Winter Jacket (2 page)

Chapter one

"No need to thank me, but I found your future wife." My friend Troian threw her messenger bag onto my desk with her usual, dramatic flair.

I looked up from my grading wit
h a bemused look. "Is that so?"

She sat down in the chair on the other side of my desk, the one usually reserved for my students.
 "Yup. I think she's a keeper," she confirmed with a crisp nod. Her eyes scanned around my sparsely decorated faculty office. I had been hired as an Assistant Professor nearly three years prior, but you'd never know it from the empty walls and bookshelves. The office still felt unsettled; I suppose I was superstitious – as if putting my personal mark on the space might jinx my good luck to have landed the tenure-track position.

"I appreciate the effort,” I started, not bothering to set down the paper I was grading.  I had too much grading to let Troian
suck me into this conversation.  Finding me a “future wife” had recently become a self-appointed duty for my friend.  “Cady and I haven't even been separated for three months,” I pointed out. “Isn't there supposed to be a longer grieving process before I start dating again?"

Troian waved a dismissive han
d.  "No offense, but you and the Cat Lady were emotionally separated long before the official break up. And for how much you used to whine about it,
physically
you'd both gone your separate ways a long, long time ago."

I audibly sighed.
Her words weren't untrue, but that didn't make it any better.

“Also, it’s totally weird that you still hang out with her as ‘friends.’” She used air-quotes and everything. “That doesn’t seem healthy.”

“You can’t judge me about that; you’ve never had an ex-girlfriend before.  Exes can totally be friends.”

“It’s weird,” Troian said, wrinkling her nose.  “And Nikole agrees.  Are you and Cady broken up or not?”

“We’re broken up,” I insisted.  “We just hang out sometimes.  And it’s not even like we talk everyday.  I see
you
more often than I see her.  So does that mean that you and I are dating?”

Troian snorted.  “You wish, Bookworm.”

I tossed my pen onto the daunting stack of ungraded papers on my desk. Experience told me I'd never get anything done until Troian had had her peace. "So tell me about my future wife."

The smile on Troian's face broadened.
She loved getting her way. She rubbed her hands together, looking eager. "So I don't actually know her name, but she's the new bartender at Peggy's."

Peggy's was the name of a horrible little gay bar across the train tracks that I sometimes frequented with Troian and her long-time girlfriend, Nikole.
 Of the pair, I had met Troian first, but I couldn't remember a time when she and her other-half hadn't been together.

"You don't know her name, but apparently she's my perfect woma
n?" I could feel my eyebrows lift toward the ceiling.

"Perfect for you, yes," Troian nodded.
She leaned forward in the chair.  "Just think of all the free beer!" she chirped.

"But you don't even drink," I pointed out. "You get all red."

Troian sighed and rolled her eyes. "Which is why she's the perfect woman for
you
, not me."

"So my s
oul mate is a beer slinger," I deadpanned. "You must really think I'm an alcoholic."

Troian shrugged, unaffected. "Well, you are from Wisconsin."

"Using that logic, my soul mate could also be a cow."

Troian wiggled her eyebrows. "You said it. Not me."

"Well as enlightening as this conversation has been, I need to get back to these papers." I picked up the discarded pen and tapped at the unwieldy pile. Spring Break was on the horizon, but I still had a stack of grading to wade through until I could mentally check out for a week.

"Is that a paper for your English comp class?" Troian asked.

"Yep."

"Have you gotten to Winter Jacket's paper yet?"

I didn't know what had possessed me to tell Troian about my quirky, yet attractive, student. I suppose it was the novelty of the situation that had compelled me. I'd never before had such an acute crush on a student.  I frowned and shook my head. "Not yet. But our meeting isn't for a few days."

S
tudents had to meet with me in my faculty office throughout the semester to discuss how the class was going and talk about whatever upcoming paper they were working on for my class. During these meetings, I gave back their rough drafts and provided guidance on how to improve the essays for the final version. I found that students were grateful for the one-on-one time and the personal feedback on their writing.  It was a small campus with an equally small student-to-faculty ratio that fostered that kind of personal attention; most students had chosen the school for exactly that reason.  This wasn’t a diploma factory like other schools where I’d worked previously.

In our initial meeting, I’d found
Hunter surprisingly easy to talk to.  She was polite and earnest; it was clear her parents had done a good job raising her.  Her genuine interest was paired with that intense, almost unnerving eye contact.  The intensity was muted when the span of a classroom separated us, but with only my desk between us, I had felt myself mentally squirming beneath her gaze.  I was equally looking forward to and dreading this second one-on-one meeting.

"You interested in going to Peggy's tonight?" Troian asked.

I smirked. "So you can set me up with the hot new bartender?"

She smiled innocently.

"I could be convinced to go out tonight," I nodded. "For a drink," I was quick to add, "not to hit on the new bartender."

Her face lit up and she pulled out her phone. "Awesome. I'll let Nik know," she said as she began to text her girlfriend. "What time are you off today?"

I glanced at the clock in the bottom corner of my computer screen.  "A couple hours," I noted. "I don’t have any more classes to teach today, but I've got student meetings about these papers," I said, tapping my fingers against the top of the stack.

Troian leaned back in her chair and yawned exaggeratedly. "That sounds horribly boring.
I don't know how you do it."

"Well, we can't all be fancy screenwriters like you."

Troian held up her hands. "Hey, don't look at me; I offered to put in a good word for you at my studio. You could be a hot, new writer for some TV show.  Nothing makes panties drop like saying you work for Hollywood."

