Chapter 15

Three days.

Mel made it through the next three days. It wasn't all a fog; it didn't all happen in a blur. But most of it did. She clung, though, to those moments of clarity—fleeting seconds in the shower or lacing up her boots where she would think, Oh well.

I went for something, and it didn't work out. Oh well.

I was on the verge of trusting someone again and now I won't. Oh well.

I tried and I failed. Oh well.

It would take time, she knew, before she felt better, but that would happen eventually. How long had Bebe been in her life, anyway? Two, two and a half months? That was an eyeblink compared to a marriage of nearly a decade. Mel had survived one earth-shattering heartbreak; she could survive this tremor.

Except she was starting to understand that there was no Richter scale for relationships. Losing Bebe didn't hurt less simply because they hadn't been together for years. It only hurt differently. It was a loss of possibility, of what could have been. In some ways, that was worse than the slow decline with her ex-wife. At least in that case, when the marriage ended, Mel was ready, on some level, to be done. Things with Bebe had just begun.

It was easy to stay busy, at least. There were new cocktail recipes to create for the competition, experiments she conducted at home for hours on end, though Mel discarded all the results as either too derivative or too obscure. She showed up to every one of her shifts at TV, scoffing at Daniel's suggestion that she call in sick. Being behind the bar was a mixed blessing: it kept her from wallowing, but she never seemed to have a moment's peace to really process what was happening. For that reason, she'd been declining Bebe's calls, leaving her texts unread. Mel wasn't ready to talk to her about what had happened. She barely knew how she felt about it.

There had been one text, though—an unknown number—that Mel had read:

This is Kade. Contact me if you want to talk. Ignore this if you don't.

Mel hadn't responded. But she had saved the number in her phone under St. Cloud, Kade (Bebe's Wife).

She tried to ignore the surge of warmth, remembering their late-night conversation in the condo. Plenty of reasons to keep the number. You never knew, she told herself. Might need an artist someday.

Mel shook water droplets from her freshly rinsed mixing tin as she surveyed the bar and lounge. Busy as usual, despite the handful of new Yelp reviews blasting the recently implemented reservation policy: credit card required, plus a one-hundred-dollar deposit. Sunspot was really putting the "hostile" in hospitality.

Her eyes landed on a familiar face at the other end of the bar.

Bebe lifted a hand in greeting. Mel had never known her to be tentative, and she still wasn't, but there was an uncertainty to the set of her mouth, like she didn't know if she was going to be thrown out. She didn't look bad, exactly—her clothes were as polished and pressed as they'd always been, and if there was any hint of darkness under her eyes due to lack of sleep, her makeup covered it flawlessly. And yet Bebe lacked something in her bearing that Mel found herself missing.

Her eyes, she realized. They weren't dancing. Not even a single twinkle.

Mel set down her shaker. Her hands were steady. That made her feel better. The typhoon of emotion had to stay internal. She strode over to where Bebe was sitting, even though it wasn't her assigned section of the bar. Jessica gave her a curious look, but Mel waved her off.

She stood in front of Bebe and leaned in so she wouldn't be heard by the other guests over the clamor of a Friday night. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping we could talk," Bebe said. Her cheeks were pink, but her chin was tilted up.

"I'm working."

"I know. I can wait."

"You'll be waiting a long time," Mel said. It gave her a kind of smug satisfaction to give such a dry dismissal. Then she registered the real hurt in those un-sparkling eyes and she felt like a real asshole.

Bebe collected herself, the pain in her expression smoothing away, then nodded once. She reached for her purse on the hook under the bar. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. I'll leave you alone."

She rose from her seat, and Mel saw in an instant what life would look like if she let Bebe walk away from her now.

She'd always wonder. And she would regret it.

"Hey." Mel rested her hand on the crook of Bebe's elbow. "I have a break coming up in about an hour." It was unpaid, and Mel hardly ever took it even when her shift stretched into the nine-hour range like it was liable to do on a Friday. But these were special circumstances. "If you want to talk, meet me outside then."

