Geek God (Forever Geek Trilogy #1) Page 5

  “I like clover. You know, the red ones have healing properties. Remember what that missus at the farmers’ market told us about how she eats them to cure a headache?” He stops to take a long drink of ice water.

  “Quackery. I’d sooner pop an Aspirin.”

  “Why do you trust drugs more than nature?”

  “Why do you trust a hippie more than a doctor?”

  “I happen to like my doctor, thank you very much. But I also respect the world.”

  Oh God. Here we go. It’s time for the professor to get schooled on the environment again. It’s not that bad. I like debate. We’re good at it. We’re also good at the resolution.

  “Well, I’ll pick some for you before I mow it all down. I want a lawn I can walk around on in my bare feet.”

  “You can walk in your bare feet on this.”

  “No, I can’t. What if a bee stings me?”

  “A bee isn’t going to sting you. They’re not aggressive like that.”

  “If I step on him, he’s gonna sting me.”

  “That’s not him choosing to sting you. That’s you basically forcing him to hurt you as you kill him with your foot. Bees will not attack you on purpose unless they feel threatened. They wouldn’t do that because they know they’ll die.”

  Welcome, friends, to one of the things about Evan that drives me bonkers. Uninformed opinions. I’m a researcher. An academic. I’m used to scrutinizing data and realizing that facts aren’t always the truth. Things are always more complex than we think. For Evan, it’s more black and white.

  “And how do you know a bee knows he’s going to die if he stings someone? Did a bee write a paper on it?”

  “Yes, he did. He polymorphed into a human just so he could tell the world, ‘Hey, stop hating us bees. We’re nice and make honey and don’t want to sting you because we’ll die. So, don’t attack me or my hive and we’ll get along real good.’ I’m surprised you didn’t read that in one of your journals or something. It was a big deal.”

  This! This look is why I’m head over heels in love with this man. It’s a look that says “Woman, you and I are going to have some hot lovin’ when we’re done this nonsense.” I’m sure the neighbours think we bicker all the time. But he’s just so fun to argue with. He’s wrong most of the time, but it’s fun. Even when it’s driving me mental. I now understand something Mom told me ages ago when I asked her how she could stand Dad always picking on her about her book collection.

  “He does it to get me riled up. It’s all good. We have an agreement.” At the time I didn’t get what the glint in her eyes meant. Now, I wish I didn’t know.

  The night Evan met my parents was an eye-opener for me. Turns out Dad and Evan have a lot in common. If I was worried about how they’d react to him, it was once again nothing but my foolish head taking over. All it took was Evan asking Dad if he played chess and they were fast friends. Here’s the thing about Evan. He doesn’t care what game it is he plays, he just likes to play. And although I’m warming up to board games, I have no intention of playing chess with him. Truth be told, I don’t have the head for it.

  While he and Dad spent two hours playing, Mom and I spent the time talking about how much she likes Evan in comparison to my other boyfriends. And then the shoe dropped.

  “You’re not going to ask him to live with you, are you?”

  I hate how she can read my mind sometimes. Not that I was going to ask him any time soon, but the idea had entered my mind. Since the first night he slept over, the only nights we’ve spent apart are Thursdays when he plays D&D, and three nights when I was in Montreal for a conference.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you shouldn’t live with him unless you’re married.” She held her hand up in defence. “Listen, I’m not being old-fashioned here. I lived with Dad for a few months before we got married. Living with a man is hard. And sweetie, you don’t do well with roommates. It’s far better to go through the living together growing pains as husband and wife than it is before you get married.”

  “But isn’t it a good way to know if we’re meant to be together? Why would I marry someone I can’t live with?”

  “You marry someone because you love them. You live with them because you have to.”

  “Well, Mother. What if I don’t intend on getting married? What if I just want to live in sin for the rest of my life?”

  “It’s too soon for this discussion, Jillian, and you’re just saying things now to push my buttons. I’m not rising to the challenge. Let’s go get those two apart and have dessert.”

  That was a real eye-opener for me. My mother never fails to rise to my challenges. Arguing with her is something I excel at. It’s the foundation of our relationship. There is just too much change happening in my world these days.

  I feel like at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, I’m finally growing up. It’s not an entirely comfortable feeling.

  About three months in.

  It’s a sign of how little I get out of the city that I’m this amazed by how beautiful Juniper Cove is. The water is beautiful and it seems like every house has its own waterfront view. I was expecting his parents to live in an old saltbox house, but instead it’s a sprawling ranch with a backyard that could fit my parents’ house in it twice over. Mr. and Mrs. Sharp are teachers up in Gander, which is only about fifteen minutes away.

  The best part is the long deck overlooking the cove. I could sit out here and read for hours on end. Although the constant chatter of the gulls is already starting to get on my nerves. And the sound of the water hitting the shore is making me want to go to the bathroom.

  “Just smell that air. God, I love coming home.”

  You know what I love? The way his butt looks in those jeans as he leans dangerously close to the edge of the railing.

  “You want to go for a row in the dory before supper?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been in a boat on the ocean before. Other than on a whale tour.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no need to look at me like I’m a weirdo. I’ll go. Do I need a life jacket?”

