“You’re not a superhero,” she huffed. “You write erotic romance. Get ahold of yourself.”
“But him? Of all people, you told him?” Maybe Mandy didn’t really understand how much a threat Professor Dylan could be if he found out. She’d never heard the way he talked about writers like Candy, writers like me.
“I could tell he expected me to reply with his name, and there was no way in hell I was going to, the pompous ass.”
He probably had been expecting to hear his own name. That was confidence. Did I want that much confidence? Did I want the life Professor Dylan’s tutelage seemed to promise?
“What if he looks her-slash-me up?” I continued, still not convinced. What if people had posted pictures from Eroticon and he saw the woman he’d spotted across the street in one of them? Got a closer look and realized it was me? What if he found my Facebook page, my Twitter account, my anything that was associated with Candy, and was somehow able to trace it back to me?
She shrugged. “Might give him some tips.”
“Just try not to mention it to anyone else while we’re here, especially not one of my undergrads.”
“Speaking of,” she said, scanning the room, “where’s your not so secret admirer?”
“He doesn’t keep me apprised of his schedule,” I mumbled.
“Maybe he’s at our apartment waiting for you,” she said, laying her head on my shoulder.
“Shut up,” I said, pushing her head away.
“I definitely wish Candy could come out and play.” Amanda frowned. She pulled out her lip gloss and mirror and started applying.
Someone from the bookstore got up to announce Professor Dylan. I knew his bio, but hearing it again, hearing someone else read it, reminded me he had a right to say everything he said about me and to think everything he thought about me.
I still wasn’t sure if it gave him a right to construct my career.
I was lucky to be his student, even if it didn’t always feel that way. His writing life was everything I should want, even with what was happening to his second novel. It had been easy a month ago to understand that. Writing as Candy had changed things. Living as Candy had changed things.
He headed to the podium and started to read, his demeanor commanding, intense. Every eye in the room was on him; every chin in the room needed to be wiped. Even with his “sophomore slump,” he was famous. He could do things for me if I just followed along. If I just became the writer he thought I was capable of becoming. But with Candy on my shoulder, with James in my rearview mirror, it didn’t feel like enough anymore.
“I’d like this better if his shirt was off,” Mandy said.
I nudged her, but considering I’d seen him with his shirt off, I had to agree.
James had still not arrived. I was surprised, but also not surprised at all. He was avoiding me. He knew I had to be there, so why complicate things by showing up, too?
The problem was, now that he was gone, I missed him complicating things.
Chapter Nineteen
There was a knock at the door of my apartment, and I found James standing on the porch, a mesh bag of apples of all different varieties in his hand. I guess he hadn’t walked out of my life. I guess he’d gone apple picking.
“I didn’t know which kind you’d like,” he said, his face down bashfully. I could see his hair was matted from his motorcycle helmet. He combed through it as if he just realized the same thing. As if he was in such a rush to get to my door, he didn’t even remember to straighten up first.
Crap, I shouldn’t be thinking that.
“What is all this?” I asked.
“Apples,” he said, like he was saying duh.
“I see they are apples,” I said. “What are you doing with so many of them?”
“Acting like we’re teacher and student,” he explained. He held out the bag. “I brought you an apple.”
“You brought me an orchard,” I replied.
“I really want you to know I think of you as my teacher.” He smiled. “Like, a lot.”
I laughed. “I don’t even like apples.”
“How can you be a teacher and not like apples?” he asked. “I think it’s against the laws of nature.”
I considered all the shiny apples in his bag: red, green, yellow, and varied mixtures of all three. They did look pretty good, especially with his muscled arm attached to them.
“Apple juice is like baby pee,” I said, trying to stop thinking about his arm, arms, arms around me, “and don’t even get me started on apple sauce.”
“You don’t have to eat them all,” he said, talking quickly, almost bouncing. He seemed keyed up.
I felt it, too, a weird energy between us. I mean, we were talking about apples.
Considering what usually happened when we were together, it was probably not the best use of our time. Even though now it could be the only use of our time.
“Why weren’t you at Professor Dylan’s reading last night?” I asked. I hated that I had. Asking why he wasn’t there meant I’d noticed it. It also meant I cared he wasn’t.
“I’ve read his book,” he said. “Why do I need to hear him read from it?”
I nodded. What did I expect him to say? I couldn’t bear seeing you and not being able to touch you. Which was obviously untrue, considering he was standing at my door, trying to prove how easy things could be between us now—with apples. I stared at the bag.
“Make a pie or something,” he suggested, shaking the apples out in front of him, like he was trying to wake me up.
I needed to be woken up. I had to stay in the moment with him. When I let my mind wander things started getting muddled. When I let myself forget that while the moment felt wonderful, everything that came after had the possibility squash my heart like it was a bug.
“Apple pie,” I said, sticking out my tongue. “Don’t get me started.”
“You don’t like apple pie?” he asked with more disbelief than my admission called for. “Are you a terrorist?”
“You seriously came over here to talk about apples?” I asked.
