Chapter 25
Gray
Half an hour later, I still feel Ash’s hands on me, inside me, as I walk in my front door. I barely remember driving, but I must’ve stopped in the right places and hit the gas when I needed to, because I’m home, I’m alive, and I don’t recall being honked at.
Still, it takes me several seconds with my hand poised above the keypad to my alarm to realize what’s wrong. I don’t need to punch in the code because the alarm didn’t go off when I walked in.
I frown and try to remember if I set it when I left this morning. I was in a hurry, so it’s possible I walked out without doing so. I’m always so worried I’ll forget one thing that often I neglect others.
I look at the alarm again. I’m sure I just forgot to set it…
I head into the kitchen to see what I have for dinner. I’m only just realizing how hungry I am.
My phone pings, and I swipe it open. I’m mad at myself for hoping it’s Ash, but I’m disappointed to see it’s Drew. Months ago I would’ve been thrilled to see a text from him, but I’ve found someone else to hyper-fixate on, and the sight of Drew’s name just makes my body sag.
I open the text out of sheer morbid curiosity.
Drew
Is this still your phone, Gray? Just wondering if you got my last texts. It’s Drew.
He’s texted one other time since the night Ash took me to dinner, but I didn’t answer that time either.
Maybe his interest has nothing to do with me, and he’s just hoping to become friendly again so I’ll invite him to hang out with me and Ash.
Now that I think about it, that’s probably the case. He doesn’t want me. He wants Ash.
I’m about to put the phone down when I remember I need to call Ash. I dial, and he picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, baby,” he says, and my stomach hiccups at the smooth, deep timbre of his voice.
I have no idea why it affects me so much when he calls me that. I know some women consider it infantilizing, but I can’t get enough of it.
It sounds like he has me on speaker. I put him on speaker too as I rummage in the freezer for a frozen meal since I’m too lazy to cook.
“Bad time?” I ask. “It sounds like you’re out.”
“I’m driving, but I can talk. What’s this breakthrough you had that made you rope Kelsier into chirping at me the whole practice?”
“You didn’t really hit him, did you?” I ask.
“Not yet,” he says, but I hear the smile in his voice.
I find a frozen Indian meal and put the phone down to unbox it.
“I didn’t just have Kelsier trash talking you today,” I say carefully as I put the meal in the microwave. “I had him use very specific trash talk.”
I’m wary of telling Ash what I suspect, but he needs to know this if we’re going to address it.
“Okay,” he says. “What kind?”
I pick the phone back up. “Gender-based trash talk,” I say, deciding not to ease into it. “I had him make comments that challenged your masculinity, that…suggested you were womanish.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line for several long moments.
“Ash?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Did Kelsier do what I asked?”
“Yeah. He told me I checked like a girl and asked me if I hit one of my shots with my purse. Shit like that.”
I smile as I turn the microwave on. That last is objectively funny.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I had the idea when I found out your name is feminine in Icelandic. It’s clearly something you think about, so it made me wonder if you were more susceptible to misogynistic trash talk.”
More silence on the other end as I head over to the dining room table to find the academic text I was reading earlier.
The book is where I left it, but I frown to see it’s closed.
I swear I left it open to a particular page I wanted to read more carefully.
Shit. I’ll have to find the page again later.
“Ash?” I ask again when he remains quiet.
“I’m here.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just…I guess I always considered myself, you know, a male feminist or something,” he says. “My sisters made sure I knew the kind of shit they went through with men and with their jobs, so it’s a little jarring to think maybe I’m not as enlightened as I thought I was.”
Something in his tone breaks my heart. Ash is a good guy. I don’t doubt he’s more cognizant of women’s issues and experiences because of his sisters, but what’s more enlightened, in my opinion, is that he wants to be cognizant of them.
A light bulb goes off in my head.
“Ash, maybe I’m wrong about how we’re looking at this,” I say.
“No, you-”
“Shut up and listen,” I tell him.
A brief pause, then, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Let’s think about this in terms of your ideal image,” I say. “Your ideal image isn’t that of a macho man. It’s that of a man who views women as equals, one who cares about their struggles and wants to view them as strong. To use your own word, you’re a feminist.”
“Okay.”
“But you’ve also got this thing in the back of your mind that, in your culture, your name is feminine, and that bothers you. But worse, it bothers you that that bothers you.”
More silence, then another, “Okay.”
“The image being threatened isn’t your masculinity,” I tell him. “It’s your image as this enlightened ‘male feminist.’ You don’t want the gendered trash talk to affect you, but it does, and that makes you ashamed.”
A longer pause this time. “Okay, I think I followed all that. So…what do I do about it?”
I pull my dinner out of the microwave and set it on the small kitchen table because my large dining room table is covered in books. “I haven’t gotten that far yet,” I say as I open the refrigerator. “I’ll have to-”
I freeze as I catch sight of the bottle of wine on the top shelf. It’s not mine, and I have no idea where it came from.
“Gray?” Ash asks. “You’ll have to what? I think I lost you there.”
I stare at the wine, and suddenly the fact that my alarm wasn’t armed when I came home is much more salient.
No, don’t panic yet. Maybe the wine is mine. Maybe I brought it up from the cellar and just don’t remember. Maybe…
That’s when the open shade catches my eye. There’s a low window off the kitchen that I always keep the shade drawn down on because it looks into the neighbor’s house, and I’ve seen my seventy-eight-year-old neighbor walk around in his underwear too many times to keep it up.
But it’s up now.
“Gray?” Ash’s voice comes through the phone louder now.
