Chapter Text
Janis sits down at her desk and opens her e-mail, taking a sip of coffee while the page loads. She relishes in the brief period of quiet she has before the students arrive at school, knowing that in an hour, her classroom will be full of loud, hyper, insolent teenagers.
There are several emails from the principal, other administrators, and other teachers, but there’s one from a name she doesn’t recognize. She does a double-take at the subject line: Disgusting.
Janis squints at the screen, certain she’s reading incorrectly, but she isn’t. She clicks on it.
Ms. ‘Imi’ike,
This is Kylie Oman’s mother. I cannot overstate how appalled I am that you would FAIL a student, much less my daughter. Let’s not kid ourselves: art is a waste of time. It’s for students who are too lazy to take a real class, and if it weren’t required to graduate I would never allow my daughter to take it.
It is outrageous that you have given my daughter a failing grade—not only because there is no objective standard against which to judge a drawing of a bowl of apples, or whatever it is you’re forcing students to do instead of math, but because in every other class, if a child is in danger of failing, the parent is notified. I can only imagine that you have invented some personal vendetta against my daughter.
I’ve seen the student “artwork” hung on the walls of the school. You’re delusional if you think you’re teaching the next Da Vinci. And yes, I will be speaking to Principal Duvall about this.
Kind regards,
Regina George
Janis reads the e-mail again, and then for a third time, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. She’s never received an e-mail from a parent like this; most parents barely notice their child is taking an art class at all.
Sighing, Janis grabs her travel coffee mug and heads down the hall to the office. She should probably give her side of the story to Principal Duvall before Kylie’s mother gets ahold of him.
Duvall’s door is ajar when Janis walks into the office, so she heads in, lightly tapping her knuckles on the wood to get his attention.
Duvall looks up from his computer. “Janis, hi. Can I help you with something?”
Janis wrings her hands. “Um, I got a pretty belligerent email from a parent about a student I failed.”
“You failed a student?” Duvall says, looking puzzled. “In art class?”
Janis blows out an exasperated breath. “Yes! She cuts class constantly and mostly only looks at her phone when she’s in class. There was clearly no effort being put into the work she turned in.”
“And what was the nature of this email?” Duvall asks.
“Basically said art was a waste of time and accused me of having a personal problem with her daughter.”
Duvall frowns. “Which student is this?”
“Kylie Oman. Her mother’s name is Regina George?” Janis says.
Duvall visibly pales. “I see. I’m familiar with this parent.”
Janis can’t say she’s surprised. “She said she’s going to e-mail you, too.”
“I can handle it,” Duvall says, nodding. “Just forward me the email she sent you. I’ll speak to her about using appropriate language.”
Janis almost laughs at that. She can’t imagine a universe where that goes over well. “Thanks.”
Janis returns to her classroom and prepares to forget about Regina George, and to speak to Kylie about her work ethic.
If she even comes to class.
Janis is just logging off of her computer, ready to go home, when the door to her classroom bangs open. There’s the sound of high heels on tile before a tall, blond woman comes to a stop in front of her desk.
Janis takes a moment to acknowledge that, one, this woman is insanely hot, and two, she looks pissed.
“Can I… help you?”
“You can, actually,” the woman says, hooking a pair of sunglasses into the neckline of her blouse. The weight of the glasses tugs the already low-cut fabric down even more, revealing more cleavage. “You can open up whatever system you use for logging grades and change my daughter’s grade.”
Janis fights the urge to drop her head onto her desk. She wonders if there is some secret panic button somewhere for belligerent parents that nobody told her about.
“Mrs. George,” Janis starts.
“Don’t ‘Mrs. George’ me,” Regina snaps.
“Um, okay,” Janis says. “Did Principal Duvall reach out to you?”
Regina snorts. “Yeah. Useless as always.”
Janis doesn’t necessarily disagree, but she doesn’t say that. “Look, I’m not going to change a grade just because you”—threatened me, she thinks—“asked. I grade based on work, participation, and attendance. Maybe you should talk to your daughter about why she never comes to class.”
Regina’s expression hardens, if possible, even more. “How about you don’t tell me how to parent my daughter.”
“How about you don’t tell me how to do my job,” Janis shoots back, even though she knows she shouldn’t.
“How about you get a real job,” Regina says, smiling in a way that makes Janis deeply uncomfortable. “Something where you actually have to do something besides sit back and let kids draw those ugly fucking still lifes you’ve got hanging in the hallway.”
