Overdue - 32

Two weeks after my birthday, my events coordinator convinced me to throw another party. It was the grand opening of Bildungsroman, a month late, although Amelia Louisa assured me this wasn’t uncommon. “We’ll say it’s for the community, but really we need to bring in an enthusiastic crowd to make sure we meet our sales quota,” she said.

“I’m going to pretend the party is for the new restroom,” Jo said, because we were all grateful it was finally done. “You should include a picture of the toilet on the invitation.”

So, despite wanting to be there for Macon, despite needing to know if my feelings were reciprocated, I put in even more hours at the store. Amelia Louisa helped me hire a restaurant on our street to cater the party and to build goodwill. We contacted the downtown business association (we were a new member), the local newspaper (barely a pamphlet), and some local news websites (reach unknown but probably equally dire), and she booked an interview for me on our public radio station.

Friends and family were invited. My sister was still unavailable, but my parents actually wanted to attend. It had been so many years since I’d had an accomplishment worth celebrating that I hadn’t even considered the possibility. I discouraged them because I didn’t have a room for them to stay in. “You’re busy with the wedding,” I said, which was true. “Come visit me in the new year.” I was proud of my store but still ashamed of the studio. I didn’t want them to see how broke I was or how much I’d put on the line. Even more so, I didn’t want the distraction from whatever was happening—or not happening—with Macon.

I’m sorry , I texted him, but I have to invite you to another party.

Has it already been a year since your birthday? he texted back.

Grand opening. I know things are rough right now, so obviously I don’t expect you to come, but I wanted to let you know.

Oh, that. It’s already on my calendar.

It is??

You emailed the flyer to every library.

I felt embarrassed. Right. Of course.

He started typing again without waiting for my response. Unless you don’t want me there? Your invitations always sound like pardons.

I would love for you to be there , I said quickly.

And then I worried that the word was too much, even in this context. His reply didn’t arrive for several minutes. Okay.

The next few days were a storm of stress and anxiety, but then Saturday night arrived, and the store transformed into the very essence of love. Brittany and Reza and Amira. Carla and Richard, who didn’t show up together but who immediately found each other in the crowd. Jamal from Ridgetop Means Bizness. Clyde the joke man. Librarians from all the branches, not just mine. I recognized library patrons and authors and illustrators, and then strangers appeared. We had hoped for a big gathering but had mentally prepared for a small one, but people stayed—and more people kept coming. The bookstore had never been so alive.

I was on my tiptoes, searching the room to see if Macon had materialized, when somebody else walked through the door. I gasped. He saw me, too.

“Cory!”

He grinned, weaved his way through the crush, and kissed my cheek. It was exactly what Macon had done on my birthday, yet nothing like it. My knees didn’t weaken. There was no quick jerk away, no scratch of stubble. It was what a kiss from a friend was supposed to feel like. I threw my arms around him, and he laughed.

“Iggy! The store is incredible.”

“Thanks for coming. I didn’t know if it was weird to invite you.”

“Are you kidding? I would have been pissed if you hadn’t.” He gazed around in genuine wonder. “I mean, look at all this! You did it.”

I beamed. “I did.”

“Gosh, Ig,” he said, taking me in again. “You look beautiful.”

I was wearing a red sleeveless dress with a twirly full skirt and a dramatic square neckline that had a delicate scalloped edge. It was my maid-of-honor dress, though it didn’t look like one. My sister had good taste, and she’d chosen well. I never would have been so bold as to wear it before the wedding, but Riley had asked me to. It was her way of being there.

“Thank you,” I said. I felt beautiful and loved in it.

We didn’t have long to catch up because there were other people I needed to talk to and shake hands with, but it felt good to see him. It felt good to know he still cared about me. And it felt good to have no regrets about separating.

A short time later, he found me again, a supportive stack of purchases in hand. He had to go, but first he wrapped me in a proud hug with his available arm. I felt happy in his embrace. Cory knew me in a way that nobody else ever would, but there were also so many aspects of myself that stretched beyond him now. That he would never know. And these parts of me were reserved for somebody else.

