Chapter 37

Kathleen

They're not lying when they say the camera adds about ten pounds. It also does not help that you can see my puffy pink cheeks and my body drowning in my thickest coat all over the news. This cold snap has been hell on my fashion choices.

KATHLEEN ALLEN – CULTURAL EXPERT. Yes, news channel, I am surely an expert. God, that sounds so pretentious. This station is pretending to be sympathetic toward me, but in reality, it's making me look like some rich douche. Well, me and Ira, who is lurking about ten feet away in some shots.

Please note how she did nothing to rescue her ship from the cannonballs hurled in its direction. Sure, those protestors were mostly a nuisance that was easy to deal with, but never let it be said that the Mathisons know how to diffuse situations with the public. They're too far removed from the affairs and worries of the common man.

Then again, so is most of my family. I'm the weird child who wanted to learn how to help people. Weird as in I actually felt sympathy for the protestors outside my father's buildings and for the homeless people wandering around the streets. I'm basically a pariah for it.

"You don't look so bad," Eve says, popcorn falling all over her chest as she tries to eat it while slouched on my couch. "You could look way worse, is what I'm saying."

"Thanks." I turn off the TV, unable to look at the scene anymore. When I got the call from Carolyn about what was going on, my first thought was how I could scatter the stupid situation. Know what was even stupider? The fact that some of those supposed protestors were some of the same people who signed my petition! Fuck ‘em.

Eve clicks her tongue before choking on a piece of popcorn. I reach over to slap her on the back, but she's got it under control and acting like the white wine we're drinking is going to make a difference. It's a miracle I'm seeing her at all. This morning, I got a text from her saying her midterms were hell and that she wanted to find a way to relax. Since the club isn't open today, that means crashing at one of our places. I wasn't surprised to see her on my doorstep an hour ago, carrying popcorn and the bottle of wine. Winning combination.

"Bet you'll be glad when this hotel bullshit is over," she mumbles on a handful of popcorn. I can barely understand her.

I shrug. "It's not that bad. Just a lot of busy work and meetings."

"Like I said, boring." Eve turns the bowl upside down to catch the last of the popcorn in her mouth. A kernel bumps off her chest and lands on my couch. Thanks, Eve. "I would go crazy doing a job like that for more than a couple of weeks."

"It's not all boring…" I stop there. In my mind, I am associating my job with Ira. Even when we're doing boring shit like walking around the hotel looking for problems, or getting into another meeting with the Anderssens, all I'm thinking about is the way she kisses me, as if I'm the hottest woman in the world. I'm sure that's how she kisses every woman she likes bedding. I don't care. Just let me live in this reverie for now.

"Even if it's not boring, you're dealing with the Mathisons. I'd shoot myself. Ira alone makes me want to scream."

There's a lump in my throat. "Why's that?"

"You have to ask? I thought you hated the pompous ass."

"Don't know if I'd call her an ass…"

"Eh?" Eve looks at me, laughing in disbelief. "Going soft on me, are you? I hear she's a lady killer but come on. You've got a reputation to maintain."

Does she know? What the fuck! "I don't know what you're talking about."

Now she's snorting. "I've heard the birdies. You having lunch with her."

"Of course we're going to have lunch sometimes."

"How about going to the symphony?"

I sit up straight. "How did you know about that?"

"Mutual friend saw you guys there that night. In the Mathisons' box."

"So? She offered to take me, and I like the symphony."

"Kathleen Marguerite Allen," Eve says with that mother's disdain, "I know you ain't dating her, so…"

"So what?" I need to be careful with the defensiveness, but I can't help it!

Eve turns her lips up into a rueful smile. "Are you fucking Ira Mathison?"

"What!"

"You heard me. You're getting all flustered talking about her. People are seeing you together when two weeks ago you wouldn't have been caught dead spending more time than you had to with her. Plus, uh, mutual friend says you two were…um… quite cozy in that booth."

All the color drains from my face.

"You like oral sex at the symphony, huh?"

"Get the fuck out of here." Although I intend my tone to be exasperated, it comes out embarrassed. Like me.

"No way." Eve laughs, knocking over her popcorn bowl. Thank God it's empty and thank God she didn't knock over the wine. "No way."

