by Carla Ryan
Marigold hangs back until everyone else is gone, then comes over to you, grinning. "Surprise!"
"You and Ophelia came together?" you ask, not looking at her as you zip up your laptop.
"Yeah," she says slowly, clearly noting the edge in your voice. "She's in the car waiting for me. Is that a problem?"
You swing the computer bag over your shoulder and meet her gaze dead on.
Just come right out and say it. She's a reasonable person. She'll understand.
"Honestly," you say in a hushed voice, "you being here at all is a problem. Mixing work and --" You cut yourself off just in time before you say sex. "-- relationships can cause all sorts of problems. It's bad enough your school district is one of the two that are interested, but it was your idea, and I figured as long as you were only involved from a distance it wouldn't be a big deal. But you being on the team that helps shape the program is definitely a big deal. Why didn't you tell me? How long have you known?"
"I found out last week," she says sharply, "and I didn't tell you because I thought it would be a nice surprise."
"I don't like surprises."
"I guess not."
You both stand there, staring each other down. Finally you say, "You get what I'm saying, right? This could jeopardize the whole program. Does the superintendent know we're together?"
"It's not like we're dealing with state secrets here. It's just a recycling program. What does it matter if we're dating?"
"Come on. You're smarter than that. This is a government contract. What if someone says I'm giving preferential treatment to your school? Or if I choose your idea over someone else's in the group, they could accuse me of favoritism. It wouldn't just be me and Spare that looks bad, it's you, the school, everybody."
The anger in her face slowly fades as she begins to understand. She glances at the open doorway. "I didn't tell the superintendent we're dating," she whispers. "Honestly I didn't think even of it. I'm the coordinator for all of the STEAM curricula throughout the district, so it makes sense for me to be here. And I thought..." She gives you an anxious smile. "I thought it would be a chance for us to spend more time together."
She looks back at the door, worried. "Should I tell them? I really am the most logical candidate though. You think he would make me resign from the committee?"
The answer is an obvious yes, on both counts. But even though you've spent the last ninety minutes wishing for Marigold to vanish from the conference room, now that it's a real possibility, and now that you understand part of her motivation was to see you more -- which is super sweet -- you don't want her to go anywhere.
"Well, I guess it's not that big a deal," you say. "They're only monthly meetings, anyway. I'll just have to make sure I'm not being swayed by your feminine wiles."
You take a few steps towards the door, then stop, adding, "We should probably keep this under wraps though, so nobody gets suspicious."
She frowns. "I don't like sneaking around. How long do you think that will last?"
How long do you think we will last?
The thought brings with it an unexpected wave of sadness as you realize that you and Marigold probably won't be together by the time the project rolls out in the fall. After the school year is finished, you two will be spending more time together, and your internal sexy time clock says it won't be long before hormones take hold and push her over the finish line. It probably would have happened already if your dates weren't so few and far between.
It's for the best, really. The sooner things end the less likely she is to get overly attached to you. Attachment leads to love, love leads to dependence, and dependence leads to pain.
"Not too long," you answer.
You head out of the room, and Marigold, eyeing the secretary, starts talking extra loudly -- so not suspicious -- as if you were in the middle of a conversation about the curriculum.
When you get outside she starts whispering again. "I need to drop Ophelia off, how about I go to your place for dinner?"
A flood of mixed emotions surges through your brain, warring with each other. Unwilling to examine the root causes of all of these conflicting feelings, you focus on putting one foot in front of the other, and give her your default answer.
"I don't really like having people over my house. How about I pick up takeout and we meet at your place?"
You've done it once before, so it's not as momentous an occasion as her coming over your house for the first time, but even that simple suggestion sends the swirling sea of excitement and apprehension and desire and fear raging to new heights. The only thing you know for sure is that you'll feel guilty no matter what she says.
"I'm going to be two houses down from you," she says, "and you don't want me to visit?"
"I know it's weird, but it's not just you. I never have anyone over, even back home."
You've reached your car. You both stop walking and she gives you a long, disbelieving look.
"Takeout?" you offer, although it falls flat even to your ears.
She frowns. "It's fine. I have a bunch of work to do anyway."
You're about to call after her as she starts walking away, when you catch sight of the superintendent leaving the building. He waves when he sees you, and you wave back, then get in your car and drive to your empty house.
Chapter Sixteen
The end of the school year comes quickly, and in order to give the schools a better sense of how Spare operates, you invite both district committees to Boston. Only Marigold and the facilities manager are able to make it from their district, and unfortunately the other district uses your offer to inform you that they're dropping out of the program.
"Why?" Marigold asks as you wait to board your flight.
"Funding. It really sucks because without two full districts on board, there won't be enough business to validate setting up out here."
"What about offices and homes?" asks Irma, the facilities manager. "That's what you do in Boston."
"It may come to that, but we're going to try some other ideas first, maybe libraries, post offices, that kind of thing."
