by Reid, Penny
I held certain truths to be self-evident—truths about myself, about people, about the world, and about how everything fit together—and those were changing.
Everything was changing so fast—everything. The only thing that was constant was change.
His hands moved down my arms and he tugged me toward him, away from the desk. I allowed him to pull me to his chest as he swept the drape of hair from my face. He tilted my chin upward and kissed me softly on the mouth.
He didn’t release me right away; his long fingers were now under my chin, but he did shift his head far enough away so that his forehead and nose were in focus. Quinn’s eyes gazed into mine; I was once again struck by how blue they were, and I lost some of my breath when I endeavored to exhale.
He frowned. “You still want to go to your knitting group tonight?”
I nodded.
His gaze moved over my features as though looking for the veracity of my head-bob answer.
“You could always skip this week and spend some time with that guy you’re dating.” His hands moved to my waist, ostensibly to keep me in place.
I swallowed and pressed my lips into a smile. “That is very tempting.”
His mouth hooked to the side; he looked hopeful, an expression that seemed all kinds of strange on his typically reserved features. “We could go out to a movie.”
I wanted—no, I needed to keep my knitting group commitment. It suddenly felt very important that I be there.
“It’s my night to bring the wine. If I don’t go, they’ll start prank-calling senior citizens and then blame me for the ensuing arrests.”
The truth was that I needed time to figure this out. I was very attached to Quinn, but I worried that it was a bit premature. Forming an attachment to someone typically took me years. I’d known him less than six weeks, and already I felt more for him and thought more about him than I’d ever felt for Jon.
For the love of Thor, I was missing him even when we were in the same room together. The force of the feelings, and the virtually all-consuming nature of them, made me want to hide under my desk until my brain and my heart and my vagina came to a consensus.
Therefore, I pushed him away, albeit gently, and insisted on meeting my friends.
His expression morphed into one that was familiar: taciturn. I noticed that Quinn’s jaw ticked and his mouth curved downward.
He sighed. It sounded pained.
“Janie I thought that—after—” Quinn licked his lips, released my waist, and stepped away. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood with his feet braced apart as though posturing himself. “What is it?” His tone was chipped.
I swallowed before answering. “What is what?”
The predatory look returned; what felt like hostility reticulated through his glare. “We just…” His voice started to rise, and I watched as he swallowed with difficulty, glanced away, looked back into my eyes, and sighed again. “You want to go spend time with your knitting group, tonight, after what just happened? After what happened last night?”
I started to worry my lip with my teeth, my eyes wide with feelings I found it difficult to explain. “Yes?”
“Yes?” His eyebrows rose expectantly. “Is that a question?”
“No?”
Quinn’s eyebrows pulled into a sharp V. “Are we on the same page here at all?”
“I don’t know what to say.” I hugged myself, gritting my teeth.
We stared at each other; the moment was protracted and stiff like a heavily starched shirt. His gaze—weary, accusatory, but searching—made me feel like I was an imbecile. Maybe I was.
In fact, I knew I was.
I had the opportunity to spend the evening with Quinn, who I really, really liked in every way, and I was passing it up because I was scared—yes, scared.
Fe, fi, fo, fum, scared.
Unable to hold his penetrating glare, I let out a slow breath, closed my eyes, and turned my face away from him, but just my face, and I shook my head.
“I don’t know what to say.” My voice sounded strangely lost to my own ears.
I felt rather than saw him shift closer. “If you’re not interested in me as something permanent, then you need to tell me now.”
My short laugh was involuntary and immediate, as were my words. “God, Quinn, you have no idea how permanent I’d like this to be. I’d like us to be Twinkies and cockroaches, death and taxes. But I…”
His hands were on me again, on my waist, slipping around to my back, pressing me to his chest, pulling me into an embrace. I automatically grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and clung to him.
“Then stay with me tonight.” His words were warm against my ear, and the earlier saturation of irritation was now absent. He sounded almost relieved.
“I just need…” My breath was ragged. I’d journeyed into uncharted waters, and my unintentional confession didn’t calm my unease, but it didn’t exacerbate it either.
I was in emotional limbo.
I rested my head against his shoulder and breathed him in; he was so warm, like a furnace. I closed my eyes.
Finally, I said the only thing that made sense, which was made easier by the anonymity of darkness behind my closed eyelids. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m afraid. I’m not used to it.”
I felt him smile against my neck where he’d dipped his head, and his lips brushed against my shoulder. He pulled away, slowly, with obvious reluctance.
One of his big palms caressed my cheek; his fingers pulled through my hair and forced my head back.
“Look at me.”
I took a deep breath, then opened my eyes.
Most of his earlier frustration was absent, and the way he looked at me made me feel uncomfortably but deliciously aware that we were pressed together from the waist down.
“We’ll go out tomorrow night, ok?” He kept his thumb on my face, rubbing it slowly over my cheekbone in trance-inducing circles.
I nodded.
“And you’ll spend the entire evening with me?” Quinn’s chin dipped to his chest so that he was peering at me through his eyebrows. “No feminist comic book organizing? No wine club knitting?”