“Oh yeah?” Janis says, standing. She regrets it immediately; Regina, in her heels, has to be a foot taller. “What do you do?”
Regina leans in and lowers her voice like she’s going to tell Janis a secret. “I’m a lawyer. So I suggest you tread carefully.”
Janis narrows her eyes. “You can’t sue me over a grade.”
“Not that specifically, no,” Regina says, inspecting her blood-red nails as if she’s suddenly become bored. “But there are plenty of other things.”
“You know what?” Janis murmurs moving to the shelves where she keeps student work. It takes a moment to locate the correct class, but she finds one of Kylie’s drawings. It’s a charcoal drawing of another student—they had been drawing portraits that day. Kylie’s drawing barely resembles a person, much less a specific classmate. It looks like she drew it in less than a minute. Janis holds it up for Regina.
“Does this look A-worthy to you?” she asks.
Regina shrugs apathetically. “Who fucking cares? She did the assignment.”
“Badly,” Janis says. “She did it badly. So she got a bad grade.”
“That is simply your opinion.” Regina shrugs.
“And I’m the teacher, so it’s my call,” Janis shoots back. “If you want your daughter’s grade to improve, talk to her about her work ethic. Now if you don’t mind, you can leave my classroom. Go talk to the principal if you want, but this conversation is over.”
Regina sniffs and throws her Louis Vuitton over her shoulder, not-so-accidentally knocking over a cup of pencils on Janis’s desk as she does so, and storms out of the room.
When Janis drops into a seat across from her friends, a beer is already waiting for her in a little puddle of condensation on the table.
“Thank God,” Janis mutters, tipping the bottle to her lips. It’s cold and tastes terrible. It’s exactly what she had been craving.
“Hello to you, too,” Damian says, eyes amused. “My day was good, how was yours?”
“Fucking nightmare,” Janis says, slumping back.
Cady looks at her with concern. “What happened?”
“Either of you ever have Kylie Oman in class?” Janis asks.
“No,” Cady says, at the same time Damian says, “Who the fuck is that?”
“Well, she’s in my freshman visual arts class—and I’m being generous when I say that, because she barely comes to class,” Janis says. “I failed her, and her mother is on my ass now.”
“What do you mean?” Cady asks. She tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear, knocking her glasses askew before she fixes them.
“She sent me this insane email and then came into my classroom to yell at me after school,” Janis says. The corner of the label on her beer bottle is loose, and she pinches it between her fingernails and tugs. It peels back with a satisfying sound.
“She yelled at you?” Damian repeats, incredulous.
“Well,” Janis concedes, “it was more like a… very hostile conversation. She kept insisting that art isn’t a real class, so I don’t have grounds to fail anyone.”
“She said what?!” Damian practically shouts. A few heads turn their way, and Janis slides down farther in her seat.
“You should tell Duvall,” Cady says.
“Believe me, he is aware,” Janis says sardonically.
“What was the email she sent you?” Damian asks.
Janis scrolls through her mail app for a moment, then lays her phone flat on the table in front of Damian. He leans forward curiously, and Cady peeks over his shoulder. After a moment, Damian starts laughing.
“It’s not funny,” Janis snaps, annoyed. She takes her phone back.
“Sorry,” Damian says, not looking at all apologetic. “It’s just… she basically emailed ‘go fuck yourself’ and ended it with ‘kind regards.’”
“It is a little funny,” Cady agrees.
Janis narrows her eyes. “You better hope she doesn’t take any theater classes, or end up in your math class, Cady.”
“I’d like to see this woman try this with me,” Damian says.
“She also knocked over all my pencils, but that isn’t the important part,” Janis grumbles.
“What did Duvall say?” Cady asks.
“He knew exactly who I was talking about,” Janis says.
“Yikes,” Damian mutters. “So what are you going to do?”
“Nothing.” Janis shrugs. “If Kylie wants to bring her grade up, she can come to class. I’m not gonna let some random mom tell me how to teach.”
“Amen!” Damian leans over to high-five Janis. She returns it halfheartedly. “I hope to God this girl does not try out for any of the school musicals. I’m not about to fight a parent over their child not getting the lead.”
“Again,” Janis says.
Damian nods. “Again.”
“Well, she hasn’t shown much of an interest in the arts,” Janis grumbles.
“Thank god for that.”
“I almost had to break up a fight between parents at a mathletes competition once,” Cady says. “There was a dispute over who pressed the buzzer first.”