A little of Bebe's old shimmer returned. "Okay. I'll be there." She didn't stay like Mel half expected her to; she picked up her coat, shot Mel one last hopeful look, and made a beeline for the door.

Good thing, too. There was a waiting list a mile long for that single free seat at the bar. A patron gestured for her, and she was right back in the thick of it, mixing a martini dirtier than a subway floor. The hour went by so fast that Mel didn't have any time to worry about why Bebe wanted to speak to her.

Mel had calculated the ebb and flow of service perfectly. The guests at the bar were settled into their second or third cocktails, lingering in that perfect spot where a bartender had no credit cards to run or new orders to fill. A lull like this was as good a time as any to step away.

Mel wiped her hands on a dry bar towel. "Hey, I need a break. Are you going to be okay for a few minutes?" she asked Jessica.

She looked surprised but recovered admirably. "Yeah, of course." She glanced toward the shut door to the manager's office. "Go quick. Before Brent comes back."

There was an exit through the back that staff were expected to use during business hours, and Mel went that way so she could grab her coat. She made her way down the narrow alley to reach the street that fronted TV. There were still tons of people lining the (definitely not ADA-friendly) sidewalk in front of the bar, dressed to the nines, hoping to get inside one of the best-rated bars in the city. The social media–ites were shooting video of themselves standing in the freezing cold. Couples were huddling together. Mel stepped neatly through their ranks.

There was a small traffic island situated between the bike lane and the rest of the street. In recent years it had been spruced up by the city with a spindly tree, though its branches were winter-bare. Beneath it sat a green park bench. Bebe was on that bench, blowing into her gloved hands. Her eyes were riveted to the front door of TV, clearly expecting Mel to come from that direction instead of the one she had.

Mel watched her for a moment, unseen. Had she waited there the whole hour in the cold?

No sense prolonging this. Mel approached with her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets. "Hey."

Bebe's head whipped to the side at the sound of her voice. "Mel! Hi." She struggled to stand, but her joints must have been frozen solid, making it difficult for her to get off the bench.

"Don't get up. I'll sit, it's fine." Mel claimed the far end of the bench, putting as much distance between them as possible. The minute she sat, throbbing pain shot up from the soles of her feet toward her knees. Mel ignored it, used to the sensation after so many years of long shifts. "I can give you fifteen minutes before I have to go back to work," she told Bebe.

"I won't waste your time, then." Bebe turned her whole body to face Mel, shivering in her camel coat. "I've recused myself from the case."

Mel stared at her.

Bebe swallowed. "That means—"

"I know what it means," Mel said. It was one of those words they tossed around on Law Order pretty often. "I thought you never quit when it came to your work."

"Well." Bebe shrugged one shoulder. "First time for everything." She pursed her lips like she was disappointed in her own flippant response. "It was the right thing to do. One of my colleagues took it over. He's good. The client will be well served, just not by me."

Mel mulled this over. "Why are you telling me this? Your problem was solved when we broke up."

Bebe inhaled sharply like she'd been struck. "Is that what we've done?"

"I stormed out of your house. We haven't spoken in days," Mel pointed out. "It's over, right?"

"Are you asking me?" Bebe's eyes went wide. "Because that's not the answer I would give."

Mel rubbed her tired eyes. She was so confused. "So you quit the case to get me back? Is that what's happening here?"

"No! Mel, I—" Bebe frowned down at the chipped green paint between them. "I should have recused myself regardless."

Mel furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"Because." Bebe lifted her eyes and stared miserably at Mel. "The standard for having a conflict of interest is any personal investment in the outcome. And I am absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, personally invested in you." She sighed through her nose. "Whether we're together or not."

Mel looked away and forced out a laugh. "You make it sound like you're in love with me or something."

Only silence came from Bebe's side of the bench.

Mel glanced back at her. She looked wide-eyed with guilt.

"You told me not to tell you," Bebe whispered. "You specifically said you weren't interested in that. I was trying to respect your wishes."

"What?" Mel could barely speak.

