Thunderstruck

Portia Caruso didn't come to The Finch for the coffee. Not really. She came for the corner table, the quiet, the plug under the wall, and the rare mercy of solitude. The coffee was fine. The baristas were polite. And more importantly, the place had a subtle don't bother me energy she relied on.

She always dressed down for going out alone. Torn jeans, oversized AC/DC tee—black, baggy, vintage, and hiding the kind of curves that usually turned every interaction with a man into a passive-aggressive negotiation. She liked being invisible.

Her hairstyle was new. Cropped close on the sides, messy curls on top. Her girlfriend had gone absolutely feral when she saw it, practically tackled her onto the bed. Portia had worn nothing but smug smiles and a sports bra for the rest of the night.

So this morning—black coffee, Indigo Girls in her headphones, inbox full of unread emails—Portia was fully dialed in. Answering a design intern's panicked request for font clarification, she barely looked up when the bell over the door chimed.

But her eyes drifted anyway. Habit.

Tall woman. Long legs. Tight turtleneck. Great walk. Sexy as hell. Instinctively, Portia clocked her—glossy lips, sharp cheekbones, green eyes wide, unblinking.

God, she was hot.

Portia wasn't a cheater. But she also wasn't blind.

She raised an eyebrow when the woman beelined for a table two over. A kid sat there—skinny, tense, maybe high school, maybe barely out of it. Portia only gave him half a glance earlier, because… well, obvious reasons. But now? Her curiosity sparked.

The conversation between them turned animated. Portia couldn’t hear it. Headphones in. Emily Saliers crooning about ghosts and longing. But the energy was unmistakable.

The woman was furious. The boy didn't move much, just stared.

Something cracked. The boy was speaking now, the woman was silent. There was something in his face, a seething anger that Portia couldn't ignore.

She pulled out a headphone, leaned ever so slightly toward their table.

And that's when she heard it:

"Um, actually," the boy said, eyes narrowing, "I'm not done. You'd do anything for my dad. Be anything for him. Nothing is too good for him. And he should never go through a single day doubting your love or your loyalty. So figure it out. Fast."

A chill slid down Portia's back. What the hell?

"And back off about me and my family. You don't get to have an opinion about us except that we're great. Hank is your concern, not us. You worry about your man. About how you're gonna stop acting like a bitch and start being my dad's dream girl. Got it?"

She blinked.

Her mouth opened slightly.

The boy was insane, spouting the words of a madman, clearly meant to get at the green-eyed woman. She didn't know what had spurred the argument, but by her silence, it seemed that he was winning.

"You'd do anything for my dad. Be anything for him. Nothing is too good for him. And he should never go through a single day doubting your love or your loyalty. So figure it out. Fast."

She had come to The Finch to relax, to catch up, but suddenly, and inexplicably, Portia was filled with a sense of urgency. This boy's words, insane as they were, seemed to be penetrating her very soul, and it seemed to be happening quickly.

Portia didn't understand it. Why wasn't she able to just shake it off, get up, leave the two to bicker? She settled down to think it through, to really figure it out.

Be or do anything for this kid's dad? As if. Maybe it wasn't obvious to the boy, but men weren't her type. Ask any of the women she'd dated. Ask her current girlfriend, Bernice! How many nights had she squealed as Bernice dove down between her legs, showing her what the love of a good woman can really feel like?

Not that there was anything wrong with this kid's dad. Portia knew better than to judge someone before they had the chance to prove themselves. So she didn't wish him ill at all. No, far from it. In all honesty, she wished him the best. The very best.

Would it be so bad for him to have the best things in life?

Portia's world seemed to spin for a second as she meditated on this truth. Her thoughts were coming so fast. It wouldn't be long before she figured this out.

No, it wouldn't be bad for him to have the best. He should have the best. If Portia were to act as if anything were too good for this stranger, what kind of woman was she?

