Unwanted Girl

by M. K. Schiller

  “From that day on, it was decided Ganesha was indeed the wisest of the brothers. He teaches us any obstacle can be overcome, that solutions aren’t always obvious, and to honor your parents above all.”

  Sarah clapped her hands. “You are a wonderful storyteller, Asha. What a valuable lesson.”

  “Come, Sister,” Asha said, putting her hand in the nun’s and leading her to town where the tossing of colors took place. Men and women sprayed colored water on each other while dancing to the beat of a dholak, a two-handed drum. Children ran through the crowds with water balloons, carefully surveying the scene for their next targets. Asha heard the villager’s whispering about the strange duo of a little girl and the tall white woman. It wasn’t the kind of atmosphere in which one would expect to find a Catholic nun.

  Then again, Sarah and Asha were both peculiar in their own ways. Neither female was suited for the expectations of propriety set by others.

  Chapter 9

  Nick’s routine didn’t change. He jogged every morning, purchased a single white rose, dropped to his knees in front of Jenny’s grave, and attended meetings. But the cursor no longer mocked, and the vacant, blank pages rapidly colored themselves in meticulous eleven-point font. The hours between nine and midnight became his time with her. She didn’t belong to him, but that time with her did. Nick grew happier as the world shifted, a slow thaw melting away the last of the cold, bathing the dismal skies with precious light. “I brought you a plant,” she said, handing him a pot of dirt with a sprig of green sticking out of it. Nick regarded the peculiar object, holding it at an angle.

  Shyla laughed and took it from him. “It won’t bite. I thought you could use something stimulating.”

  “That’s why I have you.”

  Nick loved her voice, but perhaps her laugh was even lovelier. Careful, Dorsey, he warned himself for the umpteenth time since she’d entered his life. All of his concerns manifested in a millisecond, souring his good mood. She drinks juice boxes. She’s too innocent for you. You’re too different. She’s leaving soon. You’ll fuck her up. Why? Because you’re a fuck up, that’s why. He silenced the jerky ping-pong match going on in his head and focused his attention on her.

  She set the plant on the table. He helped her with her coat, as was his habit. She no longer acted surprised, but she did always smile gratefully. Today, her jeans were fitted, showing off the perfect curve of her hipbones. Nick allowed himself a few solitary seconds to take her in. Although she wore a simple black T-shirt, her breasts and waist were proportionate to perfection.

  She came out with a cup of water and slowly fed the potted foliage. He liked how comfortable she was in his home. It had taken a while to get to this place.

  “Thank you for the plant.” He made a note to buy more. After all, the surplus of air became dangerously low when she stood too close to him. Anything that expelled oxygen and purified his dirty thoughts would be a necessity at this point.

  “You’re welcome. Happy spring,” she said as if it was a holiday, then Nick realized based on what they wrote, it was a holiday for her.

  “Happy Holi, Shyla.”

  “Thank you, Nick.”

  He set up their meal and took the chair opposite her. “I’m getting tired of sandwiches.”

  “We could order a pizza again or Chinese.”

  Wisps of her hair fell around her face. She pushed them back with annoyance. The gesture both provoked and amused him. In the brief moment, all his previous reservations collapsed like a bad poker hand—folded but not forgotten. “I’d like to ask you out…on a date.”

  “Oh,” she said with hesitation.

  He sucked in a deep breath. Nice going, Dorsey. The meals they shared were simple, but to Nick, it was the best part of his routine day. He wondered if he had wagered away those hours because his dick wanted in on the conversation.

  “I take it you don’t want to go out with me?” The man, who would have considered himself a failure if he didn’t sleep with a woman on the second date, cursed himself for moving too fast. Truthfully, he wasn’t that guy anymore, except when the remnants of the miserable man-whore still rose occasionally…figuratively and literally.

  She bit her bottom lip. “It’s not that.” She took a deep breath. “I assumed we were dating.”

  Nick repeated her words in his head, a flood of relief and confusion battling to clarify her statement. “You think we’re dating?”

  She popped a cherry tomato in her mouth. Nick waited patiently for her to chew, all the while annoyed by cherry tomatoes, specifically the time it took to eat one. “Well, yes. We eat together almost every night. Sometimes we talk or write. Last week we watched a movie. Aren’t we dating?”

  “Technically, I suppose, but I would describe what we are doing as hanging out. I want to take you somewhere nice—a place where they have dim lighting, expensive food, and candles. I want to laugh with you under the stars, maybe slow dance with you, and then take you home and kiss you good-night at your doorstep.”

  She smiled, a cute lopsided grin, which made Nick’s mouth curve in response. “I don’t know how to slow dance.”

  “I have so much to teach you.”

  She bit her lower lip, her eyes darting to the kitchen. “Do you ever use that room for anything besides brewing gourmet coffee?”

  He looked over at the open space that housed a set of matching stainless steel appliances and a one-of-a-kind concrete countertop as if he was noticing it for the first time. “Sure, it’s a great place to store chips and cereal.”

  “Don’t you ever cook?”

