The Romance Novel Cure (14 page)

Greta’s the one with the way with words. What could I say? How could I describe — everything? The feel of her, to be with her again, like that.

No words.

In the morning, I rushed out of condo to meet Patrick at Cafe Rosita. I felt as though I were flying.

In the cafe, Patrick stood up, and held my chair out for me. His actions were that of a proper gentleman, but his words were anything but. “Damn, girl, you look like you got lucky last night!”

I covered my face, laughing.

“Totes jelly,” he glowered. “You look as though you’ve just come from a spa day and I didn’t mean it like
that
. And here I am all haggard, rapidly aging as we speak.”

I protested, insisting that he looked as handsome as always. He has delicate features, golden brown eyes and dark auburn hair. He had become very strong looking, and I told him so. We caught up a little about what we’d been doing, at first generally, and then a little more in depth. I couldn’t believe all the heartache he and Scott had been through regarding their attempts to become parents.

“Patrick, I’m so sorry. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, if you ever want to talk, or if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thanks, Grets. I’m not the best at reaching out when I need to. I know we haven’t been in touch much this last year or so. But, the times we’ve all hung out, and last year, when we all went to brunch and we sat next to each other, I wished that we were, well, friends.” He looked down, arranging his flatware precisely.

“After that brunch, guess what I said to Ben? I literally said, I wished you were my brother.” I leaned forward, nodding.

He looked up, slowly smiling. “For reals?”

“Yes! I actually said those words!”

He sighed happily, gazing at me. “Aaaand now we’re best friends.”

“Heck yeah,” I grinned.

After breakfast we stopped at consignment store on Central Ave. Patrick explained how he loved to find gently used high-end items of clothing, and then alter them. I usually shopped at the clearance rack at Target, so I followed him around, listening to his every word.

“I’ll bet pants never fit you well,” he said seriously. “They gap at the back, and you wear long tees to cover that, don’t you?”

“I do!” How had he known that?

“And the shirts… they’re either too baggy for you or too tight, always, am I right?” He looked me up and down, but I didn’t feel uncomfortable, for some reason.

“How do you know all this?”

“You’ve got this adorable, miniature pin-up girl figure, and modern day, mass produced, off the rack clothes are just
une
quelle
nightmare for you. Just remember, sweetheart. It’s not you, it’s them.”

I nodded solemnly, feeling reassured.

“You had that blue wrap dress, or was it gray, at that brunch?”

“Oh my gosh, Patrick, how do you even remember that?”

“How could I not, you looked amazing. Let’s look at dresses, and skirts, all right? And some shirts to go with the skirts. All I’ll need to do is alter the waistbands. The shirts we find will fit perfectly, once I’ve had a little time with them, I’m sure.”

“Patrick, I really, really appreciate this,” I said, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude.

“I’m having fun,” he said simply.

Later, we sat on sublimely comfortable chairs, our hands and feet soaking in essential oils, swaddled in large mitts. We had seaweed masks on our faces and cucumber slices on our eyes. As the gentle strains of harp music floated through the air, I felt myself drifting off.

“I have a sister,” said Patrick softly.

“You do?”

“Yes, and she lives right here in ABQ.”

“Can I ask… what happened? With her?” I wasn’t sure if he wanted to go there.

“The rest of my family made it clear that they loved the sinner and hated the sin, and if I just… repented, got
cured
… they’d welcome me home. But.”

“Oh, Patrick, I’m sorry.” My throat hurt, thinking of that.

“My sister was the only one who stayed in touch. We’d hang out, do things together. I was so, gosh, so
grateful
. At least I had one family member, you know? Then I started noticing, how when I talked about my plans to marry Scott, she was quiet. And later.”

He stopped talking for a long moment.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“Later, when she and her husband were expecting their first baby, I would talk about how Scott and I would babysit, and how he and I were starting to talk about adoption, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if our children could grow up together… and again: quiet. Until finally, she just kind of blurted that of
course
I wouldn’t be able to babysit her child with Scott, and of
course
she felt that he and I should not be fathers. It was this kind of… I don’t know, as though she were stating the obvious.”

“That must have hurt. So, so badly,” I said. I felt tears trickling down my face from underneath the cucumber slices.

“Gosh, sorry to get all gloomy on our spa day, it’s just that when you said you wished you had a brother like me, maybe you were just being sweet, that’s cool, but it meant so much to me.” Patrick’s voice was very quiet and shaky.

“Patrick, I didn’t tell Ben that I wished I had a brother
like
you. I said I wished you were my brother. I do. You would be my absolute favorite brother.” By this time I was sitting up, I lifted my hands to my face, remembered I had mitts on, and then tipped my head so that the cucumbers fell into my lap.

