Not-Valentine's Day

Doing Not-Valentine's Day again had been my idea, back in December when we were both single and bored, chatting over a plate of greasy french fries. Her response had been "why the fuck not?" and we'd decided to make it a regular thing. Within a week she was dating someone, and a week after that I was kind of dating someone, but come February 14th we somehow still managed to keep the plans.

"Your whatever is boiling over," Mona called from the kitchen as I was buttoning up my shirt.

"Gnocchi."

"Your gnocchi is boiling over."

"So, stir it."

"I'm not your maid."

"Chefs cook, maids clean, and that's your dinner too," I responded, rushing to get my jacket on.

"Okay," she griped, and I heard the eye roll and the smile in her tone. There was a soft banging from the kitchen, wooden spoon on metal pot.

"I stirred," Mona said as I came back into the kitchen, making it sound like the worst imposition that could be put upon her. She still looked great.

"Thank you, historians will make note of your noble sacrifice."

She grinned at me, then eyed me up and down in my cheap suit. She didn't say anything, she didn't need to, I could hear her words in the expression. She'd made her opinion of the suit very obvious, but it was also pretty much the nicest thing I owned by a wide margin.

"Yeah, well, not all of us can be as gorgeous as you," I responded.

Mona didn't seem prepared to respond to that one; she just stared at me for a second then turned quickly back to the pot. As I walked over next to her she reached out with a foot and gave me a gentle kick. I'd learned to speak Mona over the last year; kicks were how she said nice things when she couldn't figure out how to say nice things.

"Hand over the spoon before you stir our poor dinner to death. Go make yourself useful with whatever you've got in that box."

"It's called salad, and it's good for you. Gives you vitamins. Helps you poop. I'll make you a deal: you eat some and I won't call you Chucklebutt again all night."

"Deal," I said, which wasn't hard because I liked salad, at least without Kale. Kale is the devil's nose hairs.

"How are classes?" she asked, changing the subject.

"O Chem is kicking my ass."

"You knew it would."

I shrugged. "I knew it would, but it's required. Sometimes I doubt my desire to major in Chemistry, I mean what the hell am I going to do with it?"

"Cure cancer?"

I shrugged, then spooned out a piece of pasta, blew air over it, and took a bite. A few more minutes.

"You met Shannon in chem lab, right? What's she think of you spending Valentine's Day with another woman?"

Ah, Shannon, current target of my infatuation. Bubbly, friendly, had a habit of squealing when she saw something cute, and sat next to me both last semester and this one in chem class. Also liked tank tops, tight pants, and making out for hours.

"Last semester, Phys Chem, but yeah. And she's not really a Valentine's Day person. She said something about chains of the patriarchy and told me to go have fun." It hadn't been quite that easy, actually. I'd been terrified to bring it up until finally, a couple of weeks ago, I made myself tell her I had Not-Valentine's Day plans with my best friend. She promptly shrugged and told me to have fun. She'd also said the patriarchy thing which I think was a joke, probably; I was still figuring out Shannon.

"Patriarchy? So she's a lesbian, then?" my dinner mate joked. "You do know how to pick 'em."

Unlike Mona; Mona I thought I had pretty well figured out.

"So how does Garrett feel about you spending Valentine's day without him?" I fired back.

She snorted. "Garrett couldn't care less about Valentine's Day, I'm not sure he even knows when it is. Besides, he had band practice tonight."

"Don't girlfriends attend band practice?"

Mona paused her tomato chopping to glance over at me. "You've never been in a band, have you? Girlfriends are never welcome at band practice, we're a distraction and break up the band, ask The Beatles. Also it's death metal and I value my hearing."

Garrett was nice guy, although he and I didn't have a lot in common. Garrett liked music, pot, and Mona, and while he didn't seem to be going a lot of places he was having fun doing it.

"Plus I make it up to him in other ways," she continued, and I could hear the grin.

I glanced over at Mona. She failed to make eye contact and blushed as red as the tomatoes she was cutting.

I got the message. "Well congratulations, finally got something to compare it to, huh?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Hell yeah. A lot to compare it to, a LOT,"

"No," I interrupted, pointing at her with the spoon, "stop right there, stop, no more, do not go into details I really don't want."

"I wasn't planning on it," she said, sounding extremely pleased with herself.

"Except maybe one," I added.

She paused and stared at me, suspiciously. "What... one...?"

