You do spend a few guilty minutes (and by a few minutes, you mean over an hour and a half) searching through Glory Girl’s thread, just to make sure that nobody has posted anything about the two of you. Luckily, you go back more than thirty pages and don’t see any reference to a Taylor, or even any new friends of Victoria’s—and there’s discussion of Victoria’s relationship with her boyfriend (apparently named ‘Dean’) in there, so you’re pretty sure that if anyone had posted any images of the two of you, somebody would be bringing that up.
So, alright, maybe it is kind of your own fault that it takes so long to find the information you’ve been looking for, but that kind of stuff really is important.
It’s approaching twelve by the time you’ve finally finished cross-checking Shadow Stalker and Aegis’ threads, looking for any confirmation of public events during the holidays. Your phone has been buzzing in your lap, texts flowing in every ten minutes from Amy as she confirms the time and place of your date; you give that your priority, which slowed down your search even more. Still, you’re sure of three different locations for events Shadow Stalker will be at; there’s one this Tuesday in the library, one next Saturday at the town hall, and another one the Tuesday after.
You commit the dates to memory as you rush off to the bathroom. Dad’s been up for a while, but apart from him quickly sticking his head in to check whether you were in the room, he hasn’t bothered you. You don’t hear the shower running, so it’s safe for you to go in and begin preparing for your date with Amy.
As soon as you turn the corner and the building comes into view, you find yourself regretting your choice of venue.
It’s not like you’re spoiled with choice, though. The only nice restaurants around town that you can get to easily are a small Mexican restaurant a handful of blocks away from your house… and the same restaurant you’d previously met Emma at; Moretti’s Dining. You trust the food at Moretti’s more than you do the Mexican restaurant. Maybe you could have looked around more, but there aren’t a lot of restaurants in Brockton Bay that offer good food for low prices. It’s not the kind of town where chefs come envisioning a career in quality, affordable food preparation. It’s the kind of town where someone falls into a job as a chef and finds themselves trapped for the next forty, fifty years.
You probably could have gone to Madison’s father’s restaurant, but, uh—no. It’s going to be weird enough having this conversation with Amy. Having it in a restaurant owned by the father of another girl you’re dating is just bizarre.
There’s remarkably little noise in the restaurant, considering. Or maybe it’s not all that remarkable. It’s an affordable restaurant that offers decent food, but you imagine that most parents wouldn’t consider taking their children out to an Italian restaurant for lunch. Pizza places are probably getting a lot of business right now, though.
The server who greets you today isn’t the same one as the one who greeted you when you’d met up with Emma, unfortunately. This one is wearing a nametag that introduces himself as ‘Esmond’. He politely escorts you to your table and pours you a glass of water before retreating back to his position at the standing desk before the front door.
You idly amuse yourself while waiting for Amy by tapping on your phone. You haven’t actually ended up taking any photos, which kind of surprises you—the idea of photographing your girls still shoots a little thrill down you. Why haven’t you done it? The answer presents itself immediately; it’s just really awkward to imagine yourself standing in front of Sophia and asking her if she’d be willing to take her clothes off so you could take some nude photos of her.
“Hey.”
You jerk, accidentally bumping your glass of water and nearly sending it tipping over the edge as you look up at the person who just spoke. Amy smirks back down at you, obviously pleased at your reaction. “Hi,” you reply stupidly. “You’re, um. You look nice.”
She looks down at her dress, a simple but incredibly well-cut dress coloured powder blue, then looks at you with a shy smile. “You think so?”
“Mhm.” You nod decisively. “That dress looks great on you. It’s a nice colour, too. Where did you get it?” As you talk, you gesture for her to sit down at the chair across from you.
Amy smiles hesitantly as she takes a seat, looking around the restaurant and ducking her head. “I didn’t buy it,” she admits. “My sister bought it for me. I’m supposed to wear it tomorrow, but I wanted to dress up a little.” She flushes. “And now I feel kind of overdressed.”
