Stuck With Me: A With Me in Seattle Universe Novel

by Melissa Brown

  “Maybe if you sat down?” I asked. She stopped pacing and looked down at the marble floor. I could tell she was sizing it up, weighing the steadiness of sitting down versus the germ factory that was that floor. “I’ll sit down with you if you want.”

  “No,” she snapped, then she held up one hand and took a deep breath, lowering her voice. “I’d rather stand, thank you.”

  “While we wait, maybe we should talk.”

  “Not about us,” she said, shaking her head vigorously.

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s literally anything in the world I’d rather discuss.”

  “How about zombie attacks?”

  “What? Why would I want to talk about that?” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and her eyes welled with tears. She was terrified. I wanted to distract her as best I could, and if we weren’t going to rip off the band-aid and talk about how fucked up we’d been to each other during the last day, then I had to think of something crazy, something to make her laugh.

  I was failing miserably.

  “Fine, bear attacks.”

  She pressed her hands into her eyes,. “I don’t want to think about blood and gore, for God’s sake!”

  “Okay, what else?” I asked, tapping my chin in an overdramatic way. “If you had to choose one food to eat for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

  She paused for a second, and I knew I’d finally distracted her. But how long it would last, I had no idea.

  “It’s the only thing I can eat?”

  “Yep, nothing else. For me, it’s easy—khichdi.”

  She looked perplexed. “What is that again?”

  “Indian dish—rice, lentils, total comfort food deliciousness. Now, what about you?”

  “Uh…um…I, uh…bananas.”

  “That’s it?”

  She shrugged, her eyes vacant. “I like bananas.”

  I tilted my head to the side as I remembered an article I’d read in National Geographic. “You know, I read once that there was this man living in the jungle who lived almost completely on bananas. He was really old. You may be onto something.”

  She didn’t look amused.

  “But what about something else? Like a dish that means something to you, something special that your mom makes or something?”

  “My abuela,” she said, her expression softening. “She taught me how to cook. Her enchiladas will change your life.”

  “I’d like to try them sometime,” I said with a smile.

  Something about that sentence struck a nerve. And a bad one at that. “What are you doing?” she asked, looking suspicious.

  “I’m trying to distract you. You know, because of your panic attack. It’s working, right?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would.”

  She rolled her eyes and went back to pacing the small space. Silence hovered around us for at least a minute before I cleared my throat.

  “What about us?”

  “Dev, stop it. There is no us, not anymore.”

  “We have to talk about what happened. We can’t run away from it.”

  “Why not?” She glared at me. “You’re the one who wanted to pretend it never happened!”

  “I was pissed. Maybe I overreacted.”

  “Maybe?” she yelled, throwing her arms out to the side. “And what the fuck was that downstairs in the lodge, huh? Sheila the nurse? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I talked to her for, like, five minutes.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You didn’t get what you wanted from me, so you moved right on to someone else. Let me guess, you’re meeting up later for drinks.”

  “Um, I think you’re thinking of you and Craig, not me and Sheila.”

  “Don’t do that. Craig has nothing to do with any of this, and you know it! I ended that date to take care of you. God, I wish I could go back and stay the hell away!”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Like you have any idea what I mean or what I think or what I feel! You’re an asshole, Dev, who treats women like...like…”

  “You have no idea how I treat women! You have no idea how I would’ve treated you if you hadn’t been so fucking embarrassed to be seen with me! So don’t you stand there and pretend to know, okay? You don’t get to do that, Lyra!”

  “And you have a girlfriend! None of this even matters, right? Tomorrow you’re going to go right back to Trupti, so why are you even wasting my time?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d already made the decision to break things off with Trupti, but to tell Lyra before ending things just felt wrong. I could tell my boys, sure, but to tell the woman I was interested in felt like a betrayal to Trupti. And besides, I was too pissed at her for calling me an asshole, for insinuating that I was a dick to women.

  “That’s what I thought.” Lyra turned back to the buttons, pounding on the red call button again.

  “Yes, we are doing all that we can,” the voice said.

  “Listen to me! I’m in this death box with the person I despise most in the goddamn world. Now get me the hell out of here! Now!”

  And for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Lyra offered me a painful punch in the gut. And I was wrecked. Completely and totally wrecked.

  “Lyra,” I said, feeling all the blood drain from my face, no longer trying to hide my vulnerability, my pain. She stared at me, her mouth hanging open.

  “I-I didn’t mean it, Dev.”

  “Save it. I have no interest in hearing another word you have to say.”

  And just then, the door opened. Sheepishly, Lyra held it open for me as I stumbled out of the elevator and made my way to the door. She walked ahead of me to open the door. I walked through and went straight for my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

  A few hours later, after I’d taken a nap and popped a few more Advil, Peter knocked on my door. “Hey, man, the girls have decided to have a girls’ night. Wanna grab dinner downstairs with Scott and me? Game starts in ten.”

  Filled with relief at not having to break bread with Lyra, I jumped at the chance to have dinner with my boys. “Yeah, gimme five and I’ll be ready.”