“Damn,” Damian says. “Parents be crazy.”
Janis shakes her head. “My mom’s never even yelled at someone in public. Well, someone who wasn’t me.”
“Your mom is shorter than you are,” Damian says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t think she’d fare well in a parking lot fight.”
Janis rolls her eyes. “Nobody is having parking lot fights.”
“Someone yelled at me in the grocery store parking lot once,” Cady says. “They thought I had hit their car with my cart, but I didn’t.”
“See?” Damian says. “Some people are having parking lot fights.”
Janis finishes the last of her beer. “Whatever. Just pray that Kylie’s mom isn’t waiting for me in the North Shore parking lot tomorrow.”
“It’s crazy how much free time some parents have,” Cady says. “Doesn’t she have anything better to do than intimidate her kid’s teacher?”
“I was not intimidated,” Janis denies. “Actually, she said she’s a lawyer. But, like, shouldn’t she be at work, then?”
Damian’s eyes widen. “A lawyer?”
“Yeah.” Janis rubs the back of her neck. “She kind of threatened me with legal action? Vaguely?”
“On what grounds?” Cady asks, sounding concerned.
“I don’t know, and I don’t think it matters,” Janis says. “Point is, she’s nuts. I feel bad for whoever her clients are. If they exist and she isn’t full of shit.”
Damian pats her hand comfortingly. Janis feels suddenly drained, and she doesn’t want to talk about Regina anymore.
“Cady, how’s the new smartboard working out for you?” Janis asks. It’s a surefire way to trigger a Cady verbal dump.
On cue, Cady’s eyes light up. “It’s so much nicer than the old one. It hasn’t frozen on me once.”
Janis sits back and feels her stress headache recede. Maybe she’ll even go to sleep early tonight.
Janis isn’t sure what to think when Kylie Oman shows up to class the next day. She takes her usual seat towards the back with her group of identical-looking friends.
Janis can’t be sure if she’s imagining it, but Kylie seems to be marginally more engaged. She’s only had to ask that corner of the room to put their phones away twice—anything under five is usually a win. Janis wonders what, if anything, Kylie knows about her mother’s… behavior yesterday, and actually feels kind of sorry for her, if Regina typically storms into her teachers’ classrooms to berate them into giving Kylie better grades.
When the bell rings, Kylie approaches Janis’s desk. Janis tries to keep her face neutral.
“Hey, Miss ‘Imi’ike,” Kylie says, hot pink Stanley cup dangling from her fingers.
“Hi, Kylie,” Janis says, aiming for casual. “What’s up?”
“Just…” Kylie rolls her eyes. “Sorry about my mom. I told her not to come here. She’s so annoying.”
“Oh,” Janis says, eyebrows rising in surprise. “That’s okay. I could handle it.”
(Debatable, but Kylie doesn’t need to know that.)
“But, you know,” Janis continues, “if you want to raise your grade, you’re going to need to come to class, and put more effort into your work.”
“I know,” Kylie says quietly, picking an invisible piece of lint off her shirt. “Art’s just not my thing, you know? And my boyfriend has this period free. No offense.”
Janis looks at Kylie’s hand, where her fingernails are painted—what else?—pink, with tiny gems lining the cuticles. “Do you do your own nails?”
“Yeah.” Kylie holds her hand out in front of her to admire her nails. “My mom says I can’t get acrylics until I’m sixteen.”
Well, it’s good to know that Regina doesn’t completely spoil her daughter.
“That’s art, you know?” Janis says. She gestures to Kylie’s eyes, which are carefully lined with winged black marker. “And so is makeup.”
Kylie considers this. “I guess.”
“We’re not going to do drawings forever,” Janis says. “We’re going to start painting projects next week. Maybe that will be more your thing.”
Kylie gives a half-smile. “Maybe.”
The bell rings again, signaling Kylie is late for her next class. Janis opens the top drawer of her desk and pulls out a late pass, scribbling her signature onto it.
“Here,” Janis says, handing Kylie the note. “You better get to your next class.”
“Thanks.” Kylie tucks the slip into her pocket. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I better see you tomorrow,” Janis says, mock-sternly.
Kylie laughs, turning to leave. “Okay.”
Well, Janis thinks to herself as she sits back in her chair. All’s well that ends well, right?
“I should have known that wasn’t the end of it,” Janis says, face down on the table.