"Do you?"

Her eyes slitted further. "Do I what?"

"Moan a lot?"

She burst into laughter. "Oh my god I fucking hate you!"

I chuckled along with her, at least until she hip-checked me against the stove and nearly splashed boiling, starchy water all over me.

===== Not-Valentine's Day, 2016 =====

I arrived at Mona's apartment slightly after six. I wasn't wearing the suit: I'd bought a nice shirt and slacks just for the occasion, so now my wardrobe consisted of two presentable outfits. The suit was still in my closet, of course, I'd be needing that for job interviews pretty soon. It was the last year of college, so in four months I'd need to go out and get a real job and not just work weekends cleaning glassware at the testing lab downtown.

Mona had gotten an apartment this year along with two friends, Debra (still her best friend) and Claire. It was a lot nicer than mine, except for the outdoor staircase. Seriously who puts outdoor staircases on a building in a place where it rains for a quarter of the year? I'd hiked up the two flights of stairs (in a cold drizzle, I might add) and was raising my hand to knock when the door opened under my knuckles.

"Oh, hey Steve," Debra said.

"Hi. Are you on your way out?" I asked, stepping to the side. She was dressed up a bit, including having her dark hair up in some sort of bun, and had a very sparkly purse clutched in one hand. Between that and the date I figured going out was a pretty safe bet.

"Mmhmm," she responded, brushing past me. "Go on in, Monica's here but she's running late, as usual."

I glanced at my watch: six-oh-four.

I glanced back up at Mona's chronically late best friend. "What time's your date?"

"Six," she responded, refusing to be baited. "Byeeeeee."

"Have fun. Do stuff I wouldn't do."

She waved to me as she descended. "That doesn't narrow it down much!"

I stepped through the doorway, shaking my head. Debra didn't have quite as sharp a tongue as Mona, but she had very thick skin, which meant she tended to hold her own when the insults started flying. Claire, meanwhile, tended to stay out of the way. Insults were a thing you had to get used to if you hung out with Mona. Insults meant she liked you

"Anyone home?" I called out while kicking off my shoes.

"Shit," I heard from just past the entryway. "Hi Steve! Stay there!"

"Not the greeting I was expecting," I said, coming through into the living room anyway and setting my shopping bag on the passthrough. "What's up?"

Mona was in the kitchen, looking a little frazzled and banging around some pots and pans. Mostly pans. She had some things that looked really good (they had bacon), but also really uncooked (the bacon was pink), arranged on two baking sheets and was busy laying out a few more beside them. She looked up at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I wanted to try something new and it took way, way longer than I planned on and now dinner's not even in the oven..."

"It's okay, we're not in a hurry."

She sighed. "I know, I've just been at this for over an hour and it was supposed to take thirty minutes."

"Is that why you're underdressed?" I asked. Mona was in a hoodie and sweatpants, although her hair was up and looked like she'd put some effort into it and... makeup?

"Yes, sorry, I didn't want to get dressed up before I cooked and," she paused and tapped a few buttons while the oven beeped at her.

I decided to let her off the hook. "It's okay, Mona, breathe."

She did, pausing and taking a couple of loud, deep breaths. Then she gave me the once over.

"You ditched the suit."

"Yup."

"Did you burn it?"

"No."

"Too bad. You look good. Blue's your color." A compliment from Mona? "You still look like your mom cuts your hair, though." Ah, there's the Mona I know and love, got to get a jab in there somewhere.

"Give me thirty more seconds," she continued, pushing the oven door down and grabbing the baking sheets. "I just need to get these in the oven, then get changed, then we can see what you've got in that bag. Good wine, I hope, not that crap you got for my birthday."

"I do not know wine, so make no promises either way," I responded as Mona bent down to rearrange things in the oven. When she did her hoodie crept up, her sweatpants slid down, and... huh. Wouldn't have guessed.

She rose, pushing the oven door closed with a clang and setting the timer. "Done, now it just needs to bake and... what?" she asked, seeing my face.

"Leopard print?" I asked.

"What?" she asked again, looking confused. Then realization dawned and a look that was half blush and half horror crept up her face.

"Oh my god fuck off!" she said, turning quickly and tugging up her sweatpants as she retreated for her bedroom.

"I never figured you for a thong girl," I continued.

"Fuck off and die!" she shouted back, sounding embarrassed but laughing at the same time as she slammed the door behind her.