I rolled my eyes;
Troian was a paradox.  She talked a big game and her word choice often made me blush, but she was the biggest monogamist I’d ever met.  She was that rare breed of dedicated girlfriend who felt guilty if she even had a sex dream about a woman other than Nikole.             

“And I've told you before that I'd ra
ther be a teacher than a writer," I said with conviction.

She
nodded sagely. "I can see why – the wacked-out hours, bottom of the barrel pay, and bad Departmental coffee."  She wrinkled her nose and pointed at my nearly empty coffee cup.  “I don’t know how you stomach that stuff, woman.”

"I'm educating the future generation," I retorted. I crossed my arms across my chest as if daring her to defy me.

"Ah, that's right. Young, impressionable minds just waiting for you to mold them." Troian's eyes took on a faraway look. "Ripe for the taking."

I shook my head. "You make it sound so sordid."

"Hey, I'm just proud of you for hanging out with undergrads all day and keeping it in your pants," she smirked.  "You should win a prize."

"How do you always manage to paint me in such an unflattering way?” I complained.

"What can I say?” she grinned. “I've got a knack."

We both looked towards the open office door when someone knocked.  My chest seized slightly, worried that someone who shouldn’t
have been overhearing had just been witness to Troian’s unorthodox compliments.

One of my students
, Mike Bobeli, a sophomore on the football team, stood in the doorway looking awkward. “I can come back,” he said, not making eye contact.  He shifted his weight from one foot to the next. “I just had a quick question.”

I waved the student in, hoping my face hadn’t turned a telling shade of red. “No, no. You’re not interrupting anything, Mike
,” I said with an exaggerated grin.  “My friend was just leaving.”

Troian’s eyebrows rose on her forehead.  “I was?”

“Uh huh,” I confirmed, shooing her out. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

+++++

After my last student meeting of the day, I met up with Troian at Peggy’s, an understated lesbian dive-bar with a small dance floor.  Troian, Nikole, and I weren’t regulars, but we went enough to have become familiar with some of the tenured bartenders.  I’d never met Peggy, however.  I wasn’t even sure there
was
a Peggy though. 

“You’re wasting a perfectly good opportunity,” Troian complained.
The two of us sat at a table for four a few feet from the main bar.  She demolished a peanut shell between her thumb and forefinger and brushed the crumbs onto the floor.  She rubbed her fingers together, now dusty and salty from the peanut shell, and made a disgusted face.

Tonight was some kind of cowboy or ranch-themed event, which meant the DJ was playing country music and every table had a bowl of peanuts.
Lately management had been experimenting with themed evenings to drum up business mid-week. For a Thursday night the bar was relatively empty, despite the drink specials and complimentary nuts. The place was usually packed on the weekends with local college women, so when I did frequent here, it was usually on a weekday night.  I didn’t hide my sexuality from the University or students; I just wasn’t about to rent out space on a billboard to announce it. The school was small and a little on the conservative side.

I ran my own fingertips over the rim of my beer glass.  “I told you I’m not ready to date again.  It’s too soon.”

Troian rolled her eyes and made a frustrated noise.  “You’re single for the first time in over a year, Bookworm.  If I were in your situation, I’d be getting
so
much random pussy.”

“Why do you have to be so crude?” I said, wrinkling my nose.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Don’t pretend to be a prude.  I know you too well for that.”

“Well it’s easy for you to sound so cavalier about one-night stands,” I countered. “You’ve only ever had sex with Nikole.  You’re a shiny gold star, my friend.”

Troian stuck out her chin defiantly. It was so easy to get her worked up; it had become one of my favorite hobbies over the years.  She was great at dishing out the hits, but pouted like a professional when she felt attacked. “Yeah, well I bet you wouldn’t have objections to a one-night-stand with Hunter.”

I choked as some of my beer went down the wrong tube.  By now I was used to Troian’s taunting and off-color comments about my quirky student, but l
ike me, she’d always called her “Winter Jacket.” Hearing Hunter’s name out of Troian’s mouth made me uncomfortable.  Using her actual name seemed too taboo, even for us. 

I couldn’t meet Troian’s smug stare.  She knew she’d gotten to me.  “When is your girlfriend getting here?” I asked as I shredded a cocktail napkin.  It was a habit of mine, to tear at things whenever I felt uncomfortable, needing something to do with my hands.

“Why?  You need someone to protect you?” she smirked. She loved winning.

“Maybe,” I grumbled.

I watched her dark eyes light up and a broad smile spread across her face.  That look could only mean one of two things – free cake or Nikole had arrived.  Troian hopped up from her seat to greet her girlfriend. “Hey, babe,” she said, still smiling. 

The look on her face was enviable. Troian and Nikole had been together forever, while I had whipped through a rapid succession of insignificant significant others.  It wasn’t that I had anything against monogamy; I just wasn’t very good at it.  But I wanted it.  I wanted to find that one person who could still make me smile after nearly a decade of being together, who the anticipation of meeting up with after so many years still gave me butterflies.  I was 30-years-old.  I’d done enough sowing wild oats for one lifetime.
             

“I’ll get you something to drink,” Troian offered without having to be asked.  She gave Nikole a quick kiss – quick for my benefit knowing how much their public endearments made me sick.  It was unnatural to be that happy.

While Troian bounced off in the direction of the bar, I stood to give Nikole a quick hug in greeting.  I could tell she’d come straight from work because she smelled like dirt.  It wasn’t an unpleasant scent – on the contrary, it was comforting like warm sunshine and fresh air.  Her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she’d changed out of the company logoed clothes in favor of dark jeans, a v-neck shirt, and a fitted leather jacket.