Chapter 29 #2
Men and women together. Oh, hell, women and women, men and men.
This is a huge date spot. Obviously, Varen enjoyed the game for what it was – she also came here often, it seemed.
But did she often bring dates here? Or was Nala that special?
She said she hadn’t really been with a woman since Desirée. Sex, yes. Anything beyond that? Not likely.
Nala remained seated for the whole game, which let out while the sun was still shining and people were going about their days.
Even after the game ended, she stayed curled next to Varen, wrapping their hands together and watching the world go by.
People on either side of them left. The field cleared.
Nala let her hair loose across her shoulders, and Varen raised her hood enough to cover the back of her neck from the blaring sunlight.
Someone burns easily. Was Varen sure she was Californian?
“What do you want to do now?” Varen asked once it was clear enough for them to make their escape. “Bookstore?”
“Sure.”
Still holding hands, they walked out of the stadium, heading toward their parking space and silently praying that nobody had broken into Varen’s car.
Thankfully, it remained untouched, and most of the cars around it had left.
That didn’t mean traffic was any better, however.
They sat for a while, watching cars and trucks go by, departing from the game and going elsewhere.
People who lived in the area walked. Others who lived near public transportation congregated on platforms and beneath glass awnings.
The sad thing was the bookstore wasn’t even that far away.
The sadder thing was that trying to find parking in the area was like looking for a dress in Veran’s closet.
While she muttered under her breath, swinging laps around the same blocks over and over, Nala rolled down her window and soaked in the warm sunshine.
There was something blessedly normal about it. Nala hadn’t felt this kind of reassurance since before Tasha’s death. Back when she was in a relationship with her ex. Back when she could feel relatively safe stepping out of her house. Such days seemed so far away now.
No. They’re right here. Danger lurked everywhere. Nala knew that the world wasn’t as good as it used to be. People died. Others were born, but the odds of her getting to know them well enough for it to matter were slim, especially at this point in her life.
The only reason she felt this way was because of Varen, who finally found a space near the park and signaled for Nala to get out.
They walked side by side toward the bookstore, Varen checking for her wallet and Nala following suit.
I wish every day could feel like today. For now, Nala was content to be secure in her jeans and sweatshirt, walking twice as fast as Varen to keep up with her strides and hardly breaking a sweat.
The bookstore boasted to be the largest indie one in the world.
Nala didn’t know how true that was, as she had barely been to any indie bookstores in her life, but the building took up its own city block and had multiple stories.
The one time Nala had been in here before, she remembered rooms of various colors and carrying all sorts of goodies.
Right after a ball game – and on a sunny day no less – the place was packed with families, couples, and singles scoping out the wares as if they would never have the chance to again. For some of the tourists, that was probably true.
“Where the hell do we even begin?” Nala asked, standing in the foyer with her eyes scanning maps on the wall. Not maps of Portland. Maps of the store! “Do you know what you want to look for?”
“Sure. Why don’t we reconvene in an hour?”
Nala started in the cookbooks. Cookbooks from all around the world, from Japanese to Thai, Brazilian to Latvian.
Nala fingered the worn-out spine of an old Russian cookbook.
Eventually, she pulled it out and flipped through, wondering if she could find some of the dishes her mother used to make.
Sure enough, after wracking her brain to remember what her favorites were called in her mother tongue, she found some easy recipes she could try.
I wonder if Varen would like any of these.
She would probably find the dishes Yena made too bland for her Californian tastes.
Luckily for Varen, Russian food boasted a lot of variety.
I don’t cook much, but… The woman had cooked for her. Maybe Nala should give it a try too. What am I doing? Thinking I’m Suzy Homemaker…
Nala continued to stare at a page in the cookbook, but she wasn’t reading it.
Instead, she realized that she knew nothing about Varen’s personal life.
Nothing about her family, other than she had a mother.
She never heard her mention a father. Did she have siblings?
Nala couldn’t remember if she said anything about that or not.
Surely, she had cousins. Old friends from school?
New friends in Portland? She didn’t live a completely solitary life, did she?
Nala held the book to her chest and went down the next aisle, eventually looping into the literature section.
I haven’t read anything substantial in so long.
Once again, she didn’t know where to begin.
Aisles opened up before her. Letters passed by, signaling where one author ended and another began.
She had her pick. Western literature. Translated literature.
Books by men long dead and books by women having their voices heard for the first time.
There were authors Nala had heard of a million times but never read.
Then there were authors she never heard of but she was sure were great.
She didn’t like to do it, but Nala went the “judge a book by its cover” route.
She picked ones with bright colors and read their blurbs.
Most she put back again. Every once in a while, however, she found one that piqued her interest and made her carry them around like precious possessions.
Eventually, a volunteer offered her a basket to carry everything in.
The hour wore on with Nala meandering upstairs and discovering books about philosophy, religion, travel, music, and anything she could ever dream of.
She knew nothing about these subjects. All she did know was that her knowledge seriously lacked in so many areas.
Is this because I didn’t go to college? She knew she was still young, but it seemed like there were so many things to learn out there.
Suddenly, Nala imagined herself making a career out of being a student.
Traveling the world. Learning how to write code like Varen.
Learning to play an instrument. I wanna learn how to play guitar!
She picked up a book showing beginners how to mind their frets and strums.
I wanna go to China someday! She picked up a book about Shanghai and the fun things to do there.
Ooh, what’s flower arranging? This place was dangerous.
The farther back she went, the more adult certain things became. Nothing was held back behind glass, so when Nala came face to face with “BDSM lifestyle” books, she nearly dropped her small basket and begged for a Domme’s mercy.
They write books about this stuff? Apparently, it was more mainstream than she ever thought.
Nala looked to her left, then her right, making sure no stupid stranger judged her while she plucked two random books off the shelf and shoved them at the bottom of her basket.
As if she were a mind reader, Varen chose that moment to text her.
“I’m in the café. Come join me when you’re done.”
When she found the café, she was greeted with the smell of coffee, tea, and so many sweets she could barely stand it.
The place was also packed. Tables nestled between shelves of comic books and romance novels – because those were totally the same thing.
Hm. Maybe to me they are. Nala looked around the room, assuming that Varen would be easy to find.
Except a woman in jeans and a sweatshirt blended in like smoke on a cloudy day.
A brown ponytail? Forget it. Unhelpful. Nala couldn’t throw a book from her basket and not give a woman like that a concussion.
Varen sat with her back to Nala, along the window, a stack of books in front of her as she flipped through one with her right hand and fiddled with her phone with the left.
Nala almost ran up to her, but something was tugging at her.
As if she were at the end of a string, and someone was at the other end yanking for dear life.
Except she didn’t move anywhere. She was trapped where she stood, left gawking at this gorgeous woman who was at a soccer game one minute and now flipping through books the next.
The same woman who had seen her cry. The one who had shown her a chasm of stars.
She put her basket down before resting a tender hand on Varen’s shoulder. She glanced at her, smiled, and went back to her book. Strange formulas and what looked like programming code flashed before Nala’s eyes. Of course it is.
“Anything good?” she asked, pulling out the chair next to Varen. “I’m dying to know what someone like you looks at.”
Varen backed away from her book and let Nala take a better gander. “You know Java?”
“Coffee?”
“Not quite.”
Nala pretended to be fascinated by the lines of code demonstrated in the book. “You should teach me some of this. We’ve got some good scientists in my family. You never know. I might be one too, and I never realized my potential due to shoddy teachers and little drive.”