"You okay in there?" I called after her.

"I'm changing!" she shouted back.

"Want company or should I really fuck off?" I called out.

There was a moment of silence, and then: "Sure, as long as you shut up about my panties. Just tell me about something. Something else. Tell me about your brother, what happened there?"

I leaned against the wall outside the closed door and turned my head to speak through it. My brother, now there was a long story.

"He got a little arrested, but he's fine now," I responded.

"How do you get a little arrested?"

"He was detained but not actually arrested. For trespassing."

"What's the difference?" Mona called back, and I heard drawers opening and closing.

"You don't go to jail, they just hold you for a while."

"What did he do?"

"He was doing a delivery and walked onto private property. The way he tells it, the gate was open so he just drove in and parked the truck, started walking around looking for someone to check in with. Apparently wandered straight through two or three areas you normally need a pass to get into and security eventually found him trying doors on an office level. He'd been there for over twenty minutes. They detained him and called the cops, refused to believe he was just there for a delivery."

"Leave it to Ollie to do the absolutely most suspicious thing. Didn't he have paperwork?"

"He was at the wrong address."

"Your brother's an idiot." Mona said, and I was too busy agreeing with her to hear the setup.

"Speaking as someone who grew up with him, yes he is," I agreed.

"Must run in the family."

God damn it. I stared at the door as if I could see Mona's goofy grin through it. God damn it I should have seen that one coming.

"I don't have to take this kind of abuse," I retorted, "I'm the one keeping you company, remember?"

"Didn't think your ego was that fragile. Guess it breaks as easily as your glass-"

"I'll be in the kitchen when you're done," I interrupted her, loudly.

"Haha, revenge!"

"I hate you!"

"Hate you back!"

That had become a thing lately: when one of us had enough or admitted defeat we'd finish off the banter with an "I hate you." It was normally me; Mona had a wicked tongue, a trait that had gotten under my skin when we'd first met but it had grown on me after a while. Like I said, insults meant Mona liked you.

Of course, getting used to Mona also meant learning to fight back.

"So I saw Shannon a few days ago," I began

"Oh, yeah? How's Pixie doing?"

Pixie was the nickname Mona had given my then-girlfriend when the two had bonded over a mutual love of Tinkerbell. Don't ask. It had been a term of endearment while Shannon and I had been dating; less so after.

"Good," I responded, "we bumped into each other outside the physical sciences building. Chatted for a bit."

"Uh-huh."

"Apparently, a couple of days after we broke up, someone TPed Franklin."

"Who's Franklin?"

"Her SUV."

The pause was just long enough to be suspicious. "Huh," Mona finally replied.

"She asked if I'd had something to do with it. She was very apologetic about asking."

There was another long pause.

"Mona?"

"I plead the fifth."

I laughed.

"She dumped you!" Mona explained.

"Okay, sure, she initiated it but it was kind of mutual."

"She hurt you," Mona replied, her voice coming closer to the door, "mutual or not you seemed pretty upset and, well, she hurt you. I hit back." Then she opened the door. "It seemed like a pretty good idea at the time."

Mona had changed to a dress, longer than last year but with a lot more shoulder on display. She'd also touched up her makeup and put on some jewelry, looking like she was getting ready for a night out. Except it wasn't a night out, just a night in with me, and that made me feel almost as good as she looked.

"You look beautiful," I blurted out. My heart was doing funny things.

She eyed me, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "And?"

"And what? You look amazing in that dress."

She grinned at me, breaking eye contact. Then she wrapped both arms around me and squeezed tight. "Thanks."

Hugs were nothing new for us, although kicks were more her style, but this felt like something different. I stood there for a moment, like the idiot she said I was, then slid my arms around her, too. Mona sighed and leaned into me; she was soft, warm, and very comfortable. My heart continued to do funny things.

The oven beeped and we both startled. I let Mona go and she pushed me away, gently. I took a deep, slow breath, then let it out again far quicker than intended as Mona elbowed me in the ribs.

"Come on," she said, pushing past me, "I've got to check the chicken, then let's try out this wine you got."

"I make no promises on the quality," I repeated, turning to follow. Mona in that dress looked almost as good from behind as she did from the front, and as she walked one leg, sheathed in black nylon, slid in and out of a knee-high slit in the skirt. It was a little distracting.

