The next message notification is through the dating app. I’m almost shocked to see that it’s from @tryingsomethingnew. Yeah, we messaged each other last only a few days ago, but so much has happened since then that it feels like it’s been weeks, or even months somehow.
I click it open. Wow. I’d been expecting a line likeHey, how’s it been?But there’s a whole paragraph instead:
In the last day, I realized I have feelings for someone in my life. I’ve probably been in denial about it for a while now, but something happened that knocked sense into my head. I wanted to let you know because it wouldn’t be right for you and me to continue amorous exchanges while I feel this way about someone else. I am open to staying friends and cheering you on as you date others on this app, if that’s something you’d be okay with.
I sit with these words for a moment, reading them once more to take them in. I search myself, my body, to find any place with the sting of pain or betrayal. But it’s not there.
The truth is…if @tryingsomethingnew hadn’t written this message, I would have had to write him something similar. Because these feelings for Adam aren’t going away. After today…and tonight…the old gods know what I feel isn’t goinganywhere. Just like Adam.I’m not going anywhere.
Please, no worries. I hope it works out for you and this person. Sincerely. And it would be so cool to stay friends. Truthfully, you’re my only friend.
That seems like the right response, so I leave it at that. Maybe we’ll be friends or maybe he’ll get swept away into his romance. Either way, I wish him well. Not too many men would be honest and decent with a situation like that.
That evening, I glance over the pile of books on my side tables and pull out a few with titles likeThe Female OrgasmandMutual Ecstasy, each complete with covers featuring hot couples embracing in little to no clothing, their heads rolled back and their mouths open like they’re in the middle of multiples.
The fact is, I’m not exactly experienced when it comes to sex. That’s gotta be no surprise to anyone. It’s not like I had ample opportunity to get my back blown out while hibernating in the woods for eight years. But I’m still a little embarrassed, and so I devote a few hours to some intensive research. If Adam and I continue on like we have been, then chances are we will have sex at some point. I don’t want to make a fool of myself when that time comes.
When I lie down to sleep that night, Adam is all I can think about. I think it’s safe to admit to myself that I want him so bad, it scares me. But I don’t want to think about my heart anymore, and how I’ve got to protect it. I don’t want to think about the fact that we haven’t even talked about the kiss or what it means. I don’t want to think about anything except for this afternoon, when it was just him and me, possibly the first and only humans to ever kiss inside that specific oak tree. The tree that cradled me as I traveled in the World of Not Quite Living and Not Quite Dead. The way his tongue slipped into my mouth. How hard he’d been, right on my hip.
I’m still so turned on, I’m realizing. I’m not sure I’ve actually had a chance to recover from what happened yet. Reading about sex the last few hours certainly didn’t help with matters. So I slip my hand into my underwear, imagining my fingers are Adam’s fingers. I gasp when I touch my clit—I’m so ready to come, it only takes seconds, especially when I think about Adam, hovering over me, his forearm working as he fingers me hard and fast. When it happens, I basically levitate off the bed, and my first thought when it’s over is wondering how it would be with Adam for real.
21
The next day I findmyself approaching my work building early, the light around me as bright as butter. I’d tried not to be too much of a creep, scanning for Adam as I made my way to my car in the driveway this morning, but he wasn’t around, to my disappointment. I don’t know why I thought he would be. I mean, sure, he appeared yesterday morning, but what was I expecting? That he’d greet me just as the sun rises from now on with flowers and a kiss?
At work, I open the front door with the three keys that keep it dead-bolted, and as I do so, I freeze. A few thoughts pop into my mind.
One: Sage said there was at least one mysterious door at St. Theresa’s. In the director of education’s office, or at least what used to be the director of education’s office when we were little kids.
Two: Nadia mentioned that she would have copies of the church keys for the festival. Chances are, she’s already given them back to whoever put them in her care but…I could double-check, just in case.
I begin strategizing at work, trying not to get too excited since I know all I could be getting worked up about is a thread of nothing but dead ends in my investigation.
In the basement, I go through about fifteen books, categorizing them before lunch. “You want a pizza?” Anise had asked. “I’m feeling pizza.” So she and I share a medium super garlic pizza (garlic butter sauce, topped with garlic cheese and roasted garlic cloves—safe to say this place is protected from vampires today) from a hole-in-the-wall down the street as we chat about our lives. She tells me about her partner’s new recipes he’s been trying (the savory French toast especially sounds amazing), and because I can sense she’s going to ask about him, I tell her that Adam is writing a story on me. She raises her eyebrows and gives me a look that is identical to Nadia’sknowingexpressions, but unlike Nadia, Anise respects that I’m not ready to talk about what else might be happening between me and Adam.
“Oh, Sky, this reference book from downtown came in for you,” she tells me as I’m dusting off my hands and getting ready to return to my lair. “It’s a chunk.” She groans as she lifts it from her desk to hand to me.
Cranberry Architecture: 1799–Present.I had put in a request for this interlibrary loan when @tryingsomethingnew first told me about his research on St. Theresa’s being not exactly what it seems. I’m kind of shocked the downtown branch came through—the reference librarian there is kinda mean and known for turning down loan requests more often than not. This is miraculous, and on the day I’m trying to come up with an in-field investigative adventure, too? The old gods are coming through for me. That’s what it feels like, anyhow.
I help clean up quickly, then basically dart back to the dungeon, book in my arms. I begin flipping through it in theslow-ass, old-ass elevator, so engrossed in trying to find what I want that I almost miss getting through the doors before they close.
When I make it to my desk, I only barely restrain myself from pushing all its contents to the floor in order to make room for the ten-pound, literary monstrosity. Instead, I hastily put everything in little piles here and there, then have a seat. After about twenty minutes of intense perusing, I gasp and pull out my phone to send a photo of the book’s cover to @tryingsomethingnew.
He writes back immediately.Jealous. I didn’t get that one myself. The librarian at the downtown branch refused to let me even look at it, much less borrow it!
I chuckle to myself and almost write that she’s pretty well-known for her greedy ways, but then decide that maybe that gives away too much of me. He might figure out I work in a library or something, from that info. It’s unlikely that he would even care, but best to be safe. I still really don’t have a clue who he is. Images of a catfishing elderly man surrounded by children pop into my head to solidify this fact.
Got lucky I guess, I write back.Did you want to hear what I found?I ask.
On the edge of my seat here.
I grin as I type back.Nothing.
…Was that supposed to be the big reveal you seemed to be setting up for?
I giggle. I’m having way too much fun here.Not yet…Listen to this. Chapter Eleven is on St. Theresa’s. There’s a pretty boring introduction paragraph on the whole thing on page 111.Like: Blah, blah, with a heavy Catholic population from recent Irish immigrants, Cranberry found herself in need of a church of the Catholic persuasion.
Please tell me that was a direct quote.
