won’t matter anymore. It won’t have to be a secret.” In a lilting sing-song voice she adds, “Only three more months…”
What a relief that will be. If we can just keep up pretenses for a little while longer, in a few months we’ll be free to make our own choices.
Ever since New York, I’ve felt the real possibility that things might work out between us, that we could have a real relationship and not just a secret affair. I’m not fooling myself into thinking it would be a cake walk living with him. His writerly mood swings can be difficult to take, but it’s obvious to both of us that we fuel each other’s creativity. I may be his muse, but he’s my inspiration.
All along this affair has been inspiring me in ways I never expected. I’ve felt things I’ve never felt before, and I’ve painted images I didn’t know were in me. I tell myself that should be enough. But I feel this urge, with all this passion and emotion, to reach for something more, as if there is some undeniable human need to keep growing and changing, to strive for love.
Ruby may have a sweet view of my future, but she’s no fairy godmother. Wand waving and wish granting won’t make my dreams come true. But patience, persistence, and passion might just be enough. If it’s not, if it all ends in disaster, I might have no choice but to end up crawling back to my family. I feel a sick twist in my gut when I think of that so I stop worrying along those lines. I have to cross one bridge at a time.
And regardless of what I sense Logan and I could be , we can only move forward from where we are right now. I’ll need to be patient. Maybe when we’re alone together on Thursday at DnC’s loft, I’ll hint at something. Or maybe we’ll just ravage each other senseless instead. I tell myself I’ll know when the time is right.
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, on my way to Dr. T’s lecture, I see Madeleine exiting the auditorium on crutches.
“What happened?”
She looks down at her ankle in a cast and then looks back up at me with a huge grin on her face.
“A friend took me snowboarding over the holidays. I had the best time ever.”
Her book bag slips off her shoulder and catches on the crutch. For a moment it looks like she’s lost her balance, and the she regains it.
I grab the bag. “Let me take that. You shouldn’t be carrying so much.”
“Thanks, Ava. I’m still not used to getting around like this.”
“I’ll tell Dr. T I’m going to walk you back to your office.” She starts to protest but I cut her off. “Some of the paths are slippery. I insist. Wait for me here.”
I walk to the front of the auditorium to tell Dr. T I’ll be late. On my way back up the aisle I see Casey sashaying down wearing a floor length skirt and an army jacket.
She stops me in the aisle.
“I’ll need that key back,” she says.
“What? Why?”
“We’re getting busier with our artwork.”
I think of the puppets hanging from their rafters. I find hard to think of that as art.
“But you said I could have Thursdays.” I realize I’m whining.
“We never said for how long. You’ll have to use the campus studios again.”
“The schedule’s getting so jammed,” I mumble, digging around for the tasseled key ring. “It’s hard to get private time there.”
“If you’re really desperate you can come over and paint for a few hours with us. You’ve already seen some of the project.”
“It’s okay.” There’s no point if they’re going to be there. Using their space was always more about making love, not art.
As I hand over the key, Casey narrows her eyes. “You have kept it a secret , haven’t you?”
“Of course. Haven’t told a soul.” I suppose Logan knows. But she’s being unnecessarily paranoid. Her secret’s nothing compared to the one I’ve been carrying all year.
“Where’s Derrick?” I say, looking around. It’s so rare to see one without the other.
“Outside,” says Casey, dropping down
What a relief that will be. If we can just keep up pretenses for a little while longer, in a few months we’ll be free to make our own choices.
Ever since New York, I’ve felt the real possibility that things might work out between us, that we could have a real relationship and not just a secret affair. I’m not fooling myself into thinking it would be a cake walk living with him. His writerly mood swings can be difficult to take, but it’s obvious to both of us that we fuel each other’s creativity. I may be his muse, but he’s my inspiration.
All along this affair has been inspiring me in ways I never expected. I’ve felt things I’ve never felt before, and I’ve painted images I didn’t know were in me. I tell myself that should be enough. But I feel this urge, with all this passion and emotion, to reach for something more, as if there is some undeniable human need to keep growing and changing, to strive for love.
Ruby may have a sweet view of my future, but she’s no fairy godmother. Wand waving and wish granting won’t make my dreams come true. But patience, persistence, and passion might just be enough. If it’s not, if it all ends in disaster, I might have no choice but to end up crawling back to my family. I feel a sick twist in my gut when I think of that so I stop worrying along those lines. I have to cross one bridge at a time.
And regardless of what I sense Logan and I could be , we can only move forward from where we are right now. I’ll need to be patient. Maybe when we’re alone together on Thursday at DnC’s loft, I’ll hint at something. Or maybe we’ll just ravage each other senseless instead. I tell myself I’ll know when the time is right.
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, on my way to Dr. T’s lecture, I see Madeleine exiting the auditorium on crutches.
“What happened?”
She looks down at her ankle in a cast and then looks back up at me with a huge grin on her face.
“A friend took me snowboarding over the holidays. I had the best time ever.”
Her book bag slips off her shoulder and catches on the crutch. For a moment it looks like she’s lost her balance, and the she regains it.
I grab the bag. “Let me take that. You shouldn’t be carrying so much.”
“Thanks, Ava. I’m still not used to getting around like this.”
“I’ll tell Dr. T I’m going to walk you back to your office.” She starts to protest but I cut her off. “Some of the paths are slippery. I insist. Wait for me here.”
I walk to the front of the auditorium to tell Dr. T I’ll be late. On my way back up the aisle I see Casey sashaying down wearing a floor length skirt and an army jacket.
She stops me in the aisle.
“I’ll need that key back,” she says.
“What? Why?”
“We’re getting busier with our artwork.”
I think of the puppets hanging from their rafters. I find hard to think of that as art.
“But you said I could have Thursdays.” I realize I’m whining.
“We never said for how long. You’ll have to use the campus studios again.”
“The schedule’s getting so jammed,” I mumble, digging around for the tasseled key ring. “It’s hard to get private time there.”
“If you’re really desperate you can come over and paint for a few hours with us. You’ve already seen some of the project.”
“It’s okay.” There’s no point if they’re going to be there. Using their space was always more about making love, not art.
As I hand over the key, Casey narrows her eyes. “You have kept it a secret , haven’t you?”
“Of course. Haven’t told a soul.” I suppose Logan knows. But she’s being unnecessarily paranoid. Her secret’s nothing compared to the one I’ve been carrying all year.
“Where’s Derrick?” I say, looking around. It’s so rare to see one without the other.
“Outside,” says Casey, dropping down
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