Chapter Twelve
Lori was all snark as Hannah let her into the house. “You know, I was starting to think you had left me for all these guys you’re fucking.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Hannah said weakly as Lori blustered past. Lori hung up her coat and pulled off the tall black boots she liked to wear, immediately flopping down on the sofa once she was free of her fall layers. Hannah went into the kitchen and grabbed the plate of cheese and crackers she’d put together that evening after work.
“You giving me fancy party snacks now?” Lori took the tray and the can of seltzer Hannah gave her.
“It’s cheese and crackers. Literally not fancy.” Hannah sank into the chair across from Lori.
“Easy. I’m just joking around with you.” Lori picked up a piece of cheese and a cracker and made a tiny open-faced sandwich, which she popped whole into her mouth and chewed. “What’s with the long face? Fall Festival was a success, right?”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.” The dilemma of how much to burden Lori with her business shit was always a delicate balancing act. She didn’t want to weight their friendship with too many problems, so while Lori was a good sounding board, Hannah was also capable of getting these things worked out on her own eventually.
Usually.
When she wasn’t dealing with business-ending shit.
Lori’s expression indicated she wasn’t fooled, but instead of pressing it, she changed the subject. Small miracles. “I wanted to ask you something.” She shifted on her couch. “I’ve got a project happening for my thesis. I was hoping you could help me out.”
Anything to not talk about her business. “What is it?”
“I’m doing a polyamory workshop. I’ve got a couple coming out who have experience coaching and mentoring polyam groups, and we’re hoping to have a session locally.” Lori gestured to Hannah. “I thought you could come. You and the guys.”
“Oh.” Hannah hadn’t seen the guys since Saturday night, although they’d been talking steadily on the group chat in the few days since. She had used the excuse of being busy to avoid seeing them until she’d figured out what to do about this business thing, since she wouldn’t be able to hide her sadness in person. The light, funny group chat had been a balm to her high levels of stress. This workshop, though, was something she probably shouldn’t turn down.
“I can ask. What’s it like?”
“It’s going to be discussions about common issues in polyamory, ways to communicate better, pitfalls people don’t usually think of.”
That sounded serious. “We’re not really polyamorous. We’re not in any kind of romantic relationship. It’s really just sex.” She said it, but she knew it wasn’t true. They cared about each other, and everyone knew it, even though they usually just talked around whatever was blossoming between them.
Lori raised an eyebrow, and damn, she looked like she wanted to argue, but after a moment of silent judgment, she just shrugged. “Still. I’m not sure how many people are going to show up. Most of the people who I’ve asked to attend are folks from my thesis research. They’re people who have been doing polyam for years. I need some new people, too. Or people who are interested. Or might be interested. I really want to fill the room.”
“Where are you having it?”
“The library offered me a room, but I was hoping for a space where we could have a little more privacy, so I’m still looking.” Lori crossed her legs. “I thought about your shop, maybe bring you some extra business, but I don’t think you have the space.”
“I don’t.” Hannah thought back to her conversation with Mitchell a few weeks ago. “The pub has an event room upstairs. Maybe you could have it there.”
Lori perked up. “Can you ask? I want to set it up next week. Midweek, probably, so I don’t take up people’s weekend. We’re getting close to Halloween.”
“Sure. I can ask.” Even thinking about time passing raised Hannah’s stress levels. Each week that passed was a week her business got closer to its end, and she’d been living with a sense of general sickness for days.
Lori eyed her. “Thank you. Now. What’s really up with you?”
Hannah grimaced. She could tell Lori, and Lori would listen, and maybe give her some advice, but…damn, she was not ready to get input yet. She wanted to fix it herself. She had plans to talk to the building owner this week, ask about the possibility of a lower rent payment next year, negotiate the terms of the lease. “I’m not really ready to talk about it yet.”
Lori’s raised eyebrows said everything she needed to say, but bless her, she didn’t pry. “All right. I’m not pushing. You want to talk, you tell me.”
“Thanks.” There had to be some other topic of relevant conversation. “Why don’t you tell me about you instead? What’s happening at the paper?”
