My back hits the wall, a poster of the new hit young adult novel comes unattached on the top and falls partially to the floor.
This must be what it feels like to have your heart sliced into little pieces and fed to you. The tinge of bitterness in my mouth is enough to make my stomach recoil.
I asked for this. Every motherfucking day I walked up those stairs in the afternoon to see her, I asked for this. I knew. Deep down, I knew I was getting too close to the edge of not just being acquaintances before I found out she was Nerdy Nurse. Back then, what feels like forever ago, I’d wonder on the weekends what she was doing or if she’d like the book I was reading. We’re friends, I thought, even though I knew where I was headed wasn’t a place you go with a friend.
Allowing my head to fall against the wall, a sense of hopelessness envelops me. This is all too new to process. Do people survive this?
I look at the door, the cool drywall at my back only adding to the frigidity of the moment. There’s nothing warm about this moment, nothing warm about my life.
Everything I used to enjoy all seems lackluster now as I consider going back to the way things were before. I could pull out the app, make some arrangements for the weekend, humor myself until work is over. But … why?
My body trembles with a shiver. It’s not the external cold that’s causing me to move; it’s the thought of never being with Mariah again that makes me feel like I’m freezing.
This can’t be it. This can’t be where our story ends, our jokes stop, our lunches completely halt because I was stupid enough to fall in love.
No. Fuck that.
This can’t be it. There has to be a way around it.
Do I wait? Do I pick the lock and wait inside her office? Do I call the main office and have her paged?
It all seems logical, completely rational, and I’m one step from picking the lock when the library doors open.
My hand goes into the air to tell her not to turn around when I realize it’s Ollie. He sees me and stutter-steps, a puzzled look on his ruddy cheeks.
“You okay, Mr. Gibson?”
“Yeah. Fine. Just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”
“I can come back later …” He thumbs over his shoulder toward the doors. “It’s no problem.”
“No, no,” I sigh. “It’s fine, Ollie. What can I do for you?”
His grin could light up the entire city. “I wanted to say thank you to you and Ms. Malarkey. I’m going to pass Family and Consumer Sciences. Ms. Holden was impressed.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Me too.”
Pulling my head out of my ass, I remember I’m a professional and an educator. Also, that I have news for my favorite student. “I have something to tell you too.”
“Okay,” he says.
“I talked to my brothers and it turns out they have rooms available. Maybe even some jobs, if you’re interested.”
His eyes match the sparkle of his smile. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.” And as I am about Mariah. I glance towards the doors again, wondering if she went home sick or something. Her car was here when I got in at seven, hoping it was early enough to run into her in the parking lot.
“Well,” Ollie says, pressing his lips together in thought. “I might take you up on that. I, um, this is really weird and all, but I stayed at Brandon’s last night. His parents are really cool and, um, I’m not sure if anything will come out of it or if they meant it, but they used to have foster kids. They know how the system works and said maybe they could help me work some stuff out for college or something. At least put me in contact with the right people.”
For the first time in a couple of days, I feel hope. “Ollie,” I say, my voice rough, “that’s seriously great.”
“It is. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I think maybe …” He smiles again. “So, thank you, Mr. Gibson.”
“Anytime, Ollie. And my offer stands. No pressure,” I say, holding my hands up. “But if you need anything, come to me.”
“Will do.” He turns and heads back to the door, pausing before he shoves them open. “And Mr. Gibson?”
“Yeah?”
“You and Ms. Malarkey will be great parents some day.”
“Oh, Ollie,” I say, my throat raw. “That’s not, you know, probably in the cards.”
He sends me a knowing look, one only a kid like him can decipher. With a small nod of his head, he sighs. “I thought I’d never find people who gave a shit about me—sorry for the language,” he adds. “I used to go to people’s houses and try to be what I thought they wanted to see thinking that would make them accept me.” He takes a step back my way, his voice growing stronger. “There was a family that was super religious once. I read the Bible every night. I can almost quote it for you,” he chuckles.
“That’s not entirely a bad thing,” I laugh.
“I guess not. But there was another family who thought they were mobsters and I promptly wiped all that religious stuff from my brain and filled it with … a lot of things a kid should never know.” His lips turn down. “You and Ms. Malarkey make me feel good just for being me, you know?”