"Shut up."

"So it's true? You're fucking Mathison?"

More like she's fucking me right now, but I'm not going to tell Eve that. "It's a casual thing. We're not even dating, let alone in a real relationship." No way in hell am I telling her about the kink thing. It's bad enough she found out about us fooling around like this.

"She's a–"

"I know what she is!" Why is my voice projecting? Why am I getting worked up like this? Shit, Kathleen, get it together! "Do you have kinky sex with every person you fuck? No? I didn't think so. It's not like that." I'm really into this whole lying thing.

Then again, I tell myself, it isn't like that every time with Ira. Last week we made pretty amazing love… shit, there I go calling it that again. What is wrong with me?

"Well, far be it from me to tell you what you are or aren't doing in the bedroom." Eve picks up the empty bowl, including some tiny kernels that managed to make it onto my carpet. "Although I hope you know what you're doing. At some point, she woman is going to try it with you, and she may not realize she's putting her silicone dick up on the guillotine for it."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

"Speaking of which…" Eve looks way too comfy on my couch. Sure, she's oozed all over it more than once in my life, but there's something extra mischievous about it this time. And it's all directed at me. "How is it?"

"How's what?"

She scoffs. "You know what I'm talking about. How's she in bed? Just because she's the opposite of my type doesn't mean I'm not curious. I hear things! Hell, we date the same women!"

I shake my head. She's kidding herself if she thinks we're having this delicious kind of girl talk. She will never, ever let me live it down if she found out that…

"I've heard two stories about Ira's prowess over the years," Eve says with a languished sigh. "Some say she can only do it with a prosthetic. Others say it's just for show. So? Which?"

Normally, I would love to engage in sex talk with my best friend. But I don't feel like it. Probably because this is a lot more personal than someone I picked up at the club and took for a ride for an hour until they couldn't go anymore.

Eve's stare bores into me. I'm not getting off this couch until I divulge something to her. Great. Time to play a game I have no interest in playing.

"It's not every time." I'm unable to meet her gaze. "It's also not never."

"Hey, I've never slept with someone who openly identifies as non-binary. I don't know what I'm talking about." Eve's grin is so big and stupid that I can't tell if she's joking or not. "How big does she go? Like, normal sized? Or bigger?"

"Oh, fuck you."

"Girl."

My eyes can't roll hard enough. I also haven't really thought about it before. "She's a fellow connoisseur of the Avalon brand." That should say plenty. Almost nobody buys from Avalon and goes small unless it's their particular kink.

"She knows how to use it, eh?"

"Would you shut up?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" The farther this conversation goes, the more I'm convinced Eve's getting off on stirring the pot. "You've never been this uptight about sex before. What is with her making you act like a closed-lip prude?"

"I am not." I straighten up, my pride suddenly on the line. It's true. Usually I'm the first to start blabbing about sex when we're in this situation. "All right. Fine. One of her biggest things is using it in sex. But she also likes to go au naturale. And…"

"Go on…"

I can't even look at her. "She likes it wet if you know what I mean."

"I once heard from an ex of hers that she can squirt ten feet. Think that's true?"

"Oh my God, stop!"

"Because if she didn't already have millions of dollars, she could make serious bucks off a talent like that. Too bad you never see something like that in the club. I'd be intrigued!"

"I swear to God I am going to kill you."

"Aw, come on, is she special?"

My knitted brows are so tight that they're giving me a migraine. "Why don't you fuck her and find out? We'll compare notes."

"If I weren't busy chasing Coleman's receptionist, I'd think about it. For science. But you know I don't do penis-shaped anything unless it looks fake strapped to my waist." She shudders. That marks the biggest difference between her and my preferences. Eve has an aversion to most things phallic, and I'm over here leaving 1,000 word reviews on Avalon's products. "Besides," Eve continues, "Ira Mathison comes off as a very selfish lover around the club."

"She's not that selfish." I think of how patient Ira is with me in the world of sex and romance. I've freaked out on her quite a few times by now, and while she gets exasperated with me, she's never made me feel ashamed or somehow less than as a potential sub. It can't be easy – or fun – to deal with. Yet the other night, when I finally got over her territorially marking me? Well, I got over the fear, but not the apprehension. Either way, she helped me with that. Going forward, I like to think it gets easier until I'm…

What? Begging for it? Mercy upon me!

