Page 40 of Spicy or Sweet
“It was,” she admits. “Georgie and I did a year of college in Paris. She was obsessed with France, and I wanted to learn from the best, so it worked out well. We met Philippe while we were there—don’t let his name fool you, he’s from Idaho, and he changed it when he moved to France. He and Georgie worked together, and they were really close. He came back to the US just before she died, and he came to her funeral. My parents liked him, and he was the only person who would talk about Georgie with me. We were friends who were both grieving someone, and we loved each other, but we were never in love. Honestly, I don’t think either of us ever thought we were, but it was what we needed at the time. What my parents needed.”
“How long were you married?” I ask, almost scared to know the answer.
“Seventeen years. And I know that sounds bad. It’s easy to think we wasted a good chunk of our lives together, but I don’t see it as a waste, and neither does he. We enjoyed our time together. Neither of us wanted kids; we were happy having two incomes, and we liked hanging out. But he met someone else, someone he’s actually in love with, and we were both perfectly happy to go our separate ways.”
I like to think I could be content with something like that, but I don’t think I could. I look at my parents, who have been together for four decades and still look at each other likenewlyweds, and I want that. I look at Rora and my uncle Henry, building a life together, and I want that. Not the baby part of it, but the all-consuming, life-changing kind of love that completely turns your world upside down.
But I also understand why Shay wanted, needed, something easier after having her world turned upside down in the worst possible way.
“How did your parents take the divorce?” I ask, and she shrugs.
“They were disappointed. But we’re not close anymore, so it didn’t sting as much as it would have once. Nico and I take turns calling them once a week, but it’s hard to be close when no one will talk about anything deeper than surface level because they’re too scared to talk about Georgie.” There’s a bitter edge to her voice that I tuck away for later.
I recognize how lucky I am to say I can’t imagine not talking to my family every day. They’re the first people I call when I just want to talk to someone—if I don’t just show up, that is.
“Anyway,” Shay continues, “I’m a lot older and less traumatized now, and I don’t care if people find out I’m bi. It’s more that it’s been a long time since I’ve thought about whatIwant. Like, do I really want to be in another relationship? Do I just want to have good sex for the first time in twenty years? I know I want you, that I’m sure of, but I don’t know what that looks like. And it just feels like I’m too old to be figuring any of this out, you know?”
I bring her hand to my lips and press them against her palm. “I don’t know what I have to do to convince you you’re not old, but I’m going to keep trying. Right now, I think the best thing for both of us to do is just… hang out. I want to keep sleeping with you, but I also don’t want to push you if you don?—”
“I do. I just feel a little out of my depth with it all.”
I laugh at how quickly she interrupts. “How about this: we can figure out together how to make you more comfortable with it. But you have to talk to me, okay? Sex is more fun when you’re honest about how you feel,” I say, well aware that I’m lying through my teeth about howIfeel.
“I can do that,” Shay agrees. “And I want to get to know you, too. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve wanted to be your friend for years, even if that does make me sound a little pathetic.”
“It doesn’t make you sound pathetic at all. I’m sorry it took me so long to get my shit together and stop being an asshole so we could be friends,” I say, trying to ignore how much “friends” feels like a lead weight getting heavier and heavier in my stomach.
20
SHAY
She has another Christmas tree in her bedroom, but it’s not the tree that catches my attention; it’s the ornaments.
“I could lie and say I didn’t make my bed because I was in a rush when I left yesterday morning, but I’m always in a rush, and I never make my bed, so there’s no point in pretending,” Noelle says, and I hear her fussing with the bed as I stare at the tree.
She notices my gaze and groans. “Right. That. I ordered an Advent calendar from a super sketchy website last year, and it was supposed to be a bunch of miniusablesex toy ornaments, but it ended up being just twenty-one butt plugs, a bullet vibe, and a pair of broken handcuffs—one cuff on December fifth, one on the twelfth. They don’t even clip together. What a waste.”
“Is that… The Grinch?” I ask, prodding a green plug that is definitely The Grinch.
“It is. I considered giving it to Rora, actually, since she hates Christmas, but she’s sleeping with my uncle, so it felt too weird.”
“Jesus.” Because what else do I say to that?
“Yeah.” Noelle draws the word out. “If I’d known I was having company, I would probably have moved the butt plugtree. And in the interest of giving you a crash course in getting to know me, let’s get all of my weird decor out of the way…”
She places her hands gently on either side of me, spins me until I’m facing her bed, then tilts my chin until I’m staring over the headboard.
It takes me a second to process what I’m seeing, and when I do… “Wow.”
“I thought it would be empowering, you know?” she explains as we both take in the six strap-on harnesses secured to the wall, in almost every color of the rainbow. “I saw someone online with a similar display, and they said it inspired them to own their sexuality, but their display was a lot nicer than mine, and you’re the first woman I’ve had in here, so… Also, the blue one kept falling off and hitting me in the middle of the night, so I just shoved it under the bed.”
“I’m the first woman you’ve had in here?” It’s not that I’m not listening to her, it’s just that nothing registers after I hear that.
“Yep. I haven’t exactly had a lot of time for socializing since I moved in.” Noelle sits on the end of the bed with a sigh. “You probably think I’m unhinged.”
“Are you kidding me?” I take a seat beside her and grab her hand. “You’re making me reassess how fucking boring everyone else in my life is. You are, without a doubt, the coolest person I know, Noelle.”
She quirks a smile. “Damn. You’ve really got to meet some new people.”