I walk over to the window and push it up. It’s unlocked. I can’t remember if I keep this window locked or not, but I know I keep this shade down. I haven’t opened it in months.
“Oh God,” I whisper.
“Gray?” Ash’s voice has a touch of urgency. “Gray, are you alright?”
“Oh my fucking God,” I say again as adrenaline-fueled panic races through me, and I start to shake.
“Gray!” Ash’s voice is sharp now. “What’s going on?”
“I think someone was in my house,” I say.
Then an even more terrifying thought hits me, and I drop my voice to a whisper. “Or they’re still here.”
“What? Did you just say someone broke into your house?” Ash asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, fear making my voice quiver.
I hurry to the counter and pull the largest knife I can find out of the knife rack.
“My alarm was disarmed when I came in, someone closed the book on my table, there’s a bottle of wine in the refrigerator I didn’t buy, and the shade I always, always keep closed is open,” I say in a terrified whisper.
“Gray, get out of the house now,” Ash says. “I’m only a few minutes away. Stay on with me and text 911 as soon as you get outside.”
I look at the front door. It looks a million miles away. I have a back door that’s closer, but what if the intruder is waiting out there? At least I know there’s no one out front, and my neighbors will be able to see me if I’m attacked.
But I have to make it all the way to the front door first.
“Gray? Are you out yet?” Ash asks.
“I…I can’t,” I say. “The door is too far away. I’m still in my kitchen.”
“Baby,” Ash’s voice is softer, still urgent, but coaxing. “Listen to me. You need to get out of that house now. Do you have a weapon?”
I nod, then say yes when I realize he can’t see me.
“Then go now. Just run for the door,” he says.
My legs feel like jelly as I try to work up the courage to go for the door, but I can’t move. Finally, Ash’s voice spurs me to action.
“Gray, go now!” he shouts through the phone.
I bolt for the door, somehow having the wherewithal to grab my purse as I streak by the kitchen table.
The entire way to the door I swear I see the shadows in my periphery move, ready to grab for me, but nothing touches me.
I wrench open the door and fly through it, still expecting someone to grab me from behind as I dash down the stairs of the porch into the front yard and all the way to the sidewalk.
When I stop, I’m breathing like I sprinted the 100-meter dash against Usain Bolt.
“Gray?”
“I’m out,” I say at the phone. It’s clutched in my left hand with my purse strap while I hold the ten-inch carving knife in my right.
“Good girl,” Ash says. There’s no sexual overtone to it this time, and I’m too scared to be aroused by it anyhow. “Text 911. I’m almost there.”
I toggle screens to my text messages and type 911 into the “To” field. I type out a quick message to say I think someone broke into my house, and I give my name and address.
I get a message back almost immediately asking if I’m in a safe place and if I’m hurt. I type back that I’m outside my house and unharmed.
“Did you text 911?” Ash asks over the speaker.
“Yes, I’m texting with the dispatcher now. They’re sending police.”
“Alright. Stay on with me. I’m only a couple minutes away.”
I nod again, but I don’t have the words to spare right now. I’m shaking like a leaf, mostly from fear, but it also hits me that I left my jacket inside and it’s cold out. Every little sound or movement makes me jump, though, so I’m not really focused on the temperature.
“Baby, keep talking to me,” Ash says. “I need to know you’re okay.”
“You…you don’t have to call me that when we’re alone,” I say.
Why I decide to bring that up now of all times, I’ll never know.
“Call you what? Baby?” Ash asks, confused.
“Yeah. I mean, if it’s easier just to keep it up so you don’t forget, it’s fine,” I say. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to call me ‘baby.’”
My heart beats five times before he asks, “And what if I want to call you that?’”
My stomach somersaults.
“Do you dislike it?” he asks.
“No,” I assure him quickly. “No, it’s not that. I just…I don’t…I mean…” I fumble for how to explain things in a way that won’t offend him or make me sound like a headcase.
I’m saved from deciding on something when I hear a car screech to a halt at the curb. I turn around, and relief floods me at the sight of Ash’s Aston Martin. He’s already half out the door before the car is in park and turned off, and I rush toward him without thinking.
He pulls up a few feet from me and holds out his hands. I stop, confused for a moment until he looks at my hand.
“Hand me the knife,” he says, reaching out carefully.
I look down and see I’m still clutching the blade, and it’s thrust out like I’m ready to stab something. I would’ve cut him.
Ash extends his hand, and I shift the knife to give it to him, handle first. He takes it from me and lays it on the ground.
Then he straightens, takes my still out-stretched hand, and pulls me to him.
I throw myself into his arms and try not to hyperventilate against his chest. I was afraid I might burst into tears when he got here, but my eyes stay dry. I’m probably in too much shock to cry.
“Are you okay?” Ash asks. I feel his chin rest on top of my head.
“Yes,” I say, then rethink my answer. “No.”
“You’re safe now.” He holds me for another few seconds before gently setting me away from him. “Where’s your coat?”
My teeth chatter as I point to the house. “Inside.”
Ash takes his jacket off and helps me put it on. It’s warm from his body, and it smells like a mix of his bodywash, his deodorant, plus some general man-scents I can’t distinguish right now. It soothes me instantly.
Ash picks the knife back up from the ground.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m going inside to check things out.”
“Don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “The police will be here soon.”
“Did they say how long?” he asks.
I look at my phone. The dispatcher texted a few seconds ago. “They’re six minutes out,” I say.
“I’m not waiting that long,” Ash says. “Stay here.”
I want to argue with him, but he heads toward the house before I can, his long legs eating up my front yard. My stomach sinks when I see him disappear inside. I look down at my phone, but his call has disconnected.