"She's a good lover," I murmur.

Eve doesn't speak for a minute. She looks between the empty popcorn bowl and me, her eyes clouded over, deep in thought.

"You guys a thing?"

I don't answer, because I don't know. Aside from, "It wouldn't work as a serious relationship. We're fooling around. You know how it is. We're both dominant."

Eve looks like she wants to say something but doesn't. Whatever it is, it would probably piss me off.

I never get to find out because the doorbell rings.

"Who the hell?" The only person who comes up directly to my door is Eve, and she's already here. I doubt it's a delivery, as I'm not expecting anything.

Nevertheless, I get up, bracing myself for the surprise of my life – which I get.

"Kathleen!" Two perfumed hands clutch my face as Carolyn Graham-Mathison gets all up in my personal space. "So good to see you, dear! It's been a while."

I stumble back in my doorway as she nearly barrels me over. Behind me, in the living room, Eve laughs in utter disbelief. I keep waiting for her to say, "We were talking about your offspring's pussy!" but thank the Lord it never comes.

It takes a few seconds, but I recover my hospitality. Carolyn is ushered into my living area, where I offer to take her fur coat, but she declines, citing that she won't be staying long.

"Why, if it isn't Evelyn," she says sweetly, staring down my best friend. They exchange fake smiles. "Haven't seen you around much lately. How's school?"

While they submerge themselves in idle chatter, I get Carolyn a small cup of coffee to tie her over. Is it strange that I know she likes a hefty amount of cream and no sugar? I don't know where I remember this from. Probably a function long ago. Either way, I feel like the prodigious daughter-in-law as I serve her coffee in my own home.

Until now, I never really saw Carolyn as "Ira's mother." She's always had such a tight identity of her own – how can she not, given her machinations in the Mathison family? – that there was no need to think of her in relation to her husband and child. Most women in our world have those kinds of identities. They're known for being so-and-so's wife, mother, daughter. The best they can hope for is striking out on their own a bit, but many don't bother, whether out of choice or disillusionment.

I've always looked up to Carolyn because she knows what she wants and is completely unapologetic about getting it. We laugh about her marriage and divorce but think about it – how well played! Donovan Mathison wrote in a prenup that she wouldn't get half his fortune in a divorce unless they were married for twenty years. In exchange for getting married over Ira's conception, he asked her to invest more than her body. He wanted her time. Twenty years of being the hot young wife. A hot, smart wife who did more than be arm candy at functions. Carolyn didn't mind being with the man, but she wanted to see her worth upfront. Her own personal worth… and wealth.

Growing up with women like that in my family's social circle helped shape who I am. Probably. I saw women like Carolyn and realized that I could make my own way without my father's help. It's tougher being a woman, but at least I know it's possible.

That doesn't mean I know why she's here. Or that I'm suddenly not thinking of her kid, especially since they share the same arch of the brows and high cheekbones.

She's a glamorous woman who doesn't look a day over thirty, even though she's much older. What? Fifty? I think so. Today, she's wearing a body-hugging long-sleeved dress designed to look like intricate oil pools. From one angle she's covered in blues and purples, and from another she's nothing but greens and reds. The high-neck of her black fur coat makes her look more sophisticated. Especially when I realize it's vintage fur. The Mathisons, especially Carolyn and Ira, are infamous for being environmentally and ecologically conscious to a fault. No way would Carolyn purchase any real fur that wasn't dead for at least a hundred years already.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Carolyn?" I ask, sitting by Eve on my couch. The woman takes a chair adjacent to us. The coffee is untouched in her hands. "You don't stop by here often." Or ever.

She glances at Eve. "I was actually hoping we could speak in private, dear."

Eve takes the hint without offense. "I need to use the ladies' room anyway." She gets up, taking the empty popcorn bowl and wineglasses to my kitchen before diverting to the guest bathroom. Carolyn eyes her before turning back to me.

"How's the project coming along, dear?"

"Dear" is basically a copula for Carolyn, and I usually ignore it, but today it seems slathered in some strange feeling. I don't know what to make of it.

"It's coming along fine. I can't apologize enough for holding things up in the beginning part of this plan."

