Chapter Thirty-One
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
And then a second miracle occurred: the loan came through early.
It had been at the forefront of my mind all month, knotting my shoulders and sabotaging my sleep, despite being assured by the lender that it would almost certainly happen.
But then it did happen, ahead of schedule, and the release of pressure was like an open fire hydrant on a summer’s day.
The day had already been better than the two before it, when I had painted the ceilings.
Ceilings were exhausting, neck-straining work.
But the electrician had done his job quickly—a third miracle—so the ceilings had been ready for me.
And now they were ready for the new light fixtures. And now I had the money to buy them.
I had also met Amira that morning, which had given me perspective.
Yes, I was tired, but not as tired as Brittany and Reza.
It seemed significantly less strenuous to build a bookstore than to raise a newborn.
Amira was beautiful and hungry and sleepy and good, but I was still grateful that she was theirs and not mine.
I had stopped by to drop off a load of clean and folded clothes.
This had been my baby shower gift: washing their dirty laundry via porch pickups and drop-offs so they wouldn’t have to interact with me.
Both sets of grandparents had been in town for the baby’s first week, so I’d started after they had left, but this was the first morning that Brittany had the energy to crack open the door to say hello.
It was also the first time I’d ever seen her without makeup.
She still looked gorgeous, although perhaps more like a gorgeous disaster.
“I hear our washer and dryer running at odd hours, but I still don’t understand how you find the time,” Bex said.
Bex was helping me paint the walls, a much more gratifying job than the ceilings.
It was also a smaller job because we weren’t touching the areas that were exposed brick.
Mika had helped me select the perfect pale, warm color of yellowing pages—a hue so natural in a bookstore that it wouldn’t even be noticed. An extension of the books themselves.
“Easy,” I said. “I stopped doing my own laundry.” I was elated and riding high about the loan. I had all the energy.
“Speed, maybe. Adderall or Ritalin.”
“Do you see what I’m wearing?”
“Impossible to miss, darling. Very cute bra.”
I laughed. I was down to my last tank top—plain white and now forever splattered with paint—and a special-occasion push-up bra with a red floral pattern. The bra was extremely visible through the tank top, but I was beyond caring. I did not have time to care.
My phone chimed. The volume was on because I was waiting to hear from Mika, who didn’t know about the loan yet.
She had an online shopping cart full of computers and other equipment ready to go, and I was eager for her to hit the purchase button.
The text wasn’t from her, but I grew even more excited.
“Macon says not to eat. He’s bringing over dinner. ”
“For you or for all of us?”
“Probably just me. Sorry.”
“No worries.” Bex set down their brush. “I’ll wash up and meet Mika. We’ll grab something and join you.” The store she worked at was a short walk away, and there were plenty of restaurants in between.
I was singing to myself when Bex returned from the restroom.
They liked hip-hop and dance, and since they were doing me a favor, we were listening to music instead of my usual audiobooks.
We’d started with the good stuff and had switched to the trashier stuff after the loan came through.
I was thoroughly enjoying it. “You know,” they said, pausing near the entrance, “for somebody who isn’t your boyfriend, Macon sure acts a lot like your boyfriend. ”
My roller paused.
“He brought you flowers,” they said.
“He brought plants for the store.”
“He’s come to ‘check on them’ twice.”
“That’s only because he doesn’t trust me to water them.”
One of Bex’s thick eyebrows rose.
“You guys are helping me, too,” I pointed out.
“Because my wife is quitting a good career to work here. We are highly motivated to help you succeed. What’s his motivation?”
“He’s my friend.”
“Are you sure?”
My throat felt swollen, and I swallowed.
Bex shook their head with a quiet laugh and left.
No , I wasn’t sure. I thought I had been sure, but then I had been wrong, and now I was somewhere in between. I did sense that he was attracted to me. He definitely enjoyed my company. But my own desire was so strong that I feared I might be misinterpreting him again.
But if Bex could see it, too, did that mean it was real?
It wouldn’t take long for him to arrive.
I raced to the restroom, toweled off the sweat, and rinsed my face with cool water.
Redid my messy bun. Added lipstick. Thank goodness my legs and armpits were recently shaved.
What else, what else? Too late to do anything about the outfit, though I realized with a jolt that I wanted him to see me like this—wearing less than he’d ever seen before.
My reflection was pink and flushed but radiant and electrified.
Hopefully my own version of a gorgeous disaster.
I hurried back to my roller. It was dusk, and I turned the music up loud, some synth-y European club song, ridiculous but thumping.
He would arrive any second now. I resumed painting, my hips swaying to the beat.
I wanted him to see me having fun. I wanted him to see me feeling good, feeling cute, feeling sexy. I wanted him to see me .
“Ingrid,” he shouted, and I jumped and nearly dropped the roller.
I burst into laughter. “Macon!”
