by Nia Arthurs
Lucas clears his throat. “In any event,” his brown eyes meet mine again, “I’m sorry for grabbing you. I thought you were a burglar.” He clears his throat, his cheeks flushing red. “And a guy.”
I hear the apology behind the apology. ‘Sorry for fondling your boob’.
“Well, I flipped you over so,” I shrug, my gaze sliding away from his, “I’d say we’re even.” On the boob-grabbing too.
He nods.
Nellie snorts. “She really threw you over her shoulder?”
“Like a farmer with a hay bale.” He massages his back. Light brown eyes bore into mine. “You’re pretty strong.”
You’re pretty strong.
It rings in my ears like a church bell.
You’re pretty strong.
No one’s ever said that to me.
At least, not un-ironically.
You’re pretty strong.
Mrs. G and my therapist tell me I’m strong all the time, but they don’t mean it. They’re not in awe. They still see me as fragile. I’ll always be that broken, hopeless girl… because I am.
But Lucas didn’t see my panic attack, the mounting dread that iced my veins when he touched me or the fear in my eyes when he growled ‘don’t move’ in my ear.
He doesn’t know my story. He can’t see my scars. My wounds. My ugly.
He just saw me fight.
You’re pretty strong.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He runs pale fingers through his hair and glances at me, new respect in his eyes. “Now what is this about a comic book?”
Five
Lucas
I hand Ina the gift bag with the shop’s logo printed on the front. “Here you go.”
“How much do I owe you?” Her hands dive into her pocket.
“No. No. It’s fine. Consider it an extended apology.”
An eyebrow hikes. “I thought we were even?”
“Right. So… I lied.” My gaze dips to her letterman jacket. “But we’ll consider us even now.”
She chuckles.
I slide the gift bag further over the counter so she has no choice but to take it. “In exchange—”
“Ah, there’s the catch.”
I smile and hand her a survey. “Fill that out.”
Ina stares at the paper like she thinks it’ll bite her. “Why?”
“It’s a sign-up sheet. You give me your email address and I’ll let you know when I get new stock. I also try to write something funny and relatable in the newsletters. I fail more often than I succeed but,” I wink, “you don’t want to miss out.”
“You make a tempting offer.”
I hand her a pen.
She bends slightly, folding her top half over the counter. Her plump black twists catch the light and glisten. She hides the form, moving her body forward as if she’s protecting her test from the class cheater.
Adorable.
I freeze.
Wipe the admiration away.
No.
Nope.
No thanks.
I don’t mess with students.
Ever.
I’ve seen fellow teachers trod that rocky path and they always take a suicidal dive off the cliff. I’m keeping my hands and my eyes to myself.
No matter how sweet this girl appears to be.
Well, sweet is relative.
How many shy college students also have a wicked background in martial arts? I’m certain the ‘I’m so nervous I wouldn’t hurt a fly’ shtick is a façade. There’s more to this girl than meets the eye.
“There you go.” She slides the survey in my direction.
I glance at the unchecked boxes. “You missed a question.”
“Which one?”
“Marvel or DC?”
“Oh that was intentional.”
“You left it empty on purpose?”
“Yup.” She slides her hands into the pockets of the jacket. “I love both.”
“Some would call that a cop-out.”
Her eyes narrow, but I can tell she’s not offended because they’re sparkling with interest too. “Some want to divide us.”
“Feels like a scolding.” I smirk.
“Maybe.” She tosses her head. “At least I’m not a snob.”
“Ouch.”
She smiles. “ You watch The Flash?”
“Which one?”
“The latest one.”
I rub my chin, pretending to think deeply on it. “I’ve seen it once or twice.”
“And?”
I shrug. “It’s alright.”
“Just alright?”
I shrug again, sensing that it’ll rile her up.
It does.
Her eyes brim with excitement. “You’re missing out. The show’s got heart, awesome characters and Grant Gustin, who is so charming—”
“That your thing?” I lean my elbows on the counter, enjoying the way her eyes bug when I say, “You like the tall, lean, runner-types?”
“I like superheroes in general.”
“So normal guys are out?”
The hell, Luc? Are you flirting with this girl?
I straighten before she can answer and correct myself. “I’m just messing with you. Of course I’ve seen the show. I watch the movies. I buy the video games. If it’s based on a comic, I’m there with my eyes and wallet open.”
She laughs. It’s a pretty sound, but it’s restrained—like she doesn’t trust herself to completely loosen up in front of me.
“I think you’re more far gone than I am, Lucas.”
“I do own a comic book café.”
“The mark of a true lunatic.”
I laugh.
Just then, the front door crashes open.
The bells jangle angrily.
Nellie storms in, her eyes sparking enough to spit lightning. She’s shivering too, but that could be because she’s wearing a decorative bra and little else.
Kids these days.
They grow up too damn fast.
I remember when Nells was wagging around in a diaper, chewing and blubbering on anything not nailed down. It’s weird to see her all grown up.