You tilt your head. She is dressed nicer than anyone else in the restaurant. “Maybe a little,” you say mildly, “but that’s not a bad thing. You look really pretty, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to dress up a bit.”
She glances around the restaurant again. “I think I stand out a bit,” she mutters. Her shoulders hunch defensively in on themselves.
There’s no response you can make to that but to wave your hands. “You always stand out,” you inform her. She hunches further in on herself. “You’re the cutest girl in the room, and you have the most adorable blush.” You lean your head on your hands, giving her a teasing grin that she catches as she darts her eyes back to you, causing the aforementioned blush to rise again. “People can’t help but look at you, I think.”
The reddish flush on her face darkens, and she ducks her head down. She mumbles something, but it’s too low for you to hear. Then, after a few moments, she looks back up, the red on her face largely gone. “That’s not really what I meant, but thanks,” she says wryly. Then, before you can tease her any more, “Have you been here before? Any suggestions for food?”
That half a spoonful of minestrone you’d tasted had been alright. “They make good chicken.” You pick up the menu and scan through it. “Some of their pasta meals are a bit heavy, but I like the farfalle with asparagus, too.” It’s been a while since you’ve actually eaten here, and you’ve only really had more adult meals a couple of times. Somehow, you suspect that Amy won’t take it well if you tell her that she should get spaghetti with meatballs.
“Hm.” She gives the menu a considering look. “I’m not the biggest fan of asparagus, but I’ll give it a try.”
Nobody’s ever a fan of asparagus. You hide your disgruntled look from her behind your glass of water. Why can nobody except you appreciate the greatness that is asparagus? Nevertheless, you raise your hand to call over a server.
It’s an older woman this time, someone almost as old as Dad. Her hair is starting to go grey, too. “What can I get for you today?” she asks professionally. There’s a slight accent to her voice still; French, you think after a second’s consideration. You look casually down at her nametag, which spells out her name as ‘Esmerelda’.
You just order a simple chicken-and-pasta meal, ignoring the look both Amy and Esmerelda give you as you fumble the name’s pronunciation. Amy, meanwhile, orders the farfalle with asparagus.
Beneath the table, your hands twist on the hem of your shirt, and you have to stifle a sigh before Amy can see it. You need to tell her, at least about your other girlfriends. It’s really unfair to keep that kind of thing from her. And it’s going to take them a while to cook your food.
Better to just do it, Mom always used to say. Just tear the band-aid off. It’ll hurt, but you need to do it.
Then again, who actually tears band-aids off? It hurts a lot less to just slowly peel them off.
You shake your head, drawing a curious look from Amy. You let out a sigh, settling back into your chair and moving your hands back up to cup your glass of water. “This is our third date, isn’t it?” you ask her.
She nods hesitantly. “Yes.” She gives you a wary look.
Chewing your lip, you consider how to approach this. “I don’t really go on a lot of dates,” you admit, “so I’m not really sure about the protocol of these kind of things, but the third date is where you’re supposed to tell your date about things they need to know, isn’t it?”
Across the table, Amy stiffens. Her hand grasps tightly around the glass of water she’s holding. “I don’t know,” she replies. “I don’t go on many dates either. Why?” Her gaze darts nervously off to the side. Damn it, maybe you did leave this too long, if she’s already feeling anxious about what you’re going to tell her.
“Well, I just—“ You let out a sigh. “There’s some—something you need to know, if we’re going to keep dating. Which, um, which I hope we are, because I really like dating you. You’re sweet. And it wouldn’t be fair to you if I’m keeping secrets that could affect us, but, um, I haven’t said anything before, because you might get angry and not want to see me any more, and that would be really bad, because I like seeing you, and I—“
Giving you a soft, concerned look, Amy reaches across the table and grabs one of your hands with hers, pulling it away from the glass and gently rubbing her thumb over the back of your hand. “Breathe, Taylor,” she murmurs. “You’re rambling.”
