Page 34 of Below the Shadow of the City

I’m back above ground, back to normalcy. Soon enough I’ll forget last night ever happened.

“You look like you slept in a subway tunnel,” Margo leans on the top of my cubicle. The morning had barely started and I was barely going to get through it. I chugged a coffee next to the island at Maddox’s place, gulped down another from the bodega down my street, and was currently sipping my third from the office kitchen.

I’d been staring at nothing in particular for most of the day, my eyes glazed over from steadily losing my grip on reality. I thought I was a rational person, at least I was 24 hours ago. I had every intention of this being a one-time hookup. Proof that the basement stranger was real, and proof that I could sleep with someone without making it complicated and weird. It had been fewer than six hours since I left his apartment and I was already making it very, very complicated. And exceptionally weird.

“I slept at mystery guy’s apartment,” I groan. Now wouldn’t be the time to reveal that he’s a seven foot tall monster with fur and all his other accompanying features. Even thinking of how it felt to have him locked inside me makes my core heat all over again.

“No fucking way, you met him?” She gasps with a dramatic flair that should only be reserved for the tackiest of TV dramas. “He’s real? Is he hot? Are you gonna see him again?” Her volume is about ten levels higher than it should be right now. My head throbs as I stew in regret and expensive Merlot.

“Why was everyone so convinced he wasn’t real?” I grumble. Both she and Matthias were too shocked for me to not be a little offended. He didn’t tell her, though, so I can’t be that mad. I shake off the comment. “He’s very, very real. Startlingly good in bed, and hot. Just in an…unconventional way.”

“Got it, like a Benedict Cumberbatch kind of deal,” she replies assuredly. No, not even a little bit like Benedict Cumberbatch, I actually cannot think of two more dissimilar looking individuals. I’m not in the mood to debate.

“Sure,” I rest my head in my palm. “I wanted this to be a one night stand but he asked me to come back tonight.” He practically pleaded with me to. It was staggering to see such a massive creature reduced to groveling like he did. It’s practically impossible not to want to return to him.

“Obviously you said yes,” Margo says with mild annoyance. My anxious avoidant attachment style looms over us like a dark cloud.

I shamefully shake my head. “I said nothing. I bolted. I can’t make this into something, it’ll end poorly.”

“Who’s to say it will?”

“Literal statistics. I have a batting average of zero. Twenty eight years on this earth and I have half a dozen failed relationships to show for it.” I attempt to smooth down the bumps in my hair pulled back in a claw clip. Strands are already falling out and grazing my ears. When I got back to my apartment I had a half hour to get ready and operated on autopilot, I don’t even remember pulling this particular blouse from my closet or swiping on mascara.

Margo groans at my self deprecation, “Sigrid you’re not even thirty you can’t resign yourself to never dating again. It’s a second date, not a marriage proposal.”

“Why can’t I throw in the towel? If I don’t date someone they won’t fall out of love and break up with me. I’m protecting myself from heartbreak.” It hurt enough to leave Maddox’s apartment this morning, and that was after only one night together. Any longer with him and the split would destroy me entirely.

“No,” she says firmly, “you’re avoiding finding your person by being so damn avoidant.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to,” I grumble through my hand as my cheeks grow hot.

“Sigrid, see him again, at least tonight. Suss out your feelings and then decide. Don’t build this nonsensical clamshell around yourself to keep someone from finding out you’re a perfect little pearl.” I physically cringe at her cheesy metaphor. She plays the role of “best friend in a stereotypical romcom” way too well.

I raise my head from my hands and give her a glare. “You are horribly annoying, and painfully logical, do you know that?”

“Yin and yang, baby,” she flicks her finger between herself and I with a wink. “Let me take you out to lunch, you need sustenance, and a drink.”

“No, no alcohol, I’m already hungover,” I practically gag the words out. “The thought of sipping anything but a Diet Coke right now makes me want to vomit.”

“Already got you one,” she plunks a can on my desk. “You have a very obvious hangover tell.” I immediately crack it open and chug a few glorious, bubbly sips of the healing potion.

“I should date you instead,” I bat my eyelashes up at her.

She winks at me. “Tragic you aren’t a man. The universe subjected me to being horrendously straight.”

“Tragic indeed, no man could ever know Diet Coke is the perfect hangover elixir.” My calendar sends an alert for an upcoming meeting, and for the first time I realize what day it is. October 1st, the day I was supposed to give Billie Gustafson an answer about the cookbook.

“Fuck,” I say under my breath, “the cookbook.” Margo stops mid sip of her own soda and glares at me with a genuine anger.

“Tell me you said yes,” she practically growls at me.

“I didn’t say anything,” I don’t add the modifier of ‘yet’ because I still don’t know. The weekend I was supposed to spend making an informed decision quickly devolved into something else. My priorities were misplaced. Margo doesn’t speak, instead she shoves me in my rolling chair and perches at my desk. She quickly finds Billie’s email and plunks out a reply.

Hi Billie,

Thank you for the opportunity. Yes. I’m in.

Sigrid