Jen couldn't believe how quickly it had come to an end...three years with a boy who had lusted after her, had pursued her, had asked her out day after day, a relationship that she had finally given into, discovered and savored, which ended every day with optimistic speculation about their future together, about their marriage and honeymoon, about what their kids would look like. So quickly it had gone from an impossibility to a reality and then finally, again, to nothing at all. They had been only eighteen when they started dating, and now, though still only twenty-one, starting over again seemed like too daunting a task to consider, so much had she invested emotionally.
She had spent her weeks crying, had tried drinking too much, even allowed herself an unsatisfying one-night-stand with a male colleague from her office. The fact of the matter was that the easy social atmosphere of high school was over and, in the rest of the world, meeting people was difficult. She had forgone university or college having, at the time, thought that her life was settled. She had her man, and she had her life before her. Schooling would have meant that she might have had to live away from him, might have found herself in a situation that might drive a wedge between them, and that was something neither of them was prepared to do. These thoughts seemed so foolish and immature in retrospect. Jen didn't hate him, she only wished she had known how he felt earlier. Hindsight can be a horrible thing to endure.
Her girlfriends had been supportive throughout the breakup, supplying the requisite comments about how men were a bunch of assholes and comments about the plentitude of marine life in the sea. The bottom line was that they were all in what seemed like impenetrably solid relationships, like tourists from Jen's perspective of hardship, and their words of encouragement and empathy sounded hollow. Bars were visited, presents were bought and finally, as the months went by, Jen's friends forgot about her pain or told her to get over him. It wasn't easy. After her friends ditched she tried smoking, reading books designed to help her cope. She tried hanging out in bars and looking tough. She tried not caring. A thousand unanswered messages from her parents were housed on her answering machine.
Her style gradually changed, and then changed back. When she had been in her relationship she had rarely strayed from her hooded sweatshirts and jeans, t-shirts and shorts, plain grey underwear - comfortable clothes that did little to accentuate her natural curves. It hardly had seemed to matter at the time. She wasn't advertising and anytime she wanted to feel sexual she had a warm body next to her in bed to strip for. When it all ended, her fashion began to reflect her mood: ripped tights and dirty t-shirts, her brunette hair matted with grease. She listened to and identified with punk music for the first time. As time went by she came to realize that her body, having always been a bit large in the chest and long in the legs, looked ridiculous in such adolescent clothes. She started buying skirts, dressing in trendy black tops, low-cut affairs that drew attention to her breasts. Knee-high boots and deep, red lipstick. Silky underwear, dark green bras. Her olive skin looked all the more remarkable when so suitably attired, and she began to feel the pricks of self-esteem return when she looked at herself in the mirror. For the first time since before the end of her relationship she began to notice the look in the eyes of the men around her. It was exciting, and it was terrifying. Jen realized that she was nowhere near ready to start dating again. She wasn't even sure if she remembered how.
Jen let soap run down her body, the shower covering her naked back with sheets of steaming hot water. She missed the sex. Though it had become routine towards the end, perhaps one of the reasons that he left, the memory of a particular anniversary and a hot tub sprung to mind as she eased a finger into her pussy with a groan. She lifted her leg up on the edge of the bathtub and caressed her throbbing nipple with one hand while slowly increasing the friction against her clit. She remembered his cock in her mouth and how sexy it made her feel, her hands on his thighs, then her legs beside her head on the bedroom floor. Her back arched while shudders ran through her legs, mimicking her memories. The last of the soapsuds were cleansed from her breasts. With a final, intense shake, she came, her head tilted back, and wondered how long before she'd be able to share these experiences with another person.
She started visiting little downtown coffee shops with a favorite book, an attempt to reinsert herself into social settings. She can remember getting into some heated discussions about politics with some college students in these areas, and hoped to meet someone new and interesting. It was the kind of place where everyone holds up the book they're reading so everyone else can see the title and the author. She ordered a salad, and settled down to her book, the cover flat against the table. Defeated or not, she was not into advertising her need for attention. It was on one of these visits that Jen met Becky.
"What are you reading?" a voice came from behind her.
Jen looked up into jade green eyes set in a light face framed by thick, blonde hair done in braids that hung draped over her visitor's shoulders.
"Oh...um...just a novel I've read a thousand times before," Jen said quickly, looking back down at the page, hoping this intruder might leave. She was hoping a man might introduce himself, which was less likely to happen if she was sitting with another woman. Instead, the intruder sat down opposite her, putting her book and coffee down in front of her.
"My name's Becky," she said. "Are you a student?"
"No," Jen said, allowing a small amount of annoyance to seep into her voice.
"I just figured...this is college town..."
"I used to come here with...my boyfriend..."
"Oh, so you're with someone...that's great! What's he like?"
Jen wondered about this Becky. What was her story? Would this be the sympathetic ear she desired or another friend who might conveniently forget her when the going got tough?
"It...doesn't matter," Jen said, "we're not together anymore. We broke up about six months ago."
To Jen's surprise, Becky reached out and touched her hand, a jolt at the surprise of contact traveling the length of her arm. Becky looked directly into Jen's eyes, an unwavering and intense gaze.
"Are you okay?" Becky asked.
Jen and Becky chatted for a few minutes, trading particulars, and then the conversation truly began. Jen felt, for some reason, that Becky was genuinely interested in her story and would be there for her after her story was finished. She poured her heart out. Becky listened for an hour or more.
"Wow," Becky said when Jen had finally finished, "it sounds like you've been waiting a while to get that off your chest."
"It...feels good to say it..." Jen said, shyly brushing her hair behind her ear. "Thanks for listening. It hasn't been easy finding a friendly ear."
"Look...Jen...I'm having a party at my house next week, and I think you should come. Just some good people and a good time. I think you need to unwind and we know how to do just that."
"I think I'd like that," Jen said.
Becky slid her phone number across the table and, to Jen's surprise, extended her hand towards her.
"It was a pleasure meeting you," Becky said, quite formally.
"...you too, Becky."
And with that Becky rose to leave. Jen spent some time looking at Becky's phone number before she returned to her book.
*
Jen rang the doorbell, bass music lightly thumping from behind the door in front of her. She was nervous. She had changed her clothes at least a half a dozen times before finally settling on a grey skirt, a pair of understated black shoes and a sleeveless black shirt with a lacy trim that hugged her breasts. It took a moment before the door swung open, revealing Becky in an emerald green summer skirt that stopped just above her knees.
Jen was taken aback by the sight of her. Becky looked fantastic, the green of her dress playfully matching her eyes. Her hair flowed smoothly over her shoulder. Before Jen could say anything, Becky took a step forward and gave her a hug.
"Jen! I'm so glad you came. You're going to have a great time."
"Hi Becky. You look...really great in that dress!"
Becky looked at her with a sly smile.
"That's sweet of you. You look very pretty yourself. Come on. Let me introduce you to some people.
The evening settled easily. After a few minutes of awkward introductions, Jen poured herself a gin and tonic and sat, listening to the conversation of the other girls. About eight of them sat around the living room, some passionately debating the state of a newly democratized nation, others merely chilling to the sound of the electronic music on the stereo. Everyone was holding a wine glass, a highball, or a cigarette.
As the evening matured, individual conversations emerged. Jen discovered that most of the girls were in political science or literature courses at the college. Jen poured herself another gin and tonic, and then another. Empty wine bottles lined the fireplace mantle, and the laughter gradually grew louder.
A jostle at Jen's side caused her to tear herself away from a conversation about the Renaissance she was having with a girl named Kelly who studied art history. Becky gazed back at her, having slouched down beside her on the couch, her arm draping behind Jen and over her shoulder.