He sighed. “I guess I didn’t want us to be like those people who say they are going to be friends and then just aren’t,” he said. “Are afraid to even talk to each other.”
It looked like he hadn’t been lying when he said he knew what it meant to be messed up by someone. Maybe that was why he’d left New York.
“Me neither,” I said.
“Candy, who’s here?” I heard Amanda yell from behind me.
“Oh, you let her call you ‘Candy’?” James smiled and held the apples at his side, so the bag knocked against the thigh of his jeans.
“Just a student,” I yelled back, even though he was so much more. I prayed Mandy wouldn’t say, Oh, the hot one. Oh, the one I told you to give a fictional blow job to. Oh, the one you can’t stop thinking about giving a real blow job to.
“Well, close the door. You’re letting all the air-conditioning out,” she said. I heard her walk into her bedroom. I knew Mandy didn’t give a crap about our central air. We didn’t even pay for it. I did know it was her way of telling me to either close the door in James’s face or let him in.
To make a decision.
The thing was, I had made my decision already, so why was I even thinking about it anymore?
“You heard her,” he said, shrugging. The sound of the apples knocking against each other in the bag was almost like wooden wind chimes.
“Do you want to come in or something?” I asked, even though it was probably the wrong decision. It was one thing for James and me to act like nothing had happened with a doorway wedged between us, but it was another to let him into my very private apartment. An apartment I could easily keep private if I just closed the door and locked it. My mind wouldn’t let me. My body couldn’t make me. It was telling my stupid logic to shut the hell up.
He didn’t take the time to bother answering, just walked in and passed me the bag of apples.
; “You probably shouldn’t stay very long,” I said, like some bizarre sexual safeguard.
He followed me into the kitchen. “We’re supposed to try and act normal, to be friends,” he said. “Wouldn’t you feel comfortable for however long I decided to stay?” He had a smile on his face, which let me know he wasn’t taking any crap.
Unfortunately, it felt like that was all that was between us right now.
“You want some water or something?” I asked, throwing the apples on the counter.
“Water,” he said. “You’re definitely not trying to impress me. I guess that’s normal.”
“It is normal,” I said, even though it wasn’t. Things could never be normal between us again. Trying to act like nothing was between us made it so much more evident that there was.
“If you’re thirsty, I guess it is,” he said.
“So, was that a yes on the water?” I asked. I wanted to be able to leave him just for a moment even to fill a glass. I wanted to do anything to not have to look in his eyes and want more than I was letting myself have. Because when he was in front of me, his body annihilating mine was all I could see.
“I’d like a tour, I think,” he said, pushing. “Isn’t that what people who are comfortable with each other do when they are in each other’s apartments?”
“You didn’t give me a tour,” I said.
“You weren’t exactly comfortable then,” he said. “And the night before”— he leaned against the kitchen counter— “I did give you a tour, just not of my apartment.”
“Witty,” I said, “but I thought we weren’t bringing it up. Remember? Acting normal.”
“I am acting normal. That’s how guys act,” he said. “What are you doing?”
What am I doing? I was standing in the middle of my kitchen afraid to move, afraid to show James around my apartment. I was not acting normal.
“Just don’t say anything to Amanda,” I said, leading him out of the kitchen.
I showed him the whole apartment and introduced him to her. When they met, the things they didn’t say about me could have filled a Candy book. The tour ended with my room. It was stupid. It should have ended with the front door.
Damn you, Candy.
“Are you color blind?” he asked, looking up at my bright yellow ceiling.
“Rebellious,” I said.
“Rebellious as an adult? Fascinating.” He walked past me into my room and sat on my bed.
“I don’t think I invited you in,” I said, still standing outside, even though I wanted so badly to follow. To be able to slam the door behind me and join him on the bed, but we were being normal, aka “boring,” aka denying my feelings so I could keep myself safe, so I could keep him just my student.
“Why are you rebellious?” he asked. He stayed seated on the edge of the bed, looking unsure what to do with his hands. For someone who was supposedly comfortable, he seemed nervous now.
“It’s a long story,” I said, walking into the room and sitting at my desk chair. I may have wanted to join him on the bed, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think we’d be able to keep our hands or lips or anything else off each other if I did.
“I have…” He took his phone out of his back pocket and checked it. “Until my class tomorrow at ten.”
“You are not staying overnight,” I declared.
“I know. But I had to try, didn’t I?” He shrugged. “That’s a normal joke, not an I like you joke.”
“As long as that’s clear.” I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because I was uncomfortable, too. It felt like the two of us were magnets, a heavy pull in my chest and his. We were trying desperately to stay far away from each other so we didn’t end up sticking together.
I glanced at my laptop open on my desk: Candy’s Facebook, Twitter, Amazon Bio, and Goodreads page were open and tabbed next to each other like recipe cards. Before James arrived, I’d been tweeting and posting snippets from Melted. Sharing my Candy work with the only people besides Mandy who understood. I’d been so worried about showing him my true feelings I’d practically announced Candy to him via Internet Explorer. I slammed the laptop shut and shoved it back in its case.
