She sighs and traces around the rim of her glass with her index finger. “There was a person I thought...I don’t know. Things were complicated back then; I didn’t really have much of a say in my life, so...I lost her. And I fell in love with her in the short time I’d met her, in the kind of way that you find a pillow that always stays cool when you lay to sleep at night. Maybe I’ll get to feel that feeling again, but I’m not counting on it. I do know I don’t care much about men. I don’t want to fuck ‘em, I don’t want to fake it with ‘em...and all anyone wants to cast me in are romances because I do the ‘dumb blonde’ thing well.” Olive takes a swig of margarita. “If you want to drink, there’s a hotel next door we can stay the night at. I always reserve a room just in case, so...tonight, just have fun.”

She leaves, and I lose her in the crowd, but I stay at the bar and finish her drink. It’s sour; it’s been a while. Olive is more complicated than I expected—not so pink and white. I used to think she was just a spoiled rich kid who grew up on Mommy’s money and the money she made from child acting, but there’s something about people who are struggling with their sexuality that makes me feel like they may not be such a bad person after all. Olive wasn’t purposely ignorant when we first met in Bridey’s office—she’s learning. I have great hope in people who are learning, because I believe people who are interested in learning are on a path to bettering themselves. Insert something that sounds smart here; Faye’s the therapist. She could explain this concept much better than I can—always articulates better than I can.

I sit there, watching her dance with another lady; the woman has short, dark hair, like my own.

“This seat taken?” I look to the seat Olive abandoned to find a face that looked too familiar for me to pass up: dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, an infinity tattoo on her left wrist. I know, I know—I know she isn’t my Ashley Schepp—but she’ll do.