  “I think of that area as a very fancy art installation. I can heat up soup, boil water, and fry some eggs. Unfortunately, that’s my entire arsenal of self-made meals.”

  “What if I made you dinner?”

  “That would be very nice.”

  “Do you like Indian food?”

  For a brief moment, Nick considered lying, but it passed quickly. “No.”

  “You don’t like Indian at all?”

  “I like the people, especially this one particular girl.”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll make you something you’ll enjoy.”

  “I would like that.”

  “I don’t work tomorrow. I can come earlier, and we can eat around the same time.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “I guess tomorrow night will be our first date then.”

  He leaned across the table. “Has anyone ever taken you on a date?”

  Her posture became rigid before she blurted, “Sure, Elaine set me up with her brother’s boyfriend once.”

  Nick’s mouth gaped. “Come again?”

  She inhaled a deep breath. “Shucks, I meant to say her boyfriend’s brother.”

  “Yeah, it takes on a much different meaning the other way.” He jerked his head around to face her. “Did you just say ‘shucks’?”

  “Hey, you made me watch the pasta western. They used that word a lot. Did I say it wrong?”

  “It’s referred to as a spaghetti western, but you did use the word in one of its correct contexts. It’s just not something that’s used very often, and it sounds strange coming from you.”

  “Because everyone else would say the other words?”

  “What other words?” His lips twitched into a devious grin, and she gave him a look he described as I know what you’re doing, Dorsey.

  “You know…the one you would say.”

  “You mean shit or fuck?”

  “Yes, those words. But shucks is perfect. It combines both of them, yet it’s not a swear word.”

  “Does swearing bother you?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve lived here almost four years. It doesn’t bother me. There’s many ways to color a language. People swore in the village, too. I’m trying not to fall into the habit. I will be teaching children in the near future, after all.” And with that last sentence, his doubts surfaced again. She would be teaching…in India. She might as
well be on the moon.

  She nibbled on a slice of cucumber. She always seemed to be picking at food. The girl ate like a bird. He thought about remarking on it, but he knew better. Never comment on a woman’s diet or her weight. Rules to live by.

  “What are the other meanings for shucks?” she asked.

  “It has many definitions. It can be a husk on the outer layer of corn. Or it can mean worthless.” She gave him a questioning look so he offered an example, dropping his voice slightly. “Like I don’t give a shucks about what we do as long as we do it together.” Her face flushed slightly, her smile turning suggestive. Encouraged, he dropped his voice a few octaves more. Test the water, Dorsey, but don’t fucking dive in! “Or it could mean to discard.”

  “Discard?”

  “As in peel off. For example, she shucked off her black T-shirt in a hurry.” His feet dipped into the complicated waters he’d avoided, waters that could heat up to boiling point if they kept creeping down this dangerous path.

  “I see. So if I said, do you mind if we don’t shuck tonight, that would be a proper use?”

  Nick opened his mouth to respond, to try to eat up the words already spilling out into the atmosphere, but she held up her hand, and her lips parted slightly. “But I hope we do shuck one day.”

  Naughty girl.

  He didn’t have to worry about diving in. She’d just pushed him. “That’s not the right way, but who the hell cares? Words are flexible. They can bend, contort, twist.” Ironically, he’d just described many of the same things he wanted to do with her. He stood and stretched. “I was wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “You are not a shy girl.”

  “What am I?”

  “It’s probably better I stop trying to define you.” No definition…only discovery.

  “I am shy, but not with you. I’m not fragile. I won’t wilt.”

  “I know.” He stood up and cleared their plates. “Unfortunately, the plant you bought me may not be as lucky.”

  Chapter 10

  Shyla took a step back when Nick opened the door the next night. She swallowed hard, blinking her eyes in disbelief. “You shaved.”

  “Yes, it was time for a change. Do you like it?” he asked, rubbing his square jaw.

  Like it? The beard made him look mysterious and rugged, but seeing the naked beauty of his striking face caused her mouth to go dry. He looked much younger….almost boyish, except for the long jagged scar that ran along the left side of his face.

  In a way, the imperfection added to Nick Dorsey’s attraction, giving him a special brand of menacing mystery she found incredibly sexy, but endearing, too. She wanted nothing more than to run her finger against the wound and wash away the pain. She decided it must be the reason he grew a beard and the reason he was now standing awkwardly so that side of him would be less exposed. The simple act of shaving highlighted his other features, too. His hair looked lighter, similar in both thickness and color to a lion’s mane. He wore dark jeans and a blue V-neck sweater, which matched his eyes...dark blue with a midnight quality that made them appear almost black. Shyla allowed herself the indulgence of traveling down the length of his body, taking in his broad shoulders and muscular arms, which stretched the fabric of his garments in an alluring way. If a man could look regal in casual clothes, than that’s how Nick looked—aristocratic, almost patrician but with rough edges. The effect of him was so captivating she stumbled, searching for the right words.

  “Shyla, are you just going to stare at me?” He rubbed his cheek in a way that made it clear he wasn’t fishing for a compliment, but sincerely asking a question. How to answer that? There weren’t enough antonyms for dislike to appropriately reply.

