Geek God (Forever Geek Trilogy #1) (7 page)

“Milwaukee, Wisconsin? That’s a great job?”

“It’s not the location. It’s the position. Are you saying you’d break up with me if I had to take a job somewhere else?”

“I don’t know why we’re having this discussion. It’s hypothetical.”

“It’s plausible. Arts funding is getting slashed all the time in Canada. Who knows what I might need to do five years from now.”

“Five years from now, this will be a totally different discussion because if we’re still together, we’ll be married and have kids. It won’t just be your decision.”

“So, let me get this straight. In our fictional world, where we’re married and have children, my career is no longer my own to manage? It’s determined on the whim of someone with a trade that could be used anywhere? So being with you long term means never leaving Newfoundland.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did. Or at least it was pretty well implied. Good to know this now.”

“I said it would be a joint decision. Not that it wouldn’t happen. You’re putting words in my mouth. And you’re getting upset over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing when the man I’m falling for tells me that being with him is basically a choice between him and my career.”

“Jill. I didn’t say that.”

Somehow this has turned into a shouting match in the middle of the only road in town. And clearly more people have chosen not to go to Mass this morning than I would have thought.

Taking his hand, I start to walk and lower my voice.

“Evan. I have real feelings for you. I do. But I can’t make promises I can’t keep. I can’t say I’ll always want to work here. Who knows what opportunities might come up in a year. Ten years. Hell. Thirty years. I need to be with someone who is at least willing to consider the possibility that things change.”

“I’m not saying no to any of that. I’m just saying that if we were together when those things came up, we’d have to talk about it, between the two of us. And figure out what works.”

“Fair enough. But what if I got a call today. What if I was offered a research job on an awesome project and I decided to take a leave of absence. If I did that, would you do a long-distance thing? Or would it be the end of us?”

The right answer here, in case you’re wondering, is yes. A big, unequivocal yes. Of course. But what I’m getting is a pause. A long pause. And one of those slow running fingers through hair motions that could mean anything from “I’m thinking” to “Oh, crap.” What it’s not is a resounding yes.

“Too long. Your answer to something that’s not even real is taking way too long.”

I drop his hand and look around. I’m not sure where to go from here. The only thing I see is a truck about to drive away from a store. It looks like some sort of freight truck.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you.”

“Jill. Come back here.”

“Sir. Sir. Excuse me.”

The guy driving the truck stops and rolls down his window.

“Excuse me, but you’re not heading to St. John’s by any chance, are you?”

“Nope. I’m going to Lewisporte.”

I think I know someone who has family in Lewisporte. I can manage that. Or get dropped off in Grand Falls.

“Can I get a ride with you?”

“Clar, don’t take her anywhere.”

“Oh, hey, Evan. Long time no see. How’s life?”

“It’s great.”

They can have all the catch up they want but I’m getting on that truck and getting out of here. Now.

But it seems like Clar is having a change of heart. The click of the automatic lock is audible.

“Please open the door.” I tap on the glass.

“Havin’ some woman troubles, are ya?”

“Just a misunderstanding. How’s the kids?” Seriously Evan? This is the time for this?

“This is not a misunderstanding,” I yell. “Please take me out of here.”

“She’s feisty,” Clar says.

I hate you, Clar. A curse on you and your truck.

“Tell me about it. Have a good day, buddy.”

You know, I’ve never been physically picked up by a man before. It’s not that I’m big or anything. It’s just never happened. There’s never been a reason for a man to lift me. But now Evan is picking me up and dragging me away from the truck. I spill the remainder of my tea. Where’s his mug?

“This isn’t how we’re going to fix this,” he says, carrying me back towards the house.

“Put me down.”

“Not on your life. I didn’t realize you were a runner. I thought you’d stay and fight. Not give up.”

“I’m not giving up. You just gave me up.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Don’t swear at me.”

“Oh, I’m going to say a whole lot more than that when we get inside.”