Elijah and his mom snagged my attention next, and I got to brag to her about how Elijah had whipped my science fiction and fantasy section into shape. And then Mr. Garland serenaded me with a few flattering and embarrassing bars about a vivacious shopkeeper. And then I spotted Shanelle, so I brought her a hunk of cheese from the caterer’s table to split between her rats.

And then—

There he was . Tucked against the regional books. I don’t know how long he’d been standing there, but he was angled away from the crowd, examining the display.

My entire body illuminated. I was certain my skin began to glow.

“Excuse me,” I said, and floated away.

People called my name, and I said hello but didn’t stop.

He glanced over at me—a glance that told me he was assessing the situation and had been assessing it for some time—and startled because I was actually headed toward him. My smile was radiant. His eyes didn’t leave mine. My skirt swished against me and didn’t stop until it was touching his legs.

“Hi,” I said.

Macon looked pained but also lit up from within, exactly how I felt.

“Ingrid,” he said, as if he couldn’t say any more.

He was still wearing his work clothes, a rumpled button-down and corduroy jacket that I’d seen innumerable times. His hair was unkempt. Every single aspect of him was familiar, yet now that I understood that this was love—now that I was ready to tell him—he seemed surrounded by a strange aura.

“Did you get something to eat?” I asked. “A farm-to-table place did the catering. I think you’ll approve.”

“Not yet. I will.” He smiled, but it slipped away. “Uh, I saw Cory on my way in.”

My glow dimmed. I took a step back, muscles tightening.

He shook his head as if to say I’d misunderstood. “I think it’s great that he came. I’m glad you’re still friends.”

“Oh.” My limbs loosened. “Me too. It was nice to see him.”

“You look … the store looks … it’s all very pretty.”

He winced, but my heart nearly burst out of my chest. It was the first time that he had ever acknowledged me as attractive. In all our years together, he had carefully avoided the subject. Even on workdays when I had dressed up a bit and it would have been normal for a friend or coworker to say, “You look nice today,” the words had never crossed his lips.

My friends were right: Macon was shy. I had always known this, but he was so confident in his work and in our conversations that he was good at masking it. It was easy to forget. But it was obvious—so obvious—now.

Macon was shy, and Macon liked me.

I was beaming .

He looked rigid and uncomfortable, as if his shoes were pinching his feet. Then he took a deep breath. “You arrived at my house only two minutes after I texted you about Bonnie.”

There it was. I’d been wondering how long it would take for him to realize it was impossible for me to have arrived that quickly. I nodded, heart thundering.

“Why did you come to my house that morning?”

“Ingrid!” Jo shouted over the crowd. “The registers are down!”

“Shit.” I bit my lip. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

As I jostled my way through the sea of readers, I glanced back over my shoulder. He was still watching me. I gave him another smile, trying my best to convey to him: I’ve got this. I’ve got you. I understand everything now. You’ve done enough, and I’ll take it from here.

But when the crisis had been averted and my staff were ringing up the sales again, I returned only to find that he wasn’t there. Frantically I circled the store. He wasn’t anywhere. Guests drew me into conversations, and while the mingling and handselling were great for business, they were terrible for my emotional state. When the crowd finally thinned hours later, I kept expecting him to reappear, as if he’d been hiding behind a chair and waiting for everyone else to leave. But he was gone.

The store didn’t fully clear out until after ten. In what should have been a moment of triumph, disappointment crushed me. Mika and I sent the others home while we cleaned up. Bex stayed to help us and sweep the floors.

“Are you okay?” Mika asked, sensing my distress.

“Of course,” I said. But I was miserable because Macon had called it a night without me. I’d have to text him in the morning and see if he wanted to meet up. I’d been waiting all year long for him—I’d been waiting years for him—but to wait one more sunrise felt agonizing.

Bex danced in their emerald green tracksuit and spun the broom. “Success!”

The night had been successful, and it upset me that I had been distracted for all of it. I forced myself to reframe the last few hours. A crowded store was what I had been working so hard to achieve. The community had been generous, and sales had been strong. Amelia Louisa had been right; the additional boost was almost enough to compensate for the store opening a week late. As long as we had a healthy holiday season, we had a good chance at surviving. But we still had to have a healthy holiday season.

