Five
I T’S ALMOST FOUR IN the afternoon when we get to Theo’s place. I’m tired from a weird day and slightly nauseated from smelling beer for so long. It’s a relief to step into his bathroom and pull off my dress.
Even my boots smell like beer. And I can’t just throw those into the laundry.
Reminding myself it’s not really that big a deal—things like this happen—I get into the shower and stay under the spray for longer than normal.
I even wash my hair in case it smells too. Theo uses bath soap, but it’s not fancy. It smells pleasant. Exactly the way you expect soap to smell. And his shampoo is good quality but also basic. Made to tame thick hair.
I smile when I read the bottle. I always suspected he wasn’t fond of his thick, wavy hair. He used to cut it really short, and now it looks like he’s always fighting to keep it smooth.
His shampoo will work fine on my hair. It smells like him.
Feeling a lot better after I’m done with the shower, I dry off and pull on the old gray sweatshirt and black sweatpants he gave me to put on. I’m tall enough that the clothes aren’t ridiculously long for me, but they’re definitely too big. I feel kind of like a little girl in adult clothes, but it’s better than smelling like beer.
I braid my hair quickly into one thick, wet plait and then come out into the living room, where Theo is sitting on a stool at his kitchen counter bar.
His face changes when he sees me. He doesn’t smile, but his expression softens almost imperceptibly. “You feel better?”
“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry for the freak-out.”
“That was hardly what I’d call a freak-out.”
“Maybe. But still... I could have probably managed to drive home without contaminating my car.”
“It would have left a smell. So this plan made more sense.”
This plan really doesn’t make more sense than driving home like a reasonable person, but I appreciate that he’s making me feel like my behavior wasn’t irrational. “Thanks for letting me use your shower and your clothes.”
“Not a problem. Will your dress go in the laundry okay? We can wash it now if you want so you don’t have to take it home smelling like that.”
I hesitate because I like the idea, but it will require me staying here for long enough to wash and dry it. “It will. But you really don’t have to—”
He doesn’t let me finish the statement. He’s already picked up my dress and taken it to a closet in his hallway, which houses a small stacked washer and dryer.
I help him choose the wash settings and put in the detergent. I’m glad the dress isn’t like a lot of my other clothes and requires handwashing.
“Well, now I’m stuck here for a while, unless you want me to leave before it’s—”
“Are you serious, Maya?”
He sounds so baffled that I stare. “About what?”
“You really think I’m expecting you to take off before your dress is even done?”
I swallow hard. “Well, no. Probably not. But I didn’t know. I’ve never been your favorite person.”
“What do you know about who my favorite person is?”
I’m not expecting this kind of response from him. I’m used to him being grumpy and withdrawn, even when he’s trying to be civil. “I... I don’t know.”
I expect him to back down. Drop the subject. Look away. That’s what he’s always done before whenever conversation between us got serious in any way.
But he doesn’t this time. He’s looking right at me, and he doesn’t drop his gaze. “What don’t you know?”
“I don’t know... I mean, you can’t pretend you ever really liked me. I appreciate that you’ve been good to me this weekend, but you’ve never... you’ve never liked me.”
He pauses a beat before he asks in an oddly textured voice, “Is that what you think?”
An excited shiver runs up and down my spine. I have no idea where it even comes from. I open my mouth to reply and then close it again. Don’t say anything.
We stare at each other for almost a minute—about fifty-five seconds too long. Then I finally drop my gaze and clear my throat. “Anyway, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the shower and the laundry and not acting like I’m making a big deal about nothing. And for helping me this weekend even though I’m sure you think the whole situation is ridiculous.”
“Why would I think it’s ridiculous?”
“Because it kind of is. Who makes a huge production over figuring out the mystery person who’s been writing her?”
“If he’s been writing you regularly for a year, then he must be into you. Trying to discover who it is isn’t a ridiculous thing to do.”
I’ve never actually put into words the significance of my faithful correspondence with this person, but Theo is exactly right. The most logical explanation is that he’s into me.