“Sweetie, listen,” Damian says, patting Janis’s head like she’s a medium-sized dog. “Everyone’s gotten into beef with an unreasonable parent.”
Janis lifts her head. “Cady hasn’t.”
Cady looks sheepishly down at her sandwich. “Well, I haven’t been teaching here for that long.”
“Because you decided to be extra and get a doctorate,” Janis says.
Cady shrugs. “Maybe that’s part of why parents don’t argue with me.”
“Or maybe it’s because you’re pleasant,” Damian suggests.
Janis shoots him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Damian says. “Maybe if you hadn’t yelled at a parent, she wouldn’t have filed a complaint with the principal.”
“She yelled at me first!” Janis defends. “What was I supposed to do, agree that I’m incompetent?”
Damian rolls his eyes, poking at the dumplings in the container in front of him with his chopsticks. “You’re being dramatic.”
“You’re the most dramatic person I know,” Janis shoots back.
“And yet, a parent has never filed a complaint about me,” Damian says. He pats her on the head again.
Janis swats his hand away. “Cut that out.”
“So is Duvall going to do anything?” Cady asks.
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Janis says. “She’s done this shit to other teachers, so he knows it’s a frivolous complaint. He’s going to tell her that he ‘talked to me.’” Janis holds her fingers up in air quotes.
Cady frowns. “That implies that discipline was warranted.”
“Whatever gets her to stay away from me.” Janis finally takes a bite of her pasta.
Cady pops one last pretzel in her mouth and brushes off her hands, gathering her things. “I have to get back to my classroom.”
Janis is grateful that she doesn’t have a class during the lunch period. She needs time to digest before dealing with kids. “See ya.”
“You’re coming out with us tonight, right?” Damian asks, catching Cady’s hand.
Cady nods, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Aaron and I are going to push Otter Dynasty night to tomorrow.”
“Otter… what?” Janis asks.
“Otter Dynasty,” Cady repeats, as if that provides clarification. “It’s a TV show about otters Aaron and I have been watching.”
Damian snorts. “Well, we appreciate you rearranging your schedule.”
“See you guys later,” Cady says, waving as she leaves.
Damian sighs, tossing his crumpled napkin into his empty dumplings container. “I better get my ears some peace and quiet before my freshman choir class comes back from lunch.”
Janis winces. She’s been to the biannual concerts, and the freshman choir is always the… least polished. “I’m praying for you.”
“Ritual sacrifices are not prayer,” Damian says, rising from his chair. “See you tonight.”
Soon, Janis is the lone occupant of the teacher’s lounge. She takes another bite of her pasta. It’s lukewarm. She sighs. It’s just going to be one of those days.
“Happy fucking Friday, y’all,” Damian says, clinking his glass to Janis and Cady’s. “This hellish week is finally over.”
“I had a good week,” Cady says, frowning into her glass of cranberry juice.
“Caddy, this is not the space for positive energy,” Janis says, but she smiles to let Cady know she’s joking.
Cady ducks her head, faux-apologetic. “Sorry.”
“Can we get down to business?” Damian asks, opening his menu. “What appetizers are we getting?”
“Mozzarella sticks,” Janis says, less because she wants them than because she knows Damian does.
“Yes,” Damian says, nodding firmly. “What about nachos?”
“Mozzarella sticks and nachos?” Cady says, looking hesitant.
“I believe in us,” Janis says, and Damian claps his hands.
Their order placed, Janis relaxes back into her seat and sips her drink. It’s some overly sweet, fruity thing that tastes like it doesn’t even have alcohol in it. She feels the stress of the week leaving her body.
“So what’s Aaron doing instead of seal night?” Damian asks.
“Otters,” Cady corrects. “The show is about otters. But he’s playing some video game with one of his friends.”
“So fun,” Damian deadpans, and Cady sticks her tongue out at him.
“Hey, at least I have a husband to be boring,” Cady teases.
Damian clutches at his chest. “Low blow.”
Cady shrugs. “Sorry.”
“How’s Tinder going for you, Janis?” Damian asks with a sly smirk.
“Why are you dragging me into this?” Janis says, narrowing her eyes. “And at the dinner table?”
Their waiter appears to set large plates of mozzarella sticks and nachos in front of them.
Damian picks up a mozzarella stick and points it at Janis. “Answer the question.”
“Ugh.” Janis takes another long sip of her drink. “I’ve gotten a few matches but they haven’t really gone anywhere. Happy?”