Makes me feel old.
“Can you please wrap this up so we can go?” Nellie sighs like she’s trying to push all the oxygen clear out of her body. “I cannot spend one more minute alone with Jonas.” A slender arm shoots high, pointing straight to the Almighty. “I swear, if you don’t get out there, I’m going to explode.”
She means it too.
Nellie looks one sparked match away from combustion.
It’s funny.
And kind of sad.
Jonas and Nells used to be best friends. Her parents and ours were close before they died and, after they passed, the Olsens took Jonas in while I went to college.
Before I left town, everything was normal.
When I came back, those two fought like cats and dogs.
I tried getting Jonas to talk about it, but he just grunted in that mind your own business way. So I let it go. Whatever their problem is, they’ll figure it out eventually.
Ina takes a step back. “It was nice meeting you, Lucas.”
“You too.”
Another step. “I’ll look forward to your emails.”
“Me too.” I freeze when I realize that doesn’t make any logical sense. “I mean, I’ll look forward to you reading them.” Wrong again. “I mean,” I rub the back of my neck, “I’ll look forward to sending them. To you. Well, to everyone. But you’re on the list now so…”
Ina smiles.
Nellie eases her lips into a knowing smirk.
I clear my throat and fix Nells a look. Don’t say a word.
She sticks her tongue out.
“You guys should get going.” I nod to the door.
“Thanks again.” Ina walks out.
Nellie lingers just to toss a sarcastic, “Smooth, Luc” at me before she too disappears through the door.
I curl my fingers into a
fist. Smooth indeed.
But it doesn’t matter.
Ina’s a student.
I’m a professor.
I haven’t seen her before, which means she isn’t in my department, but that’s beyond the point. She’s off-limits. I’m only adding her to the newsletter as a potential customer.
That’s it.
Heading upstairs, I grab my laptop and plug her name into my automation system. I click out of my newsletter provider and let the mouse hover over the Google search engine.
My fingers cramp, urging me to type her name into the search bar.
I resist.
It’s none of my business.
I really shouldn’t…
My fingers have a brain of their own.
I blink and Ina’s name is popping up on screen.
I panic and click off. What the hell am I going to do with a student’s online information anyway?
Get yourself together, Luc.
The kettle screams.
I jump, staring guiltily at the smoke blowing from the spout.
After making another cup of tea, I return to the couch and restart the movie.
I force myself to concentrate on the passing images on screen.
I’m dozing off when I hear a door slam.
My eyes burst open.
I notice that the credits are rolling and balk. Damn. Did I sleep through most of that?
Shuffling sounds are coming from the foyer. The thud of a shoe falling off. Followed by another. Then three thumps. My brother’s heavy footsteps.
I rub my eyes and check my watch.
A curse rattles past my lips.
Twisting, I glance at Jonas as he enters the living room. “Everything okay?”
He nods.
“What took so long?”
“I dropped Ina home.”
“Where does she live?” I shake my head. “Forget that. Did she get in okay?”
He shrugs. Nods.
“And Nellie?”
He hesitates. Nods again.
“Good.”
Another nod.
Conversation’s over.
I cover my mouth as a yawn cracks my jaw.
Jonas stands in place, his golden eyes following me. Those eyes are Mom’s eyes. Sometimes, it’s painful for me to look at him. Other times, it brings me comfort. Most times, it reminds me of how much we’ve lost.
I pause, returning his stare. “What?”
“About tonight…”
I grab my empty mug from the coffee table.
“I’m sorry.”
My hand curls tighter over the cup.
He shuffles one foot. Then the next. Clasps and unclasps his hands. “I know I haven’t been downstairs since we opened.”
“Jonas—”
“I…I can’t.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Yeah.”
Awkward silence stiffens the air between us.
He’s searching my face for answers.
I don’t have any damn answers to give.
All I have is guilt.
Regret.
That all too familiar ache.
The lump in my throat is back.
The tightness in my chest—
“Okay.” Jonas turns and plods to his bedroom.
I hear his door slam shut.
Uneasy silence falls again.
I stand in place, unable to move.
The weight on my shoulders feels especially heavy tonight.
Six
Ina
The next morning, I lace my sneakers up and tiptoe down the hall.
Heavy snoring covers the sound of my steps. As I draw closer to the couch, the noise increases.
With a smile, I look down at Mrs. G. She’s sprawled in the couch, her mouth open wide in another lawn-mower mating call.
When I tiptoed in last night, she was conked out. Drooling. Two miles deep into La-la Land. I didn’t have the heart to wake her.
My gaze slips to the comforter piled on the floor. A piece of it is still caught on the flat of her heavy foot. Moving stealthily, I pick it up and drape it over her body again.
As I watch her, a wave of gratitude crashes into me.
Four years ago, this woman took me in.
She offered more than a roof and support.
She offered family.
It was my first time waking up to pancakes and bacon.