Bebe reached across the bench and put her hand on Mel's arm. Her eyes were liquid. "I love you, and I love your kindness, and I want to be around you because maybe some of it will rub off on me if I try hard enough." Her lips shut into a thin line like she hadn't meant to say quite so much. "But it's not about what I want, not really," Bebe said quietly. She looked down and away. "And if you say you want to end things, that's your choice. I can't argue with that, as much as I want to."

That wasn't right. That was all backward. Mel slipped a naked hand out of her coat pocket and touched the soft leather of Bebe's gloved one where it still rested on her arm. Mel squeezed her hand over Bebe's. Despite sitting out in the freezing winter air for an hour, the heat of her was palpable. Mel could feel it through her glove, from across the insurmountable-seeming foot-and-a-half of bench. She'd be able to feel it halfway around the world. If she tried to hold on to it.

Her throat clicked as she spoke. "I don't mind if you argue."

Bebe's gaze rocketed back to hers. "No?"

Mel sighed. "I love you, too," she said.

Now that the secret was out, it felt like a two-ton weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She could catch her breath, which she hadn't been able to do properly since Bebe had waltzed into her life and took it away.

A smile bloomed on Bebe's lips. "I know," she said. "A girl can always tell."

Mel ducked her head with a snort. "I was hiding it pretty well, I thought."

"Nah, you did a bad job." Then, smile faltering, Bebe said, "But that's just one slice of the pie. The love part. Thrilled we have that squared away, don't get me wrong, but what about—?" Her hand tightened on Mel's arm, and Mel lifted it to finally, finally invite her closer. Bebe scooted right up against her side, ducking under her arm and generally being a perfect warm weight along her ribs. "Are you okay with this being more than casual going forward?"

With Bebe's head tucked under her chin, Mel could let her face go through a series of squishes and creases as she thought. "I think I have to be," she eventually said. "Ever since I met you, I've been trying to maintain a distance between us, but that isn't working, clearly. I wouldn't have been so pissed at finding that paperwork in your kitchen if I didn't give a shit about you. But I do give a shit. A massive, steaming—"

"You know what I love most about you?" Bebe sighed. "Your romantic soul."

Mel pressed her lips to the cold earmuff band that was nestled in Bebe's hair, shaking with silent laughter. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." Bebe lifted her head from Mel's chest to look her in the eye. "I should have recused myself from the jump. It was the only real answer, and I was too stubborn to accept it. Or discuss it with anyone." She squinched her nose up. "I've been so good at keeping my work life from interfering with my personal life up to now. I guess I wanted to handle it by myself like a big hero."

"I'm sorry I blew up at the first sign of trouble," Mel said. "If you had come to me and said, ‘Hey, there's this problem at work and you're a part of it,' I couldn't have been mad. But I was probably looking for any excuse to bail."

Bebe ran a gloved hand over the back of Mel's head, tickling the shorn hair there. "Because you were falling madly in love with me?"

Mel rolled her eyes but smiled. "Yeah. Because of that."

Bebe cuddled up close again. Her gloved hands slid into the opening in Mel's unbuttoned coat, her arms winding around her middle. "We'll have to have a long talk, you know. Not casual anymore. Big step. Dare I say, serious."

"You love negotiating, though," Mel said. Her arm settled heavily around Bebe in turn.

"It's one of my favorite things." Bebe kissed her neck, right where the sprig of rosemary was tattooed. "But don't worry. You're high on the list, too."

They sat there together for another minute or so, enjoying their closeness, the seismic shift they'd just been through.

Mel spoke first: "By the way, I made it into that competition."

"Seriously?" Bebe sat bolt upright, twisting so she could face Mel properly. "Food Fest picked you for the contest? Why didn't you lead with that?"

"It's not a big deal," Mel lied.

"Oh my god, I'm so proud of you." Bebe took her face in her hands and kissed her so thoroughly, a couple passersby whistled. "You're going to destroy all comers," Bebe said when they parted.

"Exactly how high is winning on that list of your favorite things?" Mel asked, breathless.

Bebe gave her a knowing look. "Guess you'll have to win and find out."

UpdatedGUIDELINES FOR POLY LIVING WITH BEBE MEL