Mary sat across from Judy on the floor, her back propped against the wall and her bare legs stretched out in front of her, on the worn hardwood floor. Her feet were bare, and she forgot where she left her shoes. She was comfortable, if only because of the third margarita. On the floor between them sat fragrant containers of lo mein, a red foil bag of spare rib bones, two dirty paper dishes with undersized plastic forks, and a hot laptop.
Judy picked up the tequila bottle, squinting at the label. “Mare, what does reposado mean? It’s Spanish.”
“Obviously, it means delicious.”
Judy smiled. “Good one.”
“My humor improves with drink.”
“So does your brief writing.”
“To us.” Mary raised her tumbler. “We did an excellent job.”
“We always do. The lo mein helps.”
“Every brief we’ve ever done together, we order lo mein.”
“It’s our secret weapon.”
Mary felt a warm rush. She loved hanging out with Judy. Her paintings leaned against the wall in vivid stacks, and the shelves held old coffee cans of washed paintbrushes and wooden boxes of oil paints. Somehow it looked right, even coordinated, with a big white four-poster with a funky gauze canopy. Judy was so talented in so many ways, and Mary would always be a little in awe of her.
Judy smiled. “You’re getting all melty again. What’s going on with you? You’re even more emotional than usual lately.”
“I know, right?” Mary’s throat went thick. “I’m not sure why.”
“Is it partnership? You worried about making it?”
“Yes, but it’s not only that. It’s Anthony, and the house thing. It’s hard, all of it together.”
Judy frowned. “I thought you were excited about the house. He was telling me about one you saw on Bainbridge, the trinity.”
Mary felt that twinge again. “It needs tons of work, and it’s so dark inside.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“Looking at houses with him, and moving in together, that’s great, but there’s questions to deal with. Can we look at houses out of our price range? What if I can afford a nicer house than he can? Do I put him on the deed? Is it weird if I don’t?” Mary thought a minute. “And what do we do, after we move in? Am I his landlord? Do I ask him for half the mortgage each month?”
“Lots of hard questions.” Judy looked serious. “You tell me. What do you want to do?”
“If I make partner, the difference in our income, the disparity, it’s just ridiculous.” The more Mary thought about it, the more uncomfortable she felt. Even telling Judy made her feel like she was ratting out Anthony. “He’s living on his savings, writing his book.”
“You guys talked about this, right?”
“A little.”
Judy shrugged, and melting ice tinkled in her tumbler. “So maybe you need to talk about it more.”
“That will embarrass him.”
“How?”
“Because it makes him feel bad that I make more money than he does.”
Judy half-smiled. “I think he’s aware of that.”
“So why rub it in?”
“How do you know he feels bad?”
“I can tell.” Mary’s chest tightened. “If we go out to dinner, he’ll try to pay, so that means we can’t go anyplace nice. He’ll let me split it sometimes, but that’s always uncomfortable. I give the waiter my credit card, and Anthony gives me the cash, and the waiter always brings the credit card back to him.”
“Always a wonderful moment.” Judy wrinkled her nose.
“Yeah, great, huh? So now we’re getting a house together, and he’s going to live with me, and it’s going to get weirder if I make partner. I don’t know what to do. You would think after dating all this time we’d have figured this out, but we haven’t.”
Judy took a sip of her drink. “I’m lucky, with Frank. He loves being a contractor and his business is doing terrific.”
“Everything’s good when the boy makes more than the girl.”
“Hey.” Judy winced. “You know money isn’t a big deal with me.”
“I know, sorry, I didn’t mean that about you. It isn’t with me either. But it is with men, at least with Anthony. They still measure their self-worth by their salaries.”
“Unlike women, who measure it by their hair, faces, and bodies.” Judy smiled. “He’s writing a book, and when he gets published, he’ll have money.”
“If it gets published. It’s hard, especially a biography in an academic press. And what if it doesn’t, or if the advance is super low? It will make him feel terrible.”
“He’ll go back to teaching.”
“He could. He says he’d like to talk to Penn.”
“Okay, so there you have it.”
Mary knew it wasn’t that easy. Anthony had been a professor at Fordham when she met him, on his sabbatical in Philadelphia, but he’d left to stay with her. She couldn’t help but feel as if she owed him.
“You love him, don’t you?”
“Yes, but, the other night, you know…” Mary rubbed her forehead. She wished she hadn’t had any tequila. As a drunk, she was a downer.
“Mare, it’s okay to love Anthony. It’s okay to go on.” Judy smiled, sadly. “So be happy. Okay?”
“Okay, right. Will do.” Mary checked her watch. “Well, I guess it’s time to go.”
Judy cocked her head, sympathetic. “You can stay here if you want. I’ll give you the bed and I’ll take the sleeping bag.”
“Thanks, but no. I’m supposed to decide whether to look at houses tomorrow and call Anthony to let him know.”
“So decide, and call him.”
Mary could easily go house-hunting. The brief was done, and her only other option was church. “I can’t decide.”
“So talk to him about that, then. Call him, right now.”
“You want me to drunk dial my boyfriend?”
“Maybe that’s what reposado means,” Judy said, with a crooked smile.