My first time getting yelled at for not cleaning my room.
My first family dinner.
My first graduation with so many faces in the crowd, cheering like lunatics.
For me.
Just for me.
And I owe all that to her.
I’m not saying she’s perfect. Mrs. G can cut someone’s heart out with her tongue and skewer it on the cross of her stubbornness.
But she cares.
A mother’s supposed to care.
Bitterness festers in my heart, but I tamp it down. It’s a great day. I’m not going to ruin it thinking about the past.
Once I’m outside, I stretch on the lawn. The sky is a beautiful shade of pink. The sun is just starting to peek at the horizon. Birds chirp overhead, begging me to listen to their songs instead of the ones on my phone.
“Sorry, guys,” I mumble, slipping my headphones into my ear.
Obsidian Metal screams about something or other. How the lead singer carries his voice to such heights without ripping his vocal chords to shreds, I don’t know. But I’m grateful for it.
Rock music got me through the darkest days of my life. Nothing expressed my hidden rage like the pained roar of an over-driven guitar.
As I run, I let my thoughts drift away. It’s nothing but me, the sky, and the screaming in my earbuds.
Steady breaths.
I turn the curb and head left.
Pump the arms.
My body falls into a familiar rhythm.
Before I moved to the US, I was overweight and depressed. When I started taking care of myself, the dark thoughts that used to attack me everyday slowly lost their grip.
My last year of nursing school, my schedule got more frantic. I couldn’t carve the time out to go to Ollie’s gym. I made sure to get up and run everyday. Even when I was bone tired.
And the results? Epic.
Yeah, I got a little smaller—though I’m by no means a stick. I’ve kept my curves and my big thighs. But more than my appearance changed. My mental health’s massively improved.
No matter what’s going on in my life, I feel much better after a run.
Happy endorphins, here I come.
I finish my lap and stop at a water fountain to get a drink. It’s starting to get busier out here, so I don’t want to linger.
A shadow casts over the fountain.
Thinking I’m in someone’s way, I try to gulp down the water so I can move aside. “Just a minute.” I gurgle, shuffling back.
A deep voice murmurs, “Take your time.”
My finger drops away from the spout.
The water stops abruptly.
I turn.
And then I stop breathing altogether.
There’s a man in front of me.
No, not a mere man.
A chocolate-mocha hunk.
An Idris-Elba-Morris-Chestnut lovechild.
A ‘yes, please do sweep me off my feet and propose in one day’ Prince Charming.
He’s wearing a loose, sleeveless grey shirt that practically screams ‘hey, look at my muscular arms’. Jogging pants cling to his strong legs. Dark eyes crackle with interest.
Drool gathers in the side of my mouth.
Which is good.
Lusting over an attractive guy is major progress for me.
It didn’t come overnight. I’ve been working through my issues with my therapist. I’ve written in that stupid diary about my feelings every day. At last, I’ve come to a place where I can appreciate handso
me men for what they are.
Eye candy.
And my eyes are smacking their lips so hard right now they’re about to roll right out of my head.
“Do I know you?” he asks, licking his lips.
“Uh… no.”
“Because I saw you from across the road,” he juts his chin in that direction. “And there was this light over you.”
“A light?”
“It feels like we’ve met before, but if we haven’t,” he moves an inch closer, “then it seems like we should.”
Okay…
Um…
This isn’t happening to me, right?
A super hot brotha didn’t just—
I’m not actually—
There’s got to be someone behind me.
I whip around. Check left and right.
“Me?” I poke a finger in my chest.
Dreamy chocolate eyes take me in slowly. He holds his hands together, standing a respectful distance away while still managing to make me feel like I’m the only person in the world. “Yes, you.”
Okay.
Okay.
Um…
“That’s—” Amazing! Incredible! Yes, I’ll marry you! “nice.”
“Forgive me for being forward, but do you have a boyfriend?”
Budup. Budup.
My heart’s beating like crazy. I hope he can’t hear it.
“Me? Boyfriend?”
This poor guy has no idea how single I’ve been.
How messed up I’ve been.
If he’d approached me last year, I would’ve run away screaming.
But I’m not the same woman I was last year. Or heck, the woman I was four years ago.
I’m in a better place now.
I can flirt.
I can date.
And… I want to.
“Well?” He arches a perfectly trimmed eyebrow.
“No. No boyfriend.” I shake my head. “I’m… available.”
“Great.” He smiles. Angels descend from heaven and the clouds part, shining a spotlight over his bald-head.
Haaaallelujah! Haaaallelujah!
“Then, would you be interested in going to dinner with me?”
“Yes.”
He takes out his phone. “Do you like pizza?”
“I love pizza!” Back in Belize, I couldn’t afford to eat it, but now? I’ve got my favorite pizza parlor on speed dial.
“Maybe after dinner, we can catch the latest Marvel flick?”
I’m about to faint. “The latest?”
