Rolling for Love

by Kate Messick

  I search for Nozomi’s hand and find that she was also looking for mine. However, she got past her fear, and whatever Nozomi came out of it, I love her more for it. Two burning orange eyes appear in front of us and laughter echoes in the endless black that surrounds us.

  “Your fear tastes like the milk of the gods,” the voice says. “I love it. My first.”

  The dusty portal that had been on the ground since day one suddenly appears under us, its runes glowing, swirling with green and red. The witch’s eyes grow and rise, as the vampire’s cave fades to black. I see Sandy release a dagger at the eyes, but it clatters to the floor harmlessly.

  “I can taste it even now,” the witch’s voice echoes with no point of origin. “The fear of powerlessness, the fear of hurting friends, the fear of zombies, the fear of loneliness, and the fear of the future.”

  “That’s much more complicated than that, but the witch just doesn’t have time to explain it fully,” Joe tacks on very quickly, meeting Sandy’s eye.

  She just blinks at him. Joe blinks at her. I wonder if he’s expecting her to explode, and when she doesn’t, he continues.

  “I could take your fears away,” the witch carries on. “Think of your power and strength in the face of pure courage. You would fear nothing, want nothing. Join me. Become my honor guard and help me bring the rule of witches back to this world.”

  “And if we refuse?” Goliath asks.

  “Then you can agree to leave this estate,” the witch laughs. “Leave this city and never interfere. I do love the idea of finding you again, tasting the fears that awakened me when witches rule this world.”

  “And if we can’t do that, either?” Goliath demands, his voice strong.

  “Then you will die.” The witch’s eyes burn intensely for a moment and then fade.

  “What are we choosing?” Sandy asks out of character. “We could join her.”

  “I literally just helped you save yourself by loving yourself,” Steven states. He creates two Vs with his fingers and knocks them together like two women scissoring. He nods suggestively. “Even if you leave out the fun parts. I think we would need a serious motivation check if anyone in the party wants to join her and go evil.”

  “But it’s an option.” Sandy stands her ground.

  “No one is saying it’s not an option,” I assure her. “But I think, as a unit, we have been hovering on neutral good. We might not always follow the rules, but overall we’re good people.”

  “I like the idea of being fearless,” Sandy adds.

  “I do too,” Lynda states. “But not at the cost of doing bad things.”

  “I agree with Lynda,” Zack nods.

  “I’m the only one with spells left,” Sandy points out. “Goliath has six hit points. A strong wind will kill him, and he’s still slowly turning into a zombie.”

  “Tick tock, tick tock,” Joe breaks in. “You have 30 more seconds to discuss this, and then your fourth option, to fall into the mystery nothingness that’s swiftly approaching, will be on the table.”

  “Kill the bitch,” Steven asserts.

  “Fine,” Sandy says. “We will just work out the details later, I guess. Joe, I’m rolling a squirrel for my next character.”

  I give Sandy’s leg a squeeze under the table. “We’re a team. Together we can face anything,” I say to the table. I smile at everyone as we push our miniatures through the final door.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Reality, Joe’s House

  Although most of Joe’s house is undecorated and simple, the dining room and living room are the exceptions. His living room, unlike his busy dining room, features a large L-shaped leather couch, large squares of abstract art on opposite walls, while the couch faces an 80-inch TV with a fancy surround system.

  Joe Smartin

  “The brightness of the room on the other side of the door is almost blinding after the

  black of the vampire’s basement,” I describe. “As your eyes slowly adjust, you find yourself in a Victorian armory. The ceiling sparkles with rich gems and gold leaves. Suits of armor are displayed in every corner. Weapons line the walls all the way up to the ceilings, which is at least 16 feet high. The witch sits on an ornately carved chair. Her pjs have changed into a gown of brown and gold velvet. The youthful braids of her hair are gone, and brown curly locks splay wildly and untamed around her shoulders.”

