Between the Tides

Bass thumped through the walls of the Brooklyn brownstone, sending vibrations through my body as I adjusted the off-the-shoulder neckline of my ruffled white blouse. Stepping back from the mirror, I smoothed my hands over short layered skirts that brushed my upper thighs. 

I twirl, my only slightly smothered boobs testing the boundaries of the snug bodice of the corset I just danced my way into an hour ago, and let out a quick laugh at the sight of myself. Who the fuck am I? The pirate costume I wore was hugging my curves in ways that made me feel pretty sexy, and just a little bit self conscious.

My ex, Sofia, had always discouraged me from wearing what she deemed to consider hot Halloween costumes, insisting I’m not a hot costume kind of girl. Was she right? Was I being a total poser? My get up was certainly a far cry from last year, when I dressed up as Bob Ross and drunkenly confessed my feelings for David. I shudder, then quickly wave the intrusive thought away—using the same hand to pick up a deep berry lipstick to blot onto my lips for what I hoped would give that sexy, just-been-kissed look. To my delight, the color looked just right against my tan skin. Perfect. 

I shouldn’t even still be thinking about Sofia. I was dating David now, after all. Like, really dating David. How has it already been almost an entire year since we started seeing each other? I know I’m not thinking about her because I miss being with her, per se. I mean, I love David and how we are together. So what’s my deal? 

“Looking for me, love?” David drawls, appearing in the doorway and instantly breaking me out of my trance. He held out a hand, his grin rakish but sincere. David was dressed as Jack Sparrow—the swashbuckling counterpart to my own Elizabeth Swan—complete with a faux-tattered pirate coat and kohl-lined eyes. Most of his thick black curls were covered by a pirate’s hat, and a plastic sword hung from his belt. My eyes naturally darted towards the cheesy plastic sword, and I didn’t try to suppress the thoughts of him holding it at my throat later in bed.

I’d suggested we match costumes weeks ago, thinking he’d balk at the idea. Instead, he embraced it with enthusiasm, even making a Sunday afternoon plan for us to grab brunch before sourcing our pirate garb from Abracadabra in Flatiron. David was always good about that kind of stuff—turning mundane activities into something romantic and unexpected. 

“Oh hello captain,” I say in my best pirate voice, reaching for his outstretched hand. “You look stunning,” he says, his voice soft all of a sudden. His gaze lingered on the top of my corset in a way that made my cheeks flush.

“And you make a decent pirate I guess,” I tease, brushing a curl away from his face. “Though I’m a little annoyed that your eyeliner looks better than mine.”

He laughs, looping his arm around my waist and leading me out of his room and back into the thrum of the party. It's not even midnight yet and the house that I now consider my second home is packed to the brim. A group of cowgirls dances in the living room, and I recognize three of them as the Powerpuff Girls from last year. I wonder if David’s model-hot ex fling will be here again, too. Suddenly my corset feels even tighter than it did a minute ago. 

We squeeze past a Barbie and Ken, who are taking shots in the kitchen, and it’s a relief when we finally manage to find Christian and Chloe—my quickly rising social anxiety melting away at the sight of our friends. 

They look adorable, of course, also dressed in couples’ costumes as a Greek god and goddess. A laurel wreath crown sits atop Christian’s golden blonde head, and Chloe’s long braids cascade down the back of her flowing white dress. My ex’s words force their way back into my head yet again. “You have straight friends now?” 

“Let’s take shots!” I declare loudly after we exchange hugs. “Hell yeah, Naina. That’s what I like to hear,” Christian says excitedly, his head bobbing up and down in support of the idea—unaware that I only suggested it as a means of quieting my own overthinking mind. “Fine, but only if it's good tequila,” says Chloe. “We’re not 21 anymore and I am not dealing with a hangover like that.” Flashbacks to last year’s horrendous hangover play in my mind, and I quickly agree with her. 

Christian points a Zeus-inspired thunderbolt towards his bedroom door and winks at Chloe. “Don’t worry babe, we’ll dig into my private stash.” We form a chain, moving our way in unison towards Christian’s room when I catch sight of her. Walking through the front door with the kind of confidence you only see in movies—it’s Natasha. I groan. 

She traded last years’ barely-there Lara Croft costume for what I could only imagine was a Matrix-inspired look. A leather trench coat billows out behind her to reveal a black leather corset and tight pants. Tiny black sunglasses slide halfway down her nose as she smiles, somewhat sheepishly, in our direction. I had to give it to her, she looked good. Really good.

David notices her too, and I feel his arm tense slightly around my waist. “Oh no,” he mutters under his breath. “What?” I ask, already knowing the answer. “Natasha just got here,” he says, his tone laced with discomfort. “I know,” I say, unable to hide my smirk. “She’s hard to forget.” My voice trails off. 

