Page 18 of Witch Please

It thrilled me how different her smile looked after this afternoon’s revelations. She beamed. It was as if suddenly she had a spotlight that lit her from the inside.

“Would you like to come over to my house?” she asked, biting her lip with a shy blush. “I may even have something I can cook. Or we can just order take out.”

I followed her back to her home—a charming duplex just south of Main Street. We were practically neighbors, as I lived only a few blocks further west from the college than she did. It made perfect sense how she and I seemed to always be in the same places at the same time.

I wondered off hand how often she dated or invited men into her space. Her hand practically shook when she inserted the key to her door. Once open she turned and smiled at me, ushering me in. But her smile was too tight to be genuine.

“I don’t have to come in if you’ve changed your mind.” I placed her bag on the sofa just inside her front door. “If you’re uncomfortable with me being here, we can say our goodnights and I can meet you somewhere for dinner another time.”

“Oh gosh no! Please stay.” My whole body thrilled the moment she wrapped her fingers around my wrist. “I’m sorry I’m a terrible host. I just, it’s seems crazy to me that you’re here. My brain is playing catch up, that’s all. I promise I haven’t changed my mind.”

For a duplex in a two-hundred-and-fifty year old town, it was surprisingly spacious given its size. Her living room felt cozy with an oversized sofa and two matching chairs set around an brick fireplace. She had a flat screen TV above that doubled as artwork.

“Christmas in Yorkshire?” I asked pointing at the screen, “What a charming painting.”

I realized a moment too late, and just as she explained—that it was a street in Haworth—just down the street from the Bronte Parsonage. For an academic that studied the British Romantics it of course was an expected choice for art.

“Our food options are limited to take out I’m afraid. With classes and the festival, the grocery store has been the lowest of my priorities.” She shrugged, laughing, and handed me a G & T, exactly as I drank it, with an orange twist.

As if reading my mind she pointed at the piece of orange floating in my glass. “I get my produce from the farmers market on campus—it’s probably the only reason I have anything that doesn’t come processed in a box in my house.”

She took a seat on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her as someone would in the comfort of her own home.

“I figured we’d just UberEats from that lovely Mediterranean restaurant I always see you in.”

“Did you know that we live only a few blocks from one another?” I asked, her comment reminding me once again how much our lives truly had intersected.

“Really?” Her face lit up in surprise. “Where are you?”

“Over on Brook—less than three blocks.”

The conversation stalled, each of us taking quiet sips from our drinks. I kicked myself for not being more on the ball, or charming, or any myriad of things to keep us chatting instead of this uncomfortable silence. I’m certain it was simply because a giant barrier had unintentionally been taken down today, in the hastiest of ways. Surely there was bound to be discomfort while we wrapped our head around the day.

“So, Oxford?” She opened the volley first, drawing a surprised chuckle from me.

“I don’t know if I should be insulted that I stood in for Emmerson in at least two of your seminars, and you don’t remember me. I’ve always thought I was a pretty memorable person but you’re seriously hurting my ego.”

“I promise, it’s not you. My whole program is a blur of sleepless nights, never ending revisions, and hard to please Dons, and lots of tears. Over the years, I’ve allowed it to fade into my memories with the gratitude that I made it through and wouldn’t want to do again.”

Those Oxford professors took their “Don” title far too seriously. They were professors just like at any college—but Oxford’sDonsnamed as such in deference to medieval times when they would be Lords—carried an air about them that is incorporable. Honestly, between the pressure from my program and a less than thrilling relationship with Graham—I couldn’t remember finite details from most of my time in England.

“Well, I’ll tell you I remember how you’d sit in the garden with your books, completely oblivious to the world around you. You made friends with every shopkeeper, barista, newspaper seller, and inn barkeep within a six block radius of campus. Everyone knew you by name, held seats for you, set aside the best danish, newspaper, last ticket to a highly anticipated lecture. You were a celebrity on campus for no other reason that being kind.

“When the position at Dartmouth opened I knew that my days of quiet observation were ending—and you’d started dating the guy who always wore the hats—”

“His name was Graham,” she replied, rolling her eyes before downing the final sips of her drink, “we don’t need to get into him or his love of beanies.”

“Anyhow that was it. I thought you’d found someone who would value your beautiful light. Then you arrived here a few years behind me, and not only did you not remember me, but you’d somehow shrunk into yourself—you’d lost your light. You were quietly tenacious, and so intelligent—and I watched you intimidate so many senior level faculty. Despite all their attempts to push you down, to challenge you, discredit your research, and restrict you from their inner sanctums, you managed to forge ahead. Never involving yourself in politics, or stooping to their level.”

She refused to meet my eyes, focusing instead on her fingers, which she twisted in her lap. The sweet pinkened flush that had kissed the apples of her cheeks had morphed into a deep blush. I stopped talking waiting for her to meet my gaze, and when she did, her eyes shone with unspent tears that were a shot to my solar plexus.

“You have a lot of people who feel very protective of you as a result.” I continued, “Dr. Krane especially. You couldn’t even breathe in your direction without him stepping in front of it to deflect that air. And let’s not forget Patrick—he is a bear just woken from hibernation when it comes to you. Good god, you’d think you were actually related. Considering he and I have known one another since undergrad I know for a fact you two are not. As his sister lives in Chicago.”

Before she had a moment to respond to my monologue that never ends—honestly, I wanted to kick myself for being unable to shut up—the food arrived.

“I’m sorry that our first date isn’t more, well first date worthy.” I helped set her table as she unpacked the food.

“Honestly this is better than most first dates I’m on. At least we’re eating decent food and not a two for one special at the local chain restaurant.”

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