Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
D inner is even less eventful than the lazy, feckless day. The gumbo Thad made is good, I’ll give that to him. We talk. We eat. After anticipating that I’d be all alone for the day, I’m grateful for the company. Afterward, when Grady has gone home and Nina and I are cleaning up the kitchen, Helen sends Thad off like he’s going to war, instead of a five-minute bus ride away.
I give Nina a look. I’m surprised when I see her return my eye roll, even if she is giggling while she does it. There’s some hidden sass under that quiet exterior. She reminds me a bit of my sister Sasha in that way. Sasha was always the quiet one, the one you thought you could push around, until she’d finally snap and do something really terrible, like put gum in your hair while you were sleeping. (Alina found this out the hard way, unfortunately.)
“Ten bucks says they’re texting all night,” I mutter as I hand her a dish to dry.
“Twenty bucks says he ends up sleeping in the hallway,” Nina returns with a sly smile.
I bark out a surprised laugh. Helen is all happy blushes as she re-enters the kitchen. “What’s so funny?” she asks as she starts to put away the clean dishes.
Nina and I exchange another conspiratorial glance. “Nothing,” we say together.
To my surprise and chagrin, after we’ve changed into pajamas and are getting set up to watch a movie together, Helen seems less interested in sending lovey-dovey texts to her boyfriend and more interested in perusing my DVD collection. Okay, let’s be honest, my Full House collection. “Matilda, do you actually own every season of Full House ?” She gives me a puzzled look. “Why?”
“Uhhh...” Somehow in all our years of friendship, I’ve managed to keep my Full House obsession under wraps. I know Nina and Helen wouldn’t care, per se, but it feels too exposing to share this vulnerable thing with them. “It was a gag gift. From my coworkers.”
“All eight seasons?” Helen isn’t calling me out, exactly, but I can tell she’s confused. I guess that would be a pretty extreme gag gift. One season, sure, but eight?
Thinking quickly, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “It’s because I got really drunk at a holiday party once and admitted that the first time I masturbated, it was to John Stamos.”
Silence.
It’s not a total lie, but it’s definitely not something I meant to say. That happens sometimes: my mouth works faster than my brain. Still, I refuse to be ashamed, so I raise my chin and an eyebrow and look around the room, daring anyone to call me out.
Helen blinks at me. “Well...sure. What woman of a certain age didn’t grow up with a huge crush on Uncle Jesse?”
“Have mercy,” Nina agrees.
The remark is unexpected coming from her, in her quiet little voice, and the timing is just so spot on that all three of us dissolve into cackling laughter. We’re laughing more than the situation really calls for, honestly, but it’s been a long few days and the joke lands just right, and it’s good to be here with my friends.
A few minutes into the movie we finally decided on (after some healthy debate), Helen nudges me with her knee. “So, who was the guy you were kidnapped with?”
Her tone suggests she’s already drawn some conclusions about who she thinks he is, but I refuse to take the bait. “What guy?”
She frowns at me, clearly not buying my obtuseness. “Just how many men have you been kidnapped with?”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I pretend to be really invested in what’s happening onscreen. “Shh. No talking during the movie.”
To my surprise, Nina holds up the remote and pauses it. Traitor! I gape at her in protest. “Nina!”
But she just shrugs. “What? He’s cute.” Her eyes widen a little. “And big .”
I ponder that statement for a moment, lost in memory. “Yeah, his dick was on the larger side.” Too late, I realize that likely isn’t what she meant. “And also his stature,” I add.
It’s Helen’s turn to gape at me now. “You two had sex? How? When you were tied up in the back of the van?”
“In the hotel, after we were rescued. And anyway, it wasn’t sex. Not penetrative sex, anyway.” I wave my hand, as if to dissolve the conversation. “Who wants popcorn?”
To my dismay, I see Helen and Nina exchange a conspiratorial glance, much like the one I shared with Nina earlier in the kitchen. Betrayal! Nina’s lucky she’s so little and cute, or she would be getting my stink eye right about now. “Is she blushing?” Helen asks Nina, her tone sounding teasing, but also like she can’t really believe what she’s seeing.