“Why would that make me happy?” Damian says with a mouth full of cheese. “What happened to… oh, what’s her name?”
“Stephanie,” Janis supplies. “We haven’t really talked in a few weeks.”
“Why not?” Cady asks, frowning.
Janis shrugs. She’d gone out with Stephanie a few times, and it had been fine—they had some, although not a lot, in common, but the conversation was easy. They’d slept together twice, and that was good, too. But Janis just… didn’t feel a spark. She didn’t find herself fantasizing about Stephanie at work or while she was trying to fall asleep. She didn’t really find herself thinking about Stephanie at all, unless she was looking right at her.
That was the problem with all of her relationships: the other person likes Janis more than Janis likes them. She’d stay in the hope that she would develop those feelings, but she usually just… didn’t. She’d play the old “it’s not you, it’s me” card—not that that ever went over well—because she couldn’t bring herself to tell them the truth: that she was bored.
“Just fizzled out,” Janis replies.
Cady pokes her lower lip out, pouting. “I’m sorry.”
“God, don’t be sorry,” Janis says, sipping her drink. “It’s fine.”
Damian gives her a sympathetic look. “Still hung up on Grace?”
Janis glares at him. “No. I’m not still ‘hung up’”—she holds her fingers up in air quotes—“on someone I dated years ago.”
“You broke up, like, last year,” Damian points out.
“It was the year before that.” Janis takes a chip loaded with cheese and jalapenos and shoves it in her mouth, signaling that she doesn’t want to talk about this anymore.
Damian holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay.”
“What about you, Cady?” Janis asks after she swallows.
Cady cocks her head, confused. “What about me?”
“You knocked up yet?”
Damian makes the sound he makes when he forces Janis to watch Drag Race with him and one of the contestants says something particularly cutting to another.
Cady wads up her napkin and throws it at Janis. “Not at the present moment, no. It’s not the right time.”
“It’s not the right time in life or not the right time… of the month?” Damian asks delicately.
Cady rolls her eyes. “We’re in the middle of the semester, and Aaron just got promoted. He’s still adjusting.”
“So what?” Janis asks. “He’s not getting pregnant.”
Cady tugs on the end of her ponytail. “Why do you want me to be pregnant so badly?”
“I don’t,” Janis says. And she doesn’t—she just doesn’t want to be talking about herself and her largely failed love life. “I mean, I want you to be pregnant if you want to be pregnant.”
Cady gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Soon.”
Janis drains what’s left of her drink and pops another mozzarella stick in her mouth as Damian launches into the latest drama club… well, drama. At least they live up to the name, Janis thinks.
Out of the corner of her eye, Janis sees a flash of blond hair. She hears a click-click-click of high heels on the wood floor. Janis gets an odd, ominous feeling, and peeks around the back of their booth and confirms her fear.
It’s Regina George, in a loose white blouse and fitted navy blue slacks, a matching blazer folded over her arm. She pulls out a seat and sits down at her table, closing her eyes briefly as if she’s exhausted. Across from her is a woman whose face Janis can’t see, but she has strawberry-blond, wavy hair. Quickly, Janis turns back around. If she stays facing forward, Regina won’t be able to see her.
“You okay? You look like you seen a ghost,” Damian comments.
“Not a ghost,” Janis says in a hushed voice. “The devil.”
“What do you mean?” Cady asks, looking concerned.
“You know that crazy parent I was telling you about? The one who complained to Duvall because I failed her daughter?” Janis says, keeping her voice low. “Well, she’s over there.”
Janis points Regina out as subtly as she can. Unfortunately, Damian wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit him in the face, and he fully leans out of the booth for a look.
“Sit up,” Janis hisses.
“That’s her?” Damian whisper-yells, leaning closer to Janis across the table.
“Yeah.”
“Damn, Janis! You didn’t tell me she was a MILF,” Damian says, indignant.
“Does it matter?” Janis asks, incredulous. “She’s a bitch.”
Damian doesn’t seem to be listening. “Do you think that’s her real hair?”
Even Cady is staring, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted.
Janis sinks down lower in her seat. “You guys are the worst.”
“Hey, I didn’t say she was right to yell at you,” Damian says. “But some people would pay a lot of money to have someone who looks like that yell at them.”
Janis flips him off.
Janis pushes open the door of the bathroom, slightly unsteady on her feet after her second deceptively alcohol-taste-free drink.
