Page 5 of Never Always
“You are scarier than any serial killer,” I say, shifting away from him instinctively. “I’ll stack my odds and walk home by myself.” Straightening my shirt, I say, “And bringing up my fall at the park canceled out the apology you gave before it.”
Grange clicks the flashlight on and off by his side. “I’ll walk you home,” he says.
I scoff. “You’re serious? You are in competition with a seventh-grade bully for being the meanest person I’ve ever encountered and you’re offering to walk me home? After all of the offensive stuff you said? After laughing at me when I fell in the park. Stay in your lane, Mr. Granger. I’ll see you tomorrow.” A light from my office window catches my eye. The janitorial staff must be working early. They usually breeze through about nine at night.
“I apologized,” he says, the wind carrying his words as I walk back to the path that leads beside the building.
I turn my head but don’t meet his gaze. “Apologies are only worth as much as the person issuing them.” The words I want to say are on the tip of my tongue. That he’s not worth anything. That the dirt on the bottom of my shoe outranks him in life. I don’t go that far.
“You don’t need balls, Fire. That was a figure of speech and you know it. You need to start with subtlety letting him know that you’re interested in him as more than friend or co-worker capacity,” Corrick calls to my retreating back.
I stop and turn. He’s a shadowy black figure from this distance. “I’ll bite,” I say, thinking of Sue-Ellen and my parents. I imagine their faces when I tell them I have a friend, better yet, a boyfriend.
“Go out of your way. In a manner you haven’t previously. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture. Maybe you bring an extra snack that you know he likes and offer it to him. Or, wait, you’re both super nerds, right?” he says. When he says it, it doesn’t sound offensive, it just sounds factual.
Unfortunately, he’s got my attention, proving just how desperately nerdy I actually am. Turning, I cross my arms over my chest. “Right,” I reply, not bothering to argue with his assessment.
“Share an article with him you think he might like. Don’t email it,” he adds, shaking his head, stepping closer to me. “Print it out. People don’t print things these days. It will get his attention. At the end of the article, write a quick note. Ask him to discuss it over coffee.”
It’s a solid idea and I’m upset I couldn’t formulate something this simple by myself. We’ve walked through the parking lot between the buildings as he spoke about the nuances of doing things people don’t expect. The parking garage lights illuminate the area we’ve stopped in.
Tugging my ear, I step back. “And waste paper though? That’s so nineteen-ninety-nine.”
Grange huffs. “Make it a short article then.”
There’s an immediate urge to tell him that amazing articles aren’t short, but I press my lips together instead.
“I only have a month of hours left if you let me work them long and hard. It would have been a year doing the random jobs that popped up elsewhere,” he adds. “This can be mutually beneficial. I won’t have to be cutting grass once a week, I’ll be here, cranking them out, and I can help you with… your lack of social graces. Or common sense. Or, uh, what do you call what’s wrong with you?”
“A tidbit. You shouldn’t offend the person who is pulling the strings around here.” I roll my eyes.
He puts a hand against his chest. “I’m a little brash, rough around the edges, Fire. An acquired taste. It’s who I’ve always been, but I can work on being more sensitive to your sensitivities.”
Perching my hands on my hips, I glance at the side entrance to my condo complex. He’s going to know where I live if I go in before he leaves. “Didn’t your momma teach you manners? It shouldn’t be something you have to work on. Lordy. As an aside, calling me sensitive is insensitive.” Shaking my head, I have to admit the kind thing to do would be to let this buffoon get his hours quick. It’s not what I want to do—not what the offended, beaten down, invisible version of myself wants, but life is about the greater good. Sighing, I begin fidgeting with the strap on my bag.
Grange’s face shutters, eyes dropping to the pavement. I’m about to agree and say yes, but he turns and stalks away instead. I watch his wide back disappear into the night and I’m honest to God shocked at his lack of manners. Sure, Alabama is overkill on the friendly, but Corrick Granger brings the northern icy persona to a whole different level. Swallowing down the lump in my throat at merely being in his presence, I slip into my building and make my way up to my unit.
Nervous energy vibrates through my body and my hands are shaking. “What did I say?” I muse, kicking off my shoes by the door and heading into the kitchen to warm up leftovers. I replay the conversation over and over. I list all the things I should have said. I’m obsessing over a five-minute conversation and I’m not okay with that. Another woman was reported missing, or so the news is saying, and I turn off the television before they play the reel of all of the missing women thus far.
I’ll wait thirty minutes and then I’ll go for a swim at the indoor pool in my complex. I try to do it a few nights a week as it’s the only form of actual exercise I get. Especially in the bitter cold winters here. Digging through my underwear drawer, I pull out the old black one-piece I’ve had since college and put it on.
Sue-Ellen texts me to make sure I got home safely. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell her, or that she’s seen that I live a stone’s throw from my office, she wants to know if I got home.
I didn’t get murdered on my two-minute walk to my condo, SE. Thanks for checking in. I’m about to go swim.
The gray bubble pops up while she composes her response.You didn’t get murdered, but other women probably did. The news is crazy! Go to bed.She’s tried to boss me around my whole life. It was annoying for the first eighteen years, but now I realize the only way she asserts any control to anyone, is by telling me what to do. She’s trapped in a small town, with small minds, who will never take orders from a Pageant Queen.
I reply,It’s literally downstairs. I’ll be fine. My building is locked and you have to have a key to get into the pool area. Don’t be such a worrywart. It will give you wrinkles.That’s my usual. Play to her vanity.
Clover told me you’re going to see her for the works. I’m so excited. She also said you’re coming to her party. Send me so many pictures!
Ugh. How could I forget. I really do need to have Grey by the weekend. It would be the perfect opportunity to mingle in a neutral atmosphere.
Yeah, yeah. You’re getting your wish.
Sue-Ellen sends back a series of emojis I don’t understand and bids me goodnight. Walking to the elevator, I scroll the internet on my phone looking for new articles. Something Grey hasn’t seen, heck, bonus points if I haven’t read it yet. The ride down to the pool is silent, they turn off the signature elevator music at night. I swipe my keycard to get in to the gym and make my way to the locker room which leads to the pool. I throw my stuff into a random locker and don’t bother locking it. People are rarely in here at night even though the facility is open twenty-four hours.
There’s a woman doing laps in one of the lanes, so I move to her side and sit on the concrete while piling my hair into the tightest knot I can manage. Slipping into the water, I set my goggles in place and start swimming, stroking slowly, letting my limbs adjust to the temperature and density of the water.
