Finn gets a rise out of engaging with strangers and I love watching her do it. People sometimes approach her when we’re out, telling her she looks like someone they know. She is charming and can hold conversations. We meet a guy with weed cookies and convince him to give us a couple, which we quickly eat. We meet a guy who stutters. (Who meets a stutterer? we ask ourselves, laughing for weeks after.) Like in that book about animals, Unlikely Friendships, we are an unlikely pair, and when the stutterer asks us how we know each other, one of us says, We’re cousins, and he believes us. When we return to my apartment, we sit on the couch and roll a joint with a page from a book since we don’t have rolling papers. Finn walks around the room commenting on the books on the shelves. She is hard on books, making snobby, but humorous, comments. We lie in bed together, stoned from the cookies. The bed is against a brick wall and I begin to imagine we are alone in a different city together. Let’s pretend we’re in Paris or Brooklyn, I say. Finn gives me her sweatshirt to wear that night. I fall asleep in it. Later, she wakes me to retrieve it, smoothing her hand over my temples, kissing my forehead, before leaving.
The next night, New Year’s Eve, she emails and asks what I’m doing. I probably won’t want to do something but will, she says. I’m the opposite, probably will want to do something but won’t, I reply. I’ve been invited to a party of an acquaintance, so I ask Finn if she wants to go with me. She says yes, and picks me up. I went to the hair salon that day and paid too much money for highlights. My hair is blonder than usual. The hair is good, Finn says to me, flashing her white teeth, It’ll turn heads. The party is low-key, almost boring, and Finn and I plant ourselves in the living room, mainly socializing with each other. I am sitting across from Finn on the couch, and she is in a chair. She pats her lap and points to my feet. I move them into her lap, as though this is the most natural thing for me to do, and Finn works them with her hands nonchalantly, as though this is nothing new either. Later, a guy at the party mistakes us for a couple. Neither of us minds, we laugh, possibly it’s what we were after.
After midnight Finn asks do I want a ride home or do I want to sleep over and I say, sleep over. When we get to her bedroom, she asks do I want shorts or pants to sleep in, and I say, pants. She lends me a T-shirt that says I Don’t Do Drugs I Am Drugs, on it. I am on the inside of the bed near the window. Finn is standing near the dresser and she says, You’re in my bed! She sounds bewildered, triumphant, amused. (She would speak with this exact intonation two more times, when we weren’t just friends anymore, when we were beginning to fuck, to fall in love: You answered the door in a towel! and You sat on my lap!) And though we’re just friends, she puts her arms around me, asking, Is this okay? I tell her it’s okay. We say goodnight. I can’t sleep, I say, a few moments later. I know, me either, she laughs, tell me a story. I cannot think of anything interesting, and I mumble and slur in a drunken stupor until I fall asleep.
We wake in the same position we fell asleep in. I move the curtain from the window to check the weather. The sun surprises me. Sun! The sun is out! I start saying that sort of thing. Finn stands in the doorway, watching me. I think it’s cute when people are excited about the sun, she says. Instead of going to change in the bathroom, I change out of her shirt and back into my dress while still in her bed. I feel self-conscious though, and aware of it, wondering if it is too intimate an act. While Finn is in the bathroom, I look around the apartment. Everything is in its right place. Knick-knacks and what look like expensive Japanese paintings on the walls. I wonder which one of them – Finn or her girlfriend – is the lover of Japanese art. I see no photos of her girlfriend, though I try not to look. I let my eyes be lazy. As we walk out of her apartment building, Finn mentions that she isn’t going to tell her girlfriend that I slept over, because she wouldn’t understand. Okay. Right, I say. Besides, nothing happened. What is there to tell? I understand and yet I don’t understand.
While Finn drives us downtown, we sing along with the radio. She tells me it’s the first time in a decade she hasn’t taken a shower before work and I say something like, Man, you gotta loosen up. She smiles. In this moment I remember noticing myself affecting her habits, in what could be considered either a negative or positive way. We park and decide we want to grab coffees to bring to work. It is one of those days that feels fake or cinematic, because parking is free and the streets are dead. I feel like I’m on a movie set. My mom calls my cell phone. I answer, telling her I’m with Finn. Finn and I are both smiling and laughing. (Later Finn told me I looked beautiful that day, with sun on my newly lightened hair. She said my eyes lit up when my mom called.) We order our coffees and Finn insists on buying mine. We hug before we go our separate ways. A couple weeks later Finn emails me a song, says it reminds her a little of us. The lyrics are about waking up hungover with someone, about watching them get dressed as you block the sun from your face.
I excitedly tell one of my bisexual friends about my weekend. She shakes her head. You guys shouldn’t do that. I play dumb and ask, Why not? She raises her voice and says, Because you’re not a lesbian! Because she has a girlfriend!
She is hot, though, she adds, and I agree.
When my father visits, I show him the city on foot, walk to restaurants, and take him to plays. It is good to see my father, who I consider one of my closest friends, and I enjoy showing him what my life is like in this city. I invite Finn to meet us for coffee. She will be the only friend he meets. My dad and I arrive at the café first. Finn walks in a few minutes later, and immediately I can tell she is not what he is expecting. She tells him her name. He flinches, and I wonder if Finn notices this too. He wants to know what Finn is short for. Nothing, she says, winking at me. She walks to the counter and orders a coffee. The three of us talk about writing, a reading Finn recently attended, what plans my dad and I have for the rest of his visit. Finn hugs me before she returns to work. Her sweatshirt is white, pristine. After I hug her, I notice some of my makeup has rubbed off on her shoulder. I feel humiliated and pray she doesn’t see it. Finn is fastidious in her appearance, everything always looks brand new, clean.
My dad reiterates twice how much he enjoyed Finn. I liked her a lot, he says. She’s really sharp. Looking back, I find it odd I invited her to meet my father. I had other friends I could have invited, yet I chose her. By this time I had made some girl friends, co-workers who were closer to me in age, but it was not important to me that he meet them, only that he meet Finn.
On an unusually warm winter Friday, so warm I am wearing a tank top, Finn comes over for drinks and to see my new place. I am renting a renovated basement from our mutual friend Shannon, who works with me at the library. I have a photograph a friend took of me in the park just hours before Finn came over. I am jumping. Wearing jeans and a tank top. In the bright sun, on the green grass. I’d been drinking coffee into the evening, and it made me feel frisky. Before Finn comes over, I take a shower, put my hair up. When she arrives, the three of us sit in the living room and drink whiskey and Cokes. After a while, Finn gets up from the chair she’s in and sits on my legs, which are stretched out the length of the couch. We are talking, making flirtatious banter. I’m complaining about my male co-workers and Finn shakes her head and says, See, I don’t hate men, I just think they’re stupid.
While Finn is sitting on my legs, Shannon, who is smoking a cigarette across from us, furrows her forehead, rolls her eyeballs, and says, Go have sex. Even in that moment, I don’t think we will have sex. Ha-ha funny, hysterical. Having sex doesn’t occur to me. How does one have sex with a woman? Besides, I’m straight. But I do take Finn’s hand. I am sitting up now, next to her, Indian-style, and under the blanket I take her soft hand in mine, then rest it on my thigh. We quietly sit that way for the rest of the night, never letting go of each other’s hands. After midnight, when I announce I am going to bed, Finn follows me downstairs