Tied Up

by Sionna Fox

  “You know you’re allowed to need aftercare too, right? Especially right now. It’s okay to need reassurance from her.” Evie kept her eyes on the book in front of her, still calmly flipping pages.

  “I don’t know if it is, though.” He’d never wanted Kate to see him like this. Playing the role for her had been too important. Making sure her needs were met had been all that mattered. “I never… She needed me so much before. And I don’t know if she needs this right now because she’s worried about her dissertation and teaching and what comes next. She didn’t want to tell anyone we were seeing each other.”

  Evie sucked air through her teeth. “And you want it to be real. You want to be back together.”

  “I know why, logically, but Evie, fuck, I want her to come home.” Saying the words out loud made him dizzy again. Like saying what he’d wished for when he blew out birthday candles, dooming it to never come true.

  “You have to talk to her, Ian. You have needs that need to be met by a relationship, and you’re in the middle of making some hard choices about your professional life. If she can’t meet you halfway…”

  He swallowed hard. “I know.”

  “Talk to her. And listen, I love you, you know I do, but I cannot sit on this floor any longer. I am too old for this shit, and I can’t feel my ass.”

  Ian laughed softly and unfurled his long legs. He didn’t immediately want to curl back up and took that as a good sign. He slowly lifted himself off the floor, nearly forty-year-old bones creaking a bit and helped Evie up after him. She groaned dramatically as she stood but pulled him into a tight hug.

  “You’re gonna be okay, Ian. With or without her. Maybe talk to someone, at least for a bit, especially if you’re having episodes like this. You’re allowed to need help.”

  “I know. I’ll think about it.” Evie had been the second person this week to strongly suggest he needed outside help. And coming from someone who actually knew what was going on made him wonder if she wasn’t right.

  He’d just closed the door behind her when his phone pinged with an incoming text.

  Kate: You still owe me a home-cooked dinner.

  Ian grinned at his screen, unable to help himself. If she was reaching out to him first, that must be a good sign. Everything else could wait.

  Ian: Indeed I do. Tonight?

  Kate: I have a meeting with my advisor then getting a coffee with Jolene. I assume she needs someone to talk her down from wedding madness. But a late-ish dinner?

  Ian: Text me when you’re on your way.

  * * *

  Kate sat across the desk from Dr. Baxter and tried not to tap her toes while the other woman riffled papers and pulled up her notes about Kate’s dissertation on her laptop. She knew she hadn’t been as productive as she should have been, she was a whole chapter behind where she’d projected she’d be in her outline. But her timeline had been ambitious. Padding it out a bit wouldn’t be the end of the world. She could still finish this semester. And then…she had no idea.

  “Kate, I’m going to be honest with you.” Dr. Baxter pushed her glasses into her shoulder-length gray hair and tapped the pages on her desk. “Your work is…fine. It’s enough. It’s not going to stop you from defending successfully.” The older woman sighed. “But you and I both know you can do so much better than enough.”

  Kate flinched. No, enough would never suffice. “What am I doing wrong?”

  “The data is there, the protocols and procedures are well-documented, but it’s shallow. You’re dodging the harder questions about widespread implementation and projections about budget and savings, and if you think that’s not going to come up in your defense…”

  “Okay, so what do I need to do?” She’d worked with Dr. Baxter for long enough to simply trust her judgment. She’d been the one to send her to California, to tell her that her ability to do good in the world extended beyond the city limits. And god knew she needed someone to just give her the answer to something right now.

  “Decide where you want to go with this. The way you present this kind of data to a group of politicians is different than to a hospital board is different than to an international aid group; you know this. Where are you going when this is done? Are you an administrator or a politician, or are you taking this to a foundation? You’re not an academic; you like getting your hands dirty too much.”

  Goddammit, no one was going to give her an easy out this week, were they? “I don’t know.”

  “Get your head back in the game, Kate. You have some big decisions to make.”

  But I don’t want to. “What do you think I should do?”

  Dr. Baxter chuckled and sat back in her chair. “Honey, you’re in the wrong department office for that. I can’t tell you what to do with your life any more than I can tell my cat not to shit outside the litter box. Little bastard does what he wants anyway.”

  She’d been expecting to get scolded for diverging from her timeline and not turning in as many pages as she should have, but Kate wasn’t expecting to be told that her work was merely sufficient. Nor had she expected to leave Dr. Baxter’s office looking down the barrel of the semester with existential dread. The question kept reverberating through Kate’s head as she took the T to meet Jolene. Every rattle and squeal of the tracks jolted the thought around.

  Where are you going when this is done?

  She didn’t know. Public funding for research on maternal and fetal health was going to be tight for the next few years, given the current administration. But there were private grants. Other ways to bring the same type of pilot program into other communities. How could she spend a year learning from the task force that had created these protocols and not help spread them? But that would mean going wherever the work took her.

  That morning, she’d tried to force herself to get some work done, but ended up sitting at the shop, watching the weekday routines of the regulars pass her by. If she left again, followed a job to wherever there was funding, a year from now, someone on staff might remember her order, she might recognize a few faces, but she wouldn’t be part of this funny little community anymore. She’d be another name almost remembered, a girl with short dark hair and freckles even in January who used to sit at that table with her laptop.

