Scissor Link by Georgette Kaplan (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

With a heaving sigh, Wendy tossed the pliers back into her toolbox. “Okay, you think I don’t know it’s not going to happen? I get it, it’s me, it’s not going to happen. But I can at least be nice to her! And she can smile at me! And I can have these really nice sex dreams where she asks me to work late and—sorry. Private thought.”

“No, keep going, this is like watching a true crime show for lesbians. My best friend is O.J. Simpson with a vagina.”

Wendy tapped at the snap ring with a thumb ring on her right hand, making sure it was properly seated. It didn’t budge. “Tina, my ovaries are begging me here. She has a cold and I can take care of her a little bit. This is the only workout my libido gets. At least you can watch Ryan Gosling movies.”

“God, I’m starting to see why my parents had an arranged marriage. Okay, go ahead and pick her up some tissues, in case she runs out. That won’t be too creepy. Just for God’s sake, be subtle about it. Try to conceal your raging les-boner?”

Wendy whipped her safety glasses off and snatched up her sangrita. “I will just ask how she’s doing on tissues because I happen to have some extras in my desk. She won’t even be able to tell I’m gay.”

“Oh, she’ll know, but maybe she’ll think you’re interested in an age-appropriate relationship.”

“Okay, yeah, I can totally get away with that one.” Wendy took a sip of sangrita, then immediately back to the good stuff. The tequila was tasting better already. “I should get her some DayQuil too, right? In case she had some at home but didn’t bring any to the office with her?”

“It’s like Hollywood made a prequel to Single White Female, I swear to God…”

She hung up.

Wendy went to stir the chicken broth she had going on her stove.

Janet tried to focus on Hunting Warbirds, let herself be pulled in by the first few pages until her imagination was well and truly fired, but her attention refused to be so easily assigned. She couldn’t relegate it away from the last words Roberta had spoken to her, or the dream of Wendy that stayed as stubbornly fresh as if she were waking up from it every second.

She closed the book on its first page as Elizabeth came in, bearing papers for her signature. Intuiting Janet’s mood, she left without a word, but with a consoling smile. Janet was signing them when her intercom buzzed—a smooth tone reminiscent of a Tibetan singing bowl. It only disturbed her in so much as she paused in the middle of a pen stroke, taking the time to use her free hand to toggle the intercom, then finishing her signature. “Yes, Elizabeth, what is it?”

“Wendy Cedar here to see you, boss.”

Janet quirked an eyebrow and lifted the contract to double-check if her signature was required on the next page. “Does she have an appointment?”

“Nope.”

“Oh well. Send her in.”

Wendy entered, dressed tolerably, carrying what looked to Janet like a quite undersized briefcase.

“Is that a lunchbox?” Janet asked.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you were a parent.”

“Oh, I’m not.” Wendy pulled up a chair before Janet’s desk, set the lunchbox down on it, paused to get it just so for Janet’s benefit, then opened it up. The first thing she pulled out was a large Tupperware container. “Chicken noodle soup, old family recipe. Not my family, I found it on the internet, at the end of like a five-thousand-word short story on the emasculation of the American male after Vietnam, it was like out of a cookbook that Hemingway would write, but I tried the recipe and it was actually pretty good, and it is homemade, and it could be vegan, well, the noodles aren’t vegan, but I’m pretty sure the broth doesn’t have a face.”

Janet blinked. “Did I…ask you to bring me chicken soup? And forget about it?”

“No, it’s for your cold.” Wendy explained, sounding briskly sure of herself.

It was her confidence that Janet found most off-putting. She seemed a hundred percent convinced that Janet required chicken soup.

“And here’s a bottle of Sprite, diet, straight from the vending machine so it’s still cold. Although the prices are ridiculous. Like, a buck for this bottle. I could get at least a liter of this at any convenience store. It’d be warm, yeah, but are we really charging seventy-five cents for the equivalent of a couple ice cubes? What is this, Tito’s Yugoslavia?” She gleaned Janet’s bewilderment quickly. “Or a more relatable metaphor? Here’s a cookie.” Wendy brought out a cookie. It was the size of a piece of bread and emblazoned with chocolate chips. “Don’t worry, they’re not raisins.”

“And this is for my cold?”

“Yeah, I mean, I know how hard you work, you always take your lunch in here, send Lizzie—” Wendy jerked her thumb back to Elizabeth’s desk “—out to get you lunch, if you even have lunch, but c’mon, there’s Chinese food and then there’s food that’s good for fighting a cold.”

“This is a very considerate gesture.” This time, Janet didn’t blink, but fully closed her eyes for a few seconds before opening them again. “Would you like me to pay you back for the ingredients?”

“No, no no no, it’s just a friendly—an act of friendship. ’Cause we’re friends.” Wendy quickly amended her statement. “Or friendly. We’re friendly. Like a mentor or a…an employer.” Wendy cocked her head. “Kind of warm acquaintances, is how I would like to think of us.”

“Did you bring a spoon?”

“Yes!” Wendy said, managing to sound remarkably like she was agreeing to something. She pulled out an actual metal spoon, wrapped in a napkin, from the bottom of the lunchbox.

“Because I have some plastic utensils in my desk,” Janet finished. “Metal is nice, though. Very sturdy. Thank you for the gesture of…” Janet sought out a word. “Goodwill?”

Wendy made an elaborate gesture that amounted to ‘let’s call it that.’

Janet reached for