by Lily Maxton
Alyssa flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. “We’ll see.”
“How did your date go?” I asked, just so we could stop talking about Evan.
“Good.”
And that was it.
I stared at her until she uncrossed her legs and then crossed them again with the other leg on top. Usually if I asked Alyssa about a date she could talk for hours.
“We’re going out again tonight,” she muttered.
“Two dates in a row?” That was another item on the list of behavior that was abnormal for Alyssa. “What’s his name?”
“Jason.”
“Hmm … a good, strong name,” I said, my voice lilting with laughter.
She hugged one of the throw pillows. “Shut up.”
“You really like him?” I asked, astonished.
“Yeah,” she admitted softly. “And I’m … well, lately I’ve been kind of tired of dating so many guys. It’s not as fun as it used to be.”
“Are you settling down?” My jaw nearly dropped.
“No!” she said sharply. “I’m not thinking about marriage or kids or anything like that. I don’t even want those things. I’ve just decided I’m willing to allow things to play out, instead of breaking things off before they get too serious.”
“Well that’s good,” I said, but my chest twisted oddly at the unexpected news.
Was everyone maturing except for me? Evan had a house; Alyssa had a guy she was actually dating. What did I have? A couch in an apartment, a guy I slept with but didn’t call my boyfriend, and a job I was overqualified for? Would I be stuck inside of some perennial childhood while everyone around me got older and wiser and better?
Evan was twenty-eight. He had the house and the dog; now all he needed was the wife and kids to paint that perfect picture.
An image flashed—some anonymous woman living with him, sleeping with him every night, rising with him every morning—a permanent lover and confidante, someone who would know his heart as well as her own.
I should have been relieved that woman wasn’t me, but my throat felt thick. I stood up suddenly.
Alyssa frowned. “What is it?”
I muttered something about the library closing early on Sunday and dashed out of the apartment, into the bracing cold. I did end up walking to the library—it was only about ten minutes away and it seemed like as good a place as any to be by myself. I plucked a poetry collection from the shelf and settled into a plush armchair by a long, narrow window.
I read through the poems until the sky outside the slanting window turned purple and gray and one of the employees had to inform me the library would be closing in two minutes.
*
What are you wearing under your dress?
I glanced around, half expecting one of my superiors to be peering over my shoulder at the incriminating instant message on my computer screen. Once I determined no one was spying on me, I pulled my chair closer to the desk and responded.
That’s sexual harassment. Should I report you?
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It would be sexual harassment if you were bothered by the question. I don’t think you are.
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Are you saying I’m some sort of lustful creature?
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Baby, you’re insatiable.
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Okay, I’ll admit to it, and I’ll answer the question. But don’t call me baby.
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All right, sweetheart.
I pursed my lips to keep from grinning and glanced over my shoulder once more before I answered.
I’m wearing something incredibly sexy … if granny panties are your standard.
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Mmm, granny panties. I need more detail.
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Plain briefs, gray. A simple matching bra. I’m really boring today.
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You and underwear never equal boring in my mind.
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That’s good because I got rid of the red thong.
There was a long silence from Evan before I started typing again. Ha! Just kidding.
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You might as well have stomped on my heart.
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I thought you said me and underwear never equal boring.
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It’s true … gray briefs are like white cake; who doesn’t love white cake? But the thong is like red velvet.
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You want to eat them?
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I want to eat you.
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Oh my God. I stepped right into that one.
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You really did.
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Don’t you have something better to do than texting me? Like your job.
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Nothing’s better than talking to you. Anyway, I’ve been doing this for nearly six years. I think I can multitask.
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I can’t believe you’ve been working full-time for six years. You’re so old.
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And hot right?
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I won’t admit to that.
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You can come over and sit on my lap, to continue the kinky older man fantasy.
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What, like Santa Claus?
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Just let me get out the beard and hat.
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Gross!
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I have a present for you. It’s in my pants.
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☹
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Too creepy?
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Too creepy.
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Okay, I’ll remember you don’t have a Santa Claus fetish. But you can still sit on my lap.
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I don’t think so. You need to focus.
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Focusing is hard. Just like the present in my pants.
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Shouldn’t you have trouble getting it up at your age?
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Ouch. As in E.T.- leaving-Elliot ouch.
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I can’t believe you just referenced E.T.
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I know, I’m so uncool I’m cool, right?
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If thinking that gets you through the day, sure.
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You need to be punished for your sassiness. Come to my office.
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Sassiness? Evan, you make it too easy.
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Office. Now.
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And if I don’t?
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I’ll just take it out on you later. Which isn’t a bad idea. I’d like to hear more expletives from your glorious mouth.