The three of us finished up. I hadn’t ridden my bike because I was protecting my dress, and their car was parked down the street because our small employee lot had been full. We grabbed our coats, switched off the main lights, and stepped outside. The fairy lights twinkled in the front windows. I draped my arms around my friends, finally experiencing the expected rush of gratitude, and we stared up at the shining gold letters above. The early November air was crisp and cold. The moon was a waning gibbous, bright enough to light our path.

A figure stepped out of the shadows behind us.

We startled—and then my friends laughed with relief. But my breath caught.

“Sorry.” Macon was wearing his thick duffel coat. His Paddington coat. I hadn’t seen it in months, and he hadn’t been wearing it during the party. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Bex grinned. “Are you here to walk us home?”

“I didn’t see your bike,” he said to me, “so I thought you might want company.”

Mika gave me a squeeze, and then she and Bex slid away and strolled ahead.

“I’m sorry I left.” Macon’s expression twisted with agitation. “I wasn’t dressed warmly enough for a walk. And I thought you might need a coat, too.”

With a surge of pleasure, I realized he was holding one of my coats that I’d left behind in Edmond’s room. It had been lying on top of the boxes.

“But … I forgot you wouldn’t be alone. And it’s autumn. So of course you already have a coat.” He cringed with embarrassment.

I was so happy and giddy that I was speechless.

We ambled toward my neighborhood, fallen leaves crunching underfoot. As Mika and Bex drew farther ahead, they reached out and took each other’s hands. The act was simple but devastating. That physical bond, that companionship, represented everything I wanted.

Macon was still holding my coat, but his empty arm swung beside me.

I extended a brave pinky, searching. It brushed against his hand, and he flinched. But then his arm stopping moving. His hand stilled completely. I tried again. My finger slipped between two of his, and his fingers pressed back. A thrill shivered through me. The rest of my hand moved in, and then his large hand took over and swallowed my small one entirely. His grip was strong and firm. Elation spread through me so swiftly I almost fainted.

Ahead of us, my friends gave me savvy nods, then got into their car and drove off.

Macon and I didn’t speak.

We didn’t look at each other.

We didn’t want to break the spell.

Without letting go, our hands explored. Pressure there. Feathering here. A rub there. We were learning each other’s lines and contours. Although we had known each other for years, we were discovering the shape of something new.

When we entered my neighborhood, the trees grew large enough to disperse the moonlight. They towered and locked branches together overhead. Their few remaining, clinging leaves quivered in the wind. Our breathing grew shallow. The energy between us darkened and throbbed. For several minutes, we continued to walk in heavy, questioning, expectant silence. When our feet finally sank into the gravel driveway, he hesitated.

I tugged him forward and led him behind the house.

The night deepened around us. The streetlights grew out of reach.

At my door, our bodies turned toward each other. Our heads moved in close and then backed away. We stared at each other for a few seconds, but our gazes were too intense, so our eyes closed. Perhaps this made the transition easier, made us less self-conscious about how well we knew each other in every way except for this one.

Our mouths parted. His breath was warm against mine.

He pulled me into his arms, still holding my extra coat. My hips pressed forward and discovered he was hard. Another thrill shot through me. I rocked against him, slowly.

He sucked his breath in.

My chin tilted up.

Ready.

Our mouths met with aggression. With greed and want and desire and frustration and five long years of repressed yearning. I cried out, and the noise unleashed something inside him because he kissed me harder. I gasped. Our eyes flew open at the same time, but then he looked down, watching my chest rise and fall. I fumbled to get my keys out of my tote.

We kissed again, panting, and our teeth clashed. The door opened, and we fell inside. My bag and the extra coat fell to the floor, then our actual coats and his corduroy jacket. Our bodies arched and dug against each other, enjoying the feel of less in the way. The room was so dark it was almost black. His arms were strong, and I reveled in the reality of his chest, the hard muscle and bone of it, a structure that was holding us both up. We kissed with so much force, it was as if we feared the other person might still mistake our intention for something else. His lips traveled down to my throat, down to my collarbone, and then I grabbed him by the hair and pushed him into my breasts. They were straining against the low neckline of my dress. His mouth lowered the neckline farther until he found what I wanted and sucked. I shuddered. My arms clasped behind his head to hold him in place. He tried to grope my ass, but the full rustling skirt of my dress made it difficult. I reached up to unzip it, and he moved to help.

