Part 9.

I was pissed, fresh off THE week from hell, and we were at a restaurant bar on a weekend. So after I hung up with Holtzclaw, I found another cold, frothy beer before me, Kelsey grinning.

"Drink up," she said. "I'll play designated driver tonight. YOU need it."

A few drinks later, she wanted to hit the bars proper. Thing was, I didn't want to go to a nightclub looking like a bull-dyke. So after we bid a fond farewell to my now-favorite green-haired hostess in the world, we split Friday's and headed for Malarkey's, a low-key Irish pub that featured cool microbrews, great booze and local mainstream rock, folk or blues artists performing low-volume, sophisticated yet upbeat tunage.

And I downed beer after beer, with an occasional shot mixed in. All on Kelsey's dime while she sipped cola, hearing me out, not judging or giving me advice. Like I said before, she's da bomb diddy.

Problem was, I drank like Ulysses of old but weighed about seventy pounds less, so soon I was ripped and raging at Squee and his creepy band of pinheads. And some Omega brothers had to know but looked the other way which drove me livid. And I raged at my thick-skulled self for not catching on earlier. Then I lit into the trolls, whose vile comments continued flooding my inbox so fast and furious that I turned off my phone's notifications. Kelsey cut me off at ten, ordered me a slice before the kitchen closed, and then dragged me home.

The food didn't help much.

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Drunker than I'd been since my freshman year at college, she poured me into her passenger-side door. She drove me home, and I sloshed about as if boneless during the drive. When we pulled into the driveway of the duplex I rented, I emerged into the damp cold, still so shaky on my legs that I needed support. Kelsey offered her shoulder, I slung my arm around it, and she walked me to my apartment and poured me onto my couch. Once I settled, she turned on the TV and the electric teakettle, saying tea would do me good. So we sipped Earl Grey and watched Jimmy Fallon, me stretched out and alternately dozing off and snapping awake.

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I'm not sure how long I'd been out, but I must have been out cold because when I roused next, the TV was off and Kelsey was covering me with a sheet and a blanket she'd fished out of the linen closet. I stirred, stretching. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said, reaching into her purse and jangling her keys. "I'll pop by noonish tomorrow to pick up your car, I figure after tonight, you owe me a lunch."

I smiled. "I do at that." Still buzzed, but now in control, I reached for her hand. "Why not spend the night?"

I felt her tense and jerk away.

"I... I don't know, Ulysses. I mean, I'm not gay. I tried kissing a girl once in college, and it just, I don't know, just didn't work for me. I mean, I still love you as a person, but I'm just not sure...."

Her eyes pleaded.

I dropped her hand, my heart thudding. "My bad, I'm sorry, I forgot, I understand. Strange new world."

"Indeed," she said, her smile faint and eyes unfocused and pensive.

I swung my feet to the ground. "Friends?"

She shouldered her purse, slipping on her shoes. "Definitely. For anything else, I'll need to adjust. A lot."

I nodded, faced again with the unfathomable.