Knitting in the City 01 Neanderthal Seeks Human (48 page)

I nodded, “You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” Quinn dipped his chin and leveled me with a measured stare. He glanced briefly at the email and handed it back to me, “After you and I talked on Tuesday, when you told me you didn’t want to take the plane back with everyone else, you felt uncomfortable leaving things undefined at work, I called Betty and tasked her with asking the lawyers to put a proposal together which would define work expectations in such a way that would allow you and I to continue our relationship outside of work.”

My attention moved back to the email as he continued and I tried to re-read it with this information in mind.

“Obviously they misinterpreted the request. I wanted them to set up something- tangible, legal- that you could feel good about, that would protect you in case our relationship… ever… ended.” One of his hands moved to the back of his neck and he began to rub the tendons.

“It reads like they interpreted your request, your main objective, to be protecting the company. They want me to resign so that you and I can date without putting the company at risk.”

“I’ll get it straightened out.” He shifted closer, running the back of his knuckles against the skin where my scoop-neck shirt met my chest.

I surveyed the email once more before
stepping away from him to discard it on the dresser, “I know you will.” I couldn’t meet his eyes. Part of me wondered if it would just be better for everyone if I did quit. Then, I could date Quinn without making others uncomfortable about putting his company at risk.

“Hey-” he tilted my chin back until I met his gaze, “What are you thinking about? And don’t tell me robots.”

Despite myself, I gave him a brittle grin, “Maybe I should quit.”

He shook his head, “No. That’s not acceptable.”

“Quinn-”

“That would be bad for my company.”

“But at least-”

“What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m afraid that if you get to know me you’ll think I’m weird.” The words, words I didn’t even know I was going to say, blurted forth like a disobedient hiccup.

His gaze refocused, met mine directly, “I do know you and, you’re right, you are weird.”

“I’m afraid you’re laughing at me instead of with me.”

He shrugged, “There is nothing I can do about that. You’re funny.”

“I’m afraid that your money, and my lack of money, will come between us.”

He placed his hands on his hips, “It won’t. I won’t let it.”

“I’m afraid that I feel more for you then you feel for me.”

He shook his head slowly, “That’s not possible.”

“I’m afraid that we’re moving too fast and that this is just infatuation.”

“I don’t know what this is.” He breathed in as though he were going to continue but then paused.

Quinn studied me, held my gaze, his eyes moving between mine. He seemed to be considering his next words carefully.

I knew what I wanted him to say; I wanted him to tell me that this wasn’t infatuation, that he was certain we were meant to be together into eternity, that I looked pretty in this dress and ask me if I did something different with my hair, that I was the most beautiful woman in the world to him. It was what I wanted to hear because I was falling in love with
him

…w
as in love with him.

Finally- his words
deliberate, cautiously crafted- Quinn said, “I think about you all the time.” His gaze narrowed, his jaw ticked as though the confession cost him, “And I can’t guarantee that this isn’t infatuation because sometimes I think it has to be. But-” his gaze moved upward then to the left and over my shoulder, “- I don’t think of you as perfect.”

I frowned at him.

I don’t think of you as perfect.

“Oh… ok.” My eyelashes blinked in rapid succession and my brain started compiling the list of all my imperfections, “It’s because of my height? My seepage of trivial facts? My granny panties-”

“No- listen-” his attention swiftly moved back to me, “that’s not-” he shook his head and swallowed, “If this were infatuation- or just infatuation- then I would, we would become disillusioned at some point, yes?”

I nodded
, I was sure unconvincingly.

He continued, “I don’t have misconceptions about you- that you’re flawless. And you don’t have any illusions about me. You’re too practical and- if you did- you wouldn’t have reminded me on Wednesday that I need to be
a good guy
.”

I nodded again
, this time more convincingly albeit more wearily.

“I don’t think this,” he motioned between us, “I don’t think this is infatuation.” He shifted closer and I thought he was going to touch me but, instead, he crossed his arms and his voice became softer, gentler, “I know that life, in general, terrifies you; I know that you are frequently oblivious to the obvious; and I know you are completely irrational at times-”

I opened my mouth automatically because my brain was telling me to object but, surprisingly, I didn’t actually feel any outrage at being called terrified, oblivious, and irrational. His assessment was, more or less, on target. The fact that he knew these things about me, seemed to accept them, made me feel better and worse.

“- and it drives me crazy.
You
drive me crazy.” His voice deepened and he leveled me with a narrowed glare as he continued, “But, in spite of how totally nuts you are, I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

I pressed my lips together and started biting the inside of my cheek; I bravely met his pointed stare. “You think I’m totally nuts?”

He nodded and sighed, “Yes. And I-” his eyes moved over my forehead, eyebrows, nose, cheeks, lips, chin, “I still can’t stop thinking about you.”

I inhaled deeply, trying to breathe him in,
trying to understand this desire to take him within myself and carry him with me always. He lowered just his head and my eyes began to drift shut.

“Janie…”

I sighed, “Yes?”

“What are you thinking?” his voice was a whisper.

I licked my lips, wanting his mouth on mine, driven to mad honesty, “I love you.”

I sensed rather than saw his
self-satisfied smile, “Good.”

He softly brushed his lips agains
t mine. My immediate confession-panic dissolved by the warmth of his closeness, his nearness blanketing me in a frightening sanctuary I never knew I wanted but now recognized was necessary to my continued existence.

