Page 9 of This Is Who I Am

CASS

“Neat or on the rocks?” I lift the bottle of Metaxa, the same brandy that inspired tonight’s seafood special. Estelle’s eyes have grown soft around the edges, her smile even more generous than before. I should be pouring her water instead of Greek brandy.

“Chef’s choice,” she says. Her words are still crisp and clear, though her movements have slowed. “All your choices tonight have been excellent so I’d be foolish to start making my own now.”

I drop ice cubes into both glasses, letting them crack before pouring. The ritual gives me a moment to steady myself before sliding onto the barstool next to Estelle.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening.” Estelle holds up her glass, then winces when she gets a whiff of the Metaxa’s strong aroma.

“Thank you for being such a loyal Friday evening customer.”

“Put my name down for next week, please.” She peers over the rim of her glass, her gaze both intense and mischievous.

“Sure, but… hm…” Come on, Cass. There’s no better time for this question. “Wouldn’t you rather have dinner with me instead of just having me cook for you?”

“What do you mean? You have to work on Friday night, don’t you?

” Maybe her brain functions are more impaired than she lets on—although she still looks good enough to eat in that pristine white blouse that stands out against her skin so gorgeously, just enough of its buttons undone to give you an idea of what’s underneath but not nearly enough to stop you from guessing.

“How about tomorrow?” I ask.

“Savor’s not open on Saturdays. I read all about your slow restaurant philosophy on the website.

” She finally takes a sip and it’s as though the shock of the alcohol, paradoxically, allows her to see what I’m getting at.

“Do you mean a private dinner? Just for me?” Her lips curve into the most divine smile.

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Hm.” Her smile abruptly disappears as she swallows slowly. “I’ve had too much to drink so I will say yes for now, but I reserve the right to change my mind tomorrow when I’m sober.”

Ouch. But I don’t give up that easily. “Have you had enough of my food already?”

“Of course not, but, um… I’m not—” She glances at me, but only for a split second. “Is this… a thing? A date, I mean?” Estelle seems to have lost most of her cool.

I refrain from saying something cheesy like it can be whatever she wants it to be. Instead, emboldened by how much she enjoyed my special menu tonight, I take the direct route. “I’m single, into women, and I like you, so…”

“Oh.” Estelle peers into the amber liquid.

Damn. I read it all wrong. I let her beauty distract me into a state of near oblivion, into someone who misinterprets signals.

I’m so out of practice, it’s like I no longer know how this works.

Add to that the confusing physical attraction I feel toward her and it’s almost logical I’ve made this mistake. My poor brain is in complete disarray.

“I’m sorry. Can we rewind about five minutes?” I ask. “Can we please do that?”

“We can try.”

Estelle’s probably not even queer—I could have sworn, though. But my gaydar is very rusty as well.

“Obviously, I would love to have dinner with you,” Estelle says, her voice almost a whisper.

“But?” I ask.

“But… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m not—I shouldn’t be dating. It’s really not on my to-do list. Also, it’s not you. It’s definitely me. I—” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Dinner as friends, then?” I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “I’m not exactly prime dating material either.”

“That’s really not what I meant,” Estelle says.

“Yeah.” I take a sip of my drink, letting its burn calm me down. “Although you did witness my hot flash the other day.”

Estelle doesn’t even chuckle at my lame joke. “Is that why you don’t consider yourself datable?”

“I’d be lying if I said that had nothing to do with it, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.

” I swirl the ice cubes in my glass. “My ex, Sarah, stopped by a few days ago to tell me she’s pregnant.

Our relationship ended a few years ago because she wanted kids and I didn’t.

” I pause. “She’s a lot younger than me, and then I hit menopause and, well, things took a turn for the worse rather quickly. ”

Estelle doesn’t say anything right away, but her eyes soften with understanding. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m happy for Sarah. She and her new wife, Rose, were in here last Friday, celebrating, although I didn’t know about the pregnancy yet.”

She’s quiet for a beat before asking, “Was it difficult when she told you?”

“No, not anymore. But our break-up was very painful because it made me feel so utterly inadequate. Even though, in my heart, I knew that I had to let her go. I tried to hold on for too long.”

