
“I’ve done those things.”
I looked up at a woman I’d never seen before and found her pointing at my book on the bar. I had just gotten my copy of Coming and Crying signed by the editors and I had nearly forgotten it was sitting in plain view.
“At the same time?” Fuck, I must be drunk to ask that. It was too late though, and somehow she sat down rather than walked away. She wasn’t flirting, but she looked lost in thought as she ordered a glass of wine before picking up the book.
“Is it good?” she asked.
“Sometimes it’s necessary.”
“I meant the book.”
I felt even more ridiculous, but I laughed at myself and sat up in my chair. I was so lost in my own head that it hadn’t even occurred to me that she meant the book. I was remembering a night where I trembled between loneliness and bliss, and it was hard to focus on where I was. It was a night when things were changing despite best efforts and we had clung to each other’s bodies in hopes that the rest of us would stay as well.
“It’s wonderful,” I finally answered, pulling myself back.
“Which are you talking about now?” She was grinning and I knew she was joking with me.
“They both are,” I said. “They’re both wonderful.”