The Bechdel Test

“I sincerely appreciate your moral support throughout this process.” I roll my eyes to Louise as the words fall off my tongue. Her head peaks up from the taupe sofa bed floating in the center of my living room, tossing her phone lightly into the cushion.

“Huh? Oh yeah, anytime Rach. Do you need any help with that?” I make eye contact with her as I screw in the final bolt to my vintage bar cart.

“No…I think I’m all set.” I say, hauling the piece upright on its wheels. I almost tip over the glass of white zinfandel in the process.

“I can help with that!” Louise chirps, sweeping my glass off the floor and bringing it to the kitchen counter. She tops off my glass and her own perfectly to the rim, down to the last drop from the bottle. It’s what we call the Miami Canes pour. Louise may not be the handiest of friends to assist in a cross-country move, but she has forever been my number one draft pick for sloppy wine nights. She stuffs her face with a handful of truffle-flavored potato chips.

“These,” Crunch. “Are really good.” Her words are muffled by at least eight chips in her mouth.

“Trader Joe’s. Try the manchego too.” She takes a knife to the cheese sitting atop the cutting board and plops a piece in her mouth”

“Oh wow, delicious.”

Raindrops begin to patter down the window pane. Ominous clouds rolled over the dusk sky, transforming it from powder blue to hazy gray.

“Cheers!”  Louise raises her glass. “To the new restaurant, to your insane new bad bitch pad, and to you finally coming back to Miami!” We clink glasses and take a chug.

“Bad bitch pad?”

“It’s the female version of bachelor pad. Bachelorette pad just sounds weird.” She shrugs matter-of-factly. Props to her for creativity.

The rainfall is  heavier now, no longer just a patter but a pounding on the glass. Water pools up in puddles on my balcony. Thunder rumbles low in the distance.

“That’s my cue to go.” She gazes longingly out the window and sighs. “I was hoping to get home dry, but I’m afraid I waited too long already.”

She sets down her wine glass in the sink and scoops up her purse. Just as she makes her way to the door, lightning flashes white, illuminating the room. A sharp crack of thunder follows, so loud and heavy I feel it in my chest. Every light in the place cuts to dark, leaving only the warm glow of the candle on the island to illuminate the room. The buzzing of the AC halts to an eerie silence, filled shortly after by the thickening of the rain, now gushing down the balcony doors like a waterfall.

Outside is pitch black. The city lights, which had already dulled to a faint glow behind the rainfall, are now gone completely. Miami has gone dark.

“On second thought, I think I will stick around for a while.”

“Good idea. Don’t think the metro will be up and running anytime soon.”

“First sleepover at my bestie’s new place!”

“Yes, feel free to take the sofa bed! I have some throw blankets and…”

“Why don’t I just take the bed with you?”

I sigh quietly and then wave her over to the bedroom door, my hand only visible by the shadow cast from the candle. I crack open the bedroom door and flip on my phone’s flashlight to reveal a queen mattress laid out on the floor, with a singular quilt on top.

“No bed frame yet, just a mattress. But if you would prefer to sleep on this with me, be my guest.”

“Of course! It wouldn’t be a true sleepover if we don’t share a bed!” I roll my eyes and laugh.

“Alright, back to the kitchen. A blackout calls for a bottle of pinot and some more snacks.”

Louise follows me back to the kitchen island, where I cork the bottle of Josh. I pour our glasses, where the last pink drops of the white zinfandel are diluted by the heavy red liquid. While we consider ourselves to be considerably talented wine drinkers, we are also as far as can be from wine snobs.

“Even for Miami, this is insane!” Louise gazes out the window into the sea of dark, wet nothingness, her face only visible with each strike of lightning. The thunder that follows sends a chill down my spine, shaking the entire building in its wake.

I hand her the wine glass and head over to the fridge, removing a small platter of bruschetta from the top shelf and setting it on the island.

“Here, I brought back some leftovers from the restaurant!”

Louise grabs one of the mini toasts and shoves it into her mouth. Her eyes light up.

“Wow! I could eat a million of those!”

Following her lead, I grab one for myself and take a crunchy bite. The juices from the tomatoes dribble down my mouth onto my chin, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand before they can escape any further.

“I have a genuine question. Don’t laugh.” I laugh.

“I literally told you not to laugh!”

“You’re right, sorry.” I say, holding back another chuckle.

“Do you ever get sick of cooking? I mean you have to do it all the time for the restaurant. Do you ever just come home after work and just not want to fucking cook again for a year?”

“Hmmm…” I take a second to fake-ponder the question. “Nope.”

“No??”

“Yep. Nope.”

“Not even…like for yourself? Like when you don’t have anything to eat and you have to throw together something for dinner?

“Well, I must confess that even as a professional chef, I certainly don’t make myself a gourmet meal every night. But when I do have the time, I absolutely love it. I actually love cooking for myself the most, when I have the kitchen to myself, making what I want and taking the time to get it just right without having to focus on a million other things. It brings me peace.”

“What a good little housewife you are! You’re like…like one of those tradwives!”

“Oh shut UP!” I yell, howling in laughter. “I do NOT mean it like that!”

Hours later, the bottle of red sits empty; nothing but crumbs remain of the bruschetta. The storm still rages on.

My body tingles, the warm glow of wine causing me to giggle at Louise’s every expression. Her lips and teeth are blood-red, which looks particularly terrifying under the glow of the candle flame.

We both now wear oversized UMiami sweats, the remnants of ex-situationships’ past, They also happened to be the only pajamas that made it in my first shipment from New York.

“I’m wiped, girl. It’s time for bed!” I look down at my phone to see the time, 12:12 am. She may have a point.

Louise swings open the bedroom door and falls back into the mattress. She arches her back, pulling my stuffed bunny out from underneath her.

“This is cute, Rach! Not exactly the rabbit I was expecting to see in here…” I giggle.

“Hey, don’t disrespect Hopper with that crude language!” I swipe the bunny away from her. “Besides…” I lay down to her left, centering my head on the flattened pillow. “My other rabbit hasn’t been delivered yet.”

“That would’ve been the first thing I threw into my suitcase.” Belly laughs erupt, even though we both know Louise is not joking.

“Hey, Rach.”

“Hi, Louise.”

“Do you ever feel… actually, never mind”

“What’s up, Louise?” I give her my classic don’t fuck with me look. She may not be able to see it in the pitch black room, but I know she can feel it.

The silence has never been louder. The soft patters of the rain echo around the bedroom.

Finally, she speaks

“I just feel a little lost sometimes, you know. Do you ever feel like that sometimes?” 

I think back to the past year I’ve spent scouting locations for restaurants, curating a custom menu, pouring all my blood, sweat, and tears into making my dream come true. Every second spent meticulously planning my new life in Miami and my new role as head chef.

In perfect timing, thunder cracks through the sky, shaking us deeper into the mattress.

“Yes. I know exactly how you feel.”