I lost myself to him
and to myself; to trust and to faith; and in that moment I was fearless.

Quinn, four months later-

When I walked into the luxury plumbing fixture store on West Lake Street, I was immediately struck by the fact that they had rows of toilets hanging on the walls. The floor was plain cement. The walls were ordinary red brick. Covering the floor and walls was an array of sinks, tubs, faucets, and toilets. The space was large but felt small due to the substantial array of bathroom fixtures.

Automatically I did a sweep of the store, located exits, sized up the other customers, and so forth. Habits come naturally. Once comfortable, I walked to Elizabeth; she was about forty feet away, studying a row of faucets on the wall.

She didn’t look up when I approached but merely tipped her head in my direction as a greeting, “McHotpants.”

“Elizabeth.” I rubbed the back of my neck. I didn’t mind the nickname when Janie used it.  But it just didn’t seem right with her friends, particularly Elizabeth. I hoped that today’s meeting would improve our strained interactions. “Thank you for meeting me.”

Elizabeth shrugged, “No problem. Anything for Janie. She said she’d meet us here at six.” She reached out and twisted the knobs on a faucet.

If Janie was going to arrive at six then that meant I only had a half hour to work through whatever issues Elizabeth obviously had with me dating Janie. I waited for Elizabeth to look up but instead she frowned at the metal
spigot and walked further into the store.

I scowled at her, trying not to grind my teeth. “Why did you want to meet here?”

“I want a new faucet.”

“What’s wrong with the faucet in the apartment?”

“I don’t like it.”

With a great deal of effort I managed to keep from rolling my eyes, “Ok.”

She fiddled with another series of levers, “Ok? So you’re ok with me changing the sink?”

I glanced around the store again, counting three more people I’d missed in my first sweep of the space; “Elizabeth, you can remodel the bathroom if you want, I don’t care.”

“And you’ll pay for it?”

“Sure, whatever. Whatever you want.”

She looked at me then. Her pale blue eyes narrowed and she inspected me, like I was a disease.

Since we met some four months ago, I had felt at cross purposes with Elizabeth. She was irritable every time I was alone in a room with her. Just last week, the last time Janie and I had spent the night at their place, Elizabeth made passive aggressive remarks about my inability to make a good cup of coffee. 

I knew how to make coffee. I made really good coffee. She just didn’t like me.

Usually I wouldn’t care; but, her best friend happened to be the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. It was necessary to make an effort.

I met her glare with one of my own; finally, she spoke, “So, Mr. Graniteface, what is this-” she motioned between the two of us, “-about? Why did you want to meet before Janie arrives?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, preparing to negotiate; “We need to figure out some way to get along.”

“You’re right.” She didn’t look surprised by my statement.

“What is it about me that you dislike?”

She lifted her blonde eyebrows, “I don’t dislike you.”

I didn’t want to call her a liar so I didn’t respond.

After a protracted moment she continued, “It’s not that I dislike you. I just don’t trust you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t understand your motivations and I still think you’re hiding something.” She mimicked my stance, crossing her arms over her chest. She was small and looked silly when she tried to appear tough.

“I’m not hiding anything-”

“Oh, really?” Elizabeth started rubbing her chin with her thumb and forefinger, “What did you do with Jem? What happened to all of the thugs from Boston? Why didn’t they press charges?”

“Janie and I discussed all of this. She knows that I took care it.”

Elizabeth didn’t hide her anger very well; “Well, Janie won’t tell me-”

“Probably for your own good-”

“I want to know what happened, I don’t want to be patted on the head and sent on my way! What if they come back? What about Janie-”

“Janie is stronger than you think and I’ll protect her if-”

“-I need to know so I can take care of her, you can’t protect her forever!” Elizabeth waved her arms around wildly. She was starting to draw attention to herself. I didn’t particularly care but it was annoying.

And, because I was annoyed, I responded without thinking, “Yes, I can. When we get married, she’ll be-”

“You’re getting
married
?!” Elizabeth’s shouted exclamation echoed against the porcelain tubs and drew all remaining eyes to our position.

I glanced around the store, offered nothing but an unfriendly glare in apology for her outburst, then took Elizabeth by the arm and escorted her to the back of the store. When I was satisfied that no one was listening or watching I responded in a low voice, “I haven’t asked her yet.”

Elizabeth blinked at me, her mouth opened and closed. I gave up and rolled my eyes.

When she finally spoke her voice was a tight whisper, “I can’t believe you’re going to ask her to marry you!” To my surprise she sounded excited, happy.

I blinked at her, my mouth opened and closed.

“Oh my God, you have to let me help! I want to help! This is so exciting!” She hopped back and forth on her feet, clapping her hands.

I responded through gritted teeth, “No. I don’t need your help. I can do it on my own.”

She stopped hopping and abruptly frowned. Her voice was still a whisper although somewhat louder, “See- this is why I don’t like you!”

“I thought you did like me-”

“No- I do like you, I like you for Janie, but I don’t like that you hide things! Why do you do that?”

I studied her. Elizabeth’s hands were back on her hips and at least she didn’t appear angry. She looked hurt. What I knew about Elizabeth I’d learned from Janie; it was obvious that Elizabeth had been taking care of Janie in one way or another since college. It occurred to me that I might need to modify my approach.

I licked my lips and glanced towards the door; what I was about to admit would be easier if I didn’t have to look at her, “I’m not used to
sharing
- information, resources… people.”