Textual Relations Page 3

  “Me, too. My parents have been married for almost forty years.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “It is. They do love each other, but I think at this point, even if they didn’t, they’re too codependent upon one another that separating would be out of the question. I don’t think my dad even knows where they bank.”

  We passed by a booth selling embroideries. Asher stopped, quirking his head slightly to the side. “Is that…?” He pointed, his face showing confusion.

  I looked closer and yes, yes it was. “That’s a vagina.”

  A mountainscape, bordered by two curved stems of lavender, created what appeared to be the artist’s interpretation of the beauty of female genitalia, along with the words “Viva la Vulva” written above it.

  “Something for everyone here, isn’t there?” Asher said.

  “Seems so, though that place looks to be a little more my speed,” I said, gesturing to the booth a few feet down. It was filled to capacity with books. There were a few people looking through the shelves, but not as many as there were crowded around the stand with funny socks.

  “Let’s go look, then.”

  We ducked into the tiny tented area, stuffed to bursting with used books. The covers on some of them were tattered and frayed, but even standing in the open air of the market, I could smell the must of their pages. I ran my fingers over the spines, reading the titles and author names as I browsed. When I looked up, I found Asher staring at me.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “What?” I pressed.

  “You seem really into books.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with people who are into books. Society as a whole doesn’t read enough. The world would be a better place if everyone took the time to read.”

  He held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.”

  I hadn’t meant to get defensive. A lifetime of being teased for choosing a good murder mystery over spending time on the playground had surfaced.

  But Asher shrugged it off and kept talking. “It’s nice, actually. You seem more comfortable in here than you have anywhere else we’ve been tonight.”

  I grinned sheepishly. “That obvious, huh?”

  “Kind of.” He smiled back. “But not in a bad way. It’s a nice change from the guys I usually go out with.”

  Didn’t say much about his friends that they didn’t like to read, but then again, a number of the people I worked with didn’t read for pleasure and they were academics. Calvin wasn’t much of a book person, either.

  “I don’t get out that mu—” I stopped short as I ran my fingers over a very familiar name. “Oh my god.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t believe it. I’ve been looking for this book for years.”

  I picked it up out of the bin and held it up. The View from the Willow Tree by Davis Roberts.

  “Tonight must be your lucky night.”

  “It really is.” I clutched the book to my chest. “I didn’t think I was ever going to find it. It’s out of print, and I’ve scoured every used bookstore I’ve ever come across. No one has it.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “It’s about this kid who climbs a tree in his yard to escape the chaos of his family, and while he’s up there, he sees his neighbor murdered. He tells his parents, but no one will believe him. It’s a kid’s book, but it was one of my favorites when I was younger.”

  Asher looked dubious.

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I assured him. “All my books from when I was little were destroyed in a fire at the storage locker my parents rented. I’d meant to get the books from them at some point but never got around to it, and my mom called one day to let me know about half the units in the building had gone up, hers being one of them.”

  “That sucks. I’m glad you found this one though… although it’s in pretty rough shape.” Asher frowned.

  The spine was broken, and the pages inside were dog-eared, but I didn’t care. “It’s perfect. Books should look like they’ve been read and enjoyed. That includes dog-earing the pages and cracking the spines. I want my books loved, not carefully preserved.” Asher grinned at me, lopsided and contemplative. I shrugged. “Might not be the most popular opinion with book lovers, but I’ve always been that way. My girlfriend in college was appalled when she saw my bookshelf. When we broke up, she actually cited it as one of the reasons she couldn’t be with me anymore.”

  “Seems a little extreme.” Asher shook his head.

  “Oh, she had other reasons, too.” I laughed, remembering. “It was a long list.”

  Asher regarded me, his head cocked to one side. “At least you don’t seem too broken up about it.”

  “It was a long time ago, and we were one of those rare couples who managed to stay friends afterward. She’s a professor in my department. We see each other almost daily.”

  “I’ve never understood how people can do that… stay friends with exes. Once a relationship is over for me, it’s over for good. I cut ties. It makes things so much easier.”

  “A clean break?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I understand that and I agree that most of the time that would be easier, but for me and my ex, we didn’t have much of a choice. It was a small program, very tight-knit, and it was either get along, or one of us would need to transfer to a different institution.”

  “That sounds tricky.”

  “It was awkward for a few weeks, but we made it work.”

  Asher’s stomach grumbled loud enough to be heard over the noise of the people milling around us.

  “Hungry?”

  He shot me a boyish grin. “Starving.”

  I paid for my purchases, and we made our way down the row of tents. I could smell something tasty even from there, and it didn’t take long before we’d located the epicenter of the market—the food carts.

  There were far too many options to choose from, but we eventually settled on a Cuban food truck serving the most amazing-looking sandwiches. Once we’d procured our meals, we spent the next two hours making our way from booth to booth, stopping to check out most of what we found as we got to know each other. We talked about work, family, friends, and all the things Asher did in his spare time. I didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation at that point, but I could have listened to him talk about the places he’d traveled for hours.