"Can't be worse than that beer you drink," she fired back

"Or your cooking," I fumbled.

"Oh my god I hate you!" She laughed.

I grinned. "I hate you back.

===== Not-Valentine's Day, 2017 =====

"You're late," Mona called. She was holding the door to my apartment building open as I hurried across the parking lot towards her.

"There was a line at the restaurant," I responded, hefting the two takeout bags as I got closer.

"Even worse. What slop did you get us this time?"

"Indian."

"You're partially forgiven," she responded as I got close, "now get in here before I freeze to death.

Mona had a key to my apartment, and therefore building, but had apparently opted to wait in the lobby. I was running twenty minutes late; we'd had a couple of rush jobs come in at the lab on top of the usual Tuesday issues, and stopping to get dinner hadn't saved me as much time as I'd hoped.

"You look like a raccoon," I said, getting my shots in early.

Mona glared through her tastefully done makeup. "It's called eyeliner."

"Eyeliner, not face paint."

"Says the guy dressed like a middle-aged high-school teacher."

"Hey, my dad is a middle-aged high-school teacher," I shot back.

"My point exactly," she responded as I pushed past her into the lobby, "you look like his closet barfed on you." Then she ambushed me with a hug.

"Hey," she said, squeezing tight.

"Hey," I responded, giving her a hug back. "Been a while." We hadn't seen as much of each other the last six months; life had gotten in the way. I figured I'd have more free time on my hands when school ended but by the end of most work days I was pooped. Mona was in a similar boat, but she'd also started dating Zack a couple of months ago so was even less available. We still texted back and forth most days, but we were lucky to hang out more than once a week.

"Mmhmm," she replied, then pulled away with a shy grin on her face. "So how do I really look?"

"Fucking amazing," I responded. She was wearing the same dress as last year but it somehow looked even better on her now. She also had dangly earrings with something that sparkled on the end that really worked for her, and she smelled... great which is not something I'd really thought of before.

"Flatterer," she murmured.

"Although you still look like you're ready to rob a bank," I added.

The grin grew bigger. "I hate you," she responded, kicking me in the shin. "Now come on, the food's getting cold and I'm starving."

I followed her to the elevator, then up the three floors to my apartment. I'd moved out of my old one after graduation because living near campus was no longer worth putting up with the flickering lights or ice-cold bathroom. The new place was a lot nicer, although still pretty small, but after growing up with three siblings and an uncle in the house the idea of having a roommate again was not appealing. I'd put up with Frank long enough.

"Can you get the door? My hands are full."

"Sure," she said, her keys already out. "Got anything in the fridge?"

"I have no idea. A few beers maybe? Shoes," I said, pushing mine off.

She rolled her eyes at me, but kicked hers off too. "Fuck no, not that swill you drink. Got any milk?"

"Half gallon in there somewhere," I responded, depositing my bags on the table, "can you get silverware too? And plates?"

"I'm not your maid!"

"I gotta ditch my stuff," I responded, "and get changed."

"Don't bother," she responded, coming out of the kitchen with a jug of milk and two cups, "just come hang out with me. I'm starving."

"You sure? Tradition."

"Dressing up won't do you much good anyway. At least you shaved the beard. What did you get?"

I looked good with the beard, damn it. "Lamb mango curry and chicken jalfrazie."

"Mango," she said, heading back into the kitchen.

"I figured," I responded, sliding her meal to the other side of the table. "They're both no spice, just in case."

"You know how I like it."

"Wimpy and tasteless?"

She returned to the room with a couple of plates and almost all the utensils I own (all six of them). "That's why I hang out with you."

"Why are we still friends?"

Mona grinned and slid into the chair opposite me. I felt her ankle bump mine under the table; I bumped back, and we both left our feet there as we dumped rice into curry. Mona had always been a very touchy person, but over time that had gone from hitting and poking to, well, just touching.

We ate in companionable mostly-silence for a while (my mother had, after all, taught me not to talk with my mouth full). We did that a bit more when we met these days; we kept up enough with each other over text that there wasn't a lot to talk about when we did meet up. Besides, I was hungry and from the way Mona was shoveling it in she hadn't eaten since breakfast. She probably hadn't, either, Mona tended to forget little things like making a lunch the night before so a lot of the time lunch was a granola bar..

"I haven't been to your new place much," she said, looking around. "It's a big improvement. Small. Not as small as the last one, though."