by Noelle Adams
I stare at him for a long time, my mind roaring and my eyes blurring slightly. My voice breaks as I admit, “I want a man who wants only me.”
“Then don’t accept less than that. You told me the other day that you want to feel secure. Nothing feels less secure than a partner you have to drag along to get anything you want from the relationship. Wait for a man who wants you. Just you. And who’s willing to do anything to get you. And anything to keep you.”
I’m not embarrassed even though this is as vulnerable as I ever remember being. “What if I wait and he never shows up?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I can’t promise he will. It doesn’t happen for everyone. But the unhappiest people I’ve ever met are the ones who hook up just so they can have someone. Anyone. That doesn’t make you happy. I think it’s better to be on your own than to end up in a relationship like that.”
I’m so emotional I can’t speak for a minute. I stare down at my lap until I’ve composed myself. “Yeah.”
“You’re beautiful, Jennifer,” he murmurs gently. “You’re smart and you’re interesting and you’re funny and you’re incredibly sexy. And even if you weren’t any of those things, you have a really good heart. If you don’t find a man to love—who loves you more than anything—it’s not because you don’t deserve it. It’s just bad luck.”
I nod, still staring down at my clenched hands. When I’m able to speak, I say, “Thank you.”
He’s silent as I finish pulling myself together. I’m a little uncomfortable at him seeing so deep into my soul, but it doesn’t feel as risky as it should.
I do want to lighten the mood, so when I’m ready, I say in a teasing voice, “Now that you’ve given me such good advice about men, maybe I need to give you advice about women.”
His mood has changed with mine. He gives me a little smirk. “I don’t need help with women.”
“Don’t you? You’re good at getting them to go out with you once or twice, but you aren’t good at getting one for the long haul. Isn’t that what you want? To find someone who knows you for real, who’s with you to the end?”
Something new flickers across his face, but it’s gone before I can wrap my mind around what it was. “Maybe. Who knows?”
“Well, if it’s even maybe something you want, don’t you want some advice on how to close the deal with a woman?”
He’s been focused mainly on the empty county road in front of us, but he turns to look at me for a moment. “I know how to close the deal.”
“I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about love.”
“I think I can manage to close the deal on that too.”
“Then why haven’t you?” I’m only brave enough to ask such a question because he pried so deep into my soul earlier.
He chews on his bottom lip for a minute before he meets my eyes. “When it feels like the time is right, I’ll do something. I’ll make my move then. Not before.” His voice is just slightly thick, and it makes me shiver.
I turn away quickly and clasp my hands together.
What he just said feels significant to me, but I’m not going to be stupid about it. Marcus has told me more than once that if a guy is interested, I’ll know.
And he’s not done anything—anything—to make me think he’s at all interested in me.
I’m sure he’s telling me the truth right now, but when he makes his move on a woman—a real move, a love move—it’s not going to be on me.
Four
TWO WEEKS LATER, MY car still isn’t fixed. Johnny has gotten a few jobs for full pay, and so he can’t invest too much time on a favor.
I don’t blame him. Johnny is retired, but Social Security doesn’t get you very far, and everyone needs to do whatever is necessary to make ends meet.
The delay doesn’t bother me as much as I would have expected because Marcus and I have fallen into a tolerable routine.
I wouldn’t say we’re friends now. I’m pretty sure friendship would feel differently than this does. I still feel like every nerve ending in my body starts firing as soon as Marcus enters my orbit, but we’re not arguing all the time, and I only have to fight the desire to strangle him once or twice a day.
It’s improvement. It’s not bad.
In fact, my life feels a lot more stimulating now than it did before I started riding to work with Marcus.
It’s a good thing I have some sort of excitement to keep me occupied since I’ve given up on George Franks.
We never had a breakup or a real end of our relationship. We’d only gone out a few times, and in that situation things normally just peter out rather than come to a conclusion.
But I don’t call him again, and he doesn’t call me. We wave and smile whenever we see each other on campus but nothing more than that.
I was silly for putting hope into the relationship to begin with.
I only did because he’s the only man I’ve gone out with all year.
Marcus is right. I don’t want a man who’s just along for the ride. Who expects me to make all the advances and initiate all forward progress. I want a man who wants me enough to make real effort, and that’s obviously not George.
So if it weren’t for carpooling with Marcus, I might be feeling kind of blah and like my life holds little interest.
Fortunately, Marcus makes things plenty interesting.
We’re driving home on a Thursday evening when Marcus asks me, “So I haven’t heard about Franks lately.”
I turn and look at him in surprise since nothing in the previous fifteen minutes of interaction would have led up to such a comment. “There’s been nothing to tell.”
“So you’ve decided you’re not interested?” Marcus is wearing a blue shirt today that makes his eyes look more blue than gray.
“It’s more like I’ve decided that I’m not going to make the thing happen all on my own. I figured you had a point about what you said. So I decided not to do something myself. If he really wanted to ask me out, he would call me. Right?”