“Careful,” I whispered. It was the first word either of us had spoken.

He froze.

“It’s for my sister’s wedding.”

He relaxed and chuckled silently against me. Silence wasn’t necessary, but we were both aware of the thin wall that separated us from my friends’ kitchen. Now that we had paused, we heard movements issuing from inside their house. Afraid that our pause might turn into a full stop, I guided his hand to my zipper.

“Wait,” he whispered, which was not a word I wanted to hear. “Do you have something?”

I told him I was on the pill and felt him exhale. Neither of us had expected to be in this position tonight. He unzipped me carefully, as requested. I removed my shoes and then he helped me step out of the dress. I unhooked my strapless bra and let it fall as I steered him backward toward the bed. Urgency returned. He wrestled off his shirt as we toppled onto the blankets. Our bare chests crushed against each other for the first time. Our hearts were beating wildly. He kicked away his shoes and took off his glasses. We kissed again, and as his tongue parted my lips, his hand slipped between my legs. Through the thin cotton of my underwear, it was obvious I was ready for him. I wriggled it down, fumbling with the waistband of his pants, and he quickly stripped away the rest of his clothing. He entered me, and it was a frenzy. Thrusting, bucking, bouncing, riding. Our hunger was desperate and ravenous. I came first, and he came only seconds later, as if he’d been barely holding on, waiting for my release.

We fell back onto my bed, sweating and gasping and in shock.

A minute passed. Another. As our breathing regulated, our bodies began to feel more and more crowded. Finally, I squirmed to the side to give us both some room and then realized there wasn’t any. I laughed once. He stirred against me in question.

“Twin bed,” I whispered.

He laughed quietly. “It’s so small.”

“I guess we should have done this at your place?”

“Next time,” he said, and I closed my eyes to thank the universe.

A different pressure moved to the forefront. “Be right back.” I slipped out of bed, but then an uneasy thought occurred to me. “My bathroom doesn’t have a fan. Or even a door yet.”

“That’s okay.” Amusement undercut the seriousness in his voice. “I’m an adult.”

It was the best and most Macon reassurance. I was smiling as I padded down the short corridor to the far corner. The laminate floor and cold porcelain chilled my bare skin. I relieved myself and returned, and then he got up to do the same. His hands tapped against the walls and kitchen countertop as he felt his way to the back. The sheets and blankets were askew, heaped and bunched and falling off. I straightened them out, slid beneath them, and listened. The mundanity of the sounds was unexpectedly comforting: the urination, the flush, the hand washing. Another human being moving through my space.

He navigated his way back to me with more assuredness, but when he leaned over to get into the bed, his entire frame stiffened. “Do you, uh, want me to stay? Should I go home?”

I turned onto my side, facing him, and then scooted my spine against the wall. I patted the empty space between us. He climbed in. His skin was still radiating a blissful warmth, and my vision had adjusted enough to the darkness that I could see him better now. His features were miraculously familiar, but they also contained a new openness. It was as if there was more of him than there had ever been before. He was studying my naked body with wonder and disbelief.

I couldn’t resist a coy smile. “So you do like me.”

“Ingrid,” he said, his expression collapsing. “I have always liked you.”

My gaze turned downward. “So what changed?”

“Between now and … January?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing.”

I looked up sharply.

“Ingrid.” His voice cracked as he spoke my name again. “I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years. It’s possible that I’ve been in love with you since the day we met.”

A wave of happiness crested inside me—and then crashed onto the familiar rocks of sorrow and confusion. “But you rejected me. You told me no.”

“Because you tried to kiss me at work. With no warning. While you still had a boyfriend whom you planned to marry .”

“There was warning,” I said meekly.

“I assure you, there was not.”