  “No, you don’t need a life jacket.”

  “What if the boat turns over?”

  “Jillian, have you never been in a dory? Ever? They’re heavy. They’re made of wood. They’re as sturdy as they go.”

  “No way. You’re not allowed to do this to me. I told you when I agreed to come that you couldn’t tease me about being a townie.”

  “I’m not teasing you. I’m just surprised.”

  “Well, I don’t know what you’re so surprised about. Can I help it if I spent my summers at music camp at MUN or learning to play hacky sack in Bannerman Park with cute skaters instead of catching tom cods off a wharf or riding quads over bogs? Not every Newfoundlander is pulled straight from the tourism commercials, you know.”

  “I’m well aware of that. I’m not picking a fight. I know full well you’d enjoy yourself here a lot better if you were within walking distance of a martini bar or library. I’m not judging you. I swear. I love that you’re different from any girl around here. Why do you think I live in town and not out here? You think I fit in?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Come with me.”

  We’re no sooner in the house when he calls out to his mother. “Mom. Where are those old home movies? I want to show some to Jill.”

  Mrs. Sharp, who keeps telling me to call her Mary but I just can’t do it, looks like she’s just won the lottery.

  “I was hoping you’d let me show her some of those. I have them all ready.”

  “Mom has waited a long time for me to bring a girl home,” he whispers as he pulls me onto the sofa. “Just don’t laugh at me too much.”

  After a half hour of this, I’m almost crying through my laughter. I’ve seen Evan dressed as a Viking, sword fighting with his brothers, who were not dressed in costume. I’ve seen him get upset when his father told him it was time to stop playing a compu
ter game and go to hockey practice. And I’ve seen him dressed for his high school grad, awkwardly attaching a corsage to the wrist of a girl who looks mortified to be seen with him. He’s still Evan. Cute, but with some acne and a serious case of unruly hair falling around his shoulders. His tux fit like a glove, but the style was all wrong for him. Black suit, black shirt and bright red tie is not a flattering look. And to top it all off, he was wearing Harry Potter glasses. But this was before Harry Potter had become such an integral part of our social lexicon. This is why Evan calls himself a geek. This is the visual representation of who he still is.

  “What happened to the glasses?”

  “Laser eye surgery. It was the first thing I bought for myself after getting a car. See. If we’d met each other back then you wouldn’t have looked at me twice.”

  “That’s not fair. I’ve been told my taste in men leans towards the nerdy side.”

  “Now you’re calling me a nerd?”

  “No. I’m calling you my perfect match.”

  “I’m going to go mash the potatoes,” Mrs. Sharp says. A good thing too because I want to jump her son right here on this floral sofa. And as soon as she closes the door, I do.

  The next day.

  Okay. I love Juniper Cove. I love the Sharp family. I even love those damn gulls and their screechy cries that woke me this morning way before I was ready.

  And I totally love Evan. Now I need to figure out how to tell him. Is three months too soon for declarations of love? And how should I do it?

  Oh, I’ve known for a while how deep my feelings are for him, but seeing him around his family has shown me another side to him. His dad is so proud of him. Evan was allowed to become who he is without any nay-saying from his family. Maybe it’s because he has older brothers who have fulfilled a father’s dream of big alpha-masculine pursuits. His eldest brother is in the military. The second oldest is a phys. ed. teacher. But they’re just as proud of the son who’s a cook in a restaurant as they are of any of the boys.

  This must have been quite the house to grow up in. What’s it like to have parents who don’t tell you what to do, and don’t try suggesting it’s not too late to go to law school or med school? Who aren’t concerned with what part of town you’re going to finally settle in, and if you’re going to enroll your future children in Catholic school.

  “Sit,” he says as I walk into the bright kitchen. A steaming cup of coffee is waiting for me on the table. “You did well last night. I thought you were going to fall asleep a few times but you soldiered on.”

  “I’ve never stayed up until five am drinking with people in their sixties before.”

  “I told you they were planning on having a party for you.”

  “I’m just glad I was able to fake all the drinking. Just another reason why gin and tonic is a great drink. It looks like water. I’d be mortified if I’d gotten drunk in front of your family.”

  “You didn’t fool them, my love. My dad has been doing that trick for years, only he drinks Coke most of the night.”

  “You have a lot of relatives.”

  “No more than anyone else around here.”

  “Way more than me. I think. I don’t really know many of my relatives, other than the immediate ones. And some first cousins. I think I met someone last night who said she was your fourth cousin. I don’t even know if that counts as family any more. Ah! This coffee is terrible! What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Something I found in a can. All coffee is disgusting to me.”

  It’s putrid. I see the can sitting on the counter. It’s a bargain store brand.

  Hi. My name is Jillian and I’m a coffee snob.

  Tea it is then.

  “And yet you’ll only drink Red Rose tea. Boost the kettle, please. I’ll join you. Where is everyone?”

  “Gone to Mass.”

  “What? Shouldn’t we have gone?”