Marcus nods slowly. “Right.” He pauses. “I guess there could be a few exceptions. For someone who’s really shy or has other reasons to... hesitate. Some sort of history that... But Franks isn’t shy. He’s lazy. And...”
I’m curious when he trails off. “And what?”
“You’re not going to get mad?”
“I’m not about to promise that. If you say something that makes me mad, I’ll get mad.”
That makes him chuckle. “Fair enough. I was going to say that Franks is lazy and entitled. He’s used to women doing all the work.”
I think about that for a minute. George is good-looking enough that this is almost certainly true. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Aren’t you entitled too? Women are always interested in you.”
“Not always.”
I narrow my eyes and study his face since there seems to be some special significance in his murmured comment. “You sure go out with a lot of women for them not to be interested in you.”
“Oh, I’ve got some game.” He smiles to make the words half-ironic. “But I’ve always scared off a lot of women—and sometimes those are the ones I really like.”
“Seriously? The only girls you’ve ever scared off are the good girls. Are you saying you’ve been secretly into good girls all this time?”
“Why does that surprise you?”
“Because you’ve never gone out with a good girl!” I realize what I just said and how judgmental it sounds. “I don’t mean to bad-mouth the women you do go out with. I’m sure they’re all good too. I just meant the stereotypical good girl—the kind that always plays it safe and never takes risks with bad boys. I wasn’t casting aspersions on the women you date.”
“I knew exactly what you meant,” he murmured. “And you’re absolutely right. But I think it’s human nature to want the things we can’t have. And those good girls are the ones I can’t have.”
I’m blushing a
little (for no reason at all!) and giggling at the same time. “You are impossible.” My mind is whirling with everything he’s just said, and I’m trying to talk myself out of wondering if he ever thought about wanting me. I’m as much a good girl as it’s possible to be, and I always have been. “But seriously, if you wanted a good girl, I bet you could get one now. You’re not really a bad boy anymore.”
His eyes arch up. “I’m not?”
“No. Of course not. I mean, I still think about you that way because you were like that the whole time I grew up, but you’re not really anymore. I mean, you’ve got a good job. You take care of your family. You don’t spend all night carousing.” I pause. “As far as I know.”
He laughs. “Nope. No all-night carousing for me anymore. How the hell is someone supposed to get up in time to make it to work if they do that? Besides, I’m over thirty. My body doesn’t appreciate that kind of abuse anymore.”
I lean my head against the back of the seat and smile at him, feeling oddly affectionate. It’s entirely possible the feeling is plainly revealed on my face. “I guess we all have to grow up eventually.”
“I guess we do.” His eyes keep darting over to me in searching little glances. “What about you?”
“I’ve always been grown-up.”
“That’s true. You acted like a respectable adult when you were ten years old. But that’s not what I meant. I meant do you want things you can’t have?”
“Like what?”
“Like bad boys. Isn’t that what good girls are supposed to like?”
He’s teasing, and it’s clear from his tone, but there’s something underlying it that makes me think he wants a real answer. So I think about the question. Try to respond honestly. “I... I don’t know.”
“You’ve really never wanted a bad boy?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I used to have daydreams, but they were just fantasies. The truth is I never really thought a bad boy was a possibility for me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve spent my life trying to live up to people’s expectations of me—to feel secure in the world—and that would destroy it all in one blow.” The words come out automatically, just part of a conversation I’m genuinely invested in, but I suddenly hear how they sound.
How intimate they are.
How vulnerable they make me.
And I immediately wish I hadn’t said them.
Marcus can do anything to me now. He can see me. Judge me. Laugh at me. Fail to understand me.
He’s looking at me, and he’s slowed down his speed because his focus is on me and not the road. “You really think the person you date would change how secure you are in the world?”
I relax slightly since it’s obvious he’s taking me seriously. “I don’t know. Rationally, I know probably not. But I grew up feeling like I’m always barely holding my world together, and if I loosened my grip even a little, it would all fall apart.”
Marcus is silent for a long time. He’s turned back to the road. Finally he says, his voice slightly thick, “But that’s not true. You know that’s not true, right? It’s not your responsibility to hold the world together. You’re allowed to let go every once in a while.”
I nod and swallow hard. “I know.”
“But you still don’t feel like you can?”
I shrug. I have no idea what to say.
He doesn’t say anything either.
Finally the silence starts to upset me. I burst out, “I’m not sure you can understand. You’ve got a good family. Stable. You’ve always known they’re there for you. If you lost your job or lost your money or made a complete mess of your life, you could always fall back on them. I know you don’t always feel close to them, but they’d help you if you need it. I know they’re not rich, but they have something. They’re a safety net. I don’t have that. I only have my grandmother, and we were always barely scraping by. Her house is worth almost nothing, so even if I sold it, it wouldn’t get us very much. And me, I own nothing but some clothes and a broken car. If I take too many risks, I won’t have anything to fall back on. And the first person to suffer for that would be my grandmother since I’d have to move her to a cheaper nursing home. I don’t have a safety net. I don’t have anything to fall back on. I can’t let go, Marcus. I can’t.” My voice breaks, and I hate the sound of it.
