by Reid, Penny
“No.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“It wasn’t necessary,” I said with a sigh, tired of this discussion.
“Necessary?”
How could I explain this to Gabby in a way she’d understand? I’d sought to answer a question. The question had been answered. Case closed.
Eventually, I decided on, “I don’t have time for that.”
“That? What is ‘that’?”
“You know—” I waved my hand in the air “—calling, texting, having conversations about mundane things, making plans. That.” Not when I could achieve more satisfaction on my own than with a partner. It was simple math.
Gabby blinked at me several times. “It’s like I don’t even know you, Mona.”
My chuckle caught me off guard, so did my lingering smile as Gabby and I looked at each other. Her eyes were intent as they moved over my face, like she was trying to solve a puzzle.
“You need help,” Gabby said at last, causing my smile to vanish.
I frowned at the floor. “Help with what?”
“You have a distorted view of reality, and what you deserve,” she said softly.
“No. I just don’t believe romantic relationships are necessary.”
“You think you deserve less.”
“It’s not about what people deserve, Gabby.” I sighed. Again. Hadn’t it been an hour yet? Shouldn’t she be leaving soon? “It’s about what people need. I don’t need—or want—a relationship.”
“Because you don’t have time?”
That wasn’t precisely true, but—as Lisa would say—whatever. “Sure.”
“Because you’re so busy being a genius and doing the math, you don’t have time for people?”
“I have time for people, just not a boyfriend.”
“Even if that boyfriend was awesome? Even if he built you up, supported you, loved you, adored you, and made it his life’s mission to ensure you knew—every day—how amazing and special you are?”
“That’s not a boyfriend. That’s a dog.”
She waved away my sarcasm. “You don’t need love? Companionship?”
I hesitated, searching the air around her head for the right words.
“Fine,” she said before I could assemble a response. “Then you think you need less than other people.”
I shot her a questioning glance, but before I could respond, she snapped her fingers.
“I have an idea!” Gabby scooched to the end of the bed closest to me and leveled me with an intent and wide stare. “Abram.”
I returned her stare, giving nothing of my thoughts, or my feelings, or my body’s betraying, quantum reaction at the mention of his name. “What about him?”
“He’s hot, right?”
I shrugged and confessed to the understatement of the century, “His exterior is attractive.”
“Yeah, but what do you think of him so far? You two were flirting up a storm the other day. Is he a guy you might want to get to know better? If you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know him very well,” was what I said, but my thoughts on the subject were: I LIKE HIM SO MUCH!
“Ah ha!” She pointed at me. “You didn’t say no, which means you’ve pictured him naked.”
I sighed for the hundredth time. Speaking of, where the heck was Abram? Shouldn’t he be kicking Gabby out?
She grinned, wagging her eyebrows. “You should let him touch you.”
I choked. “Pardon?”
“Let him touch you. I’m not saying—you know—let him do whatever he wants or anything. I’m just saying, if he touches you, and if you like it, you should let him. And also, you shouldn’t interrupt the touching with discussions of consent and expectations or whatever.”
I looked at her askance. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. You should just—you know—give a guy the opportunity to read you, see if he can figure out what you like without giving him printed directions. And a map. And a contract to sign in triplicate. See if you can enjoy not knowing what will happen.”
I was already shaking my head before she finished, planning to tell her how ludicrous of an idea this was.
First, no.
Second, also no.
Third, what happens when Lisa arrives?
And fourth, an encounter without explicitly communicating expectations, hard limits, and goals? What was the point? The data wouldn’t be generalizable!
Except . . . the times Abram has touched you without asking, you’ve liked it. Mucho.
My pulse jumped. Just the thought of all that—all that touching me without . . . I rubbed my chest, at a hot tightness there, and tore my stare away to scowl at the wall. Gabby’s suggestion was on repeat in my head, and it wasn’t just anxiety or fear I was feeling.
“You’re thinking about it!” Gabby jumped up from the bed and crossed to the desk, standing directly in front of me.
“Gabby, you’re mentally disturbed.”
“Don’t deny it, you’re definitely thinking about it. You should make the Mona-moves on him.”
I gave that suggestion a firm mental shove. “And what happens when Lisa gets back? Would she pick up where I left off with Abram? Pretend to be me pretending to be her? Gross and cosmically wrong on so many levels.”
She sighed impatiently. “You think too much. She’ll just call things off.”
“Just like that?” I snapped my fingers. “And he won’t care?”
Gabby shrugged. “I mean, probably not? Look at him. He’s a hot commodity in this town. If he wants some, he doesn’t usually have to work too hard to get it. He’s a goodtime guy.”
I shook my head lightly, squinting at her, a flare of something uncomfortable in my chest. “A goodtime guy? What does that mean?”
“It means he’s experienced, and he’ll show you a good time, but you don’t have to worry about him getting clingy.” When I continued to stare at her she huffed and lifted her eyes to the ceiling, exasperated. “Let me put it this way: I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend, but he’s always surrounded by girls.”
“And you know for a fact that he has relations with all these girls?”
