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“I can’t!” Vivian shrieks as he leans back into Irma.
It had been his idea to get screeched in while he was visiting Irma in St. John’s, wanting to partake in the regional tradition. But as the cod approaches his face he can’t go through with it. His fingers skim Irma’s as he turns his face away from the owner of the bar.
Maybe it’s the gin talking, maybe it’s the press of Vivian’s body against theirs, but Irma whispers in Vivian’s ear. “Kiss me instead.”
Turning to face Irma, there’s no confusion in Vivian’s eyes. No hesitation. As if he had merely been waiting for the invitation.
The cotton of Irma’s shirt is soft under his fingertips as Vivian’s hands slide around Irma’s waist. Through the material he can feel the warmth of their body and everything feels more real. Everything feels right.
It’s hard to believe that just this morning he was in Victoria, filling his cats’ water and food bowls once more before a friend showed up to house sit. He would have thought the flights across provinces and through timezones would have made it all register. But it’s here, in a dimly lit dive bar with Irma’s fingers running through his curls, that he feels it all come together.
Closing his eyes, Vivian kisses Irma.
And it’s more than a peck, lips lingering until the hoots from the rest of the bar bring them both back to reality.
“Now you’re a Newfoundlander,” Irma says against his cheek before pulling away, their smile infectious.
Vivian feels the creeping heat of a blush as a local patron claps Irma on the back. But no one in this hole in the wall knows who he is; no one knows that he has a small but rising fame or how he and Irma met. They simply know Irma as that nice — if somewhat eccentric — person who may from time to time stop in wearing a purple lip and a wig brighter than their dyed hair.
The shy smile remains on Vivian’s face as he asks Irma, “Can we go back to the table now?”
They slide into the booth, both of them sitting on the same side now instead of across from each other. Irma’s hand rests on Vivian’s thigh and he’s deeply grateful that they suggested going out for a drink before Vivian crashed.
Crooking his finger under Irma’s chin, Vivian turns their face toward his. He’s not sure if he’ll sleep at all tonight — the look on Irma’s face giving him a second, third, fourth wind.
“I’ve missed you,” he tells them.
“I’ve missed you too,” Irma says, a smile lighting their eyes as Vivian draws closer.
“I’ve thought about you a lot,” Vivian confesses. “I’ve thought about what this moment would be like.”
He had known from the second the two of them started planning this trip that one thing would lead to another. In the months since they had last seen each other in person there had been a shift. The flirtation between them had grown stronger — more frequent and increasingly more suggestive. But it wasn’t just that.
With each conversation it was more and more difficult to say goodbye. They would talk late into the night on east coast time, until Irma was falling asleep or Vivian was going on stage depending on the night. There were photos and texts exchanged, and voice notes once Irma was finally convinced to get an iPhone.
Slowly but surely they had created something together that neither of them could imagine replicating with anyone else.
So as Vivian had booked his flight, this seemed inevitable. He just hadn’t imagined it happening quite so early on in his visit.
His lips meet Irma’s and all of the scenarios he created in his mind pale in comparison. The rush that courses through him as Irma’s mouth opens to him is like nothing he’s felt before — he’s unsure how something, someone, can feel so exciting while simultaneously feeling like coming home. His fingers run down Irma’s throat before curving around their neck as he deepens the kiss. And he can feel himself falling deeper, deeper than he thought possible.
He can already feel how difficult it’s going to be to get back on a plane in a week’s time.
But he pushes the thought out of his mind. Instead he focuses on Irma, on the pressure of their hand as it travels to his hip and the taste of citrus and juniper on their tongue. The music and the din of the crowd are drown out by the beat of his heart and the murmur of contentment that rumbles through Irma.
Sliding his hand to their chest, he tries to pull back. Tries to restrain himself since they are in public. But his lips continue to find Irma’s, drawn back again and again. There’s a leisure to their kisses now, soft and slow, as they learn each other. As they silently acknowledge that their actions have nothing to do with the alcohol or the atmosphere or getting swept up in the first opportunity presented to them.
It’s not until Irma’s nose bumps into Vivian’s that they untangle themselves from each other, laughing as they try to catch their breath.
“Maybe you should have come to visit sooner,” Irma says, chuckling.
“Maybe.” Vivian tenderly presses his hand against Irma’s cheek before lightly, playfully pushing their face. “But I’m here now.”
Eyes meeting, neither of them can help the grins spreading across their faces or the feelings blooming in them, the buds formed the very first time they met.
Snaking their arm around Vivian’s shoulder, Irma pulls him closer. They lean their head against Vivian’s and pick up their highball glass.
“To the next chapter,” Irma says, raising their glass.
“The next chapter,” Vivian responds as his glass clinks against Irma’s.
The sound of a sea shanty fills the room as they both sip their drinks and Vivian can feel the bounce of Irma’s leg as they move their heel in time with the melody.
The tonic in their drinks has gone flat, but neither of them are bothered.