“Please, put me down. I’m mortified. I’m never going to be able to show my face here again.”

What does it say about me that I’m a little disappointed when he does put me down.

“Do you think you’ll have reason to be back here?”

“I don’t know. I like your mom. Maybe I’ll come visit her sometime when you’re not here. Maybe some day I’ll bring my fictional kids from another marriage here and tell them about the one who got away.”

“I’m not going away. You’re just a wingnut. A loose cannon. Christ, you don’t give a man a chance to think. You just blurt things out and expect me to react before I get a chance to process anything. Getting pissed with me because of something that’s not even happening? Because of a ‘what if’ scenario? You know what your problem is, Jillian Katherine Carew?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Too bad. You’re going to listen to me for a second. You want to be the boss of your own life so badly that you can’t imagine anyone’s opinion being on par with yours. The idea of being told what to do drives you mad. I get it. That’s how you’ve lived your whole life, having to prove your independence and fight for what you want. But you don’t need to fight me on this. I don’t want to tell you what to do. How to act. What to be. I just want to be able to talk things through.”

His eyes are piercing mine. The blue seems deeper, like a stormy sky.

“You want my answer to your stupid question? Yes. Yes, I’d give it a go. And not a long-distance thing either. If you left tomorrow, I’d have no choice but to go after you. You think I do this with every woman I’ve had a relationship with? Spend nearly every friggin’ minute of my day with her? Crave her voice? Want to tell her the littlest things that happened in my day? No. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be a single man. Because I wouldn’t let her go, even if she was willing to travel on a fish truck to get away from me. If you don’t love me, if you don’t want to be with me and see where this goes, if you can’t imagine a future with me where what I say matters, then maybe you should leave. But I’m not letting you go until you answer me this one question. Do you love me? Because I sure as hell am in love with you.”

“Do I love you? Why do you think I’m so pissed?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Maybe I need to reflect on it a bit first. Maybe you need to give me a second to think.” Way to go, Jill. Way to be a brat at the wrong moment.

“This isn’t a question you think about, and you bloody well know it.”

“Of course it’s not. And you know the answer is yes. Why else would you be standing there with that smirk on your damn beautiful face if you didn’t know what I was going to say.”

“Because this is the best fight we’ve ever had. I’m already picturing the making up that’s going to happen when we get inside.”

“I’m not having sex in your parents’ house.”

Damn. I hate being wrong.

“Y
ou wanna come watch the game tonight?”

Ahhh. I remember once when Charlie Tucker asked me that in grade ten. He was going to play rugby. I had a huge crush on him. He was tall and blond with blue eyes. Come to think of it, he looked a bit like Evan. But Evan is better looking. Now, when I’m asked that question, I’m getting invited to watch him play Dungeons & Dragons.

“Can’t. I have work to do. I have to grade these essays.”

“Is that for 3288?”

“No, 4400, so I really have to read them.”

I love that he knows my course numbers and what the class is about. He’s even reading some of the books on the syllabus.

“But you don’t have that till next week. Why don’t you come? Please?”

This is different.

Normally it’s a “Come if you like” request. He’s never specifically asked me to come. I’ve gone a handful of times. It was a lot of fun. And I look forward to hearing about the campaign after the fact. The amount of storytelling involved is impressive. Melanie really does her work to make the world they play in come alive.

“Fine, but you have to let me roll all of your skill checks. And if your character is attacked by centaurs, I get to try talking your way out of it.”

“It’s not likely to happen. The last time we fought those was a few months ago.”

“Still, just in case.”

Who am I to resist an evening out with him? I think it’s a great sign of how well this relationship is going when I still want to spend all my time with him after what, nearly six months together?

We head to Mel and Sam’s, and the evening is more fun that I’d imagined. Not as much role-playing tonight as Melanie is weaving a story. Evan and his fellow adventurers have found their way into an audience with a king and are getting some sweet rewards for all the heroic deeds they’ve done over the campaign. In game-time, this group has been together for about a year. In real life, I learn they’ve been playing this particular game for about four years. Four years playing one game? I hadn’t realized.