“You’re a great kid, Ollie. You just do you.”
He tilts his head to the side. “You just do you too, Mr. Gibson. It’s all you can do.”
I’m left standing, poring over his curious words, as he exits the room.
Thirty
Mariah
“Thank you.” I take the change, three dollars and thirty-three cents, and want to toss the cashier a penny back just to get away from all the threes.
It’s been three days since I talked to Lance. Each day gets a little easier and a little harder.
I’m not the same person I was when I logged onto the app for the first time and found History Hunk in my matches. Even though he doesn’t want me the way I want him, as someone I’d like to test out forever with, I feel confident that someone great will someday. That my love of books and desire to curl away from the population isn’t a complete turnoff. My pooched belly isn’t as horrendous as I’ve believed my whole life. How could I believe that when Lance Gibson has kissed every inch of it?
But it’s more than that. It’s something deep inside me that knows I can handle shit. I can handle life. I can handle my mom and Chrissy. I can call the shots with them for the first time in my life with no hunkering down and no caving to their wants or exploding with rage. Lance not wanting me is not breaking me—bending me until the point I can hear the straps creaking, but not breaking. Maybe he doesn’t love me, but I do. I love me again. I’ll always be thankful that he showed me how.
It’s the wee hours of the night when I wonder if I’ll ever fall in love again. They say it happens once and it wasn’t with Eric. I know that now. I fell in love with Lance. I’m in love with Lance. And if I never feel this way about another man, that’s a soul-crushing realization to consider.
With Eric, I thought we’d go through the motions of life—engagement complete with photos that would make me cringe in ten years, marriage with overpriced wedding hors d'oeuvres, honeymoon, kids, blah, blah, blah. The blahs though were filled with enough excitement to make me think I wanted it. Maybe I really even did. But with Lance, if I let myself consider what life would be like with him, there were no blahs. With him, it wouldn’t have been about the milestones and checking off each box that adults are supposed to check. It would’ve honestly been about the journey—the cuddles on the couch and arguing over what movie to watch, the snowy afternoons in front of the fireplace spent reading books and discussing thoughtful passages. It would’ve been a life filled with fountain Cokes and Bluebird Hills and maybe some of Nana’s Pyrex dishes brimming with leftovers. Maybe I could’ve made Sunday dinner with her and gossiped about her grandsons and really have become a part of that family.
“Ma’am?”
I jolt back to the present, stuffing the change in my pocket. “I’m sorry. I dazed off,” I tell the cashier.
“No problem. Have a great day.”
The sun shines happily through the door and I have to squint as I approach. When it opens, the glare goes down just enough for me to focus my vision. Then I stop.
Peck with his floppy blond hair and adorable grin stands in front of me. Beside him is a darker, stockier version of Lance on one side and a slightly shorter, huskier version on the other.
My throat goes dry, my drink almost falling from my hands. “Shit,” I mutter, getting it right side up.
“I have that effect on women,” the stockier one smirks.
“Shut up, Machlan,” Peck laughs. “How are you, Mariah?”
“Oh,” Machlan nods, a look of approval shifting over his rugged features. “You’re Mariah.”
“I am,” I say, looking back at Peck. “It’s nice to see you.”
“It’s nice to see you. This is Machlan Gibson,” he says, pointing to the darker man. “And that is Walker Gibson. Lance’s brothers.”
Walker twists a toothpick around his lips. “This explains a lot.”
“No shit,” Machlan laughs. “It’s nice to meet you and I’m sorry for whatever idiotic thing my brother has done.”
“What makes you think he’s done something?” I ask.
“Because you don’t look crazy.” Walker shrugs.
“I’m not following you …”
“Look,” Machlan says, waving at someone across the store, “Lance is all kinds of fucked up right now. Your boy is drinking more tequila than I’ve ever seen and I can’t even add it to his tab because he’s so pathetic.”
Peck winces. “Pathetic, Machlan? Let him keep his balls.”
“Fuck his balls,” Walker snorts. “He’s driving me nuts. Whatever he’s done, Mariah, just forgive him. Make him grovel and buy you something nice but just get on with it.”