You inhale deeply, ignoring the heat you can feel building in your cheeks. “Sorry,” you reply, looking down at your glass of water. You can see her reflection in it. It feels easier to look at that, somehow.
It’s surprisingly hard to just come out and say it, but with Amy patting your hand and giving you a concerned look, you can feel your heart calming down a little. It still takes you a few moments to work up enough courage to finally take the plunge, though.
You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see her reaction. You’ll hear it just fine. “I’ve—“ Your throat tightens at the words, but, no. You’ve come this far. “I’ve, um, you’re not the only girlfriend I have.” Cringing, you wait for her reaction.
… There’s nothing. No explosion. No yelling. God, did you put her into shock or something?
Heart filled with trepidation, you slowly open your eyes again, looking down at your glass. Your hands are shaking too badly for you to see her reflection in it, though. You almost gulp as you drag your gaze up, up, up—and finally meet Amy’s slightly annoyed look.
“What do you mean, I’m not your only girlfriend?” she asks, her voice low. This time, you actually do gulp. Your power stirs, but before it can lash out and wrap over her, you tighten your grasp over it. No—you’re going to do this without it. Even if you are feeling sick looking at her expression.
You can’t help the way you cringe at her tone, though. “I’ve… I’ve got other girlfriends.” Rip off that band-aid, Taylor. “It’s, it’s, yeah. You’re the only one who doesn’t know, so far.” Technically true. Aisha doesn’t know, but Aisha also isn’t your girlfriend. Yet. “And I don’t want to try to hide it from you. That would be unfair.”
She stares at you for several long moments, straight into your eyes. You don’t know what she’s hoping to see in there, but you do your best to meet her gaze.
After nearly a minute, she subsides, settling back into her chair. She stares at you with a suspiciously blank gaze. “How many other girlfriends do you have?” she asks neutrally.
“Four,” you reply instantly. Then you hesitate. “Um. Kind of. Madison, Sophia, Charlotte, and Victoria.” Amy tilts her head curiously for a moment, then seems to shake her head, dismissing whatever thought just occurred to her. “A-And kind of Emma.”
“Kind of?” She gives you a long, searching look. You sit back with a pout, opening your mouth to try to explain the situation with Emma, but she just waves her hand. “Never mind.” This time, she’s the one who lets out a big sigh. “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” she grumbles, softly enough that you don’t think you’re meant to hear it. It takes a few seconds for her to say anything more. When she finally speaks again, it’s loud enough that you think you’re meant to hear it. “So how is this going to work, then? Do I have to, what, schedule dates with you?”
You blink. No—trying to schedule things is your job. “No, of course not,” you tell her firmly. “I can be a little busy, but not like that. If you want to go on a date, then just ask me, or I’ll ask you.” That might change in the future, but at least for now, you don’t foresee any problems in trying to schedule dates with Amy in.
And if you do encounter any problems, well. You’ll just have to prioritize, as vaguely ill as the thought of prioritizing any of your girls over each other makes you feel.
She nods slowly. “Okay. I’m asking because, um. Do you remember how you were talking about that bookstore in Boston?” You nod, so she continues, her voice quickly growing more enthusiastic once again. “Well, um, Mom has to buy some more books for my homeschooling sessions, so she’s going down to Boston. I asked her if I could come with her, and I might have asked her if I could bring you too. Or, um. Not you—you, but I asked if I could bring a friend along, and she said yes.”
Ooh. Your interest must show on her face, because a smirk quickly flickers across her face, before a pensive look once again grows on her face. “That would be cool!” you exclaim. You go to reach across with your other hand—she’s still holding your left hand in hers; you’re not sure if she even realizes she’s holding it—but like a moron, you forget that you’re holding your glass of water as you do. Amy lets out a little shriek as the water spills across the table towards her, then lets out a relieved sigh as the tablecloth absorbs the little bit of water that had spilled from it before it can reach her.
