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“It never is,” she says.
I give her response some consideration. I givehersome consideration. “Well, I thought we were going to have fake relationship sex, but I feel like your dead husband put a damper on the moment. No disrespect to him, of course.”
She chuckles. “Well, that’s kind of you to not disrespect my dead husband as if it’s his fault you suck at relationships. Real or fake.”
“Ouch. That’s harsh.”
“Am I wrong? Are you living a life that will be worthy of ink on paper?”
“Listen, Henry, if a woman doesn’t make you think … really think … then keep moving. Find the one who takes your mind before your heart.”
My dad’s words echo from the past. He used to say my mom was the smartest person he’d ever met. Wise beyond her years. He said he fell in love with her words before she bewitched him with the rest of her enchanting self.
I’m not sure I like Serena’s Afina story, but I find myself thinking all kinds of things when I’m with her. And not just the things that make my dick stir—although, that happens a lot in her presence as well.
“I’m going to help my mom.”
“I like her, Henry. You’re a lucky man.” Mom glances over at me when I grab a dishtowel and start drying the dishes.
“Yes, I’ve definitely outdone myself.”
Just not in the way you think.
“She told me she lost her husband on Christmas.”
“She did.”
She opened up to my mom before she told me. That’s not part of a fake relationship.
“She said it’s been hard to get in the Christmas spirit since he died. She also said making cookies with me today was the first time she felt like maybe one day she’d feel something besides grief. I think you’ve been a godsend to her.”
I bribed her to let me stay here. I’m not sure that counts as a “godsend.”
With little to say in response, I finish helping mom with the dishes and head up to check on Serena. I can’t stop myself from navigating toward her. It’s a foreign feeling.
When I open the door to the attic, Serena’s conked out on the blue velvet sofa, cuddled under a blanket.
I ease into her desk chair. Leaning back, I stare out the window, reminiscing about the days my sister Emily and I spent in this attic (when she wasn’t scared of ghosts) pretending we were in a snow globe. Sometimes we’d snoop through boxes, hunting for presents. But mostly, we listened to Christmas music on my grandpa’s old turntable and pieced together the train set that belonged to our dad.
With a smile on my face, I run my hand along Serena’s antique desk. The screen lights up when I bump the mouse, filling most of it with lines and lines of words.
Words like “Afina.” It’s dotted all over the page.
Afina swiped her toe through the water, sending the cold droplets in Hermann’s direction.
“Watch it, unless you’re prepared to take a swim with me,” he said, his voice guff.
Afina didn’t miss the outline of a smile behind his thick beard. His legs swayed from the horizontal tree trunk dangling over the edge of the lazy Ohio River current. It was a rare moment to see Hermann with his brown trousers rolled up to his knees, shirt off, suspenders gathered at his waist.
“What are you doing?” Serena moves the mouse and the screen switches to an ocean with cliffs in the distance.
“I came to check on you.”
“You mean snoop?”
I shake my head.
“What are you doing up here?” She yawns while pushing the desk chair. It rolls away from the desk just enough for her to wedge herself between her computer and me. Her arms cross, eyes narrowing. “I don’t let anyone read my work until it’s complete.”