I cover my face with my hands. “I am not blushing! I’m not a schoolgirl or a Jane Austen heroine.”
More gently, Nina asks, “Do you like him?”
“No!” I shout, more aggressively than I meant to, and I see both my friends visibly recoil. Taking in a deep breath, I temper my tone. “No. We fooled around a little. That’s all. It didn’t mean anything. Anyway, I’ll probably never see him again.”
Another look exchanged between Nina and Helen. “Stop that!” I snap at them irritably. “I can still see you.”
“Do you want to see him again?” Helen prods. There’s nothing teasing in her tone anymore. She looks almost...hopeful? But also like she’s treading carefully, so as not to spook me off—like I’m a wild animal she’s trying to coax into eating out of her hand. (Knowing Helen, she probably does regularly feed woodland animals while she sings about love in the forest.)
Helen’s question makes me feel squirmy inside. I shrug. “No. I don’t know. If he were to reach out, I’d probably meet up with him—but only so we could have sex.”
Even as I say the words, I don’t know if they’re true. What would I say if Kimo asked me to go see a movie, or throw axes again? Preferably not anywhere with an employee who’d sell us out to kidnappers, but still. The fact that I don’t know the answer is in and of itself...alarming.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I say, waving my hand again. “He hasn’t texted me all day.”
“Have you texted him?” Nina asks.
Damn her sensible questions! “Of course not.”
“How did the two of you leave things?” Helen leans forward, clearly invested. “Did he say he wanted to see you again?”
I cast my mind back to our parting, trying to recall the details exactly. “He said, ‘I’ll see you around.’” I check their reactions.
Another glance is exchanged between Nina and Helen, this time far more muted. “Oh,” Nina says noncommittally.
Their lack of response deflates something in me, until I remember something else. “No, wait, it was—‘I’ll be seeing you, soon .’” I try to give the words the same emphasis Kimo did, standing there by the elevator doors, gazing into my eyes.
“Ohhh,” Helen and Nina say together.
I look back and forth between them. “Is that good? What does that mean?”
Helen smiles, nodding a little to herself. “I think you should text him.”
I scoff, but it’s mainly to cover the fact that the suggestion has my armpits breaking out in sweat. Not dainty little droplets, either—Niagara Falls–levels of moisture. “And say what? I think we should have the penetrative sex we didn’t get to back on the island?”
“Definitely not that.” Helen takes a moment to ponder. “Maybe just check in with him? Tell him you want to make sure he’s okay after everything that happened, and see if he keeps the conversation going.”
“Send him a gif!” Nina suggests. “Everybody likes gifs.”
Nina notoriously overuses gifs, often ones that don’t make any sense, but she’s so sweet, no one has the heart to tell her. I honestly can’t see myself sending off either of their suggestions. It’s what Helen might say, or what Nina might send, but it’s not...me.
Pulling out my phone, I hesitate a moment, then type out my message and send it off before I can second-guess myself. Even so, my heart is pounding, and I have to wipe my hands on my pajamas.
“What did you say?” Nina wants to know.
I show her and Helen the message: U still alive? Not kidnapped again on the way home?
Helen worries over it. She’s the writer of the group, so I can tell she’s afraid it isn’t just right. “It’s...direct, but it doesn’t really open the conversation. What if he doesn’t know what to say back, beyond yes or no?—”
Nina shakes her head, cutting her off. “No, it sounds like Matilda. It’s just right.”
I put the phone on silent so I don’t have to stress all night whether or not he writes back. Despite Helen’s protests, I’m determined not to check it again, and I don’t, until I’m by myself a little while later, brushing my teeth in the bathroom.
My heart lurches when I see that Kimo’s responded. Still alive, home safe. Just tucked up in bed, thinking about my vampire slayer.
He sends me a gif of Buffy roundhouse kicking a vampire in the face.
I grin so hard it hurts. For a few minutes, I dither over what to write back, before finally turning off my phone without saying anything. It was nice to hear from him. But I already know I’ll be disappointed if I write back and he doesn’t respond. It’s probably better to just cut off the conversation now and see if he starts it up again later. Not that I’ll be waiting, or anything.