  Two weeks ago, she would have been fine with that. Two weeks ago, she wanted to get her dissertation completed, defended, and get the hell out of Boston. Now, she wasn’t so sure. She’d given herself a reason to maybe stay.

  She texted him. She’d felt bad about him leaving the night before, even though she’d known he wouldn’t want to sleep on her lumpy bed. Having him come to her was a form of protection from getting too close. But she wanted to talk to him anyway. Old habits died hard. Or didn’t take much to rekindle. She actually wanted to sit at his table and tell him about her meeting and her research and holy shit, what was she going to do with a terminal degree in her hand, and know that he would listen. What happened after that…she needed to wipe from her mind before she met Jolene at a café near her office.

  They ordered and sat at a corner table, far from the counter and most of the other patrons. She’d missed Jolene the most of her friends when she’d been gone. Kate had logged some serious hours on Jolene’s couch before she and Matt got back together. Then even after, when Kate had wanted to escape the house and loaf around watching terrible movies and TV, Jolene had been her go-to stay-in-and-order-pizza buddy.

  They’d kept in touch while she was away, but Kate still felt vaguely estranged from Jolene and all of their other friends. They belonged to Ian’s world, and she wasn’t back in the scene yet.

  “So…are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are you going to stare at that cookie for an hour? Because if you’re just going to look at it, send it this way.”

  Kate took a large bite of her cookie. “Happy?” she asked with her mouth full.

  “Nice. What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing, really”—she made a frantic keyboard smashing gesture�
��“dissertation, class prep.”

  “Uh-huh. You’re banging Ian, aren’t you?”

  Kate pressed her lips together and looked away. “You know nothing.”

  “I won’t tell anyone. But you know I’m a terrible liar, so if someone were to ask me point blank…” She shrugged.

  “I know. I’m not confirming or denying anything. And how the fuck did you figure it out?” If Jolene picked up on it, she was screwed if she saw anyone else, especially Evie.

  “Right.” Jolene leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest to study Kate. “So hypothetically, if I had my suspicions—which totally haven’t been confirmed—you’re somehow both glowing and brooding. You’re sitting on a juicy secret, and you don’t know what to do with it. Hence, banging your ex.”

  “Would that make me completely ridiculous?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s hot and you have history and maybe”—she drew out the syllables of the word—“you found out he’s a lot more flexible than you thought. Hypothetically. Because nothing has happened. How’m I doing?”

  “Possibly correct.”

  “Told you so.”

  Kate rubbed her forehead and took another big bite of her cookie. “Fine. Okay? You were right.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “All that history, the baggage. What if we repeat the same mistakes?”

  “You might. But the only way to find out is to try, if that’s what you want. And I’m not saying you should. Just, you know, been there, kind of.”

  That was not the reasonable answer she wanted to hear. She wanted someone to tell her that it would be okay, or that she was making a terrible mistake. She didn’t want to hear that the answer involved sincere and honest effort. Something in her life had to be easy. “What made you so sure about giving it another go with Matt?”

  Jolene’s cheeks colored a bit. “Aside from the fact that have you seen him? He let me get through some stuff on my own. And he took ownership of his mistakes and lack of communication and put in the effort over time not to let it happen like that again. Just like I put in the work to get to a place where I could believe that man wants me. That he doesn’t want to fix me or change me.” She had one of those irritatingly dreamy little smiles on her face for a second, then dropped it. “And we still have to call each other on our shit all the time. Not talking about things never makes them go away.”

  Kate curled her lip. “Why does everyone I know have to be so damn well-adjusted?”

  Jolene laughed. “We’re not that well-adjusted. We’re just all in lots of therapy.” She patted Kate’s hand. “Honestly, talk to him. That’s the big secret.”

  “I have.”

  “Yeah, but you have to keep doing it. Like, forever.”

  “Ugh. I know. That’s what I’m afraid of. That we’ll stop talking like we did before, then it was too late to start and I left, and now…I don’t know what the hell is happening now.”

  Jolene grabbed her by the wrist. “Kate. Talk. To. Him.”

  “Easier said than done when we keep ending up naked,” she muttered.

  “So talk naked.”

  “Look, I don’t know what kind of boring almost-married people sex you’re having these days, but there’s not a whole lot of discussion happening when we’re fucking.”

  “Talk after the sex, you twerp.” She threw her crumpled-up napkin across the table and checked her phone. “I should get back before Sarah gets sucked too far down the website redesign rabbit hole and doesn’t make it home for dinner. And listen, I love you, but if you’re overwhelmed, you’re allowed to take a step back too. Self-care isn’t just bubble baths and sheet masks. If you need help figuring shit out…”

  “I know, I know. Therapy is a thing.” A thing Kate really didn’t have time for between her dissertation, teaching, whatever the fuck was going on with Ian, and maybe attempting to have some kind of a social life.