“I’m not here to steal your ideas or anything,” he said.
“You can never be too careful,” I said as an excuse, because how could I explain?
He surveyed the ceiling, the red and black walls. “I feel like I’m inside an art class nightmare.”
“That’s kind of the point,” I said.
“I don’t understand.” My bed squeaked under him as he shifted.
“My parents don’t really support my being here,” I said, even though I didn’t have to.
So much for acting normal. Excuse me while I just slit my wrists in front of you.
“Why do you care what your parents think?” he asked.
I shrugged, because it wasn’t only that. I didn’t even have parents anymore, really. I usually tried not to think about it, let alone bring it up. That not only had they told me I was throwing my life away “to scribble in a notebook,” but they attempted to prove it by tossing me out of theirs.
“Some people get piercings or tattoos. I guess some people paint their bedrooms,” he said.
He watched me. I was trying so hard not to move, not to breathe. Afraid anything I did would give everything away. Not like I was doing a great job of hiding it myself.
“How old are you, again?” he asked.
“Twenty-two,” I answered.
“You’re old enough to stop caring what your parents think about you,” he said, rubbing his thighs. “Just FYI.”
“Rebellious is the wrong word. It’s my way of remembering I need to forget about them,” I said, my throat and lungs sore. “They kind of disowned me. So I don’t think what they already feel about me can get much worse.”
If you haven’t noticed, we’re way past slitting my wrists in front of you. I’m also hanging myself. I’m driving my car into the garage, closing the door, and letting it run. Surprise, I’m nuts.
“For what?” he asked. “Look at me, Candice,” he demanded, and when I did, his features were soft.
“Coming here,” I answered. “Being me. Choosing writing over what they thought my life should be.” I was looking at him, but I was also scrunched up in my desk chair, afraid if I had one limb out, I would reach for him and not be able to stop.
I started to see that the reason why I’d been so afraid of being hurt by James was because I didn’t think I could take any more. I had no one to run to but Amanda if things ended badly with him. I couldn’t go home to Mommy and Daddy to forget about anything.
Not that it was ever what I wanted, but the choice was gone, the safety net withdrawn—pulled out from under me.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“You’re my student, not my therapist,” I said, scrunching up even more. It was a stupid thing to say, considering I was treating him like he was a lot more than either one.
“I’m trying to be your friend,” he said, leaning toward me. “Remember comfortable?”
“Right.” I sighed. “Well, they just wanted things for me I didn’t want, and when I didn’t want those things anymore, they didn’t want me.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It was, but I’m getting over it,” I said, even though I was talking about it. I had pretty much brought it up, and my room was a monument to forgetting it.
I wasn’t over it. Not even close. Considering so much of what I was trying to do here was to impress my parents showed I might never be.
“Getting over it?” He breathed in and shook his head. It seemed he wanted to but didn’t ask the obvious: How do you get over that?
“Or something,” I said, so scrunched up now, I was talking into my chest.
“So is this what normal is going to be like for us?” he asked, his brown eyes damp, “because honestly, after what you just told me, all I want to do is hold you.”
“I guess normal means n
o holding,” I said, even though I did want him to hold me, to be my safety net.
“Normal sucks,” he said.
“Yeah, but it’s necessary. Like I already told you, I probably couldn’t handle any guy as more than a friend right now anyway. It’s good we have other things keeping us apart,” I said, building up my excuses again, stacking them in front of me like heavy, dusty books.
“Can I hug you as a friend?” he asked.
I nodded. He walked across the room and kneeled in front of me in the chair, squeezing me so tightly, I almost forgot why he was hugging me in the first place. But I knew. I could feel it in the way his arms held me like he wanted to make it all go away. Like he wished his arms were strong enough to take the two of us out of my room and out of this life. Into the other lifetime he’d hoped we might have a chance in.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?” I asked my chin on his shoulder.
“Your life is a lot harder than I thought it was.” As he spoke, I could feel the vibration of his words in each part of me he held.
“Everyone’s life is hard,” I said, but I guess not everyone dealt with it the way I did.
He pulled away and looked at me. His face seemed to fold up as he swallowed. “I’m going to leave before things start getting abnormal,” he said.
I watched him walk toward the door. His body tight to the side of the room I wasn’t on, still fighting the magnets in our chests from pulling us together as he left.
Normal was what I’d asked for, what I’d demanded. So why did it feel so wrong?
Chapter Twenty
When I got home from campus, barely able to stand from the long day I’d had, Mandy was dressed and ready.
“Finally,” she said as I walked in the apartment. She was wearing a black halter-top dress and red heels. That only meant one thing, and since she didn’t have a kid, it wasn’t that she was waiting for me so I could babysit.
“No,” I said, shaking my head before she could even tell me the rest.
“Candy, there is no no,” she said, coming up behind me and guiding me into a seat at the kitchen table. “I set up a double date for us. You already agreed, remember?”
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