  I walk my players though some witty, typical villain banter with the witch. Steven looks very unimpressed, but Zack and Lynda are eating it up.

  “As the witch begins to let out an evil cackle, the room seems to shift.” I move the game along. I was prepared for my players to choose any of the options. Evil, would have led them straight back to the casino they started in to create havoc (I had been secretly hoping for this one). Neutral would have had them on the run, pretty much starting from scratch in a new place. Good, the path they chose, was the hardest and hence the one deserving of a bonus.

  I describe the room morphing into a field of sun as Goliath’s paladin god Helm, his arms crossed over his chest, blesses them with his presents. Goliath becomes stone. Nozomi suddenly looks like one of those vampires from the Twilight books. Which amuses everyone to no end. And all of the party is healed, their spell slots back, and their weapons sharpened for the battle ahead.

  “And we will start there next Saturday?” I ask.

  “Yup, sorry,” Steven confirms, looking at the time.

  “Not a problem,” I respond. “We’re pretty lucky on our timing so far. We only needed to end in the middle of things a few times.”

  “True,” Steven agrees, pointedly not looking at Sandy.

  I’m not going to get involved, Sandy and Steven need to work it out on their own this time.

  “Are you doing better?” Lynda asks Sandy a little awkwardly.

  “I am, thank you for asking.”

  “We were worried after you left,” Lynda fishes.

  “I’m sorry to have worried you, but everything worked out,” she answers, not giving Lynda anything.

  I take a deep breath. Is this it? An email half-written by another man and participation in my D&D game? And that’s “everything worked out”?

  “Zack, do you need a ride home?” Sandy asks.

  “Yup,” Zack nods. And then she’s just going to leave?

  “Can Dillon or Steven get you home?” I ask the table.

  “Zack is not too far off our rout,” Steven offers.

  I frown as Dillon, for the millionth time tonight, leans over and whispers something in Sandy’s ear. I’m not a jealous person, but Sandy is honestly jerking me around, and I deserve better than that. Even as just friends.

  Sandy Yuhi

  “I’m not running anymore. I’m going to face my problems. Just like Nozomi,” I answer Dillon. He looks both proud and disappointed at the same time. My breath catches in my lungs. I opened up to Dillon. I bared my heart and soul. He’s probably the only person on earth that knows the extent my inner fears and he’s about to throw them back at me. I can see it in his eyes.

  “Are you disappointed?” I ask, confused and bracing for hurt.

  Dillon quickly shakes his head and takes my hand. “No, not at all. You’re doing the right thing. Always face your fears.”

  “Then why do you look disappointed?” My eyes narrow.

  “Because I don’t like you spending more alone time with Joe,” Dillon answers after a heartbeat too long. Before I can respond, a feminine arms wrap around my shoulders. I tense up, looking at Dillon for help.

  “No matter what’s wrong, you have friends who love you,” Lynda’s purrs. I manage to wiggle out of her hug. Dillon is holding back a laugh and I scowl at him before turning around. She looks like she wants to hug me again.

  “Thank you,” I say, hoping it sounds sincere.

  “Really,” Lynda puts a hand on my shoulder. “I have two girls. And they are much littler than you. But I always know when something is wrong.”

&n
bsp; “I already have a mom.” I have no idea what to say to this woman.

  “I know. But I’m just letting you know.”

  “Ready to go?” Steven cuts in. He has wandered over to our side of the table and stands next to his wife. She nods, still giving me a worried look.

  “I’m glad sleeping with the DM has let you get your way,” Steven says offhandedly. I close my eyes and force myself to stay in one place. I’m not running.

  “You don’t have a fucking clue,” I mumble bitterly. I don’t see Steven’s reaction, but to my surprise, I hear a slap. I look up and see Steven holding his face. Distance and Lynda’s angry eyes separate the two. Everyone has stopped what they are doing to watch.

  “I never speak up,” Lynda snaps. “This is my one afternoon a week to let loose and not deal with children. To not be a peacekeeper and just have friends. Why won’t you let me have that?”