  “You can,” he says and shrugs. “I’m not. They stopped forcing me to go when I was about fourteen. Besides, I thought we could go for a walk.”

  “Won’t everyone know we’re heathens if we’re parading around town during church?”

  “Only the other heathens.”

  The morning air is chilly and I’m glad to be wearing one of his wool sweaters as we head down the twisty road, our mugs of tea in hand.

  “You know what I love about you?” That’s close to saying I love you, right? At least it’s a hint.

  “My ass.”

  Okay. So I tell him that a lot.

  “That, and I love that you don’t wear hoodies. You’re a woollen sweater guy and I find that sexy. Where’d you get all your sweaters?”

  He shrugs. “Mom. Nan Norman. Nanny Sharp. Uncle Walter. They all knit. No one’s given me a new one in a few years though. Now that there are grandkids, no one bothers to knit me sweaters any more. I picked up one when I was in Ireland a couple of years ago.”

  “You’ve been to Ireland?” I’m envious. I’ve been to plenty of places around the world, but Ireland is top on my list but it never seems the right time to go.

  “Yea, when I was working for Databites. A bunch of us went over on a job swap. I was there three months.”

  “I never knew that about you. How can we have been together this long and I don’t know that?”

  “Long? We’ve been dating as long as I lived in Ireland. In the larger scheme of life, that’s not very long.”

  What’s that weird feeling in the pit of my stomach? It sort of feels like I wanna puke, and I’ve been punched.

  “Did you date anyone when you were there?”

  “Nah. I didn’t see the point. I didn’t want to do a long-distance relationship.”

  “If you fell in love, maybe you would have stayed there.”

  “Not a chance. I don’t want to live anywhere but here.”

  “So if my contract at MUN didn’t get renewed, and I had to go work somewhere else, that would be it for us?”

  “That’s not an issue. You’ve already said you’re likely to get tenure in a few years.”

  “But what if it was an issue? What if in a few years I’m offered a great new job, like Chair of Latin Studies in Milwaukee or something.”

  “Milwaukee, Wisconsin? That’s a great job?”

  “It’s not the location. It’s the position. Are you saying you’d break up with me if I had to take a job somewhere else?”

  “I don’t know why we’re having this discussion. It’s hypothetical.”

  “It’s plausible. Arts funding is getting slashed all the time in Canada. Who knows what I might need to do five years from now.”

  “Five years from now, this will be a totally different discussion because if we’re still together, we’ll be married and have kids. It won’t just be your decision.”

  “So, let me get this straight. In our fictional world, where we’re married and have children, my career is no longer my own to manage? It’s determined on the whim of someone with a trade that could be used anywhere? So being with you long term means never leaving Newfoundland.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did. Or at least it was pretty well implied. Good to know this now.”

  “I said it would be a joint decision. Not that it wouldn’t happen. You’re putting words in my mouth. And you’re getting upset over nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing when the man I’m falling for tells me that being with him is basically a choice between him and my career.”

  “Jill. I didn’t say that.”

  Somehow this has turned into a shouting match in the middle of the only road in town. And clearly more people have chosen not to go to Mass this morning than I would have thought.

  Taking his hand, I start to walk and lower my voice.

  “Evan. I have real feelings for you. I do. But I can’t make promises I can’t keep. I can’t say I’ll always want to work here. Who knows what opportunities might come up in a year. Ten years. Hell. Thirty years. I need to be with s
omeone who is at least willing to consider the possibility that things change.”

  “I’m not saying no to any of that. I’m just saying that if we were together when those things came up, we’d have to talk about it, between the two of us. And figure out what works.”

  “Fair enough. But what if I got a call today. What if I was offered a research job on an awesome project and I decided to take a leave of absence. If I did that, would you do a long-distance thing? Or would it be the end of us?”

  The right answer here, in case you’re wondering, is yes. A big, unequivocal yes. Of course. But what I’m getting is a pause. A long pause. And one of those slow running fingers through hair motions that could mean anything from “I’m thinking” to “Oh, crap.” What it’s not is a resounding yes.

  “Too long. Your answer to something that’s not even real is taking way too long.”

  I drop his hand and look around. I’m not sure where to go from here. The only thing I see is a truck about to drive away from a store. It looks like some sort of freight truck.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Away from you.”

  “Jill. Come back here.”

  “Sir. Sir. Excuse me.”

  The guy driving the truck stops and rolls down his window.

  “Excuse me, but you’re not heading to St. John’s by any chance, are you?”

  “Nope. I’m going to Lewisporte.”

  I think I know someone who has family in Lewisporte. I can manage that. Or get dropped off in Grand Falls.

  “Can I get a ride with you?”

  “Clar, don’t take her anywhere.”

  “Oh, hey, Evan. Long time no see. How’s life?”

  “It’s great.”

  They can have all the catch up they want but I’m getting on that truck and getting out of here. Now.

  But it seems like Clar is having a change of heart. The click of the automatic lock is audible.

  “Please open the door.” I tap on the glass.

  “Havin’ some woman troubles, are ya?”

  “Just a misunderstanding. How’s the kids?” Seriously Evan? This is the time for this?