  I’d never been farther than the east coast of the US, but Asher had seen half of Europe, and the stories he told weren’t the type a traveler gathered by sticking to the prescheduled tour. The experiences he’d had made me almost itchy to follow his example.

  While walking through an area devoted to all things coffee, it dawned on me how strange that was. I’d never had any inkling of desire to throw caution to the wind and jump on a plane to a foreign country on my own. But the way Asher described it made it all sound so adventurous, so romantic, and in that instant, I felt like maybe I’d been missing out on something my whole life.

  As ridiculous as it was, even coming to the night market was adventurous for me. It was absolutely pathetic, but the ideas I’d held for most of my life about what was safe, what was comfortable, had all been challenged in the span of a few hours by a total stranger.

  “Thank you for goading me into coming out with you tonight,” I said, meaning it more than he could ever know.

  “There was no goading.”

  “Oh, there was definitely some goading. But I’m glad. This turned out to be a better birthday than most.”

  Asher’s eyes went wide. “Today’s your birthday?”

  I hadn’t meant to say that, but the cat was out of the bag now. I looked at my watch. “For another nine minutes, anyway.”

  “Then we have nine minutes to find you cake. You can’t have a birthday without cake.”

  Asher grabbed my hand and pulled me into the crowd and back toward the food trucks where w
e’d been earlier.

  “Over there,” Asher exclaimed, tugging me harder behind him. The crowd was thicker now, and I barely kept up, his long legs outstriding mine across the pavement, but as we pushed past a group of teenagers loitering outside the Korean BBQ truck, I caught a glimpse of our destination: the Life is What You Bake It cupcake truck. Beside it was a giant sign that boasted a build-your-own cupcake bar, and beyond that, a lineup of people at least thirty deep.

  Asher looked at the line and then back at me. “How much time have we got?”

  “Four minutes,” I replied after consulting my watch once more.

  “We can do it.”

  He pulled me forward, but instead of joining the back of the line, he stopped beside it.

  “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. Today is Henry’s birthday and we have—” Asher grabbed my wrist and brought my watch to where he could see it. “Three minutes to get this man some cake. Normally, I would never do this, but extreme circumstances call for extreme measures.”

  “What are you doing?” I hissed, my cheeks hot. Asher ignored me.

  “Cupcakes are on me for you lovely people if you’ll let us cut to the front of the line.”

  I flip-flopped between being mortified and grateful as people stepped back, each wishing me a happy birthday. The man at the front motioned for us to take our place in front of them.

  “Thank you. I’m so sorry,” I said as Asher pulled me to the front.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” the man said, smiling. “Your friend’s trying to do something nice for you. Just say thank you and enjoy your cupcake.”

  “Thank you.”

  The woman at the window stood waiting for us with a huge smile on her face. “What can I get for you?” she asked.

  My eyes raked over the menu board. Everything sounded delicious. I channeled Asher’s influence from earlier in the evening. “I can’t decide. What would you suggest?”

  She thought a moment. “I think I have the perfect thing. Any allergies or food aversions?”

  “None.”

  “Fantastic.”

  She disappeared into the truck and came out a minute later with the most elaborately decorated cupcake I’d ever seen.

  “Chocolate cupcake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, caramel, chocolate sauce, peanuts, and chocolate dipped pretzels. It’s our best seller.” She handed it to me. “Enjoy. And happy birthday.”

  One person, somewhere near the back began to sing “Happy Birthday,” and by the second line, the entire crowd had joined in. By the end of it, Asher looked incredibly pleased with himself and I wanted to find somewhere to hide.

  Sure, I spent most of my days lecturing to halls of hundreds of students, but that felt different. At work, the information is front and center, generally with the lights off and my presentation on the large screen at the front. Here, I was most definitely the focus, and the singing did nothing to help the blush that I couldn’t seem to control.

  The song finished and everyone applauded, the crowd that had gathered even larger than before the singing had started. I stepped to the side as Asher spoke to the woman in the truck, pulling out his credit card and then walking over to meet me.

  “You okay? That became a bigger production than I anticipated.”

  “A birthday to remember.” I laughed, but it sounded shaky. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that… and to buy cupcakes for everyone in line was very generous.”

  He beamed back at me. “Totally worth it to see your face when they all started singing.”

  My focus shifted as the ice cream from the cupcake began to melt and drip down my hand. I sucked my thumb into my mouth, licking away the melted ice cream clean. Asher watched me, his eyes narrowing.

  “Sorry. That was rude,” I said.

  “No, not rude at all.”

  “What kind did you get?” I asked, motioning to the cupcake in his hand.

  “Strawberry cream.” He held it out. “Wanna try?”

  I took the cake from him and took a small bite. It was so sweet, with a little tang that cut right through. “My god, that’s good. Here.” I held mine out to him. “Try this one.”

  He leaned forward and wrapped his fingers around my wrist. His skin was hot on mine where the cold ice cream had dripped down moments before. He pulled me gently toward him, bringing the cupcake to his mouth. I couldn’t tear my eyes from him as he took a bite.