Lori let out a mighty sigh, the kind of sigh that indicated there was going to be A Significant Story coming, and that was a kind of relief. Lori’s stories were always interesting: anyone studying any kind of psychology field for a PhD tended to have some thoughtful analysis of their own and others’ behavior, although in Lori’s case, it was mostly about others’ behavior.
“You have something stronger than this seltzer?” She held up the half-empty can.
Hannah brought them each a small glass of tequila, the acrid smell comforting as she brought it up to her lips. Tequila burned all over, and she held that first sip in her mouth enough to swirl every flavor around and spread that numbing burn into all her senses. Of course, tequila reminded her of celebrating with Ben and Mitchell the other night after the Fall Festival, celebrations she’d tried to forget in the intervening days. There was actually nothing there for her to celebrate.
With both of them holding their glasses and the environment suitably settled, Lori let out another sigh and looked across the space between them. “I’ve been thinking about leaving the paper.”
“What? Why? You love the paper.”
“Correction. I used to love the paper.” Lori held up a finger like a teacher giving a word of wisdom, then took another sip of her tequila. “Fuck, that is good.”
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
“Just this week. I don’t know. I don’t want to rush into anything. I’ve been there for a few years now, and I’ve got a good gig, but it’s so…” Lori made a face, wrinkling her nose, and then waved her hand in some kind of vague gesture. “It’s so small-town.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow. “You live in Mapleton. We are a small town. The Valley Voice is a small-town paper.” Lori was usually good about moderating her expectations, but damn. She couldn’t expect the small town they were in to have a big-city paper. “You’ve been happy there for years. What’s changed?”
“I think it’s my thesis.” Lori played with the fringe of the couch pillow. “I want to go into relationship coaching, not journalism. I started working at the paper back in undergrad, and I was good at it, so I stuck with it. But it’s not what I want to do forever.”
“Can you do that sort of thing here in Mapleton?” Suddenly, the thought of losing Lori loomed on the horizon. Hannah had never conceived of life in Mapleton without her best friend.
“I’m doing some volunteer work with the relationship therapy associates on Main Street, but it’s not quite what I want.” Lori shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a long shot. I’m just now starting to think about it.”
“It’s weird that this would come on you so suddenly. No warning. Just, bam, I want to change jobs and move.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to change jobs and move. Don’t put words in my mouth. Drink your tequila.” Lori gestured with her glass, then took her own advice for a long, slow sip. “Our new boss is kind of an ass.”
“Oh, right.” Lori had told her about the new editor in chief who had taken over for the retiring one. “He’s only been there a few weeks, right? Maybe he’s just getting used to it. Give him some time.”
“I know. I’m impatient.” Lori grimaced. “You know me. I like a challenge. I like change. But I also like things to make sense. And I don’t know if what this guy’s doing is going to make sense for the paper in the long run. Plus, I’ve got my defense next spring, and that’s a big turning point. I finish the defense, maybe I publish, I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I have friendships, like this one, and I’ll miss them, miss you, but I don’t know if Mapleton was ever meant to be my forever home. Come spring, I think I might start to look for opportunities elsewhere.” She gave Hannah a hesitant smile. “You’ll visit.”
Hannah’s world had upended just at the thought of losing Lori, but she had time to get used to the idea. Lori wasn’t going to leave until after her thesis defense in late spring, at least. And Hannah could surely find some other friends. “Shit, Lori, I don’t have a lot of friends.”
Lori pursed her lips. “Yeah, so, that’s another reason I think you should come to the polyam workshop. You should meet some people.”
“Ouch.” Hannah laughed, but it felt a little forced.
“I’m just saying.” Lori shrugged. “You can never have too many friends. It’s good to get different perspectives on things. Make connections. Network.” She waggled her fingers back and forth like a little person running around. “You never know. Maybe find someone to help you with your business.”
Oh, so that was part of it. “I don’t need help with my business.” Best to shut that down right away. “And if I do, I’ll get help on my terms.”
Lori sighed. “Right. I forget. Miss ‘I have to do it myself or it doesn’t count.’”