“It’s a knitting group with wine drinking involved, but yes: I will spend the entire evening with you.” My chin wobbled just a little, making my voice shaky and raw.
He may have detected the flimsiness of my emotional limbo because he smiled at me in a way that relieved the pressure of his earlier frustration and began calming the muddled upheaval.
“Ok.” His fingers dropped from my hair, and he leisurely gained a step backward, his hands stuffing into his pants pockets like they needed to be restrained. The smile grew somewhat wistful as his eyes moved over my face. “I can wait.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was Marie’s turn to host knit night. Quinn insisted that he would drive me to my knitting group leaving no room for discussion. He walked me to the door of Marie’s apartment building and kissed me goodbye. It was a devastating kiss, and when he left, I felt part of me leave with him.
Needless to say, it was a disconcerting sensation.
He also insisted, before he left, that I promise to call him while I sorted through my comic books later that night. He claimed to be interested in learning all about how second-wave feminism influenced comic books of the late twentieth century.
Somehow, I found the assertion dubious.
Elizabeth met me at the door, and I floated through Marie’s well-decorated apartment without really seeing anything or noticing anyone. Had I been more self-aware, I might have detected the stares following my entrance and the quizzical glances exchanged.
My mind was engaged in wanderlust, and not the predilection for wandering; rather, my mind was wandering lustfully. I pressed my fingers to my lips and recalled how Quinn had lifted me to the desk like I weighed nothing, his hot fingers under my skirt, above the lace of my stockings, and…
“Janie?”
I blinked several
times, pulled out of my trance, and focused on the person standing directly in front of me, staring at me with what appeared to be mild concern.
It was Ashley.
“Yes?”
“Honestly, girl, where did your mind just go, and do you need a traveling companion?” Ashley’s Tennessee twang was hushed. “Are you ok?”
“I…uh…” I continued to blink at her and looked around the room and its inhabitants as if seeing them for the first time. They were all watching me with open concern and curiosity; the only sound breaking the silence was Sandra munching on potato chips.
“I’m sorry,” I finally managed. “Were you talking to me?”
Elizabeth was sitting on the couch, her eyes wide and watchful, and she patted the seat next to her. “I asked if you wanted to sit down, but you just stood there.”
“Oh! Yes. Yes, sure, I’d love to sit.” I ducked my head and moved to claim the seat beside her, letting my purse drop from my shoulder to my feet.
“Where is your travel bag? Did you drop it off at the apartment already?” Elizabeth eyed me with suspicion, but her tone was light and conversational.
“No, not yet. I went to the office after I landed.”
Marie handed me a plate with potato chips and onion dip and shared a look with Fiona over my head. “How was your trip?”
“It was…” I blushed uncontrollably as a giant grin mounted a hostile takeover of my face. I tucked my chin to my chest and allowed my hair to fall forward and shield my expression.
There was a sharp intake of breath. “You didn’t!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Oh, my God!”
“Wait…what? What happened?” Ashley said, overhearing Elizabeth’s outburst.
I squeezed my eyes shut as the room erupted in voices. Elizabeth was bouncing up and down on the couch next to me, spilling my potato chips all over the place. She was chanting, “You did it! You did it!”
“What? What did she do?” Kat’s quiet but curious words cut through the noise.
“She had hot monkey sex with McHotpants!” Reverberations from Elizabeth’s bouncing almost made me topple off the sofa onto the floor. I abandoned the paper plate to my lap and gripped the cushion on either side of me, which proved to be a very good thing when I was, a moment later, tackled by a bear hug.
“Praise the Lord!” Sandra had me in a death squeeze with one of her legs crossed over my lap. A split second later, greasy potato chip fingers were on my cheeks, and she lifted my face to hers. Her Texas drawl was even more pronounced than usual. “When Elizabeth told us you were giving him the cold shoulder, I was terribly afraid I’d never be able to live vicariously through your sexcapades.” She gave me a sudden, fast, closed-mouth kiss then held my head to her breast as one would do with a child. “If you didn’t climb that man like a tree, I was going to have to get all lumberjack on his ass.”
At this point, I was laughing and, admittedly, snorted.
“What does that even mean?” Marie, also laughing, was trying to detangle Sandra from my limbs. “And give the poor girl some space so she can tell us everything, and I do mean everything.” Marie succeeded in pulling Sandra off me and began gathering the scattered chips. I tried to help.
Elizabeth squeeeeeed again and shifted on the couch so that she was facing me; she hugged a pillow to her chest, her eyes lit with excited merriment. “Start from the beginning! Leave nothing out, and tell us exactly what happened.”
“And make sure to describe everything in inches. I can’t do the metric conversion in my head,” Ashley added, leaning back and sipping her red wine.
I covered my face with my hands and shook my head. “Gah! I don’t even know where to start!”
“Start with the taking off of the clothes!” Kat’s suggestion made me burn a brighter shade of red.
