But is compromise such a bad thing? the maraschino cherry in my drink inquired philosophically. It's the first thing you're taught in kindergarten, after all. How to share each other's toys. I groaned softly, rubbing my palms into my eyes. Then I ate the damned cherry.
“The thing is, Iris, I've never liked the idea of compromise. In films and in stories, people who love each other—really love each other—make horrendous sacrifices. They give kidneys, they move across the world, they die. Or become the undead, because you know I like that sort of book. Basically, the heroine's lover calls, and she answers. Which is stupid. You know why?”
Iris shook her head.
“Because he's always fucking calling.”
Iris nodded, pushing my water toward me. I ignored it and took another drink of my delicious, golden-brown, new best friend.
“So I've never liked that idea, Iris. You know why?” Iris again shook her head. “Because I think that sometimes, when you really love somebody, you don't ask them for the kind of compromise that is actually a sacrifice. The kind where one person gives up everything they have, everything they are, just so they can be with the other person. And you certainly don't expect that shit. You don't expect someone to prove their love. To love you that little bit more than you love them.”
I took another long draught of my drink. Pontificating was thirsty work, and I needed to wet the old whistle. Then I could wax poetic. Or babble like a drunken lunatic, the cherry mumbled, vengefully, from the pit of my stomach. I went right ahead and digested it into submission.
“What Ryu wants from me,” I warned, waggling my finger emphatically in the air, “I can't give him. Not now, and maybe not ever. I don't know whether it's because I don't love him, or because I can't love him for demanding something like that from me. Or because he doesn't know me for squat. But I couldn't give him my whole life. And that's what he wanted from me. He wanted everything, and I wanted him to love me for what I had already offered.” I paused, suddenly worried. And because I had to hiccough.
“Iris, am I a bad person?”
“No, honey, you're not a bad person,” my friend responded, leaning over to grab my hand.
I blinked for two reasons when she touched me. The first was that I realized, suddenly, that I was completely shitfaced. The second, however, was because I also realized that despite the fact that I was schlitzed, and still a basket case from everything that had happened over the last week, my shields had gone up, totally reflexively, the minute Iris reached for me.
“I think I learned a lot on vacation,” I whispered at my friend, leaning conspiratorially across the table toward her.
“I think you did too, honey,” Iris said, laughing.
“And I figured out that thing with the two fingers and the Twizzlers you told me about…”
Iris began laughing almost immediately, and I felt good, sitting there with my friend. Then again, it might just have been the booze. I knew I still had to deal with Ryu like an adult, but we—me and the three Rob Roys floating around in my stomach—were secretly thrilled that I'd walked out like that. I felt… sassy. Like I should be in a rock video.
Then it was my turn to bust my guts laughing when Iris told me about everything that had gone down in the bookstore while I was away. I'd had a long talk with Grizzie and Tracy as soon as I got back to Rockabill. They had been amazingly understanding. Basically, Grizzie had said she didn't have a leg to stand on, since she was constantly disappearing herself. And Tracy said that she understood life sometimes got the better of us. I still felt guilty, however, and I had promised to open the store—off the clock, single-handedly, and even when I wasn't working that day—for the next month so they could sleep in.
But they'd also been sketchy about what had happened while I was away. I think they didn't want to make me feel guilty. So Iris spilled the beans.
Apparently, Miss Carol had taken Linda on as her cause célèbre. Don't get me wrong, Miss Carol was one lecherous gnome. But she firmly believed in consensual lechery. So she'd refused to let Linda purchase any of her pulp-fiction rape fantasies. Instead, Miss Carol had started Linda on an initial course of feminist antibiotics: Wollstonecraft, Millett, and Greer. When Linda hadn't responded to treatment, Miss Carol had switched to something more aggressive. If Linda wanted violence, Miss Carol would give her pain tempered with philosophy. So poor Linda left Read It and Weep buried under a stack of Henry Miller, D. H. Lawrence, and the Marquis de Sade. She'd returned, two days later, clutching a copy of Justine and crying her eyes out. Before Miss Carol could slip Linda Philosophy in the Bedroom, Amy had intervened. She'd sent Linda home with Danielle Steele and a cupcake, before firmly lecturing Miss Carol about tampering with the humans.