  “Lynda.” Steven rubs his cheek.

  My eyes meet Joe’s for a second before I look down at my purse and pull out my phone. I don’t like to see couples fight. Steven puts his arm around his wife’s waist, it looks awkward and Lynda doesn’t relax into the gesture.

  “I’m sorry I slapped you,” Lynda says immediately.

  “It’s ok. We can talk about it later,” he reassures.

  “Thanks for running, Joe,” Steven says. “Still on for beers Wednesday?”

  I see Lynda stiffen and remember something Dillon said to me while we were working on Nozomi’s fears. My fears. ‘People need to talk to realize what’s going on inside them, and understand how they interact with those around them. You don’t need to believe me. It was Carl Jung who said: Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.’

  “Lynda,” I say. “May I see your phone?”

  Lynda pulls it out of her pocket while Steven eyes me suspiciously.

  “I’m texting myself so we have each other’s numbers,” I explain. “I don’t know if you enjoy painting, but I’m getting some girls together for a paint-and-sip, and I would love it if you could join us. We’re still in the process of choosing a date.”

  Nothing that just came out of my mouth is true at the moment. But it could be. Betty didn’t seem opposed to doing another paint-and-sip. And I’m a coward. I don’t want to face Aurora alone. I hand Lynda her phone.

  “I’ve only done a few paint-and-sips,” Lynda says with a small smile.

  “I’ve only done one. And I painted the trees the wrong color,” I recall. “It’s less about the painting and more about the sipping, at least for me.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Lynda answers earnestly.

  “Great. I will talk to Betty and get it arranged.”

  I wave as the trio exits Joe’s house.

  “Betty?” Dillon asks as I close the door behind them.

  “Blake’s girlfriend,” I respond. “We exchanged numbers at Halloween.”

  “And she asked you to go to a paint-and-sip?” Dillon asks.

  “Sort of,” I answer vaguely. Dillon grins and, to my surprise, he wraps his arms around my back; I’m unexpectedly hugged for a second time today. My face presses into Dillon’s chest as he gives a friendly squeeze. His arms are surprisingly strong. I can smell fabric softener on his shirt and feel the lines of his chest.

  “You can do anything,” I hear him breathe into my ear before he releases me and gives me a brilliant smile. It’s a big deal for me to have reached out to someone. I don’t want to admit how much it means to me that Dillon recognizes it or how good his arms feel, holding me close. I force the thought from my fickle brain; I don’t like Dillon like that … do I?

  “I can’t wait for next week, Joe.” Dillon changes his attention to our Dungeon Master.

  “Ha, you say that now,” Joe says menacingly. “A total party kill might change your tune.”

  “You just spent a month and a half making us learn how to work together, communicate, and bond. You’re not going to kill the party,” Dillon answers, his shoes already on.

  “All depends on the rolls,” Joe shoots back.

  “Then I will pray to the dice gods for both of us,” Dillon laughs. “See you on Wednesday. I’m bringing Blake.”

  “Wednesday,” Joe confirms as Dillon exits.

  I take a deep breath before turning to face Joe, my mouth opens before I can lose my nerve. “I have a photographic memory, I love D&D, and I’m bad at math. One of those two things is incorrect.” I am trying overly hard to lighten the mood, I know Joe and I need to talk, but it’s not really how either of us function.

  “I don’t like it when you storm off.” His words echo sentiments that he’d confessed to me already. “You could talk to me. I wasn’t trying to hurt you with my treatment of Nozomi.”

  I laugh a little, the crazy edge back, and say quietly, “I’m afraid that if I open myself up, that you won’t like what you see, and I will lose a friend and a D&D campaign.” I’m braced for a fight. Joe’s clumsy words usually bring it out in me. Maybe he knows it too.

  Instead of talking his large hands move to my shoulders and run down my arms. He pauses at my elbows, where my arms wrap around my own waist.