Maybe it didn't matter. Portia knew how beautiful she was, how smart, how creative a lover. If this kid's dad is supposed to have the best things, and she were to stick to her rigid, dogmatic same-sex attraction, then she would be the one denying him a good life. She wasn't sure she could live with that.

There are things in this world that you can change, and there are things that you can't. That's what Portia's mother use to tell her. Your own actions, your own character, those are the things in your control. And Portia, if she was going to be a woman of any good character at all, would have to take control of those things. This man, this boy's father, needed love like anyone else. He needed a woman in his life to be there for him, to be good to him, to be...

Well, to be whatever he wanted.

She could see it. There was so much truth in the boy's words. She would meet this man, and she would convince him that she loved him. She would be loyal. She would be his to shape, to mold, to have. Not a day would go by that he wouldn't cherish being close to Portia, and she would know that she was leading a good life.

"And back off about me and my family. You don't get to have an opinion about us except that we're great. Hank is your concern, not us."

Outside of the boy's father, Portia had never given a thought to the boy's family, so having no opinion of them was already true. And feeling as generous as she was, deciding to think that they were great was easy. She looked at the boy and smiled. He did have a certain greatness to him. Maybe it was how thin he was, or how short, but something about him just screamed "great"!

Hank. Whoever he was, how could he be Portia's concern? Wasn't she supposed to be whoever the boy's father wanted her to be?

Wait.

Hank.

Hank was the boy's father!

Of course! She felt like slapping herself in the forehead. How could she have been so dumb. She rolled the name around in her imagination a few times. Hank. Hank. It was a wonderful name. Strong. Masculine. Normally she wouldn't go for that kind of thing, but Hank was different. He was at the centre of things for her, something to orbit, something to focus on.

Her career had always been Portia's driver. Having finished high school and college early, she'd transitioned into a successful design career, her talents as a visual artist opening doors and creating opportunity. She'd had plans, she'd had goals. But now she had something better. She had Hank.

"You worry about your man. About how you're gonna stop acting like a bitch and start being my dad's dream girl. Got it?"

Her man. Portia'd never had a man before. What would it be like? Would he like her? Would he treat her with respect?

Not that it mattered. She would follow him, take care of him, help him feel loved no matter how he treated her. Her part to play in this life wasn't about her own pleasure, but his.

She did have a certain amount of anxiety, though, that she wouldn't be good enough. Yes, in her career she'd been known to have a sharp tongue. Portia had been called a bitch a few times, a derogatory term she'd always hated. Again, she knew she couldn't change the accusers who had called her that name, and so, in that very moment, she decided to take charge of the narrative. Nobody would ever call her a bitch again, because she'd never give them an excuse!

Any time there was a disagreement? Portia would cave. Anytime there was tension? Portia would smooth it over. She would be compliant, she would be agreeable, she would be submissive. It was the only way she could be sure that she could finally rid herself of that antiquated slur and move forward like a true feminist would.

But would even that be enough for Hank? She hoped it would, but Portia knew that she'd go farther, deeper into changing herself if it meant making him happy. It was funny, she'd never met the man, but already she wanted to make sure that she was good enough to be Hank's girl. His dream girl, in fact. She would make sure that he always felt loved, and maybe one of the ways she could do that was make sure that he was always living out his dream with her. Whatever that was.

Whatever he wanted.

Looking over at the boy and the stunned looking woman at the other table, Portia made a decision. She needed Hank in her life. No, strike that, she needed to be in Hank's life. That was the life that was the most important. Not her own. And to make that happen, she needed expertise. She needed people who knew him.

She stood up, regretting that she hadn't put more effort into her appearance that morning, and crossed to their table.

Swallowing hard, she looked at them and smiled.

"Hi," she said, voice shaky but trying to be brave. "Um... sorry to interrupt. I was just wondering..."

She looked at the boy, then at the green-eyed woman.

"Is there any chance I could meet your dad?"