  We were able to grab a booth with a perfect view of the TV, and I was able to rest my foot on the soft leather bench across from me.

  “Geez, Montgomery’s a beast this season.”

  “Seriously, dude,” I said between bites of mozzarella sticks. “This team would be shit without him.”

  “Agreed,” Scott said, tapping his beer bottle to my glass before clearing his throat. “So, what’s going on with you and Lyra? Allison said you asked to talk to her privately. And the next thing I know, you’re all camped out in your room and the girls are planning a men-less dinner. Did something happen between you two?”

  “Not exactly,” I said under my breath, stirring my Tito’s and seltzer with the tiny red straw in my glass. “She just gets under my skin, ya know? She drives me crazy.”

  Scott wiggled his nerdy eyebrows. The only married one among us, we considered him the settled old man of the group, which was stupid because Peter and Maren lived together, and we all knew they were headed down the aisle.

  “What about Trupti?” Peter asked before draining his beer.

  “I’m ending it.”

  “For Lyra?”

  “No,” I said, letting go of my straw and slashing the air with my hand. “Trupti and I…we never should’ve gotten back together in the first place. I realize that now.”

  “You had to try, right? If not, you would have always asked ‘what if.’ I mean, you were really happy when you two first started hooking up again,” Scott said.

  “True, but that was just the sex. We’d always been just fine at that. Our time has passed.”

  “So what about Lyra?”

  “I don’t know. Every time I’m around that girl, my head spins. One minute I’m hot for her…like crazy hot for her, like I’d slay a dragon for her or some shit. But then sh
e opens her goddamn mouth and I want to kill her.”

  Peter laughed. “And I think that feeling is mutual.”

  “Yeah, she made that abundantly clear today. Said I was the person she despised most in the world.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.” I drained my Tito’s and started on my next one. “Don’t I know it.”

  “Sorry, man. But you know Lyra. She’s a hothead just like you. She’ll calm down. You guys just need to sit down and have a rational conversation.”

  “Or they just need to sleep together and get it over with,” Scott said. I stared at him in disbelief.

  “Did you seriously just say that? I’m kind of impressed right now.”

  “Well, yeah,” Peter said with a chuckle, “normally that’s something you’d say.”

  “Exactly,” I said with a wink.

  “Seriously, though, you two have always had this weird chemistry. This love-hate thing, like those romance novels Maren loves to read,” Peter said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Lyra reads them too. And I’m paying the price because I’m not some perfect English gentleman who’s going to ride up and take her away from all of this.”

  “Lyra doesn’t want that, man. She’s not some damsel in distress. She’s a really independent person if you took the time to get to know her,” Peter said, shaking his head and leaning one elbow on the table.

  “Wow, did I touch a nerve?” I asked, taken aback at Peter’s reaction.

  “Listen, you know I’ll always have your back, but I think you’re being too hard on her. She’s a stubborn girl, yes, but she’s a good person. The whole Trupti thing is probably just messing with her head. She gets defensive like that when she doesn’t know where she stands with someone.”

  I recoiled. “And how do you know that? Do you two stay up late braiding each other’s hair while you watch Gossip Girl?”

  “Shut up, man. She’s Maren’s best friend—I’ve gotten to know her. When it comes to men, she wants total transparency. Secrets, lies, she has no patience for any of that shit.”

  “Neither do I!”

  “Right, but did you tell her you’re ending things with Trupti?” Peter pressed.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Trupti should know first. She deserves that much.”

  Peter shook his head. “You need to follow your gut, but don’t wait too long. I’ve watched Lyra flip that switch. It comes fast, and she doesn’t flip back easily, if ever.”

  “I’m not going to change who I am to keep that from happening. Sorry.”

  “And that’s fine. I’m just telling you what I know. She’s not the easiest person, I realize that. But she’s pretty awesome.”

  “I barely know her,” Scott said with a shrug. “But I’d much rather see you with her than Trupti. Just being honest.”

  “Wow, you know, guys, this may be a little too much honesty for me. I just wanted to eat some apps and watch the game with my boys. And now I feel like I’m getting grilled by Dr. Motherfucking Phil.”

  “I’m never going to shoot rainbows and unicorns up your ass, dude,” Peter said with a laugh. “Lyra’s a good one. Don’t let her slip through your fingers. I’m telling you right now: That’s one thing you’ll look back on and regret.”

  I threw a jalapeño popper at him. “Shut up, dude. I can’t take any more of you acting all wise and shit. Just watch the game.”

  Peter shook his head and shifted his body to focus on the television. “Whatever, man. You’ll be begging for my wise ass when she tells you to pound sand.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Now, piss off, I’m watching the game,” Peter said with a sly smile. I grabbed another popper, sat back, and did as Peter said.

  I watched the game with my boys, but Lyra and Peter’s warning lingered in my head.

  Don’t let her slip through your fingers, Dev.

  Yeah, yeah. One woman at a time. I had a relationship to end. And as soon as I got back to Seattle tomorrow morning, that was exactly what I planned to do.

  Chapter 12

  LYRA

  Most people hate going back to work after the holidays.

  Not me.