He was standing frozen in the doorway clutching a large Pyrex container, almost as if he was afraid to come any closer.
I set down the roller. The beat changed, picked up, and I danced toward him with my arms raised and an enormous smile. “The loan came through!”
It took a moment for him to process what I’d said because he was watching me so intently. My long bare legs. The floral-patterned bra. His blatant, uncharacteristic gaping filled me with a rush of power. He blinked—and then again. “That’s great,” he said, a little choked.
I laughed and danced all the way up to him. “I’m celebrating.”
He seemed stunned but let out a flustered laugh as I took the container from him and set it on the floor.
I kept dancing even though he hadn’t moved an inch.
Without ever having been told, I knew Macon didn’t like to dance.
Cory liked to dance. Cory actually loved to dance, and he was good at it, too.
About as good as I was, at least. But I didn’t need Macon to dance with me. I could dance with him.
The music throbbed. Still laughing to myself, I bounced and gyrated around him: arms, legs, belly, pelvis, chest. He stood, ground to the same spot, embarrassed but enraptured. Like he wished it would stop but also very much hoped it would continue.
I wanted to touch him. I didn’t dare.
A pen from work was still tucked behind his ear. Still dancing, I slowly, teasingly pulled it out. Then I popped it into my mouth and playfully bit the end.
His eyes were wide and locked on mine.
No. Ingrid. No.
His expression looked so familiar that it knocked the wind out of me. My body froze as Mika rushed me from behind, shouting, “You got the loan!”
She and Bex had come in through the back door.
Their appearance jumped me back to life.
Mika and I ran into each other’s arms and shrieked, but part of my shriek was also fear.
I didn’t know if Macon was about to tell me no again—I didn’t think he was—but if he did, I couldn’t bear the rejection.
Yet it felt equally unbearable to remain in this fraught limbo.
I needed him to make a move.
I needed him to say yes.
The song changed. Bex turned the new one up even louder, and then the three of us began dancing and laughing together. I waved for Macon to join us, an invitation I knew he wouldn’t accept, and he shook his head vehemently.
I loped back over to him, catching my breath. I held out the pen.
He didn’t take it.
“Whoops.” I wiped it off on my shirt. “Sorry. I got carried away?”
He was staring at the pen or my tank top or maybe my bra. I think I had broken him. Attempting one last flirtatious gesture, I slipped the pen back behind his ear. His hand automatically went to it. I waited, hoping, for him to do something. Anything.
He looked away from me, breaking the tension. “I can’t stay.”
My disappointment was crushing.
“I just came to drop that off.” He gestured to the Pyrex. “I made dinner for my mom, and it’s been a while since I fed you, so…”
“Okay.” I couldn’t keep the frustration out of my voice. “Well. Thanks.”
His gaze whipped back to me. I was surprised that he looked frustrated, too. Perhaps even angry. “I still have to deliver hers.”
“Oh,” I said. Feeling a little shittier.
We stared at each other, the bass still vibrating.
My friends still dancing. He glanced over at them.
Suddenly I saw the decade between us, the differences in our responsibilities, and felt young and judged in a way that I didn’t like.
His mouth opened to say something, but then he changed his mind and bit it back.
He was struggling, and I did not feel like helping him.
When he finally spoke, his voice was too low, and I couldn’t hear it above the booming music.
I held a hand to my ear.
“The color,” he said, speaking louder and pointing to the walls. I think he tried to smile, but the lines of his face were so agitated that it looked like a grimace. “It’s good. It’s like… the slightly aged pages of a novel.”
It killed me that he knew this. That he saw this. That we interpreted the world in such a similar way. He made me want to scream. I wanted more than paint colors and friendship flowers and pity meals. I wanted him .
“I like it, too,” I said, snatching up the dinner and stalking away.
“I overwhelmed him,” I told Kat a few hours later, still feeling ornery but also writhing with humiliation and regret, “with the stupid dancing.”
“Yeah,” she said with brash confidence, “but he was into it.”
“Then why didn’t he make a move?”
“Because you weren’t alone, and he doesn’t strike me as the type of guy who’d take a risk when other people are watching.”
She wasn’t wrong, but my frustration still raged like an inferno.
“I’m sorry he’s the only thing I call you about anymore,” I said. Our FaceTimes had become rare since I’d become so busy with school and then the store.
“Hey, remember the first year of Howie’s life when I disappeared on you?”
I cracked a glum smile.
“Was it a big deal?” she pressed.
“Of course not. You were adjusting to a life-changing event.”
“Exactly. You’re in a new season of life, and a lot is happening right now. I know it doesn’t mean that you’re gone or that you don’t care about me. And I also know that when things calm down, you’ll be back. And I’ll still be here—just like you were for me.”
“How do you know he was into it?” I asked, unable to help myself.
Kat grinned. “Because he watched you dance for the whole song.”