"Oh, don't fret over it. The Anderssens needed a reason to broach the council subject, and you were a scapegoat handed to them on a silver platter." Gee, that doesn't make me feel any better. "I'm more concerned about how you're dealing with my darling family." The condescension dripping from her fangs would be hilarious if she weren't talking about the person I'm currently fucking.

"You mean Ira?"

"Ira, Donovan… even that cute gal Vivian working for the fruit of my loins. They're all kind of the same in some areas."

"You're not?"

"Hell no! I'm a girl who made the best out of a… terrible and unfortunate situation." Her grin says otherwise. I've often wondered – and I'm not the only one – if Carolyn got pregnant on purpose. "However, I know firsthand how difficult those two can be. I may have given birth and raised one, but they're still their father's child, bless them. Once Ira discovered they liked dressing up as a boy, Donovan paraded them around in those men's-only clubs as a way to prove how ‘daft' they are. His words. God only knows what Ira's picked up from them!"

"I haven't had any problems to speak of."

My lips are tight, which means Carolyn doesn't believe me. I've never been shy in recent years about what an ass Ira can be. She often agrees with me, laughing into champagne, coffee, tea, or whatever she has on hand at the time. Today she's not even touching the coffee I gave her.

"You know…" she begins, and I'm not sure I like the tone in her voice. "I made quite the flub the other day talking to Ira. All this time I thought that you two once dated. They set me right, don't you worry… but I've been wondering if I really misremembered that or not."

I attempt to keep my demeanor pleasant, but it's faltering. "Ira and I never dated. We've known each other for quite a while, however."

"Yes, yes, they told me that you two went to that academy together. Aren't you younger?"

"Only two years. She was a senior when I was a sophomore." The fact that we're both using our own pronouns for Ira isn't escaping me. I admit, I feel a bit put on the spot referring to her as she so casually, let alone in front of her mother, who throws a gala every Pride and has more Trans Youth shirts in her closet than the Human Rights Council. But Ira told me a long time ago that it was fine for me to use she, so I do.

Is this what it feels like to not want to offend your potential mother-in-law? The kind of mother hawk that would steal a machete and start slashing if anyone came for her baby?

"Oh!" Carolyn exclaims. "That explains it. Old enough to go to school together, but different grades."

"I suppose."

"Hm." Carolyn looks up toward my ceiling and taps a pink nail against her red lips. "You should date Ira!"

"What?"

Carolyn uncrosses her slender legs and wags a happy finger in my face. "You're single, they're single… a lothario, but they're getting to be thirty and that will have to slow down soon… ah, you would be so good for Ira!"

I grit my teeth. "How so?"

"They need a woman from our world, truth be told. Ira likes spoiling girls, but at the end of the day, they don't understand what it means to be a girl who is familiar with poverty. Ira doesn't have the patience for that mindset. You come from many means, but you're not snobby about it. You know I love you for the social work you do."

"Thanks."

"Ira also needs a woman who will challenge them intellectually and not put up with their shit. Ira thinks they're happy with the pretty tarts, but what they need is a pretty, uh, non-tart."

I can't believe this conversation is happening.

"Look, Kathleen, dear, I've been thinking a lot about this ever since seeing you two working. Plus, may I say that you two are mighty handsome together? Between that newscast earlier today and the presentation a while ago… look, I'm not the type of woman to crow about grandbabies, but I have to admit I… oh, I'm embarrassing you!"

"Not really." I can't keep my lip from twitching. Ira and me. Having kids. I don't think so. They would have to take it up with my IUD first, and Ira isn't even equipped to knock me up. Avalon isn't that good yet! "Please don't tell me you've told Ira this."

"Goodness, no. I like to tease you two, but I have no intention of making your lives utter hell. I suppose this is all a result of… well, dear, I hate to bring out the TMI, but I got official word from my doctor that I'm going through the change and… it's worse than puberty in terms of the hormones."

"I see." Great. So Carolyn is starting menopause, and I'm the first casualty.

"I'm worried about my child. Forgive me, Kathleen, for being so nosy and meddling. You're a good girl. A good woman. The kind of woman an aging bitty like me would like to see keep her offspring grounded when she can't anymore."