  Every day I get to surround myself with books; the musty smells, the weathered leather bindings, I love it all. Working at the biggest community college in the state, I’m able to assist students with their research, offer liaison services to several departments at the school, and even teach one session per day of library science instruction.

  There’s never a dull moment, and l love it all.

  “You are way too chipper this morning,” said my supervisor, Vern, followed by a large yawn where the wrinkles on his face stretched long and deep. Vern and I had an interesting dynamic. Where I was fresh out of school and eager to go to work every day, Vern was waiting to retire. However, our mutual love of the written word bonded us in a way that others couldn’t understand. In a strange way, we were kindred spirits.

  “Ooh, someone needs more coffee,” I said, placing my coat and purse in my locker.

  “Two cups already this morning; it’s useless. It’s always like this. Late January is the worst.”

  “You need the hard stuff. I’ll hook you up when I go on break,” I said with a laugh, patting him gently on the shoulder.

  “You really are an angel, Castillo,” he said with an appreciative smile. “Quick, how many days until spring break?”

  “Vern, we just had a break.”

  “Is that your answer?”

  Before I could picture the school calendar in my mind, Vern blurted it out. “Sixty-two. Sixty-two more days, Lyra.”

  “And how many days until retirement?”

  “Ugh, too many.”

  “You know, I actually think you’ll miss this place when you’re gone. I can already picture you walking through those doors, begging me to hire you back,” I teased, giving him a wink.

  “And why do you assume you’ll be in charge? Awfully presumptuous of you.” He winked right back.

  “Anyway,” I drew out with a sigh. “Any fires to put out this morning?”

  “Talking about fires in a library is blasphemy, dear.”

  “Sorry, sorry.” I laughed. “I used to work for my best friend; she has a book-and-candle shop downtown…said it all the time, never really thought about it.”

  Vern shook his head. “Kids these days.”

  “Hey! Watch who you’re calling a kid. I have an apartment; I have a car that’s fully paid for. I’m not a kid.”

  “Mea culpa, dear.”

  “Mmmm-hmmmm,” I said, shaking my head. “So let me try this again in a way that won’t offend. What’s on the docket this morning?”

  “Just getting back into it. Preparing for the truckloads of books that’ll get returned today.”

  “Ah, yes, the post-winter break purge,” I said with a laugh and a smile that I knew would annoy Vern. I did it anyway. “But then we get to shelve them.”

  “Oh joy,” Vern said, grumbling and reaching into the pocket of his charcoal gray wool cardigan sweater. Beneath it was a checkered Oxford shirt and a bow tie. As crotchety as he could be, the man had some serious senior style. He pulled out a pack of Altoids, like he always did.

  “Wintergreen today? What’s the occasion?”

  “Too many candy canes,” he grumbled. “Want one?”

  “Nah, I’m good, thanks.”

  “You know, every day I ask you and every day you turn me down. You got something against fresh breath?”

  “Just not a big mint person. Now, buy the cinnamon ones and that’s another story.”

  “Ick. Never.” Vern made a face like he’d tasted a sour lemon, and I rolled my eyes. Another day with Vern, another joke about mints and book returns.

  Another day in paradise.

  The morning picked up as more yawning students walked into the library, backpacks and phones in tow. I was fully immersed in scanning in retu
rned books when a voice called to me from the other end of the counter.

  “Excuse me, sorry to bother you.”

  She was a petite young woman, probably eighteen or nineteen years old, with rich brown skin and deep black hair tied up tight in a high ponytail. My breath caught as I took in the sight of her. She looked just like Dev. Just like him.

  I cleared my throat, returning the books to the counter and walking toward her. “What can I help you with?”

  “My professor just assigned this massive project, and I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Subject.”

  “Western Civ.”

  “Ahh, let me guess. Professor Rademacher?”

  “How did you know?”

  With a shrug, I gave a friendly wave of the hand. “Semester project. It’s his thing.”

  “It’s overwhelming.”

  “We’ll get you set up, don’t worry,” I said with a reassuring smile. “Do you have a thesis yet? Or just a topic?”

  “No thesis yet, but hoping I can figure that out after I do some research. I think I wanna focus on the Renaissance.”

  “Good choice,” I said, walking around the counter. “We have a ton of stuff for that time period and some really great reference materials for you. You’ll have your thesis in no time.”

  I led her to the shelves that were filled with books about the Renaissance. She oohed and ahhed as I stacked book after book on a cart for her to peruse.

  “Awesome. You’re amazing!” she said with a wide grin. I knew that grin; I did.

  “No problem. Feel free to ask for me anytime you need help and you’re not sure where to start.” I looked down at my chest, realizing I’d forgotten my name tag. “I’m Lyra, by the way. And I’m here five days a week.”

  “Wait.” She narrowed her eyes, looking just as surprised as I must have looked when I first laid eyes on her. “Lyra, did you say?”

  “Yeah,” I said, tilting my head slightly to the side.

  “Oh my God, I—what are the chances? I can’t believe this. He said you were a librarian, but I never thought you worked at my school!” She looked off to the side, lost in thought. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Who?”