“You sound like a lawyer, Mona. This isn’t a trial.” She studied her nails. “Guys like him always have—”
“Guys like him? Guys like what?”
“You know, insanely hot, talented, always single and keeping his options open. He’s not going to care when Lisa calls it off.”
I could feel myself making my about-to-sneeze face. What Gabby was saying was diametrically opposed to the Abram I was coming to know, especially after talking to his mother and sister. He just didn’t seem like that kind of person—
Wait. What kind of person? You mean someone like you?
I flinched, frowning, not liking this thought. And it wouldn’t be the same, would it? Yes, I’d had relations with several men without any intention of making any of those men my long-term partner, but that was all in the interest of testing a hypothesis. Totally different.
Okay. Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.
“Why are you making that angry face?” Gabby lifted an eyebrow, her gaze moving over my features. “Don’t get mad at me for Abram being easy. I’m trying to do you a favor here. Get in there and use him to have a good time.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I took a deep breath, irrationally offended on Abram’s behalf at him being labeled a ‘goodtime guy.’ That wasn’t Abram. It just wasn’t. Don’t ask me why, but I knew this was an unfair estimation of his character.
Anyway! I couldn’t think about this now. Therefore, I ignored this discordant assertion.
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter, because nothing is going to happen between us. I can’t ignore that Abram is in a position of authority over me, over Lisa.” I said this mostly as a reminder to myself. After our donut encounter this morning, I couldn’t and shouldn’t forget that nothing was ever going to happen between us. He and I weren’t ev
en friends. Lisa’s well-being was his responsibility. “He’s been tasked with ensuring my safety. How inappropriate would it be for me to, as you say, make moves on him? I would never put him in that position.”
“Oh, come on. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind being put in any position with you if—”
I interrupted her mid-eye roll. “No. I think he’s already been through enough. Lisa did enough damage last year, don’t you think?”
“It’s not like being with either of you would be a hardship.” Her hands fell to her legs, smacking her thighs as she completed the eye roll. “See? This is what I’m talking about. Why can’t you understand how beautiful you are? Anyone, including Abram, would be lucky to—”
“He’s not an object! Even if he’s been with the entire female half of Chicago, he’s still not an object!” I whispered harshly, straightening from the desk, causing her to rock back on her heels. “People are so much more than what they look like, what is wrong with you? He’s not disposable. He’s not here to use and amuse. He is more than ‘like, super hot.’ He is a person, with thoughts and feelings and a family who loves him, who he also loves. He is funny and sweet, and irritating and witty, and doesn’t like to show his smile. He writes music and sleeps at crazy hours, he eats pizza cold—who does that? So gross—and knows too much about whales, and steals donuts, and should really invest in a new razor . . .”
I stopped there because Gabby was giving me a sideways look, the rest of her face frozen, the fire of suspicion behind her eyes.
“What?” I asked sharply. “What is it?”
“I don’t get it. You’ve slept with like, seven guys, right? And never wanted a relationship with any of them.”
“We didn’t sleep together, we had sex as a means to determine specific aims. And that doesn’t mean I’ve treated them like objects.” I hadn’t. I really hadn’t. It had been a mutually beneficial arrangement, where we’d both used each other’s bodies to answer—You know what? Never mind.
“You . . .” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re into Abram,” she said and nodded, slowly at first, but then faster after a second. “Like, way, way, waaaaay into him.”
I pinched my nose with my thumb and forefinger again, closing my eyes. “Just because I recognize that Abram isn’t an object, doesn’t mean I’m into him.”
But, for the record, she was totally right. I was into him. Way, way, waaaaay into him. And now I had a headache.
“Oh girl, you know what? I take back my suggestion. Avoid him. You don’t want this goodtime guy as your first crush. He’s the caviar of goodtime guys. Avoid him at all costs.”
Peeking at her, I frowned, because she was contradicting herself and her expression looked so entirely earnest. “You make no sense. A minute ago, you’re telling me to use him for his body. But now that you think I like him, you’re telling me to run the other way?”
“Yes.” She nodded, her eyes large and sympathetic. “Lisa will be back in a few days, and Abram can never ever know that you impersonated her this week. He will totally flip out and tell the world about it. His sister is a journalist, you know? It’ll be everywhere.”
I studied her, her words, her expression. Clearly, she believed what she said, but I couldn’t help offering a counterpoint. “Really? I don’t know. What about Leo? Wouldn’t that make things awkward between them? And when I apologized on behalf of Lisa for what happened last year, he accepted the apology, no problem.”
“You have to trust me on this. He has mad respect for Leo, but this guy is ridiculous about lies. I know him much, much, much better than you do. Remember? I hang with him and your brother and their group when Leo is in town, so I know Abram. When I say he’s uptight, I mean it.”
“But—”
“He hates lies. Hates them.”
It was a struggle not to roll my eyes. “Everyone hates lies.”
