she said. "I mean, that's cold comfort when you were

there

, but my point is that means Michelle has

all

of the responsibility. Okay, she chose you, and okay, maybe you're more attractive and more desirable than other girls at the show, but she

would

have chosen someone else if you hadn't been around."

"Yeah, I see that," I agreed, "but it's still not something I can ever put right. And..." I paused, wondering whether I should tell her the other part.

Anita squeezed my fingers. "What is it, love?"

That was the second time she'd used the endearment. Clearly she only meant to offer sympathy for a friend, but it still warmed me. No, it would be wrong to keep anything back from her.

"I'm not sure how to put this," I said. "I've been enjoying hooking up with girls. But it's better when there's an emotional connection. Like there was between us, that first time." I felt her fingers tighten momentarily on mine. She understood.

"Even if the feelings you have for the other girl are temporary, and you can push them aside when she leaves. It isn't love, because I don't think love is something you can toss away, but it's something akin to it. Those feelings make lust more enjoyable and more satisfying. Michelle and I hadn't had that connection. We were intimate in the technical sense, but not emotionally.

"But I wanted more, so I slowed things down and touched her until we connected. Until she needed

me

. I felt the change in her when it happened, and I loved it.

At the time

I loved it. Now, though, I see it as one thing to have a need for sex. That's a serious enough betrayal if it's not with your partner. But to give your heart, your feelings, your

soul

to someone else, even temporarily, that seems so much worse to me.

"I mean, I could have just met her need. I could have been her living vibrator for the night. But I made her want more. I made her

want

me. And I don't see how a marriage can come back from that. That's the part that haunts me, and makes me nervous about other hookups. Should I not

want

a partner that way? Should I not let a girl want

me

that way?"

Anita gripped my arm more tightly. "Don't look at it like that, Kay. Kayla, I mean. You're not responsible for anyone else's feelings. Being close to someone is always going to affect the way you feel, and if you're in the habit of making love to another person, you have to know that it will affect you, and accept the feelings or defend against them. If you can't do that, you shouldn't be taking girls home with you. Right?"

"But deliberately manipulating another's feelings?" I asked.

"You're giving them the chance for an intimate experience with you," Anita said. Her voice seemed wryly amused as she added, "Speaking from experience, it's an opportunity they

shouldn't

pass up, but they are free to decline. And if it makes Michelle's betrayal worse, then not protecting herself from the consequences of making love with you is on her, not you."

"I've been feeling so fucking

angry

," I said. I felt my voice rising again, and forced it to drop. It wasn't Anita I was angry with, and she didn't deserve to be yelled at. "Angry with her, of course, but mostly angry with myself, for getting in that situation. And for not knowing how to handle anything once I knew about it. I just don't know how to let it go."

"By talking to someone, I think," said my friend, in a soft voice. "I hope you know that you can trust me to listen."

"I do," I said. I sighed. To be honest, I'd already started to feel better, having shared with someone I was close to. "You trusted me, too. Kennedy made that clear. Have I... have I hurt that?"

"No, love," she said. And there it was again. I knew better than to read too much into it, but her use of the affectionate term while I was unloading on her made everything easier to bear, and I was beyond grateful to her for making me feel special. "The opposite, really. You weren't afraid to share everything, as embarrassing as it was."

"I... kinda was," I admitted.