But I feel safer around Marcus than I ever did before, and I don’t think he’s going to hurt me right now.
He doesn’t. He reaches over with his right hand and picks up my hand from my lap. He squeezes it in a firm, warm grip. He doesn’t let it go.
I’m shaking now. He’s going to be able to feel it.
Finally he says hoarsely, “I understand what you’re saying. I do. But I still think that enjoying yourself occasionally isn’t going to put everything you’ve worked for, everything you love, at risk.”
“I do enjoy myself.”
“How.”
“I read. Watch TV. Hang out with friends. Take walks. I enjoy myself.”
“Okay. Good. You could also do more than that. If you want.”
I don’t really know what he’s talking about, but the words are comforting nonetheless. “Maybe.”
He slants me a little smile. “That’s better than a no, so I’ll take it.”
Like so often, the words feel more significant than they should. They make my cheeks warm, my lashes lower.
I’m trying to think of something to say when my phone buzzes with a text.
Relieved for the distraction, I glance down and read it.
All my dizzy feelings sink into a heavy clench in my gut.
“What is it?” He sounds urgent, so he must have sensed my shift in mood.
“Nothing. I mean, nothing serious. Just an assistant from the nursing home. She says my grandma’s been having a bad day.” I clear my throat. “Would you mind too much dropping me off at the nursing home instead of at my house?”
“Of course I wouldn’t mind. It’s the one off Route 42, right?”
“Yes.”
“It’s too far away to walk. How have you been getting there with your car out of commission?”
“I can usually get a ride from someone in town. People have been really helpful. If not, I call up Halo.”
Halo is a guy who runs a local “taxi” service since I was born. He’s got one car, and he gets calls a few times a week.
“I’ll drop you. No problem. Is your grandma all right?”
“I don’t know. I never know what to expect anymore.” I wrap my arms around my stomach and hug myself.
Marcus doesn’t respond, but I know he hears me. It feels like he understands.
Last month, never would I have believed that Marcus Greene could act like a friend.
He doesn’t feel like a friend. He feels like something different.
But he’s doing everything a friend would do.
And I need it right now.
WE REACH MY GRANDMOTHER’S nursing home about twenty minutes later. It’s a small place with only fifty rooms. It’s not fancy or trendy, but because of the small size, the trustworthy staff, and the clean, comfortable building, the prices are higher than they would be at a larger, more generic place. But it’s worth it to me for my grandmother to be taken care of so well so close to Sterling. I know how fortunate we are to have such a good facility in our local community.
Without it, it would be much harder for me to care for my grandmother.
Instead of pulling up to the front door to drop me off as I expect, Marcus parks his pickup in the lot and gets out.
I stare at him in surprise as I collect my bag and phone and smooth down my dress. (It’s new—black and white polka dots in an old-fashioned belted style that I adore—bought eighty percent off from an online store).
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to keep the urgency from my voice. I’m confused and disoriented and have no idea what’s going on.
“I thought I’d come in and say hi to yo
ur grandma if that’s all right with you.” His voice is very light, and his expression is his typical half smile. “I haven’t seen her in ages.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s fine.” I sound and feel stupid, and I have no idea how to respond to his joining me on the visit.
But there’s no reason to refuse.
In fact, I really like the idea of his coming with me.
I just don’t know how to deal with it.
“You sure?” He’s searching my face, his little smile fading.
I relax. “Yes. I’m sure. I don’t know how she’ll be doing this evening, but if she’s with it, she’ll be happy to see you.”
I’m not actually sure that is true. My grandmother never did like Marcus. She was the one who always warned me about staying away from him. But her warnings basically died off about five years ago, after Marcus started doing well at his job and slowed down his all-nighters. So I think—I hope—she’ll be okay about seeing him now and won’t embarrass either him or me.
Everyone who works here knows me, so they all give me friendly greetings and look with excited curiosity at Marcus.
I’m sure they’re going to get ideas, but I don’t know what I can do about it. I’ll have to let them think whatever they want for now, and then I’ll clear up the situation tomorrow, making sure there’s not any gossip that gets around about Marcus and me being an item.
Marcus is at my side as we reach my grandmother’s room. The door is closed, so I knock on it. When I don’t hear a response, I open it and step inside.
My grandmother’s bed is near the window, and the staff has opened the blinds like I always ask them to so my grandmother can look out at the sunshine and see some birds in the trees nearby. She’s loved birds all her life.
The bed is adjustable, and both the head and the feet are raised. The room smells faintly like cleaner, which isn’t the most pleasant of smells but is far better than a lot of alternatives.
My grandmother’s eyes are open. Her head is turned toward the window.
“Hi, Grandma,” I say brightly but not very loud.