It's like a stab to my heart. Not because I think Ira is incompetent, but because I like Carolyn, and seeing her fret like this is not only so unlike her but reminds me that anything can happen to our psyche as we age and face unpleasant facts. No, Carolyn isn't anywhere near death that I know of, but I can imagine starting menopause is a harsh reminder of one's mortality. I'll know in about twenty years.

"Well…" I look away, blushing. No one wants to admit that she's screwing another woman's child. Not that I have to admit it. But…

"Ira and I are fairly good friends," I continue. "I wouldn't worry about her. I have my ways of keeping her in line." The flash of a smile on my face is almost genuine.

"My dear… what exactly does ‘good friends' mean?"

The smile falls off my face. "Excuse me?"

"I knew it." She puts the coffee down and stands, shuffling toward me, like a multi-colored ghost wafting toward another soul. "Please don't deny it, Kathleen! I've seen the way Ira looks at you these days. A mother knows!"

Her giddiness would be sweet if it weren't for one painful fact – it won't work between us. "I don't know what you're getting at."

"Stop playing coy. It's not a good look on you." Carolyn puts her hand on my shoulder. "You and Ira are seeing each other… aren't you?"

I'm looking into this woman's glistening eyes, full of hope and encouragement. Fuck me. In the realm of the world, I couldn't do much better than Carolyn for a mother-in-law of some sort. God knows she's more of a mother to me than my own.

"I…"

"Donovan told me! Stop hiding it!"

Adrenaline courses through my veins. I'm not scared. I swear! "What?"

"He told me the other night that Ira told him about you two playing some come-hither game. Now either Ira is a dirty liar who needs a talking to about protecting someone's reputation, or you're not being forthcoming with me. Either option is not pleasant!"

Now's the time for me to show some maturity. Come on, Kathleen. She clearly knows. I'm not happy that she knows – let alone that Ira is blabbing to a bigger blabbermouth like her parents – but it can't be helped. If I keep denying it or pretending that I don't know what she's talking about, I'm just going to make things harder for myself. Plus, it sounds like I'm ashamed, and I hardly am.

"All right, but it's casual."

A smile as bright as the sunlight pouring through the window behind me lights up Carolyn's cheekbones. "Oh, it's time for me to start going back to church, because my prayers have been answered." She bends down and kisses me on the cheek, like we're suddenly family. "A smart girl like you with my aimless, spoiled kid? Why, I…"

"I said it's casual." Why won't people believe this?

"Yes, yes, casual for now, but…"

"Carolyn!" I leap up, not intending to get in her face, but hey, she got in mine so it's only fair. "Ira and I are so fundamentally different that it could never be anything but casual. We're… together… for now, but only until we find better partners that are more suitable." That's what I believe, anyway. "I don't want to get into the details with my girlfriend's mother. Trust me when I say that it's casual, and it has to stay that way."

"But Kathleen…"

"No, no. Listen, I like you. I like Ira well enough. I have nothing against your family or the idea of being a more formal part of your lives one day. Who knows? Maybe she'll drag me to a dinner now that she's let it slip to both of her parents that we're fooling around, but we're not getting married. We are definitely not having babies. We'll be lucky to make it more than a few weeks at this rate. Please, don't put any pressure on a relationship that probably shouldn't be happening anyway."

She looks as if I told her that Ira's dead. No, just our potential love. Not that I want to ever call it that.

"I'm sorry, Kathleen," she finally says. "I've overstepped my bounds. Please forgive me."

She takes her leave of my apartment. If she had a tail, it might be tucked between her legs. I feel bad. I don't want to hurt her feelings. She's being a mother who is excited her only child is supposedly making a good girlfriend choice. In any other circumstance, I would be pleased to know that my girlfriend's mother thought so highly of me. God knows I've heard the horror stories, especially in my family's social circle.

Except I can't let people think that Ira and I are anything serious. It's too complicated to explain, and so few people would understand what's going on.

I can't even tell Eve, who I catch standing in my room dropping eaves, that I want Ira Mathison to "train" me to indulge in my latent submissive tendencies.

This is the type of secret I can't stand keeping. Yet I have to, for my sake, and hers.

For the sake of my heart, which feels a little broken. I don't know why.