  “You won’t scare me away,” he whispers. He bends down and lifts me into his arms. I look up at him and he gently kisses my lips. Comfort and sex, way better than talking.

  “You said three things,” Joe points out, his breath tickling my nose.

  “The third one is a fact,” I declare.

  “Then let us give your mind something better to photograph,” his voice rumbles in his sculpted chest.

  I’m unbelievably grateful that Joe didn’t respond when I told him about my memory. And proud of myself for not correcting his misinformed thought that I can photograph life. You never remember your own life like the “pictures” you take of its facts. Life is filled with complicated shades of grey.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Reality, SplatPaint, paint-and-sip studio

  Safety in numbers. The saying is old, but applies to everything, from crossing the street to receiving bad news. But how many is too many? When does it go from safety to mob mentality?

  Lynda Byrd

  “Thank you so much for the invite,” I say for the third time.

  “You don’t need to keep thanking me,” Sandy reminds me.

  We’re here a little early. Sandy has claimed four easels and has a bottle of red wine and four glasses ready for us. She pours herself a glass and puts it on the little holder on the easel.

  “Do these things usually come with a bottle?” I ask. I don’t remember. I feel maybe a tad overdressed, which is adding to my unease. I’m ashamed that I had to put on a waist-shaper to fit back into the skirt. My feet are sporting heels that I had forgotten I owned after baby number two.

  “Over here,” Sandy says, waving her arms. I turn to look at the new arrival.

  A tall, curvy blonde wearing gray striped dress pants and a paint-covered t-shirt walks towards us.

  “Betty, this is Lynda, Lynda this is Betty,” Sandy introduces us. “I got us a bottle.”

  “You do know this comes with a glass of wine, right?” Betty asks Sandy.

  “I paid for it. You don’t have to drink it,” she shrugs. Betty takes a deep breath and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Yay, it’s not just me.” I’m nervous. I always talk too much when I’m nervous. Oh God, I didn’t explain my comment. “I didn’t think this came with bottles either,” I quickly add. “And Sandy tends to be a little abrupt.”

  Betty turns to me fully for the first time and gives me a conspiratorial look. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.” She grins. “Sandy, would you pour two glasses for us, please?”

  Sandy doesn’t speak but quickly brings us two glasses. Betty and I do air-cheers with Sandy. The room is really starting to fill up now. Betty has brought her own brushes and is rearranging her easel while Sandy is eyeing her piece of canvas like It’s going to sprou
t ears.

  “Sandy?” I hear another woman’s soft voice in our corner.

  I look behind me and have to blink a few times. The woman behind me is stunning. Her Italian face is flawless. Dark banana curls frame her smooth olive skin. Bright green eyes look out from smoky lids, highlighted with gold. She removes her coat and hands it to Sandy, who also blinks a few times before walking it to the pegs on the wall the rest of us had hung coats on.

  “What a diverse group,” Aurora says. “All Sandy’s friends?”

  We take a moment to introduce ourselves. And Sandy comes back, double-checking that our wine situation is still in hand. Is Sandy nervous?

  “Do you RP?” Betty asks Aurora.

  Aurora blinks, obviously confused by the question. I thought it was fair, I don’t know what Sandy does other than role-play.

  “I don’t. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. But I do need a night out.” Aurora laughs a little. All I can think of is: fish out of water. The instructor begins to quiet us down, and Aurora moves to the easel next to me.

  “So, we just paint things?” she asks skeptically.

  “It’s easy. You just follow instructions and drink wine,” I answer brightly. “Though, honestly, this is my second time, so I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

  “And don’t look toward Sandy for directions.” Betty turns around and grins.

  I watch as Sandy picks up black instead of navy blue and starts to follow along.

  “I’m never painting with you again,” Betty laughs.

  The four of us are at a café down the street from SplatPaint, seated a few booths away from the door. My knees are touching Betty’s on our side of the booth while Sandy and Aurora are seated comfortably distant, their backs to the front door.