And the most logical explanation for my reciprocation is that I might be a little bit into him too.
That moves my mission here beyond simple curiosity and wanting to meet a challenge. And it also makes me feel very weird—because what does it say about me that I might be into a mystery man but I’m also having very weird, excited feelings about Theo?
The whole thing is awkward and bizarre and laughable. Only I could get myself into this situation.
“If he’s really into me, then he wouldn’t be trying to hide his identity.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He scoots the stool beside him away from the bar in a clear invitation for me to sit.
I do. “Why maybe not?”
“There might be reasons why he’s reluctant to make himself known.”
“Reasons like what? Other than the possibility that he’s married or ninety years old or something.”
He huffs with amusement. “He might be shy.”
“Shy?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“He wasn’t too shy to start writing to me.”
“There’s a difference between writing from behind a screen and coming face-to-face. Maybe he’s bad with women.”
I twist my mouth. “I guess. But he doesn’t seem bad with women. He’s really smart and funny and sensitive.”
“Online. That doesn’t mean he has any sort of game in person.”
“Maybe. But if that’s the case, what does he hope to accomplish by the whole thing? If he’s serious, then he’ll have to tell me who he is eventually.”
Theo stares down at the granite bar for several seconds. Then murmurs thickly, “Maybe he’s been into you for a really long time and he’s afraid this is his one shot with you. Maybe he’s terrified of blowing it.”
For some reason, my heart does a dramatic leap in my chest. I dart a couple of quick glances at him, uncertain what’s causing the thick tension in the air between us.
I wait for him to say something else, partly because I have no idea what to say and partly because I’m not sure my voice is actually going to work.
Until he clears his throat. “I’m just saying, we don’t know what this guy is thinking. And there’s no reason to assume his motivation is dubious.”
My heart returns to its normal place in my chest. “I know what you’re saying, but I think your interpretation is overly romanticized.”
His shoulders shake briefly, and he turns his head to slant me an amused look. “Since when has anyone accused me of being overly romantic?”
“I’d imagine no one ever has.”
“They haven’t. But I still stand behind my words. You don’t really know what’s going on with this guy, so don’t assume the worst.”
“Okay.” I sigh and slump forward, resting my arm on the countertop and using it to support my head. “So we’re right back where we started, trying to figure out which guy on my list we’re dealing with.”
“But we’ve crossed three off.”
“True.”
“And we’ve got plenty of time to track down the others. You’re here for three weeks, right?”
“Right.”
“So there.”
I can’t help but giggle. “So there.”
He pushes back his stool. “You might as well stay for dinner since we have to wait for your laundry anyway.”
It’s only four thirty. I wouldn’t say dinner was an inevitable next item on an agenda for the day. But I’m having a better time with Theo than I ever dreamed I would. Not just because it’s kind of fun being on a mission with him but also because he’s making me think, making me feel things, making me feel alive in a way I haven’t in a really long time.
So I say, “Okay. That makes sense.”
We both nod as if my words are true.
But I’m honestly not sure any of this makes sense at all.
***
W E END UP MOVING TO the couch and finding a movie to watch on TV.
When I shiver, Theo digs up some hot chocolate packets from his cabinet and makes some for both of us. He offers me a soft throw blanket, and I cuddle up under it, sipping my hot chocolate and feeling cozy and comfortable, even with my wet hair.
We watch an old mystery film about an amateur detective following clues and solving an enigma of a case.
I enjoy every minute of it.
When the movie is over, it’s six thirty, so it’s well within the appropriate span of time to start fixing dinner.
He has a reasonably full refrigerator and freezer as well as a decent number of staples in his cabinets. He clearly is in the habit of cooking his meals at home somewhat often, so it’s not hard to find something for dinner.
He’s got some good sausage and gorgonzola, so I suggest pasta with sausage and a gorgonzola cheese sauce. He tells me I’ll have to take the lead on the sauce, so he ends up making us a simple salad to eat with the pasta.