  “Yes,” she said, although it sorely lacked the appropriate depth. She focused on what else she could say, but her tiny sigh must have communicated better than any words because he grinned.

  “Are you planning on coming in?” he finally asked.

  “Yes.” Shyla walked past him, trying not to sniff the air, but her nose betrayed her. His scent, like the rest of him, disarmed her with its mixture of clean, sexy, and masculine.

  “Do you want me to show you where the pans are? I actually own a few.”

  “Please.”

  “Oh good, I was wondering if you might respond with the word ‘yes’ all night.” His grin turned wicked. “Although, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

  He helped her with her jacket.

  “The Who?” she asked, pointing to his record player. Nick’s vast collection of records almost rivaled his books.

  “Very good,” he replied.

  “‘Behind Blue Eyes,’” she said, naming the song. It wasn’t exactly a happy song, but Shyla found herself humming along to the melody. She entered the kitchen where he’d set up all the items she requested. She checked the fridge and hugged him when she saw all the brightly colored packages of juice boxes. Some poor child wouldn’t get a drink in his lunch because Nick had bought out the store of these particular refreshments.

  “I see you did some extra shopping. This wasn’t on the list.”

  “I wanted to stock up on what you liked.”

  “That’s very considerate.”

  “I’m not sure if you’ll find everything else in order.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, an interesting thing happened. I got to the market, and I was zipping through your list until I got to the Garbanzo beans. I wasn’t sure if you wanted canned or dried.”

  “Canned.”

  He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “That figures. I got dried.”

  She found the packages on the counter and held them up. “I could have used these, but they have to be soaked for at least a day.”

  “That’s not the issue. I can go out and get the right kind of beans. My point is I was going to call you to confirm, but guess what, Shyla?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t have your phone number. I mean, it’s my fault, too, since I never asked, but it seems odd to me we never thought to exchange numbers.” He pulled out his phone. “What is it?”

  She focused her attention on the other items, organizing them. “I don’t have one.”

  His jaw dropped. “How can you not have a cell phone in New York? Or anywhere for that matter?” His question, ripe with more admonishment than curiosity, made her uncomfortable.

  “I don’t need one.”

  “What if there’s an emergency?”

  “I’m either in class, at the dorm, at work, or here. I had a cell once but it was a pay as you go, and I kept forgetting to add minutes to it. If I need to use the phone, I use Elaine’s or the one at work. It’s not like I have anyone to call.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “We email each other. It’s cheaper.”

  “But what if someone needs to get a hold of you?”

  “No one ever does. No one really cares where I am.”

  He frowned at her statement. She smiled brightly, hoping to reassure him and lighten the mood. She twisted a strand of her hair and secured it behind her ear. “I’ll get another phone soon.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why not?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “Because you can’t bluff. You have a tell.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a habit which conveys you are fibbing. Are you fibbing?”

  She placed a hand on her hip. “What’s my tell?”

  “A good card player never reveals someone’s tell. I’ll keep the information in my back pocket for a rainy day.”

  “Are you going to get going? I want to start cooking, and I need beans.”

  “No one should ever utter the phrase, ‘I need beans,’ but yes, I will go.”

  “While you’re out, maybe you can get a bottle of wine, too?”

  Nick raised his eyebrows, an amused grin returning to his face. “You like wine?”

  “You don’t think I only dr
ink juice boxes, do you?”

  “I honestly wasn’t sure. What are we having for dinner?”

  “Aloo Chaat.”

  “I need a little more help than that, Shyla.”

  “Sorry, it’s potatoes and chick peas mostly. Also, coconut rice.”

  “Hmm…I’m not sure what wine goes with vegetables alone.”

  “How about red? I like red.”

  “Red it is. I’ll be back.”

  Shyla took her time. Nick’s kitchen was clean, but she distracted herself by wiping down every surface. She walked around to each appliance as if silently introducing herself. The untouched quality of them made her a bit giddy. She showered the vegetables in cold water. She began the laborious task of chopping, peeling, and dicing all the items. She didn’t mind, though. She loved cooking, although the idea of preparing food for Nick filled her with slight terror.

  Nick was taking a long time coming back. Alone in his apartment, her mind raced. Just like the dishes she planned, she wasn’t his usual fare. Her movements became less confident, marred by her own self-doubt. She doled out the spices carefully, using smaller quantities than she normally would. Once she had them all laid out, she decided to cut them in half again. Better safe than sorry.

  Nick finally returned, depositing a dark bottle and metal cans on the counter.

  “What can I do?” he asked. The kitchen was an adequate space but the presence of his tall brawny body made it seem much smaller. Shyla feared the tension from his proximity in this tight spot would be perilous to her safety. She could chop off a finger or burn herself…or worse, she might cause him injury.

  “I can do it on my own.”

  “Seriously, put me to work. I may not possess any culinary skills, but I’m capable of following directions.”

  “Why don’t you watch television or write?”

  “We don’t have enough material for another chapter.”

  “Then write something else.” She shook her head, wishing she’d thought before she spoke. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I guess I can read.”