“The marriage wasn’t definite.”

“It was on the table.”

The ugly heat of shame spread through me again. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You were going through something.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know.” He gave me a sad smile before groaning. “If only you knew how many nights I’ve lain awake, wondering if I’d fucked up and lost my chance with you forever. But I wanted you to want me , not just any warm body. I didn’t want to be a fling. And then after you and Cory broke up, you said you didn’t want to date anybody for a long time. You were grieving the end of your relationship. I didn’t want to step in at the wrong moment. I couldn’t handle being a mistake that you might regret later.”

“So … you were waiting?”

He nodded. His expression was fearful and hopeful.

“Macon,” I said. “I was at your front door two minutes after that text because I was already on my way there to tell you that I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years. And it’s possible that I’ve been in love with you since the day we met.”

His eyes closed. Tears reflected the dim moonlight.

“When Cory and I made our stupid, absurd plan, you were the first and only person I thought of. I did want you specifically. Desperately. But you’re right, I didn’t think about what would happen to you after that month was over. I didn’t understand the position I was putting you in. And I didn’t understand that this intense thing between us was love.”

“What did you think it was?”

“Lust.”

He laughed, wiping his cheeks. “It was that, too.”

“When did you know?”

“I didn’t know that you loved me. But I suspected. I hoped.”

“When did you fall in love with me?”

“Immediately,” he said. “And gradually.”

The warmth of recognition poured through my body.

“When you arrived at work,” he said, “you were … so much prettier than your predecessor.” We laughed again. My predecessor was a retired woman with four grandchildren. “And you radiated sunshine. Actual sunshine, not like those awful people who force their optimism onto you. It felt good to stand in your atmosphere.”

I beamed, but he grew serious.

“You were also young.”

“Too young?” I asked.

“Maybe. Yes. Probably.”

“But not anymore?”

“No.” But then he sounded worried when he asked, “Am I too old?”

I leaned in to kiss him. “No.”

“I mean,” he said, a minute later, “it’s not like I’ve been pining for you this whole time. I had Dani, and you had Cory. I was happy to be your friend.”

I kissed him again.

“There was a little pining,” he said into my mouth, and I smiled against him.

“A lot of pining,” he said heavily after another minute.

“Hey.” I pulled away from him. “Can I ask you something?”

His brow rose with amusement because we were already past asking for permission.

“Why did you and Danielle break up?”

“Ah.” He grew serious again. “You mean, was it because of you?”

I must have looked hopeful because he gave me an apologetic smile, as if he was letting me down gently. “No. Our differences became clear during lockdown. We couldn’t stand each other by the end. We parted on decent terms, but we’ll never be friends. We don’t speak.”

“Oh.”

My disappointment made him smile again, even though it was unfair of me to feel that way. “ However ,” he said, “the pandemic—working together at that call center—did make me feel closer to you. And I think that’s when I began to hope.” His fingers threaded through mine and took hold. “So perhaps you did play a role.”

“Do you still talk with your other exes?”

“Occasionally. They’re both married with children, living lives I’ve never wanted.”

“I don’t have any other exes.”

He hesitated. “You don’t count any of those guys from earlier this year?”

“Oh my God. No .” I laughed, but I could see that his mind had already arrived at the follow-up question. “You’re wondering how many of them I slept with, aren’t you?”

“It’s none of my business.” But then he grimaced. “Also yes. And no.”

“Two. The two you can guess,” I added.

“So we’re even.”

He was telling me that he’d only ever slept with his three girlfriends, which was what I’d suspected. It also meant he hadn’t been with anybody since Dani, which was also what I’d suspected. A powerful yearning rose within me again. I closed the gap between our bodies.

Our first time had been quick. The release of our suppressed feelings had resulted in an atomic detonation. Slowing down the explosion would have defied the laws of nature.

Our second time was religious. Contemplative and meditative and languorous, we moved together in awe that this had finally happened, that it was happening, that it would continue to happen. Our bodies listened and responded, ecstatic with each new revelation. Worshipful of the deep communion. And the universe opened up before us, bathing us in a brilliant and shimmering light.