Hannah didn’t really have a good response to that, but it stung. She sipped her tequila with a sour expression.
Lori’s next words were gentle. “I’m sorry. I know I can be kind of harsh. I just hate to see you struggling when I can’t do anything about it.”
She really did mean well, and Hannah softened. “I know. But I don’t need you picking on me. And I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“You’re right. You’re right.” Lori swirled the little bit of tequila left in her glass. “I think I’m kind of nervous, thinking about changing things up. But I think it would be good for me, you know? I never put down as many roots here as I wanted.”
“I love it here.” Mapleton felt like home: the small-town vibe, the Chamber of Commerce meetings, the shops and students and hippie atmosphere, her own business. Well, one of those might not be around forever. “I don’t want to leave.”
“So don’t leave. Nobody’s telling you to leave. This is a good place for you.” Lori raised her glass in a toast and drank. She looked down at her glass in hand while she swallowed, brow furrowed. “Are you pissed at me for thinking of moving?”
“Of course not.” How could Hannah begrudge Lori her happiness? Thinking about their friendship having a time limit, though, made her uneasy. Although it didn’t have to have a time limit. They could still be friends even after Lori moved away. “Are you looking far from here?” Please don’t let it be far.
“Probably Boston or New York. I think I want to be in the city.” Lori licked her lips. “Change of pace. Also, the chance to help more people.”
“Neither of those is too far away.” Hannah shifted on the chair.
“Oh, yeah, piece of cake. You can take the Metro North down out of New Haven into New York. It’s only a few hours. Practically a day trip.” Lori smiled. “What, you think I’m gonna head out west or something? Fuck that. I hate California. It’s a fucking desert.”
“California’s a big state. The north is really pretty, I hear.”
“So now you want me to move to California?”
“No! I’m just saying.” Hannah found herself laughing. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. She had survived worse.
Unless she lost her business.
With that sobering thought, she picked up her glass of tequila again.
Lori left later that night, a few hours after they had finished the tequila and most of a large pizza between them. In the silence of her house, Hannah stared at her computer for a while. She could call Ben and talk to him about this, and Mitchell, but calling had an air of “this is a big deal,” and phone calls were terrible. Nobody liked getting them or making them. Instead, she went into the group chat.
…
Ben flipped the switch at the top of the stairs in the restaurant, flooding the room with light. Although they didn’t rent out the event space as often as they thought they would back when they were renovating the place, it still brought in a steady stream of income through the occasional gatherings. This place had hosted some corporate mixers, rehearsal dinners, and bachelor/ette parties, but this polyamory workshop would be a first for both the restaurant and for him.
He was pushing a broom when Mitchell’s footfall sounded on the stairs. Already, his heart quickened. He and Mitchell hadn’t spoken of what happened the night of the Fall Festival. He wasn’t sure if Mitchell remembered his drunken confession, but neither of them had brought it up in the intervening time. They had instead settled into the comfortable intimacy that had developed since the threesome with Hannah, closer and more affectionate than before, but with zero conversation about it. Probably not the healthiest system. Now they were only a few hours away from this polyamory workshop and probably some uncomfortable conversations, and Ben couldn’t stop his brain from running away with him.
Mitchell looked around at the room. “Hey. You’re getting started early.”
“Lots to do.” Ben gestured around at the cobwebs. “Clean some shit. Don’t just stand there.”
Mitchell snorted. “You’re telling me to clean? Did hell freeze over?”
“Shaddup. Lori wants rounds of six with a presentation space up front.” He waved his hand. “Move some tables. And then we’ve gotta check the taps. Lori paid for an open bar.”
“You and Hannah both, just keeping me around to move heavy shit.” Mitchell threw his head back and gave a mighty martyred sigh.
“And your back muscles look really good doing it.” Ben brushed his hair back from his forehead. Ugh, gross. The skin under his palm felt gritty. “I’m covered in dust. Think I have time to run home and shower before tonight?”
“I’m gonna.” Mitchell wrinkled his nose. “Don’t want to go into tonight smelling like the grill.”