He heard me floundering around and sat up. He waved his mitted hands around. “Gah!”

“Sit up, and tilt your head forward,” I urged.

His cucumbers dropped off and he stared at me, clamping his lips together, sniffing. “That’s it. I’ve just adopted you as my sister. Do I have to make it legal? I will!”

“Done and done,” I grinned. I thought for a moment. I didn’t talk about my family with anyone other than Ben, really. “My parents were really kind to me when I was a little kid. I don’t have any siblings, but so many cousins, aunts, and uncles. It wasn’t until I was in elementary school that I started feeling uncomfortable with a lot of the things my family talked about. Racist, awful, hate speech. Sexist, homophobic. Conspiracy theories that frankly seemed paranoid to me. I would hear one thing at school: be a good friend, diversity rocks. It’s what’s on the inside that matters. And then at home, I would hear a very different rhetoric, you know? I think that is one of the main reasons I want to teach very young children. I can see in my own life how learning about equality and justice can make a difference in one person, and how that can go on and on. My family made it crystal clear that I had to choose: them or Ben. So, Ben is my only family now, the way Scott is your only family now. But hey, you’ve got a sister now, and I’ve got a brother.”

“Best spa day ever,” he whispered, sinking back in his chair. “And can I just say? This conversation was elevated to unfathomable heights due to the fact our faces are slathered in seaweed mush.”

“Oh, Patrick!” I couldn’t stop laughing. “We have to get the aesthetician to take our photo.”

“New profile pic!”

That evening, we met up with Scott and Ben for dinner in front of the restaurant that Scott had chosen. Ben wrapped his arms around me, kissing my cheek.

“Ben, I had a bath with rose petals. And I got rubbed with salt! All over! Feel my arms.” I held out my arm.

“Who the heck is rubbing your body?” He glowered and then grinned. “Who is this person?”

“So jelly and possy! What is this, a New Adult romance? All edgy and dramatic, full of angst?”

“Jelly and possy?”

“Jealous, possessive,” I said, drawing the words out, leaning against him.

“Ah,” he nodded. “So, what kind of romance is this, anyway? What would you call us?”

“You and I?” I leaned back to look up at him, his eyes fixed on mine, a smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. “The best kind. The real life kind.”

He cupped my face and kissed my mouth, slowly, lingeringly, as though we were completely alone, and about to do a lot more. I leaned against him, touching the back of his head, his face, his shoulders.

“Ahem.”

I turned in Ben’s arms to see Patrick and Scott smiling at us.

“Reservations! I wanted us to have that table by the window,” said Scott.

We went inside and sat down, telling Scott and Ben about our shopping excursion and spa treatments.

“Ben, Patrick had a measuring tape with him. He is going to alter a few things we found.”

We looked admiringly at Patrick while he blushed and waved our words away.

“He’s amazing,” said Scott softly, stroking Patrick’s cheek with one finger. “Your skin is so soft, what on earth did they use on you?”

Patrick looked pleased and embarrassed, looking down at the table, then darting a glance up into Scott’s eyes. I sighed happily. Ben had told me about his idea that the two of them do some reading together. I thought that was a great idea. I hoped they started tonight.

I looked at Ben, who was looking right at me, a soft and tender look in his eyes, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“You are an incurable romantic,” he said, reaching for my hand.

“You were the one coming up with the romance novel cure,” I laughed.

When Greta said I had come up with the romance novel cure, I froze for a moment, wondering how she knew about project
What Would Silas Do
, since I hadn’t told her. I felt kind of embarrassed. Then I relaxed, realizing she meant because we were reading to one another, and how I had started that.

“Oh, yeah,” I sat back, nodding, crossing my arms, all arrogantly, just to make her laugh, which she did.

“It’s so good to be out with you, on a date, like this, again,” I said.

“I was thinking the same exact thing.” Greta smiled, tears in her eyes.

“To friends, to wives, to husbands, to being incurably romantic, to finding cures for  broken hearts…
L’chaim
.” I raised my glass, and we toasted to all of that.

I thought about the Silas list I had so far:

1.
     
Listen to her.

2.
     
Take care of her.

3.
     
Be brave.

4.
     
Dress the part.

5.
     
Make her know how special she is.

6.
     
Let her know how much I care.

7.
     
Do that thing.

8.
     
Be possessive, protective, without being a jerk about it.

9.
     
Never give up.

Nine seemed an incomplete place at which to end a list. I wondered what number ten could be. Of course, the list really would be endless. There were so many ways to be a good husband, to love Greta.

Love Greta.

That’s what it all came down to. How I loved this one, specific, woman: Greta, my wife. I’d be figuring it out my whole life.

