Page 16 of Grief & Glitter

I blinked stupidly. “You don’t?”

“No, it’s kind of… well, it’s kind of… I don’t know what it is, but I like it.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I mean, sure, if you liked how it smelled. I like your scent. I’d probably sneak a sniff of your coat because it’s… you always… uhm, it’s okay.” His cheeks were rosy now, as were mine. We sat there gawking at each other for so long it was bordering on goofy.

“Well, I won’t do it again. I don’t smell anyone else’s stuff or touch anything left behind. I just… well, that one time with your hoodie. But never again. I need this job, so you have my word: no hoodie sniffing.”

“Okay. That’s fine. And I promise I won’t sniff your pretty checkered coat if I see it hanging somewhere.”

“Cool.” The boulder of worry eased off my back. “We should probably go.” I glanced out my side window to find Arnaud staring at us with a crooked smile on his handsome face. “Your friends are starting to think something is wrong.”

“Flip him off.” I shook my head. So, Gideon gave our gregarious goalie the finger before starting his truck. We left Arnaud laughing in our dust. “He’s the nosiest person I’ve ever met. Tomorrow he’ll be busting my balls about us riding off together.”

I twisted around in my seat, the belt keeping me in place for the most part, to stare at the arena growing smaller and smaller. Then I looked right at Gideon.

“Will there be issues with us having soup?” I didn’t want him to be caught up in whatever future drama may take place if anyone ever found out I was gender fluid.

“No, not a one. If he starts flapping his lips, I’ll tell them about the time I saw him shaving a goat at a county fair in Flint when we were there for a game. He says it was for ‘helping a wee fan who had no experience with udders,’ but I then asked how he had udder experience and got a reply in French.”

I snickered. “I could actually see Arnaud clipping a goat.” Nothing our prankster of a net minder did would surprise me or anyone else on the Copperheads.

“Yeah, I can too, and that’s the scary part.” We crept into traffic, slowing to a snail’s crawl due to construction. He shot me a glance, then another, and then another. “You said you told your sponsor about the hoodie thing.” I bobbed my head, shame making me squeamish. “Uhm, so do you talk to him all the time or when something upsetting happens?”

“Mostly during group. I’ve been pretty solid in my recovery, but when I did that with your hoodie, I fell into a pit of self-hate that was the darkest, deepest hole I’ve encountered since I left rehab. There’s this voice.” I paused to try to find the words to describe what my devil sounds like to someone who’s never experienced that voice of addiction. “It’s like a demon, or I call it that, because it always leads me to hell. It’s always there in the back of your mind, right? There’s no eradicating it. When things are going well, it’s whispering in your ear that you need to celebrate with just a short high. Then when things are bad, or we fuck up, that whisper turns into a shout. A terrible, guttural, hellish entity pushing us to deaden the pain. It says it has a better way to deal. I guess, to me, and this is just me, since one girl in group says her abusive father’s voice is what she hears telling her to do bad things, my Abaddon sounds a lot like Jigsaw in the horror movies. Dad says that’s because I watched it as a kid when Mom was not paying attention like she should have been, and it scarred me. Could be.” I shrugged, my shoulders rising slightly then dropping. “You probably think that’s freaky. Having a voice in your head.”

“No, no, I don’t.” He looked at me as we waited for the flagger to flip his sign from STOP to SLOW. “I have my own shadow. The black dog of depression.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry you’re dealing with that.”

“Thanks. And I’m sorry you’re dealing with your troubles.”

“Guess we’re a good pair.”

That made him smile gently. “Yeah, guess we are.” His gaze caught and held mine.

The car behind us honked. We both jumped. The flagger was shaking his SLOW sign at us. Gideon blushed bright red as we crept through the roadwork, then eased around a busy corner to find a parking garage. Once we had our spot, we walked half a block then ducked into a small side street, our conversation lighter now. Mostly hockey, which was safe ground. Maybe we’d already purged our dark secrets, so chitchat was all that was left.

The Shared Bowl was quiet this afternoon, but we had missed the lunch rush. We were escorted to a small table near a beautiful silk screen with painted tigers and smiling dragons. They brought tea quickly, along with a bowl of pickled radishes. The interior was warm, the air humid and rich with the smells of garlic, ginger, and boiled meats. It was a tiny restaurant with perhaps ten tables. Another couple was across the dining room from us, enjoying some black sesame ice cream, whispering as they spoon-fed each other. Above them, the panda logo was painted in bright colors on the dark red brick wall.

“I need protein and carbs. Do you know what you want?” Gideon asked as he lowered the menu, resting on our paper placemats.

“Yeah, I come here a lot. I love the shio ramen with some strawberry mochi for dessert.” I poured some green tea into our cups as his smile widened.

“Same here, but I like the chocolate mochi instead.”

“We’ll get both then.”

And so, we did. Our soup arrived quickly, the steam rising from the huge ceramic bowl tickling my nose while making my stomach rumble. Huge slices of chicken chashu, miso eggs, and scallions sat atop a massive helping of ramen noodles. We thanked our server, then opened our chopsticks, eager to dive in. We both went for the same fat slice of egg, our chopsticks bumping.

“Oh, sorry,” we said in unison, cheeks red as the radishes we’d polished off.

“You go first,” we both said at the same time.

Cheeks still red, I went first. Gideon then got his slice, and we both sighed and made yummy noises. Leaning over the table to reach the large bowl brought us closer together, the intimacy making me feel flushed and giddy.

“Tell me about the makeup,” Gideon said as we delved into the bowl for noodles. He handled his chopsticks well. I chewed my bite of nori, then swallowed.