After they’d set up the room, Mitchell checked the glassware, frowning meticulously at each pint glass and re-rinsing it in the sink even though each one was perfectly clean. It was a tiny moment, but so clearly Mitchell, who wouldn’t accept less than perfection.
Jesus, he was pretty far gone on the guy, wasn’t he?
Facing those emotions felt a little daunting right now, though. “I’m going home to catch a shower.”
Mitchell nodded without looking up. “Don’t use all the hot water. I’ll be along soon.”
Twenty minutes later, Ben was in the shower when he heard the door to the bathroom open. He stuck his head out. “Dude, you couldn’t wait?”
Mitchell started to pull off his chef jacket. “No. I smell like food, and there isn’t time. And I didn’t want to wait anymore.” He ripped back the curtain and stepped into the shower with Ben.
Ben spluttered, lifting his head out from under the stream of water. What the hell? He did this to Mitchell all the time, but not recently, and Mitchell hadn’t done this to him in…damn, such a long time, but there he was, naked and determined, and he backed Ben up against the wall and kissed him.
Ben froze up for a moment, surprised at Mitchell’s intensity, before yielding and kissing him back. Fuck. With the steamy water, and Mitchell’s warm, tight body against him, Ben’s senses flooded with heat and desire. Kisses didn’t usually make him feel so dizzy, but he couldn’t catch his breath, thoughts dissolving down into the press of Mitchell’s lips on his. This wasn’t like any kisses they’d shared before. And…yeah, this was the first time they’d done this since Mitchell said he loved him. Those words, said affectionately and drunkenly at two in the morning, were framing everything.
Maybe reading something in Ben’s response, Mitchell broke away and took a half step back. There wasn’t room in this shower to do much else. With his damp hair plastered to his forehead, he looked so lost all of a sudden.
“I don’t…” he began, then shook his head.
He kept opening his mouth a bit and closing it again, wanting to talk, obviously, but not saying anything. God, he was vulnerable and sweet and gorgeous, and this swelling emotion in his chest would not, could not be denied, so he stepped Mitchell back up against the cold shower wall and kissed him again.
This wasn’t just an “I want to fuck you” kiss, or an “I think you’re hot” kiss. This was so many different kinds of kisses, hurt and comfort and need and longing, fulfillment in the space between their lips where they slanted and tasted and sipped. He cupped Mitchell’s jaw, framing it with one hand while the other reached between them and found Mitchell’s cock, half hard, stroking it all the way into hardness while the other man moaned into his mouth. He wanted so much here, and there weren’t words for all of the need pulsing in his blood. Mitchell reached for him as well, fumbling between their bodies, until they were awkwardly jerking each other off while kissing hard like teenagers. Something desperate laced these motions, not like the fun and flirtatious sex they’d shared in the past, but something deeper and raw.
Something like love.
Ben’s orgasm hit like a punch to the gut, sucking the wind out of him with rapturous pleasure. He succumbed to Mitchell’s fast, sure strokes, grip faltering on Mitchell’s cock as he spasmed in release. Fuck. He broke the endless kiss to rest his head against the tile wall, boxing Mitchell in with his larger body, breathing through the climax that swept over him with the suddenness and intensity of an earthquake.
Recovered, he stroked at Mitchell with renewed fervor, their slickness mingling with the water, and ducked back in to kiss him again. Kissing during sex, that came naturally, but kissing in the aftermath felt like comfort, and he sought out the sweetness, to hell with what that might mean.
Mitchell threw his head back when he came, crying out like he was in pain, a noise of intense pleasure that hit straight in the heart. Ben kept stroking while Mitchell spilled over his fist, hot and wet, washed away immediately in the water pounding down on them.
In the aftermath, they stayed close, even though there was no physical need to do so. The need ran deeper. It felt so good to stand pressed against Mitchell under the heavy fall of water and take this kind of comfort. Tonight they were going to talk about polyamory, about feelings and relationships and all those things he had avoided since the end of his marriage. It might be terrible. But it might also be wonderful.
Both possibilities were terrifying.
Mitchell touched his arm. “The water’s getting cold.”
“You didn’t wash.”
“I’m clean enough.” He smiled. “We’ve got places to be.”