Jaylene was running out of breath, and could tell she was losing her audience. Perhaps she’d used variations on this speech a few too many times while convincing Lacy to sign petitions, attend sit-ins, or pledge in charity pub-crawls.
“The point being, you two”—she pinned first one then the other with her eyes—“is that I wasn’t expecting Blake Donovan to be a feminist ally. But I was definitely not expecting him to be the ultimate male pig. And yet he was.”
“Are you saying that just because he thought you were a dyke?” Lacy called from her armchair. She’d obviously gotten comfortable enough with the story that she was laying sideways, head across one arm of the chair, knees bent across the other, as she worked on her song.
“That and he congratulated me for having such a feminine profession. Then he told me his wife would not have a job but would stay home and cook and clean.”
Lacy paused mid-strum. “Is this seriously what your boss plans for his marriage, Andy?”
Andy pulled a pillow down from the couch to brace behind her back. “I know it’s a bit … old-fashioned. He’s going to have to make some compromises before he settles down. Everyone does. At least he knows what he’s looking for in a woman. Do you?” She fixed her eyes first on Jaylene then on her sister.
“Well,” Lacy said, sitting up, “I’m not looking for anything in a woman, and as Jaylene has unequivocally stated, neither is she.”
“In a man, I mean. Do either of you know what you want?” Andy paused as if letting the question settle in the air. “Does what you want actually exist?”
“It did.” Lacy’s words echoed across the room.
Jay exchanged a glance with Andy who was very obviously berating herself for the comment. It was the reason Jay had stayed away from Lacy. It was too easy to say something that would remind her of her dead fiancé.
“I’m sorry, Lace,” Andy offered softly. “I didn’t mean—I just didn’t mean it like that.”
Lacy shrugged. But the chords she played next were minor ones, somber in tone.
Not having any words of comfort herself, Jay swirled the wine in her jar as she contemplated Andy’s question. Did the guy she wanted really exist or was he a fairy tale? She didn’t want the controlling alpha male hero that all the women seemed to be into nowadays. There wasn’t a submissive bone in her body, though a part of her wondered if she might like it in the bedroom.
Now that for sure was a fantasy—there’s no way she could marry her feminist ideals to any type of domination, even if it was just sexually. Was it even possible to find a guy who could admire her strength but still hold her when she needed to be held? A guy who would fight for her equality yet embrace her differences? A guy who would let her be a partner as well as a lover? Perhaps the real question was, could she ever let a man do those things for her? She was stubborn and independent, both traits that made it difficult to ever let someone in. It wasn’t like she didn’t want a man in her life—she did. Very much so. Just after all the failed relationships she’d gone through, it was difficult not to wonder if the problem wasn’t her.
Was she too hard on men?
In the midst of Jaylene’s self-examination she became aware of Andy staring at her with narrowed eyes.
As if the woman could read Jay’s mind, she said, “Maybe you should go out with him again, Jay. I think you could see past his weirdness if you spent some more time with the guy.”
Well, maybe she was too hard on men. But not that man. And if she had any hope of finding out if her type of guy existed, she couldn’t waste time with men who were definitely not her type. Men such as Blake Donovan.
With renewed rage, Jaylene snatched the box of crackers from Andy’s hand. “You couldn’t pay me enough. And I can assure you he doesn’t want to date me again either. He accused me of having a men’s haircut. Are you listening, Andy? He referred to me as masculine. It was in the same conversation where he congratulated me on my profession. The guy is a complete and utter jerk. Good luck matching him with anyone.” She didn’t add that he wasn’t the first person who had referred to her as masculine. It wasn’t relevant information.
“Now, I’m taking your other bottle of wine, and these crackers, and going home to lick my wounds.” She ruffled her pixie cut. “Also, I’ll be out of town for a week next month. You’ll be cat-sitting. Pookie’s diabetic, so you’ll have to do her insulin. Call me sometime, Lace.”
Pleased with the look of chagrin on Andy’s face, Jaylene swept out of the apartment to the sound of Lacy’s laughter.