Page 168 of Sinful Like Us
I carry a clipboard and walk along the upstairs hallway. With freezing temperatures and broken heaters, we’re all camping around the living room fireplace tonight, and every door must be shut to combat drafts.
I check each tightly closed door and cross rooms off my list. I’ve also been reminding everyone to gather their belongings for the night and head downstairs. All the while, my body hums in anticipation of seeing Thatcher.
I blow out a measured breath. Nerves swarming me, but I refuse to be too nervous to speak this time.
I peek into a cracked bedroom.Empty.Just as I shut the door, Luna waddles past me, dressed in so many layers of clothing that her oversized galactic sweatshirt looks like a crop top.
She throws up a Spock sign. “Beware of the frostbite.”
I smile. “Do you need any extra blankets?”
“Nope. I should be good.” She waves, descending the staircase. “Thanks though.” Once she disappears, Thatcher suddenly ascends the same steps.
I press my clipboard to my swelling body.
He locks onto my eyes with this primitive look, as though we’re two lions protecting the pride. Without saying a word, he stops a foot away and plucks the clipboard from my arms. He scans the list swiftly. “The third floor still needs cleared.”
“Oui.” I almost forget what pushes at my soul.
“I’ll take it.” He passes back the clipboard, his assertiveness melting me.Come on, Jane.
“We have to talk.” I clasp his wrist in haste and open the nearest door.
I pull him into thetinybroom closet. His head almost collides with the low bulb, and I can feel his uncertainty swallow up the air.
He tugs the string light while I shut the door, and a warm glow bathes the dusty space. Cobwebs in corners of wooden shelves, which contains random items like wax paper rolls, a mop bucket, and a broken bagpipe.
“Ever since the house meeting, I can’t stop thinking.” I start gushing. “Maybe it’s because of Tony, because his opinions are so gross and ridiculous, and how he views women is absolutelyappalling.And I’m not so sure if he’ll understandwhywhat he says hurts people and how what he thinks is wrong.” I barely take a breath. “Or maybe it’s because we’re stuck here without internet, and I can’t let callous things said about me seep too deep if I’m not able to see them.”
I pause.
Dear Diary, he looks tragicallyconfused.
I inhale. “If you need me to shut up—”
“Never,” he says deeply, and I’m glad he cut me off there. “Never stop talking, Jane.”
He’s my everything and more.
I lift my chin to meet his serious brown eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” I continue, “about how I’ve been so insecure about my worth if I don’t find a passion, even more so now that I’m tied to you.” Emotion burns my eyes.
His chest tightens. He’s barely breathing too, but he nods me on.
I’d be pacing back and forth if the closet were bigger. I’m happy to be forced to stand perilously still in front of him. His comfort blanketing me.
“If I knew at seventeen what my future held, that I’d be passionless, ambitionless, and the world would attach my value to a man, I would’ve screamed at the top of my lungs. The realization—tothink—that all I could be good for is to be your girlfriend, to be a sister, a cousin, best friend, daughter, and nothing else, it’s terrifying. It’s scared me to know that my purpose in life is just love.” I wipe a hot, escaped tear. “Love.” I repeat the cofounding word. “When this is all said and done, where am I supposed to end up? Married? With children? Giving love to you and them?”
“We don’t have to get married, Jane,” Thatcher says suddenly, seriously—staring down at me while I look right up at him. “I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
My heart thumps strangely. “You wouldn’t want to be married one day?”
His jaw tics. “I would want that, but if the choice were marriage or you, I’d rather just be with you.” He holds my waist, his hand sliding around my hip to the small of my back. He’s not letting go ofus, and I don’t want to either.
I know, deep in my heart, that we’re already bound together. And maybe our story won’t end like a Shakespearian comedy. No wedding in our future.
No marriage.
Possibly, that’ll do.