He pours us both glasses from a bottle of merlot he pulls out of the cabinet above the refrigerator and then he turns on music while we cook.
It’s a mix of older country music. It kind of surprises me, although I’m not sure I ever put any thought into what kind of music Theo might listen to.
I’m smiling to myself about the twangy love song as I add dried pasta to boiling water when he glances over at me from the grape tomatoes he’s slicing in half. “What? Do you not like this music? Would you prefer some sort of mystical Zen yoga music?”
I laugh out loud. “I like the kind with forest and rain sounds interspersed.”
His mouth twitches. “I thought as much. I can find you something like that if you really want.”
“This is fine. Believe it or not, I don’t listen to nature sounds all the time. I just never thought of you and country music.”
“My grandpa used to listen to it all the time. I spent summers with him growing up, and I guess it made an impact.”
“I didn’t know you spent summers with your grandpa.” I search my mind, trying to recall whether this particular fact was something I should have known.
“Yeah. My folks liked to travel in the summer, so they sent me to him.”
“Didn’t you want to travel with them?”
“Sure. I wouldn’t have minded, but they never suggested it. They preferred adult trips. And I always loved staying with Grandpa. He taught me to drive and to shoot a rifle and to camp and all kinds of outdoorsy stuff I never would have done with my folks.”
I turn the sliced sausage to brown the other sides. “Where did he live?”
“In the mountains up toward Asheville. They were good summers. But that’s when I learned to like this music.”
“That makes sense. Is he still alive?”
“He is, but he had to move into an assisted living place a few years back. He hated it at first, but he’s finally gotten used to it. It’s a couple of hours away from here, but I go visit him as often as I can. At least once a month.”
“I’m sure that means a lot to him. Are you closer to him than to your parents?”
His relationship with his parents is also something I never considered before. I’m realizing now that I never really thought about him as a person—just an annoying accessory to Chris. Maybe that’s mostly Theo’s own fault since he always kept me at arm’s distance, but still...
It’s also partly my fault. I could have made more of an effort. He was important to Chris. Maybe he should have been important to me too.
He makes a face as he slides the cut tomatoes to one side and works on a cucumber. “I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t have a bad relationship with my parents. We haven’t always seen eye to eye though, and they don’t approve of all my choices.”
“What choices? Your career?”
He nods.
“They didn’t want you to become a public defender?”
“They were fine with me going to law school, but I think they pictured some sort of ritzy partnership at an impressive law firm. They still don’t really understand.”
“Why did you decide to go in this direction?” I turn down the heat on the stove before I turn to look at him. “With your family’s connections, you probably could have had a lucrative career.”
He shrugs and glances away.
“What? Why won’t you tell me?” It’s odd I’m so comfortable pushing him in this. Only two days ago I never would have dreamed he’d want to open up to me or I’d expect him to.
“There’s not a clear-cut reason. I just didn’t want to practice law to get rich people out of trouble. I’ve never cared about money as much as my folks do. I... I want to do work I’m proud of, that I can see real good come out of. So this is what I chose.” He’s kind of mumbly and not meeting my eyes.
My heart is beating faster than it should. And it feels a little melty. And like it’s momentarily too big for my chest.
I clear my throat. “Well, it’s clear you are making a positive impact. I’ve heard from more than one person who really appreciates what you’ve done for your clients.”
He nods and still won’t meet my eyes, but it’s not because he’s pushing me away. It feels more like he’s embarrassed by the authenticity.
Remembering my sausage before it starts to burn, I turn back to my pan, taking the sausage out and adding some butter and flour to the pan and stirring it around before adding milk.
I check the pasta, and it only needs a couple of minutes more. Theo is putting our salads together in two bowls. I’m stirring the milk into a roux when he comes over and peers at the pan over my shoulder.
“That smells really good.”
“It’s the sausage. It will make anything smell good.”
