Page 26 of Enemies in Earnest

“And D.H. Lawrence was just as skeezy as Hemingway. Probably more so. Though I’m not an expert, and I’m not going to bore you with a thousand details.”

“I can say this without any bullshit, Acacia. You are solidly the least boring person I have ever met.” Edwin pressed his face directly against mine. Though we were talking in a totally normal volume, the privacy of our space made it feel as if we were whispering solutions to the world’s problems to one another.

Edwin pressed a wineglass in my hand, filled once again by the delicious selection he’d brought. The whole evening had a warmth radiating through me that had nothing to do with my second, overly full glass of expensive wine, and everything to do with the sweet and caring man who existed beneath all that gruff sarcasm.

“Long story short, I published an article in a well-known journal discussing some of Hemingway’s finer points. I didn’t intentionally ignore his problems with alcohol and his love of bedding women, but Jesus, those points have been argued to death. It was well-received, and Mason didn’t like that. Hated I was being sent to speak at an international literary conference about someone who he deemed beneath the esteem of literary discourse. So he published a counter piece. One that accused me intentionally of glossing over a problematic writer, ignoring current discussions about him, and deliberately turning my back on the very university that employed me. His hit piece also got some attention. Enough attention that I was called before the Provost. They questioned my syllabi, my essay topics. Every single item I taught in class was scrutinized and modified. They told me to take a sabbatical while they evaluated my place in the department and where my scholarship should focus the next academic year. During that time, Mason somehow wormed himself into the American Lit department and convinced the Dean to demote to me teaching Freshman English with monitored classes so they could insure I toed their lines. So I told them to fuck off and opened my bar.

“The problem was that Mason was in tight with my parents. And the three of them all during this censure constantly questioned my judgment and fed me their opinions on how I should handle the drama at the university. My parents sided with Mason! With Mason! Over their own daughter. My mother, especially, said I was too naïve to think I didn’t have to play politics at any university, and I should be grateful I landed a job with such an exceptional institution. She insisted I needed to go back hat in hand and take my lashings.”

It felt good to get it all out. I didn’t expect that. But sitting in the quiet with the twinkle lights and the ambient sounds of nature, the excited laughter and shouts from the boats, Six-Toed Joe curled at the corner of the blanket staring at us—I felt free.

“You made the right decision.” Edwin’s fingers played in my hair, soothing my frayed nerves with every stroke. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll refrain from sending my fifty-dollar check to this year’s alumni fund as a sign of solidarity.”

“Wow. Yourwholefifty dollars?” I asked, giggling as he pressed a kiss to my neck. “The university might collapse.”

He shifted enough that I could see his face. His finger pressed against my chin, raising my gaze to meet his. The firm set of his lips and the forlorn expression weighing down the lines in his forehead had me worried for a second, I’d insulted him.

“That’s what they get for crossing Acacia Ashley.” he said, holding that stern expression for at least three breaths before breaking out into a smile and winking at me.

Our jovial bubble broke when a boat honked its horn long and low, catcalling to get Edwin’s attention. It was decorated like a pirate ship, and across the bow was a banner that read ‘Bring Back the Pirate Wheeler or face the cannons!”

“The Pirate Wheeler?” I asked, turning to him for explanation.

In all the years I knew Edwin, I don’t think I’d ever seen him blush. And it wasn’t a flush that could be blamed on the wine, or the warm humidity of the night, or even the occasional gust of wind. His cheeks, his neck– hell, even the tips of his ears– had gone strawberry red.

“They’re friends.” He pointed toward the boat, looking nervous of all things. “They’re being cute, trying to get me re-installed as Santa.”

“Okay, sure. I can see friends doing that. But why are they calling you Pirate Wheeler?”

Instead of answering me, he poured the final remnants of the bottle of wine in each of our glasses before downing his in two inelegant gulps.

“Did you happen to see who sponsored that boat?” he asked, opening up the town’s app and showing me the lineup of boats.

“The historical society!” I gasped, remembering him telling me about his previous work.

“I specialize in maritime history, as you’ll recall.”

“I don’t understand how that pertains to…” And then it hit with what felt like a thunderous crash in my brain. “Oh my god. You study pirates!”

“Not just pirates, my little book nerd. I study the history of pirates and how they contributed to the formation of our democracy.”

Edwin launched into a dissertation’s worth of information on how pirate routes helped improve trade, which led to westward expansion, and how pirates influenced many pieces of American history. It was hot to be honest. He had a big fucking brain and holy crap, listening to him wax poetic about people I never actually knew existed in real life, had my brain churning on a totally different level.

“And there are so many books I could recommend if it’s truly something you’re interested in,” he continued. “Don’t even get me started on modern day feminism and how overlooked female pirate captains are. They laid groundwork for feminist thought and subversion more than many of the women credited with such today.”

His excitement over pirates got stymied as the man of the hour appeared around the bend of the inlet. Edwin passed me my sign, forcing my hands far above my head so that Klaus would be able to read it as he floated by. Edwin did the same with his cat calling to his cousin and telling him how sexy he looked in his candy cane bike shorts.

Felicity was the first to notice us, cackling as she pointed at us and nudging Klaus’ bicep to get his attention. The two of us, caught up in Felicity’s delight, stood, jumped up and down, and made a total scene with our hero worship.

“Oh Klaus, you’re so sexy!” Edwin called to him with a high-pitched attempt at a female voice. “Come over to my place later, and you can come down my chimney.”

“Edwin!” Felicity cackled, quarterbacking a whole bag of individually wrapped candy canes in our general direction. “This is a family show, you pervert!”

Though the words were barely discernible through her tear-filled laughter.

“Oh god, not you, too!” Klaus pointed toward my sign. “I’m pretty sure that was made very clear last night at dinner.”

He shook his finger at me, shaking his head as the boat steered away from us and further toward town.

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