“You don’t understand; a lot has happened.” I sighed; my hands dropped to my skirt and I picked at the hem. “I found out that Quinn is not…well, he is my boss, and then there is Jon and my sister, and then Kat, and the reason I was laid off…”
“Give her a minute!” Fiona said, scolding the group, and then she added, “Let her gather her thoughts; otherwise, she might leave out the best parts.”
* * *
I tried to tell them what happened, and I managed to relay the facts, but I was a woefully inadequate storyteller when it came to reciting intricate details.
At one point, Ashley said, “Oh, my God, Janie. How can you make everything sound like a boring police report?”
“Oh, geez…” Maria bit her lip, her blue eyes pinning me with concern. “Are you ok, hon? I can’t believe all that happened in one week.”
“Obviously she’s ok,” Sandra interrupted, setting her knitting on the table and taking a gulp of her beer. “What I want to know is who won the game of strip poker?”
Elizabeth grabbed my hand. “I can’t believe he owns the company. I did not see that coming.”
“I can’t believe Jon slept with your psycho sister,” Ashley chimed in. “That bitch is cr-aaaaa-zy.”
“Who won the poker game, Janie?” Fiona’s soft voice drew my attention, and her perceptive eyes were narrowed in a way that made me nervous.
I swallowed. “It was a tie.”
“Hmm…” Fiona pressed her lips together in a contemplative line. “So the two of you are dating?”
I shook my head as though to clear it. “I guess so.”
“And is that what you want?” Fiona pressed.
I nodded before I realized my head was moving. “Yes.” My chin trembled a little. “Yes, but it’s scary, you know?”
“Oh, Janie.” Fiona smiled at me, her elfish eyes twinkling. “That’s how you know it’s real.”
* * *
I texted Quinn that night when I left knitting:
Won’t be organizing my comic books; instead am planning to pass out from exhaustion as soon as I make it home.
He responded:
Ok. I’ll take a rain check on the call. See you tomorrow after work. FYI guards will make sure you get home ok.
Then, a minute later:
I miss you. You should spend the night here tomorrow.
Then, thirty seconds later:
Or you could come over now. I promise I’ll let you sleep.
I thought about it.
I thought about it; my head said no and my vagina said yes and my heart said I don’t know! I’m emotionally inhibited! Leave me alone!
I was peripherally aware of and recognized the guards shadowing me on my short walk home. Marie lived in our neighborhood just three blocks away. Elizabeth had a night shift at the hospital and left the group a little early. It was a cold night, and my cheeks stung as the Chicago wind whipped against my face, threading through my loose hair and tossing it fretfully around my shoulders.
The cold air felt sobering. I responded to Quinn’s last text:
If I come over, I won’t want to sleep. Go to bed.
I slipped my cell into my coat and ascended the steps to my building. Almost immediately, I felt the phone buzz in my pocket. I glanced at the screen as I undid the lock and headed for the stairs:
You should definitely come over now.
I smiled, my skin warming, my cheeks turning pink. He could make me blush via text message.
I climbed the flights distractedly, touching the screen of my phone and typing a reply while grinning like a doofus.
No. We both need sleep. Go to bed.
As a second thought, and before I could stop myself, I added one last bit because it was true, and I suddenly wanted him to know:
I miss you too.
I opened the door to my apartment as I hit send on the phone, shut the door, and slid the lock. I took a deep breath and leaned against the partition. I allowed my head to fall against it as I closed my eyes and wondered how it could be possible that I’d only been away from home less than forty-eight hours. So much had changed since the last time I’d been here.
“What the hell is wrong w
ith you?”
I stiffened, my eyes opening as wide as saucers as I searched for the owner of the voice. Even before I saw her, I knew who it was.
Jem.
Chapter Twenty-Four
She stood in the hallway with her shoulder against the wall. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her chin was tilted up in the proud, stubborn way she usually employed when faced with—well, anyone.
She was dressed in dark wash jeans, brown boots, and a white long-sleeve shirt—clothes that were considerably tamer than what she usually wore; however, it was cold outside, I reasoned, and I didn’t actually see her anymore. Her hair looked like mine: long and curly, and generally unruly. It was even the same color. Even though she was at least two sizes thinner than I was, I immediately understood how I could be mistaken for her doppelganger, especially at a distance.
I blinked at her, wondering at first whether she were real or imagined, and hoping for the latter. Before I could think to speak, Jem’s raspy Peppermint Patty voice interrupted my internal debate.
“Well?”
I considered her for a long moment before asking, “How did you get into the apartment?”
Jem shrugged. “I pretended to be you. I told your super that I lost my keys. He let me in.”
“Well, that’s just great.” I sighed heavily and stepped into the apartment. I pulled off my brown wool jacket, hung it on the coat rack, and eyeballed her.
“Aren’t you happy to see your baby sister?” She shifted, her lips pressing into an irritated line.
I walked past her into the living room then moved to the kitchen. I suddenly needed a drink. Jem followed me and hovered at the counter, leaning across it. She watched me as I poured myself orange juice and tequila.
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
I ignored the question and mixed the liquids together with a spoon.