10. Love Greta.

Our waiter stopped with dessert menus, and Patrick asked a question about gluten free possibilities. He would be such a great dad. The waiter thought Patrick was asking for himself, and they got into a brief conversation about it. It was not apparent only to me that the waiter lingered, just a little, looking deeply into Patrick’s eyes. Scott glanced at us and rolled his eyes, a little exasperated, a little proud. I leaned forward, whispering. “Be a little jealous about it.”

“What?” mouthed Scott in confusion.

“Jealous. Act a little possessive. Trust me,” I said earnestly. “Not like a jerk. Just, you know.”

He looked doubtfully at me, but when the waiter left, Scott put his arm around Patrick’s shoulder. “Can’t take you anywhere without people falling all over themselves
flirting
with you.” He glared after the departing waiter, and touched Patrick’s chin lightly. “Eyes over here, gorgeous.”

It was awesome. Patrick melted. Greta and I grinned at each other, and pretended to make conversation while sneaking looks at the two of them. Patrick blushed and fidgeted with his glass and the centerpiece.

“As if! Please!” He glanced at Scott, biting his lip.

Scott nodded, looking into his eyes.

Greta sighed happily.

“Romantic,” I said in her ear.

“I know you are but what am I,” she sang back and smirked.

When Greta and Patrick were speaking to one another about something that had happened earlier in the day, Scott looked over at me, then held out his hand for a fist bump.

After dinner, Patrick suggested we go to a bar that had dancing, and Scott texted Laura and Alma to see if they’d be able to meet us there. It wasn’t long before we were all crowding around a small table, raising our voices to be heard over the DJ. “Talk Dirty to Me” started up, and I pulled Greta to her feet. We hadn’t danced together in such a long time. I almost had to remind myself to move, I just wanted to stop and watch her, and feel her moving up against me. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Greta’s eyes widened, and she pursed her lips, hearing the lyrics toward the end of the song, and reached up to cover my ears. I did the same to her, and we stopped, holding onto one another, until we kissed into the next song.

Laura dragged Alma onto the dance floor next to us, Patrick and Scott following close behind. After a few moments, Patrick and Greta danced together. I couldn’t get over how happy she looked. I glanced at the others and my eyes met Alma’s. As happy as Greta looked, there was such a sad look in Alma’s eyes. I looked at her inquiringly, and she shook her head, trying to smile. Later, we sat back down, catching our breath. Alma slipped away, walking toward the bathroom. I noticed Scott and Laura exchange a silent look.

“Is Alma all right?” I asked, bending close to them.

They looked at one another swiftly and Laura said, “She’s just… not feeling well.”

“Oh,” I nodded understandingly. I felt badly. Alma was such a sweet person. I hated the thought of her coming out to hang out and ending up feeling sick. When she got back to the table, she was quiet, not meeting anyone’s eyes. I moved my chair over and asked in her ear, “You doing okay?”

She looked down for a moment, took a breath, and then looked up at me resolutely. She nodded. I could see her eyes looked puffy and red, as though she had been crying, though.

“You’re not doing okay at all, are you?” I asked. Poor Alma.

She looked straight ahead then looked at me again, and this time there were tears in her eyes.

“You feel bad? You feel sick?” I asked.

She shook her head. Then she squared her shoulders. “I’m a little tired. I think I’ll call it a night.” She did her best impression of a smile and said goodbye all around, waving.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I said, standing up.

“Allow me,” said Scott, quickly standing up. He and Laura looked at each other again, just for a split second.

After they left, Patrick and Greta were speaking about something, and I leaned toward Laura. “I’m worried. Alma’s not sick or anything, is she? You guys would tell me if there was something going on, right?”

Laura looked at me kindly and shook her head. “Nothing for you to worry about. I promise. She’s not sick.”

I still felt as though I were missing something, but Laura just patted my hand and then remarked upon something Patrick had just said.

After a moment, I asked Laura if I should text Alma to see if she was okay. Laura looked at me and shook her head emphatically.

I shrugged and shook it off, thinking it must be something private, trusting that if she were sick, Laura would have told me. Never having had siblings, I felt as though Scott, Laura, and Alma were the closest I’d come to feeling that way. And Alma had always seemed like a little sister, with her sweet round face and long hair. Greta reached for my hand, telling me I had to hear this thing that Patrick had just said.

Pretty soon after that, we all said our good nights. Greta and I held hands while walking to our car. She shivered in the cold, dry air, and I put my arm around her. We were quiet in the car, driving through downtown, looking at all the buildings lit up by colorful lights.

“Ben, I’m really glad you came to New Mexico for school. And I’m glad I was here to meet you, you know what I mean?”

