Page 52 of Embers

“But maybe not,” Faith goes on, still searching my face even as I try to keep my private thoughts hidden. “What do I know about it? All I know is that there’s something innate inside of us that’s supposed to love. And be loved. And it shapes itself to our circumstances, whatever they are, so we often end up loving people we never believed we would love.” She meets my eyes with a little smile. “And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Maybe it’s what we were made to do.”

I make a strange little sound, and my shoulders shake a couple of times. I don’t break down, of course. I only ever do that with Cal. I do give Faith a shaky smile and reply, “Maybe so.”

“People around here are pretty open about relationships,” Faith says in a different tone. “As long as they’re between consenting adults. So, if there’s more going on between the two of you, I don’t think you need to hide it. Folks would be okay with it. A lot of them assume it’s going on between you two already.”

I choke on a laugh. I don’t know how much I should say since it involves Cal too, and he’s always insisted on keeping our relationship private. But I feel better. A lot better. Freer.

Like maybe there’s a future where Cal and I can be who we are and also be part of a larger community.

I never thought it would even be a possibility, but maybe it can be. We’ve come so far already. Me and Cal. Maybe there’s even further we can go.

* * *

We work hard on the farm for the next week, but I actually enjoy it.

I get to know more people, and the work feels useful and productive. It’s a far cry from my life as a kid, living on prepackaged food from the grocery store and microwaving dinners for me and my mom. I love the fact that through our efforts, we can grow things in the ground, feed ourselves and other people.

I have a good week, marred only by the fact that Cal refuses to fuck me, even in the small private room in one of the outbuildings we share.

It’s not like I have to have sex every night to be happy. Obviously I know better. But it bothers me. That he’s still so reluctant, no matter how close we’ve gotten or how far our relationship has progressed.

We sleep in the same small bed. It’s the only one in the room. And he’ll usually hold me before we go to sleep. But he won’t even kiss me, much less have sex with me.

I do my best to take it in stride since I’m used to his hesitance by now. But it’s really starting to trouble me, especially after I started getting hopeful after my conversation with Faith.

I brood over it privately, not wanting to get into an argument or pressure Cal into something he’s not comfortable with. But it doesn’t make sense to me. He’ll fuck me to kingdom come when we’re alone together at home. He’ll kiss every inch of my skin and rub his face all over my pussy and fold my body in half with my ankles up on his shoulders and take me until I’m screaming my head off. Sometimes we go at it multiple times a night.

But whenever we’re not alone, I become his guilty secret.

I try to be patient, but it’s just not right.

After a week at New Haven, it’s bothering me so much that it’s affecting my mood. During the day, it’s not a big deal. I’m silently grumbling to myself about Cal’s hardheadedness, but I can distract myself with work and other people. But at night I can barely talk to him for fear of snapping at him for the pettiest reasons.

Tonight I climb into bed by myself since Cal is going to the bathroom outside. And I search my mind for the perfect words to say to make all his irrational hang-ups disappear.

There must be some way to fix this. If I was smarter or more perceptive or more experienced, I’d be able to figure it out.

Nothing has come to me when the door swings open and Cal strides in. Like always, his big body seems to fill up all the space in the room. He smells like sweat and dirt and the outdoors. He pulls off his shirt and goes over to the small washbasin to brush his teeth and wash up. When he’s done, he comes to the bed in just his boxers and climbs in beside me.

I’ve rolled over onto my side, my back in his direction. I don’t move and don’t speak. If I say anything, I’m afraid I’ll bite his head off.

“You okay?”

I mumble out a monosyllable and hope it will satisfy him.

He’s looking at me. I can feel his eyes on my back. “What’s the matter?”

Shudders of anxiety and resentment run through me. I have no idea what to say or how to say it.

“Baby?” He’s soft. Hoarse. Tender.

I roll over and glare at him. “Don’t do that!”

He blinks, propping himself up on one arm. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t call me baby and talk all sweet to me when you refuse to let us have a real relationship.”

I can see a quick succession of responses on his face. Concern. Confusion. Surprise. Enlightenment. Then something slow and heavy and patient. “We are in a real relationship.”

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