He glances my way quickly. “What? I remember thinking she was really hot,” I say, still smirking. David blinks, clearly thrown. “Wait, what? You were so pissed when you saw us talking at last year’s party.” I shrug. “She’s gorgeous. I’m not blind.” Before he can get another word in, we’re tugged into Christian’s room to take the shot I had so boldly suggested, the door slamming behind us. 

Christian proudly pulls a nearly full bottle of Espolon from a cabinet in his room and starts rummaging around for shot glasses as my mind wanders. A year with David also means at least a year since I’ve been with a woman. Well, unless I’m counting that momentary stumble with my ex, that time she turned up at my front door without a warning. Maybe that’s what’s been fucking up my mind all night, and I haven’t even been able to be honest with myself about it. 

“Nectar of the gods!” Christian proclaims—passing each of us a filled-to-the-brim shot glass. “Sorry I didn’t bring any limes in here with us.” We all clink glasses and I stare down the barrel of the Los Cabos-themed shot glass in my hand before tightly shutting my eyes and throwing it back. Actually, that wasn’t too bad. “Let’s do one more for good measure!” After our second round, Chloe suggests going to the bathroom together and I quickly agree.

“Are you having fun?” she asks, and I can’t decide whether to tell her the truth or not. Then, partially against my will, it all comes out at once. “I love David and our relationship but I think I’m finally realizing how removed I feel from my queerness. Chloe, I think I might want to fuck Natasha.” Chloe blinks at me, still sitting on the toilet. “Wow, okay,” she says, laughing, obviously at a loss for words. “I mean, is she even gay?” Good point. I have no idea. And even if she is, there’s no way she would go for me. Then there’s also the matter of my very real boyfriend. How would he feel hearing this? As if reading my mind, Chloe nonchalantly throws out an idea. “A threesome is always a good time!” My mind reels at the possibility. Part of me finds the idea hot, but it's certainly not a possibility Sofia and I ever explored during our long, monogamous relationship. “I mean come on. This is Brooklyn, after all,” Chloe adds, finally standing up and flushing. 

Not even half an hour later I’m in the kitchen pouring myself yet another Solo cup of tequila and soda when I hear the squeaking of black leather and see a pair of mile-long tanned legs approaching me. “Naina, right?” Natasha asks me, sidling up next to me at the packed counter. “I remember Christian mentioning last year that we both have ‘N’ names.” She laughs. “What a dork.” 

I don’t know whether to feel irrationally territorial over Christian and David, or flattered that she remembers my name. Either way, I notice my face flush red. “Yep, that’s me,” I say awkwardly, taking a chug of my drink. “Want one?” I offer her quickly, starting to pour her a drink before she has the chance to answer. “Tequila, huh?” She says. “That’s my favorite actually, thank you.” 

I hand the cup to her and flush even brighter when our hands touch briefly during the pass off. What is wrong with me? Why am I acting like a teenage boy? “Wild to think we met at this same party a year ago,” I mention as nonchalantly as possible. “Yeah,” she lets out a soft laugh. “And I remember you were dressed as Bob Ross. That was an amazing costume, but honestly I think I actually like this one better.” Her eyes scan up and down my body, and my breath hitches. “Thanks,” I say with a slight smile. “I mean it goes without saying that you make a super hot…Neyo?” I return, trying to recall the names of the characters in the Matrix. 

She laughs. “Trinity,” she corrects, “but that was a solid guess. Those movies came out like forever ago. Anyways, how are you? You and David seem...solid.” 

“We are,” I reply, immediately back on my guard—meeting her gaze head-on. “He’s great.” Natasha’s lips twitched into a small smirk. “Good. He deserves someone who makes him happy, and so do you,” she adds. 

I’m not sure if I’m imagining things, but the air between us suddenly feels charged. Maybe it's the tequila or the rush of receiving Natasha’s compliments—but I felt a boldness bubbling to the surface. Before I can respond, David appears from behind me, wrapping a flexed arm around my body. “Hey Natasha,” he says, “Mind if I steal Naina from you for a sec?” 

Loosening his arm, he grabs my hand and leads me through the throng of people out to the backyard. “You and Natasha?” I suddenly flash back to our conversation last year, when he jokingly suggested Natasha and I had a thing during my drunken confrontation. This time around, though, he might actually have a point. I cringe thinking about what I’m about to confess to him, suddenly getting nervous. Is this going to become some sort of twisted Halloween tradition? Emotional confessions while in costume? 