I nodded. “I just wanted a change, I remember, back in high school. You’ve been up north, on the east coast, how everything feels so clustered together. I was so intrigued by the idea of all this space, and light, and all these views. I had no idea I’d find someone like you in the middle of all this wide openness and beauty.”

“I remember, that professor told me I should check with you about doing the mural. And I just said, okay, Benjamin Fox. I’ll contact him.”

We looked at each other and I reached for her hand again.

* * *

“Mated for life? Silas, you’re… you’re moving kind of fast.” Sera placed her hand on her chest and made herself take slow, deep breaths.

“Let’s see,” he said, his gray eyes looking flinty, though his pose was relaxed and casual. “We’ve got a love that transcends time and space: check. We’ve got a history of lifetimes together, losing and finding one another: check. We’ve got you and I, right here and now, when I can’t think of anything but having you under me again. Check. And what… you want us to take it slow?” His lips curled and he frowned.

“Don’t say it that way!” Sera was fuming. “You’ve had more time to get used to… this.” She gestured between them. “I just moved here, I just discovered that I’m a witch with magical powers, and I’m really focused on my career, Silas!” She blinked back tears.

He slowly sat up and leaned forward, gazing at her intently. He got up, kneeled in front of her. “What else?” His voice was soft, all traces of anger absent.

“What else? What do you mean?” Sera avoided his eyes.

He took both her hands and kissed them. “These beautiful hands. These magical, beautiful hands.” He held them to his lips and waited, his eyes on hers. Sera could see such a depth of love in his eyes, it shook her to her core. She started to tremble, and tried to hide it by looking down. He was silent, waiting.

“It’s just scary,” she finally admitted. “My parents broke up when I was twelve years old and it was such an acrimonious divorce. They were devastated, our family kind of imploded. It. Was. Awful. So, I hear what you are saying about being mated for life but can you appreciate that this is new information for me? That I’m integrating a great deal, all at once? That I’m already way outside my comfort zone?” She fought to keep from yelling, from sobbing.

Silas kissed her hands again. “Cool,” he said, nodding.

Sera waited. He sat on the couch next to her, grabbed the remote from the coffee table.

“That’s it?” She was enraged. “Cool?”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and sat back, stretching. “Yeah.”

“What? That’s it?” She sat tensely at the edge of the couch.

“Well, yeah. I’m just gonna have to pursue you, all over again, this time around. Give you time. Respect your need for moving slow. So, yeah: cool.” He cocked his head, eyebrows raised.

“Oh. Okay.” She slowly settled back against the couch. Silas began channel surfing.

“And another thing!” She sat back up, her eyes snapping.

Silas pressed the mute button, looked at her inquiringly, patiently.

“I’m not always going to be under you!”

Silas froze, staring at her. Then a slow grin took over his face, bringing his scar into relief. Without taking his eyes off her, he turned off the television and set the remote down.

“You don’t like it? Being under me?” His voice was very low, and very soft.

Sera’s stomach flipped and she bit down on her lips, trying to keep from smiling. She crossed her legs and started playing with her hair. “I didn’t say that.”

“The thought of you on top of me is driving me slowly and irrevocably crazy,” he said, “Please. Sera.”

No longer smiling, she looked at him in the dim light from the fireplace. His sculpted face looked timeless and as familiar to her as her own. He was utterly still, waiting. She uncrossed her legs and knelt by his side.

“Under me, on top of me, I want you any way, any time, in any world,” he breathed. “And I will never, ever be over you.”

She kissed his lips, his eyes, his scar. He held her hips as she straddled him.

“I’m on fire for you,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion.

“Sera.” His hands cupped her face as he kissed her, the weight of all the times he’d loved and lost her right there between them.

“I still have so many questions,” she said, trembling hard. “Sometimes I feel as though I don’t know who you are.”

“Ask me anything…”

“Okay.” She began to move closer, and closer, settling against him. “I don’t understand… are you from another planet or another dimension?”

“Yes. We live in a multiverse. I lived in a parallel universe, until you let me come home with you. Third date rocked.”

“So, that’s why so much is familiar to you here, but also why things are so different.” Sera tried to make sense of it. “My brain can’t even comprehend a fraction of this. I’ll save my other questions for when I’m more awake.”

“And I have just one question.” He spoke carefully, trying to control his breathing, his gaze fixed on her, his hands spanning her waist.

“What?” She lifted her eyes from his chest.

“Can I call you… baby?”

Sera felt his words in the very marrow of her bones. She stilled, looking down at his shifter tattoos, trying to master her emotions, then looked up to meet his eyes. She breathed in, out… and flung herself against him.

* * *

“Oh, I love that part,” sighed Greta.

“Just one more chapter,” I said, after kissing her. I looked down at her flushed face and sleepy eyes. We were in the guest room again.