"Attention, Flight 434, San Francisco to Boston, now boarding."
"That's us," you say, reaching for your bag. Marigold's backpack is next to yours, and as she reaches for it at the same time your hands bump against each other. A jolt of electricity shoots through you, and when you meet Marigold's gaze, you see the same fire in her eyes.
There hasn't been another committee meeting yet, so you haven't needed to hide your relationship for a few weeks. Not that it mattered that much, since you've only seen her twice since the last one. But when you invited everyone to Boston on Spare's dime, you figured there would be enough people in your troop to make being close to Marigold -- but not too close -- relatively easy. Now with only the three of you, acting natural when all you can think about is how you have to act natural, is so not easy.
"Thanks for doing this," Irma says. "And first class! I've never been in first class."
Face burning, you look away from Marigold and gather your things. "No problem. With such a small group, we were able to splurge."
"Have you ever been out here, Mary?" she asks as you all get in line. "I've got family on the North Shore I haven't seen in years."
The flight is uneventful, full of excited outbursts from Irma about the luxurious first class experience, and long glances between you and Marigold. More than once you imagine the two of you joining the mile high club, and judging from Marigold's guilty smiles, you're not the only one.
The Boston skyline welcomes you home, and after seeing Marigold and Irma to their hotel, you're looking forward to sleeping in your own bed again. But as you heat up a burrito from the freezer and drop onto the couch to eat, you find yourself feeling out of sorts. You try catching up on some work, but answering emails offers none of its usual solace. Ten minutes later you turn the computer off, still feeling distracted.
It's all this traffic. How are you supposed to concentrate with
cars going by one after another after another? The voice of the city used to comfort you, but now it's deafening. You shut the windows and return to your dinner, but soon the drone of the A/C seems louder than a jet engine. If you were in San Fran you wouldn't need A/C, with the ocean breeze always on hand to cool you down. And you'd take the rhythm of the waves on the beach over this incessant humming noise any day.
You're still feeling antsy as you start making the bed. You felt this way last time you came home too, nearly hitting the bar in search of some companionship, but you couldn't do that to Marigold -- even if she is causing the longest dry spell in your adult life.
But now Marigold's in town. Maybe she'd be up for a little hotel tryst...
How's your room? you text her.
Nice. Big.
Are you alone?
Yeah.
Want some company?
Bubbles... bubbles...
That's probably not a good idea, she says. Irma might see you here.
Yeah, I gue--
How about I go over your place?
You quickly delete your half-typed message, not wanting to accidentally invite her over.
Maybe you should. If she's willing to come over, that probably means she's willing to come over. This could be your best chance to close the deal. Most of your toys are back in San Fran, but, optimist that you are, you did bring a couple with you. And if you say no now, who knows how much longer you'll have to wait.
But here? In your house? In your bed? What if she starts looking through your things?
This is Marigold, you remind yourself. She wouldn't do that.
How can you know for sure though? She could find bank statements or your social security card... What if she got hungry and ate all of your peanut butter?
Don't be crazy. There are two jars left.
But what if she accidentally broke them?
The phone chimes in your hand.
Never mind, Marigold says. I'm tired anyway. Good night.
You can feel her frustration, but at the same time you can't help your relief. And disappointment. Because of the no sex thing. Not because you aren't going to see her.
Sweet dreams, you reply. She doesn't respond.
Maybe your trusty vibrator will keep you company. You haven't used it in a couple weeks, and when you take it out of your suitcase it's like seeing an old friend. But as you stand there, staring at the lifeless hunk of plastic and batteries in your hand, all you can think about is Marigold's warm, soft skin, and her pink, puckered lips.
With a sigh you put it back, and head to bed.
When you dream, they're not sweet dreams.
* * *
"Good morning," you say as Marigold and Irma meet you in the lobby of their hotel. "Sleep well?"
"Like a kitten," Irma says, grinning.
Marigold smiles politely, only half-meeting your gaze.
Oh boy. This is going to be a fun day.
First you bring them to the office and introduce them to Jabir and some of the other personnel, then Jabir drives all of you down to the Taunton warehouse.
Marigold is cold and distant all day, and you're not the only one who notices. When Irma asks if she's feeling okay, Marigold blames it on jet lag -- your new nickname, apparently, judging from the dirty looks she throws your way when no one else is looking.
Midway through the warehouse tour you get a call from Wade, so you excuse yourself and go into the office.
"Daly City is in!" he says.
"The school district signed on?" you ask in shock, closing the blinds out of habit.
"They did! The superintendent just called."
"That's awesome." You sit down, propping your feet up on the half-full Spare bin in the corner, and rub the back of your neck. "I needed some good news today."
"Is the trip not going well?"
The office door opens, and Marigold tentatively walks in. "Jabir said there's a bathroom in here?" she whispers.
You point to the door and she quickly disappears inside.
"It's fine," you say to Wade. "Thanks for letting me know."