“He has ended friendships, both long-term and with powerful people who could help him in his music career—like, a lot—because they told a stupid lie and he found out about it. Ask Leo, you don’t lie to Abram. And knowing Leo, how laid back he is, he probably wouldn’t be surprised if Abram ratted you both out to the press. Now, I’m not saying Leo would forgive him for it, but he wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Hmm.” She looked so serious, I decided to stop pushing the issue. For now.
“So, yeah. If you like him—like, if you like him, as a person—if you’re crushing on him at all, pretend he doesn’t exist and push him from your mind. Avoid him like the plague or whatever. Even if you weren’t already lying to him, I’d say the same thing. He is definitely not someone you want to have feelings for.”
Giving me one more nod, she stepped back, glanced around the room, and sauntered to the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.”
“Gabby,” I called to her as her hand touched the doorknob. “You confuse me.”
“I know.” She shrugged, a flat smile on her lips. “But honestly, babe, I’m just looking out for your heart. Learn from your sister’s mistakes: don’t go chasing musicians or windmills.”
I stared at her, unable to believe my ears.
Windmills? Had Gabby just made a Don Quixote reference? Did that just happen?
Before I could ask or clarify, she opened the door and strolled out of it.
* * *
I’d wanted to ask Gabby about the drugs and whether Lisa had been selling them to teenagers. I’d wanted to uncover why my sister had been arrested and what the deal was with Tyler. But I hadn’t. I’d been too distracted by Abram, and talking about Abram, and thinking about Abram.
What is happening to me?
Taking a pain reliever for the headache, I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling for approximately twenty minutes, and gave myself a pep talk.
FACT: He can never know you are Mona. Ever.
FACT: You must avoid him for the REST of your LIFE.
FACT: Your interactions serve no purpose. They have to end.
FACT ACCORDING TO GABBY: He’s a goodtime guy.
And, most importantly, stop noticing the way he chews. It’s not okay.
But traitorous little objections searched for cracks, issuing rebuttals and trying to bargain—
Why can’t he know you’re Mona? Maybe Gabby was overexaggerating about his loathing of liars. Once you explain the situation, he’ll understand. What if he’ll keep it a secret too? What if he helps you?
If I have to avoid him for the rest of my life, why avoid him now? Shouldn’t I make the most out of the time we have left?
All interactions serve a purpose, even if they’re not immediately apparent. Right? What if Abram has something to teach you? What if not knowing him puts you on a path of inexorable ignorance?
And what’s the harm in watching him chew? It’s not hurting anyone. I can hide and watch him chew, right? He won’t even see me.
And, I’m sorry, but he just doesn’t seem like a goodtime guy. He just doesn’t. Being surrounded by women doesn’t mean he’s a goodtime guy, it just means women like him. And I don’t blame them!
—and this was concerning because: why?
Why was my heart doing this to me? Why was I arguing with myself? I’d never allowed a crush. I’d been tempted once or twice, but the most logical path forward had never included time for a relationship. Therefore, crushes were (are!) irrelevant.
So why him? Why now? Why? Why? Why? WHY?!
What a mess.
Going in circles, and growing increasingly frustrated, I decided there was no point in continuing this discussion with myself. Facts were facts. What I needed was a distraction. So I snuck down to the kitchen. All was quiet, and Abram was nowhere in sight. But because I was a loony bird, I also sniffed before taking another step, searching for smells. The aroma of donuts permeated the air, but I detected no trace of Abram-fragrance.
Heaving a large sigh, I meandered to the kitchen table, hoping against hope that the remainder of my chocolate donut was still there. It was
n’t. Instead, I found a plate in the center of the table with—one, two, three, four, five . . . –thirteen chocolate cake donuts.
!!!!!!
I stared at them, not understanding how it was possible to have so many emotions at once.
He went out and bought me donuts.
I was rubbing my chest, massaging the warm, tight ache there, before I realized what I was doing.
He bought me donuts. My favorite donuts. Thirteen. A prime number. A baker’s dozen.
As I stared at the pile, I was distressed to discover that my mouth was now dry, which ultimately necessitated a swallow. My mouth should have been watering at the sight of all that deliciousness, but it wasn’t. And, worse, I suddenly had no appetite. It’s hard to think about eating when you’re panicking.
However, the panic did help me close the door on my traitorous thoughts. I didn’t want messy, and the only way to avoid more messy was to put all dissenting opinions on lockdown. I would focus on the facts, as they were, and stay the course.
I made myself tea, crept to the mudroom, and found my old dog-eared copy of Moby Dick waiting for me. It felt familiar, and paired with the aroma of peppermint tea, it felt like an oasis.
But my brain was not quiet and would not allow me to absorb the story when I opened to the bookmarked paragraph where I’d left off a few days ago. Taking several calming deep breaths, I flipped open a random page and forced my eyes to read the words,
Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
A little huff of wonder slipped past my lips and I blinked at the black ink. What were the chances? This! This was what I needed to read. It was a sign. It was magic. It was the universe telling me—
But wait.
My eyes drifted to the top of the page and I was no longer surprised or convinced the universe was telling me anything at all. Opening to this very page was no accident. I’d triple folded the corner, because it was my favorite passage. Like all mysteries investigated thoroughly, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
