#prucanada

The Rainbow Connection started life as a coffee shop whose main attraction was the lesbian power couple who ran it, the dark-haired and twinkly-eyed Octavia and the taciturn blonde Sofia. The coffee was awful, but unlike all the other awful hole-in-the-wall coffee places around, it was served by women like you in a room with a proud rainbow flag hanging above the coffee machines, and the lesbian community of the city flocked to it like moths to a flame.

A generation later, the Connection is run by Alice Kirkland, a tiny femme with pigtails and a raging temper. The coffee is only slightly better, but its taste is offset by the sweet things in the pastry case and the winks from the baristas (me and my friends Marianne and Carmen, a trio that I’m pretty sure was hired entirely for our looks, since I at least have no redeeming factors besides being an albino butch with a dyke chop and sleeve tattoos). The sitting area has grown into a real lounge, with overstuffed couches and stacks of gay literature on bookshelves that Marianne and I painstakingly papered with a can of Mod Podge and pages of terrible 1970s lesbian erotica. The older sect has its place here, but we also play host to a growing community of high school- and middle school-aged girls, adolescents too young to find solace in gay bars and clubs. And on the third Saturday of every month, we host an open-mic night, with theme topics ranging from “Tribute To The Girl Who Made You Realize You Were Gay” to “My Straight Best Friend” to the ever-amusing “Is She...You Know”.

Since Christmas is next week, our theme is “Homo For The Holidays”. In practice, this means alternating “cute songs about kissing by the fireside” and “ridiculous angst”. I’ve donned my gay apparel in the form of a worn Santa hat and a sprig of mistletoe hung from my belt buckle. Carmen is a hit as an emcee, with her dazzling smile and the slight Spanish accent she puts on exclusively to increase her appeal.

The third performer is a pretty, shy regular named Maddie who comes in every morning and orders hot cocoa or tea or a bagel or anything but the actual coffee, which speaks volumes about her good judgment. Carmen beams and announces that she’ll be singing Come Over Here by Sarah Bettens. Maddie trips twice on the way up to our makeshift stage before half-falling into the wooden chair by the mic and resting her bass guitar on her knee.

“U-um,” she says into the microphone. The room doesn’t quiet down, and she clears her throat before trying again in a very-slightly-louder tone. “Um…”

“Let’s quiet down, folks,” I call out from behind the counter. She startles, glances at me, flushes red under the unexpected eyes on her, and then opens and closes her mouth a few times before finding her pick. Nobody’s waiting to order anything, so I hop up onto the stool behind the counter and listen.

The bassline is deep and seductive. I wasn’t expecting her voice to be the same, but when she starts singing, it’s smooth and mellifluous in a way that sets something fluttering in my stomach.

“Something tells you you should go, deep down you have always known, something sweet is on the other side…”

This isn’t very Christmasy, but nobody’s complaining. Maddie’s voice is sending shivers down my spine, and judging by the rapt attention of the audience, I’m not the only one.

She croons a slow, inviting “come over here...come over here”, and then pauses before the next verse, still plucking out that delicious bassline.

“Wear the shirt you think you like, there’s all kinds of shades of white, embrace the color in your life…”

Maddie’s hooded eyes glance up from her guitar, flicker around the room, and then land on me with a slow smolder. I nearly choke on my own saliva. Her cheeks immediately bloom with a blush, but the damage is done.

Screw “Homo For The Holidays”. Tonight’s theme is clearly “Seduce The Barista”.

Fuck.

When she finishes her song, she seems to shrink in size as her confident demeanor gives way to a blanket of nerves. She half-runs off the stage amidst awed applause. Unfortunately for me, she’s still absolutely adorable, and my eyes linger on her as I watch her packing up her bass.

“She’s quite pretty when she’s not stuttering,” says Marianne from behind me.

I fix her with the glare of a thousand suns over my shoulder. “She’s pretty always.”

She is wholly unintimidated. “You just like cute things.”

“Okay, but am I wrong?”

Marianne rests her chin on my shoulder and wraps her arms around my waist. “I saw how she looked at you. Cute things like you, too.”

I shiver involuntarily. Marianne feels it, and a chuckle rumbles against my back.

