“Who are they?” I asked. I’d have to remember that garlic trick. Much better than scrabbling at it like I probably would have.
“The first officer and last soldier to die in the Great War, as far as anyone can tell—both from Kansas City. Bookends to such a tragic time in history, and basically lost to it afterwards. Wayne Miner’s parents were born slaves, and he died fighting for our country’s continued freedom. It’s been a passion project of mine all through school, but I’ve tapped out all the research I can do in the bi-state area.” His voice was getting more animated, and he was gesturing with the knife. How did I never think to ask him about what he spent his every waking hour on up until this past few weeks?
“Plus, I just feel like I won’t be able to really write about the places they spent their last days unless I’ve been there. Pictures on the internet don’t do much as far as ambience, you know, and I am hoping my book will be more interesting than a textbook. So I need those descriptions. What it smells like, how the air feels on your skin. And who knows what I can find over there? People discover pictures and letters in old archives all the time. Could you imagine finding something no one knew existed?”
“Wow,” was all I could say. It was like Hot Marc had just cracked open and showed me Passionate Marc had been hiding inside all along. Now I not only had the guilt over not asking about his work, but also about assuming that he must be a fairly boring guy to want to spend his life teaching history.
Smart and funny, but without much of an inner life. He’d told me himself he was beige.
But this? He was spending his life chasing stories. That was—well, maybe history wasn’t as dry as the few classes I’d taken had led me to believe. Maybe our passions had more in common than I’d given them credit for.
“So it isn’t really a bangcation,” I said. Because all those deep thoughts about not knowing who he really was until that point had just stirred up my jealousy over the hypothetical French girls all over again. They’d all be bowled over by his little speech about this. He’d be positively dripping in Parisian women. I imagined him in a library, poring over records while willowy Gallic beauties danced for him in nothing but expertly tied silk scarves.
“Well. I’m hoping for a few extracurriculars.” He winked at me, and tossed a couple of filets in a skillet. I was going to fictionally murder every single extracurricular, I swear I was.
“So your meetings…?” I was ready to get back to the subject.
“Were all good news! I got approved for a grant through the university. Local history isn’t the easiest thing to get money for, but a big foundation in town that’s been working with veterans showed some interest, and one thing led to another. They contacted the World War One Museum at the Liberty Memorial, and I’m going to be working with the curators on a special exhibit. It’s basically guaranteeing my employment. Plus, I won’t go totally broke over there.”
“Holy shit!” I said. And really, holy shit! My screwmate was a damn onion. So many layers to him. He was so much more than a pretty face. How incredibly sexy. “Uh, cheers to that?”
He clinked me, and flipped the steaks.
“I’m feeling really good about it. And really guilty about leaving my mom.” I watched him visibly droop a little as he said it, and all my vicious little jealousies went away in favor of consoling him.
“Is she—was she happy for you?” Of course she was happy for him. Stupid question.
“She didn’t really say anything, actually. She just gave me the vegetables and sent me home.” Well, just a tactless question, then. Damn. I had no idea what to say. If it wasn’t a mistake, and I told my mom that my comic was getting thousands of views a day, she’d be thrilled for me. But then, of course, she’d go look at it and I could not have that. The whole upside-down sex position thing, for one.
But it was a mistake. I was dead certain.
I walked over to the cabinet and pulled a couple of plates out. We’d been talking so much our glasses didn’t even need refills. Perhaps that was part of the drinking problem then, too. We mostly just chitchatted in between gulps, but doing it the other way around was far more productive.
“I bet she just needs some time to adjust.” I let my hand rest on his shoulder as I set the plates near him. He covered my hand with his briefly and I closed my eyes to capture the moment.
Then it was gone, and he was plating our dinner. It was quite a spread, too. Salad, sautéed peppers and okra, and roasted beans all surrounded perfectly brown-crusted filets. Just a garden dinner. Good grief. He’d even set a couple of candles on the table—from his mother’s workshop, no doubt, because they smelled of lavender and vanilla. Would there be no end to the things I was learning about Marc? As I cut into my perfectly-cooked meat, I had to wonder.
If he had any idea what a catch he was, why would he be wasting his time on me? I was just a girl too anxious to gain any real life experience, coloring pictures for the internet in my room.
But after taking my first bite of garlicky buttery goodness, I found it hard to worry about anything except how quickly I could shovel it all in. I didn’t even think I liked green beans, but whatever magic they’d been cooked with turned them into something truly glorious.
“Marc. You may have missed your calling. Leave history in the past, and cook for your future,” I told him between swoons.
“Your standards are low, Miss Cereal for dinner,” he chuckled. “Wanna throw a movie on?”
Obviously I did, because movies are the very best way to spend an evening, and I was pleased he’d thought of dessert all by himself. I had a fresh box of Lucky Charms Oops All Marshmallows just waiting for this occasion. After I successfully resisted licking my plate, I grabbed the bottle of wine and headed to my poor cuckolded couch to flip through the available movie options. The bottle was surprisingly heavy—I could hardly believe how restrained we were.
This was a truly grown-up evening. The choice of movie was where I stumbled. Even though I was certain I could find an action movie based on a cartoon we’d agree on, it just didn’t seem like the right vibe for the evening. But then, neither did a romantic comedy.
The screen was flipping through the “Recommended For You” options when Marc came over and sat down next to me. Not on the other end of the couch, but right next to me, close enough for me to see his biceps ripple as he pointed at the screen.
“Full disclosure. I kind of wanted to see that, but I wasn’t about to ask Ava to go with me, and there’s not a man I know who’d do that instead of Poker Night.” I followed the line of sight and was utterly shocked and scandalized to see that the movie in question was none other than Fifty Shades of Grey. He might not have asked Ava, but I was one hundred percent texting this in my update to the girls later.