“That sauce is thickening up really good. So you just add cheese after that?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“That’s pretty easy. Why haven’t I been making this before now?”
I smile down at the pan. “That’s a question you’ll have to answer for yourself. If that pasta is done, you can go ahead and drain it.”
We work for a couple of minutes, him draining the pasta and me crumbling the gorgonzola into the sauce and then adding back the sausage. When it’s ready, he pours the pasta into the pan, and I stir everything together for a minute before turning off the heat.
“Done!” I grin at him, excited about the meal and even more so that we made it together.
“That looks like the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
I snort. “Wait until you taste it before you make grand statements.”
We serve up the pasta and eat it on stools at the bar with our salads and wine. I ask Theo more about his work, and he tells me about some of the cases he’s most proud of. Then I ask him more about his family, and he asks about mine. We talk until our bowls are empty and we’ve finished the bottle of wine.
It’s only then that I remember my dress. I never moved it from the washer to the dryer.
I run to the hallway to move it, apologizing when I come back that I let it slide.
“Why would it matter?” he asks, gazing at me with a confused smile.
“I don’t know. Just that now I can’t leave until it’s dry.”
“Do you think I was asking you to leave?”
“No. No, of course not. I just...” I take a raspy breath and stare down at my empty pasta dish. “I’m taking up your whole day.”
“I told you before. I didn’t have any plans for the day anyway. And I’ve had a better time than I would have if you weren’t here.”
“Really?” I give him a quick, sidelong glance to check if he’s serious.
He appears to be. “Yes. Really. Do you have delusions about my having some sort of breathtaking social life?”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Well, no. If you want to know the truth. I just always assumed...”
“That I don’t like you,” he finishes for me. “Yes. I’m starting to understand that.” He pauses. “It’s not true.”
“It’s not?” I wish my hair was loose so I could use it to hide my face. I’m feeling ridiculously self-conscious. Shy in a way I almost never am.
“No. It’s not true.”
We gaze at each other for another span of time that feels just a little too long.
I swallow and slide off my stool, picking up my dishes to bring them to the sink.
He does the same. We rinse off the dishes, load the dishwasher, and then return to the couch.
We sit in silence for a minute before he says, “We can watch another movie if you want.”
“Okay. That sounds good.” It does. Anything to fill the tense silence. Anything other than sliding over to him and kissing him, which is what I’m currently fighting the urge to do.
He finds another old mystery—one of a similar tone to the earlier one we watched—and I snuggle under the blanket, feeling full and warm and comfortable.
Strangely safe.
And like I’m not alone.
When the dryer buzzes, I retrieve my dress and hang it up so it won’t get wrinkled. But I don’t put it on yet. No use doing that until the movie is over.
During the second half of the movie, the food and the warmth start to make me sleepy. I make myself focus on the screen and not let my eyes drift shut.
I don’t succeed.
I fall asleep and must lean over on him in my sleep because when my eyelids flutter open the next time, I’m cuddled up under his arm, resting my head on the side of his chest. “What’s happ’ning?” I mumble.
“You were asleep,” Theo says, warm and soft and husky. “You don’t have to wake up yet if you don’t want.”
“Okay.” I’m sure reason and sense would speak louder in my head if I really didn’t like my current position. But I do like it. I love how it feels to recline against Theo this way. I love the feel of his arm around me. I love that I can feel the warmth of his body and the way his chest rises and falls with his breathing.
I don’t want to move, so I don’t. I burrow into him even more.
After that, I lose track of time. I do wake up briefly when Theo is shifting positions. He’s stretching out on the couch, fitting me against him and then pulling a soft throw blanket over both of us.
I don’t mind. I move with him willingly. After all, this way he can wrap both his arms around me, and I like that even more.
Maybe he’s sleepy too. Sleeping on the couch is a perfectly normal thing to do.
And at the moment it doesn’t matter that the two of us absolutely shouldn’t be doing it together.
So I go back to sleep in his arms, and it’s a long time before I wake up again.