The music, which had been difficult to hear in the seating area of the restaurant, comes through clear from the speakers, and Janis quietly sings along to “Shivers” by Ed Sheeran under her breath as she uses the restroom, absently scrolling through TikTok with the sound off as she does so.
When Janis hears the door creak open, she stops singing—she’s not that drunk. When she hears the other toilet flush, Janis realizes that she’s probably been sitting here looking at her phone for too long, so she finishes her business and pushes out of the stall.
And stops dead in her tracks, because Regina George is at the sink touching up her lipstick. Janis briefly debates whether it’s worth it to shut herself back into the stall. Then Regina’s eyes meet hers in the mirror, and Janis knows it’s too late.
Regina’s lip curls as Janis cautiously approaches the sink. If she flees without washing her hands, Regina will probably report it to Duvall.
“Oh, it’s you,” Regina says, as if Janis is some annoying guy who won’t leave her alone.
“Good to see you again,” Janis replies, trying to keep the sarcastic edge out of her voice. She pumps soap into her hands and starts scrubbing, trying to look like a person who is 1) sober and 2) unafraid of Regina George.
Regina snorts, carefully blotting her lips on a paper towel.
Janis isn’t sure what possesses her to speak—maybe it’s the alcohol—but she says, “I spoke to your daughter the other day about how she can raise her grade. I think she just needs to find a medium she enjoys to be more engaged.”
Regina looks at her in a way that sends a shiver down Janis’s spine. “Leave my daughter alone.”
Janis laughs a little, incredulous. “I’m her teacher. We’re going to interact.”
Regina lets out an annoyed huff and drops her lipstick back into her obnoxiously large designer bag as if it has personally wronged her.
“Kylie also told me that she’s been skipping class to spend time with her boyfriend,” Janis continues, “so you might want to talk to her about that.”
Suddenly, Regina’s face is inches from Janis’s. Her eyes are a clear blue, Janis notices, and there’s a freckle on her cheekbone, the only mark on her otherwise flawless and unblemished skin. It makes her even prettier, Janis thinks.
“How about you don’t tell me how to parent my child?” Regina hisses.
Janis takes a step back, out of Regina’s orbit, and throws up her hands. “Why are you so defensive about everything?”
“I’m not,” Regina denies, bracing her left hand on the edge of the sink.
It’s then that Janis notices that she isn’t wearing a ring. It’s obviously not confirmation that Regina is single, but she seems the type to flaunt a big rock. For some reason, it makes Janis soften. She can’t imagine being a parent of a teenager, let alone by herself.
“Look, I’m just trying to help,” Janis says. “High school is a hard time for everyone, including parents. I want Kylie to do well as much as you do.”
Regina’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said,” Janis says, rolling her eyes. “Parents can’t be there in school with their kids. You have to trust that the teachers have their best interest in mind.”
Regina doesn’t respond, but her lips purse.
“I appreciate that you’re going to bat for your kid, but I’m not the problem,” Janis says.
“So my daughter is the problem?” Regina shoots back.
“If she’s not coming to class, that’s a problem,” Janis replies. “If she’s putting no effort into her work, that’s a problem. Complaining to the principal isn’t going to solve it.”
Regina cuts her eyes away, almost as if she’s embarrassed to be called out for her complaint—although Janis isn’t sure if Regina George has ever felt shame in her entire life.
“I’m happy to sit down with you and put together a plan for Kylie to raise her grade,” Janis offers. “But she’s going to have to want it, and you’re going to have to stop insulting me.”
“I didn’t insult you,” Regina says.
That actually makes Janis laugh. “Then you have a weird way of expressing love. Have a good night.”
Before she pulls open the door, Janis looks over her shoulder at Regina, who is staring at her like she’s a puzzle Regina can’t quite figure out.
“What about her?”
Janis looks at the woman Damian is pointing to, a brunette with tattoos wrapping around the length of one arm and cat’s-eye glasses. She’s pretty, but doesn’t spark any interest.
“Nah,” Janis says, dragging a finger through the condensation her glass as left on the bar top.
Damian lets out a frustrated noise. “You’re way too picky to get laid.”
“Who said I wanted to get laid?” Janis says. “You dragged me here.”
“Yeah, so it would be rude if I left you here all alone while I took skinny Glen Powell home with me,” Damian replies. He’s had his eye on a guy all night who really does look like Glen Powell if he did cardio instead of weight training.
Janis rolls her eyes. “Don’t let me stop you. For real. Go for it.”