I’m so caught up in listening to all the things the group has done that I don’t notice at first when Evan slides a small, worn leather bag about the size of a coin purse across the table to me.

He nudges it towards me.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

It’s tied shut with a thin leather cord.

Inside is a set of dice in various shapes. There’s a pyramid-shaped one numbered one to four. A twenty-sided die. And all the others that make up a set of gaming dice. They’re opaque with swirls of blue and pink and purple.

“Are these mine?”

Of course they’re mine. I know they’re not his. They’re the dice I’d seen at the local gaming store about two months ago and said how pretty they were. Evan had just laughed at me and said he preferred his dice nice and simple. His red clear dice had done him for years and he had no need to invest in more.

“The campaign is over. We’re taking a couple of weeks off and then we’re going to start fresh with a new world and new characters. There’s an opening if you want to play with us.”

Around the table, I notice Evan’s friends smiling.

“We used to have a no girlfriends policy,” Tony says.

I can’t tell if his tone is mock-grumpiness or the genuine disgruntlement of someone who’s seen every one of his friends find a girlfriend while he remains single. Maybe I should try setting him up with the geography prof I see wandering the halls of the Science building. Something tells me they might be made for each other.

“Yea, way back before you had the best DM in the universe,” Mel says. “The day Sam invited me to play, I thought these guys were going to hyperventilate. Now, I have them doing my bidding once a week.”

Once a week. For possibly years to come. The implications are starting to set in. Evan wouldn’t be asking me to play, and his friends wouldn’t be happy about it, unless they all figured I’d be around for a while.

You know how some women need a ring or a house key to feel like they’re getting a sign of commitment from a guy? Turns out what I need is a set of dice and an invitation to play Dungeons & Dragons. Don’t you hate it when you find out something about yourself that you never thought possible?

“W
hy won’t you move in with me? I’ll evict the whole load of them, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want to have this argument again. We can’t live together.”

“We do live together. I haven’t slept home in nearly a month. And this house is too small for your stuff, let alone mine.”

“Sleeping over doesn’t mean you live here.”

“Really?” He starts pulling open dresser drawers. “’Cause this drawer is full of socks and underwear I’d hate to see you wear. And this one here has a lot of very masculine-looking pants and shirts.”

“That’s just some clothes. You still have your own place.”

“No, what we have are two mortgages, two sets of bills, and two beds, one of which is vacant ninety-nine percent of the time.”

I don’t want to have this conversation with him, because the answer makes no sense to me.

“Jill, my place is so much bigger. You could sell and make money on this place with the work we’ve put into it. Do you hate my house?”

“No! I love your house. When it’s not being used for gaming marathons. I love it more than this house. But I can’t move in with you. Not unless . . .”

No. I refuse to say it. I’m not telling him that my mother has somehow convinced me not to live with him unless we’re married. There’s no way I’m going to make him think I’m pressuring him to propose to me. And I still haven’t wrapped my brain around why Mom’s suggestion seems to have resonated with me so well. But it makes sense.

Already there are little things he does that bug me. Like the way he hangs a damp dish cloth over the kitchen faucet after washing up, letting it air dry into a crusty sheet full of germs. Right now I can grab it and toss it into the laundry, and he can only give me a look. He has no right to bicker with me.

Bickering is what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid that we’ll move in together and we will bicker each other to the point of irritability and we’ll break up. I’m afraid to live with him because I’m afraid he’ll hate living with me. Mom is right. If we’re married, he can’t leave me so easily.

Argh. When did I become this person? This woman afraid of losing her man? This woman afraid to move forward in fear of the future?

“Jillian, talk to me. I can see the signs of an internal monologue written all over your face. Tell me what’s going on. It can’t be nearly as bad as you think it is.”