I was nearly snorting Rob Roy out of my nose when Iris's phone rang. I recovered fast when she said, “Hold on,” and held the phone out toward me.
“It's Ryu. Should I tell him to bugger off ?”
I took a deep breath, then a sip of my water, then shook my head.
“No, I'll talk to him.”
She passed me the phone and slipped out of our booth to go chat with Marcus at the bar.
“Jane?”
“I'm here.”
“You made it home okay.”
“Yes, I'm fine.”
There was an awkward silence.
“I tried your cell—”
“I have it on silent,” I cut in.
Crickets chirped.
“Why did you leave like that?”
I shrugged, and then remembered he couldn't see me.
“I dunno. I just didn't feel like you left me with any options.”
“So you walked out.”
“You weren't listening. You were making declarations. You are not George Bush.”
“What?”
“I'm not with you or against you, Ryu. I care about you, but I can't just up and leave my life here. It was unfair of you to ask me to do that, and especially unfair right then.”
There was silence from the other end of the line. I was just about to up my bitchiness ante by pressing End when he finally spoke.
“You're right. I'm sorry. I was a dick.”
“Yup.”
“I'm sorry. Really, I am. I was just so afraid when we lost you… I never took the idea of losing you seriously till then. I can't lose you, Jane. I can't.” Ryu's voice nearly broke, sending me over the edge.
“Oh, Ryu…” I sniffled as tears formed in my eyes.
“Are we all right?”
I thought about that, scrubbing my shirt over my face to wipe up any tears. Then I looked to my Rob Roy for moral support. When none was forthcoming, I drank it.
“Jane?”
“I don't know, Ryu.” I hated having to tell him this, but I had to. “Because you were right, too. We can't just go on like this, I guess. Especially now. Maybe we need a break. Or a rain check. I've got so much going on, and I really need to be… stronger to be with you.”
“Baby, I would never hurt you.”
I snorted. “Ryu, I don't mean stronger for you. I mean stronger so I can go anywhere with you. I got creamed last week. The floor was mopped with me. I never want to be in that position again.”
“You were fine, Jane. You did well. You saved us.”
“You only saw me post-Caleb, Ryu. You didn't see the punches. I got punched. A lot. Then bit, and not one of your sexy bites. I mean bitten. I probably need a rabies shot. Oh, and whipped. Let's not forget the whipping. And that's just what Graeme had on for starters.”
Ryu was silent for a moment before he swore softly.
“Jane, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize.”
For a second, I considered harping on the fact that he didn't realize—didn't realize how fucked up I was from everything that had happened. That I still had a weird ache, which I knew damned well was purely psychological, where Graeme had bitten clean through my lip. That I was hoping alcohol would grant me sleep, finally, despite the dreams that plagued me. How, when I closed my eyes, Conleth was there waiting… if I was lucky. Because Graeme was there if I wasn't.
In the end, however, I didn't bother. Instead, I told him that it was okay, that we'd talk soon. That I needed a few days to rest and get my head round everything. That I'd call when I was ready.
I knew Ryu wasn't happy, and he wanted something more concrete. But he was shit out of luck.
When I got off the phone, I sat for a second, feeling a bit numb. Not least because I'd managed to imbibe the remaining dregs of my Rob Roy. I was more booze than Jane at that point.
“Are you all right?”
“Iris, your voice is like honeysuckles and stars. With a unicorn in it.”
“Hmm. I think it's time to go home.”
“No, let's go dancing. You know, I've never gone dancing? I've lived a sheltered life.”
“I know, honey. C'mon, we can talk about it in the car.”
“Or we can go to Mexico. ‘You boys like Mex-eee-ko?’” I quoted, laughing. “I love Super Troopers.”