Damian gives her a kiss on top of her head and leaves his empty glass on the bar, disappearing into the crowd in search of his man.
Janis leans her elbows on the bar and sighs, wondering if she should just go home. Damian has always been too preoccupied with her love life—especially since she broke up with Grace, whom she dated for three years. But the whole reason why they broke up was because Janis didn’t want to be in a relationship. Grace started talking about buying a house together, and getting married, and Janis realized that she couldn’t think about waking up next to the same person for the rest of her life without wanting to throw up.
Janis thinks about her friends who are married—like Cady—and how boring their lives seem. Cady and Aaron have the same list of rotating meals and set days of the week to watch television together, and they stay at the same cottage on Lake Michigan for summer vacation every year. To be fair, Cady would probably be doing the same thing every day even if she wasn’t married; Janis has never met someone who loves routines as much as Cady. It’s probably why she decided to teach high school instead of pursuing a university position. If Cady and Aaron ever do have kids, Janis feels confident that their child will be on time to school every day.
Janis never had the white-wedding fantasies of her classmates when they would group up at recess and talk about which boys they thought were cute, promising to be bridesmaids to each other. Maybe part of it is that Janis couldn’t even hypothetically get married in Illinois until she was in first grade—not that her classmates knew that at the time. Whenever the conversation turned to boys, Janis would wander off to find Damian. Maybe that’s why her elementary-school friends eventually gave up inviting her to their sleepovers. But the end result was that Janis grew up believing one thing: that marriage wasn’t for her.
It’s not like Janis is going to find the love of her life in a dimly lit Chicago gay club, anyway, so she doesn’t know why Damian keeps dragging her here.
Fleetingly, Janis thinks of Regina and her ringless finger, how she never mentioned having a husband despite having a daughter. It keeps nagging at Janis for some reason, a prickle of curiosity about this random woman who hates her for no reason.
Janis sees a streak of blond across the bar and for a moment thinks that Regina is here—to be fair, it’s happened before. But it isn’t her; a woman with honey-blond waves brushing her shoulders and eyes the color of the sky just before it rains is looking directly at Janis, hands curled around a glass tumbler full of a dark liquid.
Janis raises her eyebrows a little, as if challenging the woman to look away, but she continues looking, a smirk slowly sliding onto her face. It sparks something in Janis’s stomach, the confidence this woman carries. Janis bets she’s a person who knows what she wants. Janis is, too. And in this moment, Janis wants her.
“Hey,” Janis says, sidling up to the bar next to the woman and placing her empty glass on it with a dull clink.
“Hi,” the woman says. She looks pointedly at the glass. “Need some charity?”
Janis laughs a little. “Every dollar counts.”
The woman signals to the bartender, pointing to the glass. “Whiskey,” she says, without asking.
It’s presumptuous and actually kind of rude, but for some reason it’s really doing it for her.
“What’s your name?” Janis asks.
“Alyssa,” she replies. Janis notices that she has a small tattoo in the shape of a half-moon on the inside of her right wrist when Alyssa pushes her hair out of her face. “You?”
“Janis.” Janis catches the glass the bartender slides her way. She sips the whiskey, swallowing against the burning trail it leaves down her throat and into her stomach.
“You’re incredibly hot, Janis,” Alyssa says, laying her hand down on the surface of the bar inches away from Janis’s own.
“Are you just saying that so I’ll say you’re hot, too?” Janis asks, smiling playfully. God, she loves this part—the banter, the buildup, neither of them wanting to show their cards too early and spoil it.
Alyssa laughs. “You caught me. I came here tonight looking for compliments. I guess I’ll leave now.”
“Well, hang on,” Janis says, holding up a hand. “I haven’t actually called you hot yet.”
Alyssa raises her eyebrows, waiting.
Janis leans in close, so she can whisper directly into Alyssa’s ear. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
When Janis pulls back, Alyssa’s eyes have darkened. She feels a self-satisfied clenching in her gut.
“There’s the magic words,” Alyssa says, and her voice has taken on a low, raspy quality.
“And what do I get for them?” Janis asks, knocking back what’s left in her glass.
Alyssa grins, slow and Cheshire-like. “I can’t give you your prize here.”
Bingo. Janis deposits the glass onto the bar. “Where can you give it to me?”
“I know a place nearby,” Alyssa says, holding up a keychain.
Janis glances around, but she doesn’t see Damian in the immediate vicinity.
Whatever, she thinks. He’ll figure it out.