I exited out of the e-mail program and lifted my head to peek over the cubicle wall at Evan’s office. He caught my eye through one of the full-length windows and tried to waggle his eyebrows at me, which had me sounding like I was choking as I snorted into my hand to hide my laughter. I stood, grabbed a manila folder, and then listened to my shoes click against the linoleum floor, carrying me closer to him.
His desk faced the door. He glanced up as soon as I stepped past the threshold. I closed the door and then moved closer, the envelope clutched in front of me. And waited.
“There’s not much we can do with these windows,” he admitted ruefully, leaning back in his chair, his elbows on the armrests.
“They probably installed them because they knew they’d have kinks like you working here.”
He laughed, his eyes sweeping me from head to toe. “You just get better and better,” he said.
I frowned. It seemed almost like a sarcastic remark, but nothing about his voice sounded sarcastic.
“Should I go back?”
“Not yet. I like looking at you.”
Silence stretched between us. Our gazes caught, and as we stared at each other I remembered every blushworthy thing we’d done. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, looking down at the floor.
“Did you paint at all this weekend?”
I looked back up and shook my head. I’d been close, the
image of the father and daughter haunting me all day once I’d arrived home, but at the last minute I had changed my mind.
“Why did you stop? You never told me.”
“I don’t really know why,” I admitted, lifting my shoulders. But that was a lie; I did know. I just hadn’t put it in words yet. “I was …” I sighed and began again. “I did an exhibit at an art gallery my junior year. It was at a small place, but I still managed to get some reviews. And they were mostly good. And then there was an article in the Tribune,” I said, smiling wryly. I still didn’t know how I felt about that article; it had praised my art and managed to terrify me with one sentence: I have great expectations for the future work of this artist. “After that people actually bought my paintings. Everything at the exhibit sold.” I shook my head. “It felt like I was at the top, like I’d reached the highest point. And then I did some pieces for another exhibit my last semester, and no one wanted them. There were no reviews; there was hardly any interest at all. Every time I look at a canvas now … it’s …”
He was silent, searching my face and waiting for me to continue. He didn’t press, which made it easier for me to untangle my thoughts.
“It’s like love has been replaced by fear. I don’t know if I’ll ever be as good as I was the first time, and it’s hard to paint with that pressure hanging over me, like an ax waiting to fall.”
He tilted his head, contemplating me. “There are worse things than failure. Lots of people fail. All the time.”
“Have you?” I asked, a touch belligerently. He was the one with the important job, who always seemed so easygoing, so in control of his emotions, so mature. So perfect compared to me.
“My fiancée left me for another guy. I guess that could be considered a pretty big fail.”
My lips parted on an indrawn breath. “Why did she leave you?”
He laughed, a dry, humorless laugh. “I don’t know if I can pinpoint an exact reason. There were a lot of little things. But I think … I think part of the problem was that I always loved her more than she loved me. I didn’t see it because I didn’t want to, but she was right to break things off.”
“Are you still in love with her?” It was practically a whisper.
“No.”
I blinked. “No? How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’m not in the habit of pining away for women who don’t want me. I’m not that nihilistic.”
“Showing off your vocab again?” I asked, striving for levity. We were touching upon a conversation that was too personal, too intimate.
His lips twitched. “Can I see some of your paintings?”
“Oh.” My knuckles turned white. “I guess. Why? Do you want to critique me?”
“I’d just like to see something you’ve done.”
“I’ve saved a few of—”
I was cut off by a sharp rap on the door, and before Evan even had a chance to answer, it swung open.
I sidled out of the way to avoid getting struck.
Natalie took the spot I’d just vacated. “Hi, Danielle,” she said. “I didn’t know you were in here.” She barely glanced at me before focusing on Evan. I was pretty sure she’d known all along that I was there.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I need help with something.”
I watched his face, his reaction to her, but it was impassive. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
She threw an icy glance at me, like it was my fault he didn’t jump to do her bidding. She tossed her hair behind her shoulder, and I watched her stalk out of the room, petulance emanating from her in waves. I turned back to Evan.
“Sorry,” he said, and he did look apologetic.
But what exactly was he sorry for? That she’d interrupted our conversation? Or was there more going on between him and Natalie than workplace correspondence? I remembered her barbed words, the stunning accuracy of them, like a knife through the ribs.
I could just ask. The question was on the tip of my tongue.
But I’d be breaking the rules for our relationship if I asked. Or really, the one rule, since all of the little rules really boiled down to one thing—don’t become invested.
“I’ll see you later, I guess.” It was difficult to keep my voice smooth. I felt like throwing a heavy object. At his face. Or at Natalie’s face. Or at the wall. It didn’t really matter as long as something crashed.
“Did you want to come over tonight?”
“I’m busy,” I said immediately. If he’d asked me before Natalie came in it would have been an emphatic yes. But now a night of no-strings-attached sex didn’t even sound enjoyable.