  Kate retreated back to her apartment, debating whether or not to bring a bag to Ian’s house. She knew once she was in his bed, she wouldn’t want to leave. But she didn’t want to borrow a shirt or a toothbrush again or go home in yesterday’s underwear the next morning.

  When they’d first started dating, she’d wanted to spend every spare second with him. She’d had no problem accumulating things at his house, spreading out homework and research on his kitchen table even before she’d moved in. She’d said it was because he had more space, but she’d liked being near him. The second her lease had expired, she’d given up the ghost and moved in completely. She’d always been determined to take care of herself, and she’d happily traded self-sufficiency for a nice house and a man with a tidy salary who wouldn’t let her pay rent.

  She didn’t want to repeat her mistakes. She didn’t want to get attached. But just as not shaving her legs had never stopped her from having sex, not having a bag wouldn’t stop her from staying over once she was there. She packed a bag. Just in case.

  Eleven

  Ian’s chest lifted when he saw the overnight bag thrown over Kate’s shoulder. He still hadn’t quite recovered from the episode earlier, but seeing the bag gave him some measure of hope. He kissed her cheek as she crossed the threshold and offered to take it up to the bedroom.

  “I’m not promising that I’m staying.”

  “Of course.” He set the tote at the foot of the stairs. If she’d taken the trouble to pack a bag, she was planning to stay, or knew she wouldn’t have the will to leave. “You can always stay in the guest room if you’d prefer.” He would absolutely hate that, but if she needed the distance, he would give it to her.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Can we do dinner before we start talking about sleeping arrangements?”

  She followed him into the kitchen where he had several pots going on the stove and the counter was littered with little plastic containers. Cooking like this had its conveniences. The meals were meant for two servings, so he never had a fridge full of leftovers he’d get sick of eating before they went bad, and it forced him to try new things. The amount of mess and packaging created for one single meal disturbed his sense of order, but the neatness of having exactly the correct amount of each ingredient was satisfying. He’d never enjoy cooking, but at least he was better at it now. He could make dinner for Kate.

  “What’s for dinner?” She’d parked herself on her stool at the counter. She always took the one to the left.

  “Glazed salmon, roasted vegetables, and a grain I’m not entirely sure how to pronounce.”

  “Smells good.” She smiled reassuringly across the counter at him.

  He was nervous and she knew it. “Don’t speak too soon.”

  She popped off the stool and circled the counter, coming to rest behind him with her arms wrapped around his waist. “These things are supposed to be essentially foolproof, right? And you’ve been using them for a while. I’m sure it will be delicious. And I appreciate your making me dinner.”

  God help him if he had to let her go again. As much as he wanted to bask in having her arms wrapped around him and her head resting between his shoulder blades, he needed not to burn their dinner to a crisp. He shrugged her off and swatted her hip. “Did I tell you to get up?”

  She grinned. “Nope.”

  “Cheeky. I hope you’re willing to pay for that later.”

  “Oh? I think that depends on what you have in mind.”

  He couldn’t play this careful game, masked behind easy banter, while he was trying to focus on the stove and the oven. His feelings were too close to the surface from earlier and playing at levity he didn’t quite feel was beyond him. “I thought we’d do the thing properly and discuss it over dinner. Think about what you’d like me to do to you while I finish this up.”

  He returned his attention to the task at hand, hoping she would weave some elaborate fantasy for herself in the meantime, and tell him about it later.

  “What do you want to do
to me, Sir?”

  He shivered with pleasure at having her call him Sir, even in jest. There were some things he hoped wouldn’t have to change. “What wouldn’t I do to you, kitten? But we will discuss it at dinner.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  He placed both hands on the counter and gripped the edges. “Kate. I cannot have this conversation and finish making dinner at the same time.” His words came out jagged, too sharp, the hurts and anxieties poking at his skin. He was decidedly not okay, but none of that was her problem.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly to the counter.

  He took a deep breath. “No. I am. I’m… There’s a lot going on.”

  “I know.”

  “We don’t have to do this.” He wanted her, needed her here to put his head back in order and calm the tightness in his chest that hadn’t fully left him. But it was up to her.

  “But I want to. If you still do.”

  His want was never in doubt. “I do. Would you set the table? Everything’s where it always was.”

  He needed her out of the way for a moment to compose himself. He was not going to lose it like he had earlier. They would talk, they would fuck, she would hopefully stay the night. It was too soon for anything else.

  When he brought the serving dishes over, she’d set their two places, exactly as she always had, with him at the head of the table and her to the right. The other end of the table had usually been piled with books and her laptop, but she always cleared space for dinner.

  She unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. She looked at him, fork in hand, and he realized she was waiting for her cue to begin eating, falling into old habits, old rules of etiquette and protocol she’d lived by, as automatic as breathing. He nodded just as automatically and she began to take a bite, then set her fork down when it was halfway to her mouth.

  “What is it, kitten?” He had a pretty good guess, but he wanted her to say it.

  “I scared myself. I waited for you to give me permission. I don’t live here anymore, I don’t follow those rules, and I waited for it without a second thought. And you responded, just like that.”