You end the call quickly and lean against the desk, waiting for Marigold. When she emerges, she barely looks your way before starting for the door.
"Wait," you say, moving towards her.
"We shouldn't be caught alone," she mutters, although she stops walking.
"No one can see in here with the blinds drawn. And don't you think giving me the cold shoulder all day is equally as suspicious?"
She glares at you, absentmindedly spinning her bracelet around her wrist.
"Yeah, like that," you say.
"Why can't I go over your house?" she demands. "What are you trying to hide?"
"I'm not hiding anything. I'm a private person. I told you."
"So I'm never going to see your place?"
"Not never, but... now's really not the time to talk about this."
"You brought it up," she says.
"I was only saying that you might want to cool it with the I'm-mad-at-you vibe."
"Well I'm sorry I'm not as good at hiding my feelings as you are -- if you even have them."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
She groans with frustration. "Never mind," she says, and starts for the door again.
"Wait," you say, stepping in front of her to block her exit. "What do you mean 'if I have them'? Do you think I don't have feelings for you?"
She shakes her head in confusion. "I don't know what to think. It was great at first, but then we both got so busy, and now we're sneaking around, and every time I try to get close, you push me away." She starts fiddling with her bracelet again, her eyes going misty. "Maybe this just isn't working."
"What? No! I know we've been busy, but you're out of school now so we'll be able to spend more time together. I'm not trying to push you away, I'm just..."
You struggle to find the right words, but how can you explain to her how you feel, when you don't even understand how you feel?
Sadness fills her eyes, and the sight of it cuts you to the quick, so you do the only thing you can think of to fix it. You kiss her.
Chapter Seventeen
Startled, she pulls back, but you don't let her go. You can't. The thought of losing her makes your chest seize up and ice over.
She stiffens as you kiss her again, mumbling against your lips, "We shouldn't..." but her protests only make you more desperate. Plunging your tongue into her mouth, you squeeze her body against yours until she gives in, kissing you back with a hunger that matches your own.
With your lips locked on hers, you guide her until she's against the cool concrete wall. Blinded by desire, you slide your hands under her shirt and draw it upward. She raises her arms and lets you pull it over her head. Terrified that she'll end this if you let her speak, you keep your mouth on hers. Your eyes stay shut while your hands explore her body, squeezing her full, lacy bra and digging her stiff nipples into your palms.
One hand glides down to rub between her thighs. She gasps, spreading her legs slightly. Her leggings are so thin that you can feel her swollen core, pulsing with heat. Your fingers are damp within moments. You slip your hand under the elastic band, and a muffled cry escapes her lips as you dive into her.
All of your senses are on overload, touching Marigold, tasting her, hearing her quiet moans, and breathing in her scent. One of her hands joins yours, rubbing herself as you fill her from within. Soon her body tenses. She stops breathing and rubs faster, her body opening to you, taking you in deeper and deeper until she trembles and goes still. She makes no sound, silently gasping for air before releasing a long, satisfied sigh.
When you open your eyes, the first thing you see are hers. You're so close that you notice something new about them.
"There are flecks of blue in your eyes," you whisper.
She takes another deep breath, but whatever she was going to say gets interrupted by heartless reality.
"This is the manager's off--"
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Jabir's voice cuts off, and the door slams shut.
Oh shit.
You and Marigold exchange a panicked look and hastily clean yourselves up. A minute later she leaves the office, alone, and you lean out, the silent phone on your ear. The trio is gathered near the door.
Covering the mouthpiece, you say, "So sorry. I'm almost done."
Marigold nods, running a hand over her hair and looking flustered. Irma, all smiles, waves genially. Jabir doesn't even look at you.
* * *
"You said this wasn't about the teacher," Jabir growls, pacing his office. "You told me it was for the business."
Leaning against one of the chairs by his desk, you rub your temples. It was an awkward drive back, to say the least. Jabir was so mad that he was drumming on the steering wheel the whole time. Poor Irma, the only one ignorant of the drama, would have been happy chatting the whole hour-long drive, but Marigold claimed she had a headache and pretended to sleep, so Irma kept quiet for her sake.
Ten minutes outside of Boston, Marigold suddenly "woke up" in a panic, saying that her bracelet was missing. She wanted to go back to search the warehouse herself -- and if you were driving you absolutely would have -- but Jabir was behind the wheel, and he had no sympathy for her, so you called the manager and asked her to alert the team to keep an eye out. After that, Marigold was even more sullen. Jabir dropped them off at the hotel and refused to say anything until you got back here.
"Technically I never said that."
"Don't pull that shit with me," he snaps, sounding very much like the father he is. You imagine Jake in your place, six or seven years from now, getting scolded like this for hiding weed in his sock drawer.
"You could have wrecked everything," he continues. "We're finally getting noticed, and you almost ruin it with a sex scandal? I asked you, more than once, if this was about the teacher. You lied to me."