He was silent for a few seconds. I held his gaze steadily. “Some other time maybe,” he finally said.
“Yeah, some other time.”
Chapter Sixteen
“How’s the new assistant coming along?” I asked my mom. I had her on speakerphone as I leaned back in the recliner, pulling my blanket around myself like a cocoon.
She’d called me in the middle of a bad-movie marathon.
“Not bad. You would have done better.”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe.”
“How’s the guy you’ve been seeing?”
Probably banging Natalie as we speak. Rolling around on those soft sheets, exactly where I’d been. I winced at the image, almost like it was a physical pain. “I don’t know. We’re not together. I don’t keep tabs on his emotional well-being.”
A long silence. “Did you have a fight?”
“You can’t have fights with someone who isn’t your boyfriend.”
“Well … then … Sienna won an award at school.”
“That’s cool,” I muttered. “For what?”
“It was some kind of academic competition where the teachers asked trivia questions. They’re giving her a thousand dollars toward college.”
I’d never won any contests.
And now I felt horrible because I was begrudging my own sister her success. It was spiteful. And I didn’t want to be that kind of person.
“That’s great,” I said, injecting a lot of enthusiasm into my tone to make up for my selfishness.
The conversation turned from Sienna to minor things—the weather, a local restaurant closing, Christmas decorations. My mom and I had always been good at small talk; the more serious things were where I started to flounder, like a suffocating fish.
“Did I tell you I ran into Sarah York’s parents the other day? The girl you used to hang out with in high school?”
“No, you didn’t tell me. What’s going on with her?”
“She’s at Yale right now. She got accepted for a graduate degree in economics.”
“Yale, huh? That’s exciting.” This time there wasn’t much enthusiasm in my voice. I didn’t even attempt it. I might feel bad about negative thoughts regarding Sienna, but I hadn’t seen Sarah York in years and she wasn’t even distantly related.
“Your class reunion will be coming up in the summer, won’t it? Maybe you’ll see her there.”
“She’ll probably be too busy at Yale. Anyway, I’m not going.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t miss the people from high school all that much. And the ones who go will be the ones who are unusually successful so they can tell everyone about it—‘Oh, I started my own business at eighteen and now I’m a self-made millionaire at the tender age of twenty-three,’” I said in a falsetto voice.
The phone crackled.
“Are you okay?” my mom finally asked.
Was I okay? A good question, a complex question, and one I didn’t know how to answer.
So I said what I always said. I’m fine.
And steered the conversation back to those easy, superficial things I liked the most.
*
Poe’s raven was scratching at my door again. The living room was eerily dark, flashes of lightning illuminating a room that was somehow familiar and unfamiliar. I saw the cat clock on the wall and the little set of shelves by the door
, but there were things missing. The TV was gone; the mountain landscape on the wall opposite the clock had vanished. Just blank dark spaces, like nothing had ever existed there and nothing would again.
I heard the raven caw, a loud shrill sound. And my heart seemed to falter.
And then it beeped, a noise that filled the room like doomsday bells.
Beeped?
The second beep woke me; I tumbled back to consciousness with a start, trying to clear my head.
When I finally realized where I was and what day it was; I untangled myself from my blanket and nearly dove headfirst into the floor in the process. I hit the button on the intercom. “Hello?” I croaked.
“It’s Evan. Can I come up?”
I pressed the button to unlock the outer door and then I turned the knob on mine, waiting. He appeared a few seconds later.
The washed-out yellow glare of the hallway lighting slanted over him as he stood on the doormat. He had his hands deep in his coat pockets and a light snow dusted his shoulders. He wore one of those wool coats that you’d see professional men wearing in advertisements, but a gray beanie covered his head, creating a half-hipster, half-businessman vibe. It was actually a better look than I would have expected, but I had to admit lately I thought Evan looked sexy all the time.
Maybe more so now—it was the second day we hadn’t had sex. We’d talked a little bit at work, but neither of us had mentioned seeing each other.
I must have fallen asleep not long after I’d eaten dinner and then parked myself on the couch to watch a movie—the hour hand of the clock, with its swishing tail and moving eyes, pointed toward the eight.
I stepped aside to let him in, locking the bolt behind him. “This is unexpected—” I began, trying to sound like a pleasant hostess.
“I don’t like this.” He swung toward me, slipped his hands out of his pockets.
“This what?”
“This … tentativeness. I don’t think I should have to hide the fact that I want to be around you, just so you don’t get scared off. What the hell is the point of this arrangement if you don’t make use of it?”
My hands hung limply at my sides. “Are you upset?”
“Yes, I’m upset.” He yanked the beanie off his head; his hair stuck out in all directions. “You wanted to fuck. So let’s fuck. Why are you acting like you’ve changed your mind?”