“First of all, I want you to know that I love our relationship and I seriously wouldn’t trade what we have for the world. Well, besides your terrible morning breath,” I joke. “If I’m being one hundred percent honest, though, I’ve been feeling worlds apart from my sapphic identity lately. In Chicago my friend group was made up almost entirely of lesbians, and Jordan, of course. Here in New York I have hardly any queer friends, and I’m also missing being in touch with that side of my sexuality. It isn’t your fault at all, but that’s how I feel, and if you hate me for it I get it but…” 

“Naina I could never hate you for being who you are, or for being honest with me,” David cuts into my rambling. “Believe it or not, I actually kind of love you.” I laugh under my breath, bracing for the caveat, but it never comes. “Listen, whatever you need, just tell me and I’ll understand. Seriously.”

Chloe’s words in the bathroom come to my head, about having a threesome and how hot that would potentially be. “I think I want to try something with Natasha tonight,” I say instead—surprising myself. “It might be totally nothing, but I felt a spark with her and just want to investigate what it could mean. Is that okay?” David looks thrown, but he nods. “Whatever you need, like I said. Just promise me I’ll still be your number one no matter what, okay?” I nod fervently and we both begin to laugh. I feel relieved, but my mind is tinged with guilt. “Now I’m the one who needs another shot,” he jokes, grabbing me into a tight bear hug. “Seriously, though, Naina. I get it.”

I did think about suggesting the threesome, and sure it could have been hot. But in that split second I remembered that keeping in touch with my queer identity isn’t just about ticking off a “I grabbed a boob” box every so often, and I certainly never want it to devolve into something I can only tap into when my cis male boyfriend is involved. If I was going to explore my connection with Natasha, or any woman for that matter, it was going to be for myself. 

Maybe it's for the best that I didn’t have much more time to think when opportunity came my way. Walking back into the house to grab a cup of water—when the fuck did I last take a sip of water—I ran into Natasha yet again. 

“Naina!” She exclaims, grabbing my arm, obviously just as tipsy as I am. “I’m gonna duck into Christian’s room to smoke this,” she says while holding up a tiny, tightly wrapped joint. “Wanna join? Don’t worry, he doesn’t mind. I asked him!” 

“Sure, I’ll be right there. Let me just fill this cup of water and I’ll come join you.” 

I knock a Solo cup full of New York’s finest tap back and pour myself another, walking to meet Natasha in Christian’s room. Who knows, maybe she’ll have other friends in there with her. Plus she’s probably not even queer. I must have just imagined her flirting with me. That would be so typical of me. 

I creak the door open and the room is already full of smoke. Natasha is perched on the bed like she’s lived there forever, like she wasn’t just smoking a joint in someone else’s bedroom. Stepping in, I stand awkwardly in front of the door, shifting on my feet as I watch her take another long drag. She holds out her hand with the lit joint dangling between her thumb and forefinger, offering it to me, and I start walking toward her. Approaching her, she suddenly stands up, looking down her nose at me with a mischievous smile crossing her face. She hooks a finger at me with her other hand, a trace amount of smoke escaping from the side of her mouth. 

Before I know it she’s bending down and her mouth is on mine, warm smoke making its way from hers to mine. I want to savor the moment, but I start coughing, and before I know it we’re both laughing and coughing. A symphony of sounds in the small, smoke-filled room. 

We both collapse down to sit on the edge of the bed. “So, are you and David open or what?” Natasha pokes me, still a hint of laughter in her voice. 

“I mean, not technically,” I say, then quickly add. “But we actually talked about it tonight, and he’s okay with me exploring things with you.” I’m immediately embarrassed—flushing red again, having just made it severely obvious how interested I was in her. Not to mention how cringe it felt to say, as a queer woman, that my boyfriend had given me the green light to kiss her.

Natasha raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “So, he gave you a permission slip?” she teases, leaning back against the bed frame. “I’m flattered.”

I roll my eyes dramatically and take another sip of water, searching for the right response, though it does nothing to ease the heat building between us. She takes a slow drag from the joint. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.” She pauses. “Honestly, I think it’s kind of hot. You’re with someone who trusts you enough to let you figure out what you need, and want.”

The word hangs in the air between us, charged with implication. My heart races. “I think I already know what I want,” I manage to get out. 

A satisfied gleam flashes in her eyes as she puts the joint out, placing it into one of the shot glasses we left behind from earlier. “Good,” she says as she leans in closer. I close the distance between us, our mouths meeting in a kiss that’s slow, deep, and charged with all the tension that had been building since the moment she walked into the party.

Her lips are soft but insistent—her hand slipping around the back of my neck as she pulls me deeper into the kiss. I let myself get lost in it, in the way her body presses against mine and her fingers curl into my too-teased hair. The taste of tequila and smoke lingers on her tongue, intoxicating and addicting.

When we finally pull apart, just barely, her lips still brushing mine, Natasha gives a breathless command. “I know what you want. Now show me what you need.”