“Shut up,” I snap at her with a blush blooming on my cheeks, and wriggle away to start wiping down the counter.

As the next performer starts in on I Saw Mommy Kissing Mrs. Claus, Maddie comes up to the counter and asks for a hot chocolate with a shot of maple syrup. “Sure thing,” I tell her with an easy grin.

We have never stocked maple syrup in the history of this shop. I sidle up to Alice and open my mouth.

“No,” she cuts me off without looking up from the cup of peppermint cocoa she’s spraying whipped cream into.

“But-”

“Gillian, I am not running all over creation to gratify your celebrity crush, and that’s final.” She bangs the can of whipped cream down onto the counter dangerously close to my fingers, and goes off to deliver the cup to the customer.

Shit shit shit. I paw through the refrigerator and come up empty-handed. Shit.

How do you make fake maple flavoring? Nervously, I start grabbing things from the shelf next to the fridge. Um… Walnut syrup...nutmeg, cinnamon...vanilla syrup...peppermint syrup? Aw, why not… Is that close enough? Yes, definitely.

I mumble distractedly to myself as I juggle the jars and bottles back to the counter and make a cup of plain cocoa. A half-pump of each syrup, a dash of each spice, ample whipped cream to disguise any difference between this and real maple, and-

The front door jingles, and I glance up to see a tiny Italian bearing down on me.

“Chiara? Weren’t you just here?”

“Shut up,” she grouches at me, as best as she can under her breath. “I’m not doing this because I like you, okay?”

I blink. “What?”

Chiara Vargas, who has given me nothing but the business since we were in diapers, presses a tiny glass bottle into my hand. I glance down. It’s shaped like a maple leaf.

She huffs. “I heard you talking to Alice, and whatever awful substitute you’ve concocted is definitely way too pathetic for such a good performer-”

She lets out a startled screech when I interrupt her with a bear hug. The general population of the cafe looks up, sees that the shrieker is Chiara, and returns to their business.

“I owe you a million.”

“I said, it’s not for you!”

“No time for that!” I release her with a hearty thump on the back that leaves her gasping for air.

At lightning speed, I grab a new cup and a sharpie. Maddie, I scribble on it, and then hesitate. There’s something else I could add...

Marianne shoots me an encouraging smile. That settles it. I scrawl down my number on the cup, and my heart kicks into high gear.

Thirty seconds later, I’m weaving between tables and armchairs to where Maddie is curled up in a window seat. Her oversized sweater is covering half her hands.

“Here you go!” I call out as I’m approaching, and hold out her cup. I flash my most confident smile and pretend it didn’t probably come out looking like a death threat.

“Ah, thanks,” Maddie says, and takes the cup with both hands, which is frankly too cute for me to look at for too long. I’m too young and beautiful for heart problems.

As I’m concentrating on my cardiac health, she’s taking the first sip. Her eyes widen. “Oh…”

I startle. “Is it okay?”

She looks up at me from underneath her long lashes, and I nervously shift from foot to foot. “I think it might be the wrong drink, it tastes a bit like...peppermint? And walnut?”

I blink a few times.

Then, I glance back across the crowded shop at the cup that’s still on the countertop.

On the side that’s facing me, in my own sloppy handwriting, there’s the nine digits of my phone number.

Well, shit.

Maddie’s face falls at my distressed expression. “It’s fine, it’s fine! It still tastes good - wait, Gillian!”

I’m half-turned away when she calls me back, and the sudden realization is disarming enough that I actually stop. “Wait, Maddie, you know my name?”

“You know mine?”

“Y-you come in here every morning-” I’m pretty sure my skin is entirely pink by now. Damn albino genes.

Luckily, Maddie’s cheeks are rising with high color too. She’s looking anywhere but me, and I zone out for a moment before I realize that she’s speaking. “I - I wanted to ask, if you wanted to go somewhere. With me. To, um get coffee or something. Good coffee, I mean. Not that your coffee isn’t good! Well, it really isn’t, but - oh, we don’t have to get coffee, there are lots of things to do-”

“Maddie,” I interrupt her, and smile a real smile this time.