I take another sip of my drink, the warmth of the Metaxa spreading through me, paving the way for this conversation that I didn’t expect to have tonight.

Estelle just waits, letting me decide whether to continue.

I clear my throat. “It’s hard to explain without sounding like a dreadful cliché, especially to someone who hasn’t been through it. But menopause… it changed everything for me. My body, my energy, my… drive. Well, my sex drive most of all.”

Estelle’s fingers trace the rim of her glass. “That must be hard.”

“That’s one way to put it.” And also a great way to extract the good vibe from any conversation.

I consider changing the subject and asking her about what she meant earlier, about why dating isn’t on her to-do list. But I don’t. Not yet.

I roll the glass between my palms. “I gained a lot of weight, too,” I add, surprising myself even more. This is not something I tend to talk about.

Estelle catches my gaze, but she doesn’t say anything.

“It shouldn’t matter, right? But it does. I used to feel strong and assured in my body. Now, some days, I barely recognize myself.” I force a smile. “Not exactly a selling point in the dating world.”

Estelle studies me with the same careful attention she’s given each dish I’ve served her. “I think you look great.”

Her words sound true enough—but I know better. At least I think that I do. Still, I shift in my seat, suddenly warm in a way that has nothing to do with the Metaxa. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“It’s not just kindness, Cass. It’s an observation.

” She takes another sip. “I saw you walk through the restaurant earlier and you carry yourself so...” She pauses, her smile suddenly shy.

“I might have had too much to drink to actually put it into words, but I enjoyed watching you walk toward me like that.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I can only hope my body won’t respond with another hot flash, like the last time she paid me a compliment—as though my poor body has no clue how to behave around her.

Also, for the first time in a long time, I wonder what it would feel like to actually believe her. Her kind words spur me on to continue. I clear my throat.

“Sarah and I…” It kind of feels as though the support group for menopausal women is already having its first gathering at Savor, with Estelle and I as the only participants. “We stopped having sex. I stopped wanting it.”

Estelle doesn’t react right away.

“She tried to be patient,” I continue. “I did too. But something in me just changed, and I couldn’t seem to get it back.

It wasn’t just that I didn’t want it—I didn’t miss it.

And when someone you love is waiting for you to…

come back to them in that way, it starts to feel like you’re failing them. Like you’re failing yourself.”

I chance a glance at Estelle. There’s no judgment on her face, just consideration.

“That must have been difficult,” she says finally.

I nod. “It was. For both of us. But, in the end, I couldn’t give her what she needed.”

Estelle’s eyes meet mine. “And what do you need, Cass?”

I part my lips, but nothing comes out. The truth is that I don’t know.

Estelle doesn’t push. She watches me, her expression patient in a way that does something to my stomach.

I could deflect, turn the conversation back to her, ask why she doesn’t date.

But I still don’t. I sit with the question, let it linger like the last sip of Metaxa, slow and warm as it slips down my throat.

“I need to feel like myself again,” I say finally. My voice is quieter than I mean for it to be. “Or at least figure out who this new version of me is and try to accept her.”

Estelle nods, as if she understands. Maybe she does—somehow. Her empty glass scrapes softly against the bar as she pushes it aside.

“I hope that you will.” She finds my gaze. “Figure it out.” There’s something different about her expression. A hint of sadness, perhaps? “I hate to leave on this note, but…” She points at her empty glass. “That one really tipped me over the edge of tipsiness and whatever comes next.”

“Let me get you some water.” I hurry behind the bar.

“It’s fine, Cass. You’ve done too much for me tonight already.” She slips off her seat. “I should go.”

“Are you okay to walk home? I can call you a taxi.”

Estelle shakes her head. “It’s not far and I need the fresh air.” She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth for a split second, then says, “But it’s going to be another yes from me.”

“Dinner tomorrow?” Something twists inside me.

Estelle nods slowly.

“A dinner between friends it is, then.” How can it be anything else after what I’ve just told her? I suppose that’s the best two undatable women—for whatever reason—can hope for.