Six
Lincoln
I’ve seen famous acrobats and death-defying stunts. Visited ancient temples and bustling city states. But I now know, from first hand experience, that the greatest wonder of the world is the sight of little Jenny finding her courage.
My shy roommate is indomitable. Every day for the last three days, she’s rushed to finish her sewing work early, then set out on some kind of personal quest.
On Monday, she went on a solo trip to the sprawling indoor market, always packed with bodies, the walls rattling with the roar of the crowd, and she came back with triumph sparking in her eyes and a paper bag of warm oatmeal raisin cookies in her satchel.
On Tuesday, she asked me to go with her to an unofficial racing track on the outskirts of the city. You better believe I dropped everything, shocked that she’d even heard of the site, and we watched dirt bikes roaring around dusty circuits for two hours while sharing a carton of buttered popcorn. I even got some good shots for the city series, not that I needed more.
On Wednesday, Jenny headed out for an afternoon jog, and she didn’t even pace up and down in front of the door, giving herself her usual pep talk before she went. She just marched to the door, and left.
Sure, she came back red faced and grumpy twenty minutes later, muttering about how jogging is the worst, but she went. Even though she hated it, I’m so fucking proud of her.
But every time my roommate pushes herself a little harder, gains an ounce more courage, I get this weird ache in my chest. Because she’s doing so well, and that makes me want to punch the air, but this tiny, selfish voice in the back of my mind keeps asking: what can I offer her now?
This is what I had. What I brought to the table. She could borrow some of my boldness; I could take her out and show her the world while she still felt safe. If she’s doing that stuff on her own now… why would she keep me around? I’m nothing like the sort of man a girl like Jenny would want.
And I’ve all but finished the city project. Haven’t told Jenny that yet. Because once she knows my work here is done, she’ll expect me to pack up and go, to find someone else to rent the room, and I’m not ready for that yet. Can’t stomach the thought of walking away.
“Lincoln?”
Her soft voice cuts through my maudlin thoughts, and I jolt against the sofa. My laptop’s abandoned on the coffee table, the screen gone black, and next to it, my mug of coffee is cold. The living room curtains are open, and though it was bright when I sat down, the night sky is dark now through the window.
“Uh.” I clear my throat, scrubbing a hand down my face. How long have I been sitting here like a grumpy statue? “Hey, sweetheart.”
Jenny perches on the arm of the sofa, watching me. She bites her lip; she wriggles her ass, getting comfy. All signs that she’s building up to something.
I wait, hungry for the sight of her tight gray yoga pants and black sweater. She’s been wearing black more often lately—says it’s all part of her Lincoln persona. Dunno what to do with that information except for tuck it away somewhere deep in my chest. Besides, it makes her blonde hair glint gold.
“I, um. I’ve been going out a lot this week. Pushing myself to be braver, you know?”
Does she think I haven’t noticed? She’s all I pay attention to. “I know.”
“And it’s been good,” Jenny says in a rush, cheeks turning pink, “really good, so I want to, um. I want to take things to the next level.”
“…Okay.”
I mean, the racing track was pretty intense. Kind of figured that would tide her over for a while, because that wild crowd and those dangerous races, that was a lot to take in. Non-stop adrenaline.
“Where do you wanna go next, sweetheart?”
Jenny knits her fingers together and stares at the floor, but her voice is strong. She’s pushing herself even now, daring herself to be brave.
“It’s not somewhere I want to go. It’s something I want to do.”
Sure. “And what’s that?”
“Kissing,” Jenny says, the word a whisper. Her confidence bleeds away, her shoulders caving in, and the look she darts at me is terrified.
I stare back, dumbstruck. She wants to kiss someone?
Like… just anyone?
Or does she want to kiss me?
Lurching to my feet, the floorboards groan as I start to pace. No, that can’t be right. She’s never even hinted that she wants me. Our living room is tiny, with barely enough space to stretch out both arms, and the air shudders out of Jenny as I prowl up and down, a private storm cloud gathering in our apartment.