  I tried to swallow, but my throat had constricted.

  “Holy shit, that’s amazing.” The expression on his face was bliss. I watched him as he licked the ice cream from his lips, then realized he still had a grip on my wrist. My skin felt too tight.

  “Sorry,” he said, releasing my wrist. “You can have your cupcake back.”

  His gaze bored into me, and I took a half step back, but there was still barely a handful of inches between us. He reached up and my eyes followed his hand as he swiped his thumb against the corner of my mouth.

  “Frosting.” His voice was low, rough, and a sensation I couldn’t put a name to prickled the back of my neck.

  “Uh, thanks.” I was flustered, rattled, and desperate for something to talk about, for something to take the focus off me. “You do stuff like this all the time?”

  “Stuff like what?” Asher took another bite of his cupcake, like the bizarre moment we’d just had never happened.

  “Stuff like letting the flip of a coin determine where you’re going to spend your evening,” I said, my heart rate returning to normal.

  Asher shrugged. “Sure. Routine and predictability is the killer of inspiration.”

  “Isn’t a little predictability a good thing sometimes? You know exactly what you’re getting. There’s no need for guesswork or room for disappointment.”

  “You gotta get out in the world, experience new things. I don’t wanna keel over and die one day and have missed out on everything life has to offer. Of course there are going to be times that things don’t turn out the way you thought they would. Disappointment is a part of life, but not risking that disappointment means you could be missing out on something incredible.”

  I pondered that as I finished my cupcake, realizing that this was the best cupcake I’d ever eaten. If I hadn’t gone out with Asher, I never would have experienced it. There might be something to be said for stepping out of my comfort zone, no matter how unnerving it was.

  An hour later, we had finished our dessert and explored the rest of the tents. Asher had purchased a jar of honey and a wood carving of a giraffe for his mom. Vendors were closing up shop for the night, and I was surprised by how energized I felt despite the late hour. For someone who is in bed every night by ten like clockwork, staying up past midnight hanging around an outdoor market with someone I hadn’t known twelve hours earlier felt rebellious and indulgent.

  God, I needed a life.

  Back at the bar where we’d met, Asher offered me a ride home. He seemed as reluctant as I felt for the evening to end. I couldn’t remember ever having more fun on a night out with someone, but it was already nearly two a.m., and I tried and failed to suppress a yawn. My eyes were heavier than they’d been a few hours earlier, and it took effort to open my eyes each time I blinked.

  “I’ll be okay,” I told him. “I only live two blocks from here, over on Sixteenth.”

  Silence lulled between us for a moment before Asher spoke. “I had fun tonight.” He echoed the thought that had been bumbling around in my head since we left the market.

  “Me, too.”

  “We should do this again sometime.”

  I nodded. The exchange felt familiar somehow. I had an odd sense of déjà vu I couldn’t place.

  “Gimme your phone.”

  I handed Asher my phone and watched as he typed away.

  “I made sure my number was saved in your contacts. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

  I smiled, feeling a little loopy, probably from exhaustion. It was the only explanation for why my whole body f
elt slightly numb, my fingertips a bit tingly. There was this oddly uncomfortable yet pleasant sensation in my belly.

  I wasn’t used to staying up this late. I really needed to get to bed.

  Asher handed my phone back, and as I took it, he slid his fingers around my wrist. His warm grip pulled me to him, just as he had earlier with the cupcake. It was familiar and foreign to me at the same time, but my body moved forward, and as though the world had suddenly began operating in slow motion, his mouth came down over mine.

  Lips, surprisingly soft, pressed against mine, warm and sure. My quick intake of breath had Asher deepening the kiss. It was slow and seductive and unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.

  My head was swimming with it. The scent of Asher’s cologne, the taste of the strawberries still on his breath, the solidness of him pressed against me was overwhelming and utterly confusing. My body and my head were at war, unsure if I should pull away or just let go and let him kiss me.

  And then it was over and I was left standing there, my sluggish mind trying, and failing, to catch up with what had just happened.

  “G’night, Henry.”

  “Night.” My response came out breathy, the words shaking a little as they left my mouth. I dropped my hand, realizing I’d pressed my fingertips against my lip, where moments before Asher’s had been. Then I turned and walked toward home.

  I didn’t sleep at all that night.

  As tired as I’d been when we’d arrived back at Contempo, the moment Asher’s lips had touched mine, that was it. I was awake, my brain churning thoughts and worries around, over and over.

  Had he thought it was a date the whole time? How had I not known he was gay? Possibly more importantly, how had he not known I was straight?

  I went over the entire evening in my head, analyzing each interaction. The more I thought about it, the more idiotic I felt over not having realized.

  It had been a date.

  Of course it had been a date.

  But at no point during the evening—at least until Asher’s tongue was in my mouth, that is—had I realized the situation could have been interpreted as such.

  As that thought occurred to me, the memory of sharing cupcakes, of Asher wiping frosting off my lip more specifically, sprang to mind. How had I not realized? It was like a scene from every romantic comedy Meg had ever made me watch, that scene right before the first kiss.