The Chosen One (5 page)

Maya jerked her head in my direction. I nodded appreciatively, and she raised a thin eyebrow. I shivered.

“That good, huh?” Fiona sipped her latte. “Damn, mine’s better this time. If you don’t sleep with this woman so we can have a lifetime supply, I will.”

“Shush!” I shook my head. “I can’t believe you said that.” I spoke into my cup. I couldn’t stop drinking Maya’s brew either.

Fiona leaned across the table. “You’re going to have to pop your cherry at some point, Ainsley darling. People won’t vote for a woman who can’t get laid.”

I peered around Fiona’s massive mound of hair to see if Maya had overheard.

“I don’t even know if she’s into chicks,” I said, even though my gaydar had been buzzing since I’d first locked eyes with Maya.

My cousin not-so-discreetly eyed Maya and bobbed her head. The way she ogled her made it seem like she was the one who wanted to get her naked. “Oh, yeah. She’s a carpet muncher.”

“Fiona!” I slapped her arm.

“God, you’re the youngest old maid I’ve ever met.” She raised the coffee cup to her mouth, took a sip, and licked her lips. “Don’t let this opportunity pass you by like the last one.”

“The last one?” I squinted.

“The cheerleader.”

“Whatever. Tina only wanted to sleep with me because the football team dared her to.”

“Not seeing the problem.” Fiona took another swig. “Damn, this stuff is like crack. I’m hooked!”

I ignored her histrionics. “The cheerleader wasn’t even gay.”

“So? I wasn’t gay when I slept with Mary, and trust me, I don’t regret it. Not for a second. Join the twenty-first century‌—‌sexuality is fluid.” She wiggled her eyebrows to emphasize the point.

“You slept with Mary?” I whispered into my palm.

She shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Catholic Mary from school?” I pushed.

“Yep, that’s the one. I’ve slept with a few Catholics. Let me tell you; they go all out to make the guilt worth it. Is your girl Catholic?” Her hopeful eyes darted in Maya’s direction.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know anything about her, really.”

“Ah, that’s your problem.” Fiona set her cup down hard, stressing her point.

“Really? Tell me what my problem is.” I playfully crossed my arms.

“You can’t get the Cassidy monkey off your back. You want to vet a person before even holding hands. Trust your gut. Be like George W.”

“And start two unwinnable wars?”

Fiona set her cup down. “Not what I was going for. Dubya is the kind of guy people want to have a beer with. You’re channeling Hillary. No one wants to have a beer with her. Get my drift?” She quirked both eyebrows.

“I’m frigid.” It wasn’t the first time Fee had told me this.

“You can be around people you don’t know.” Fiona avoided my eyes. “You’re eighteen. Act like it.”

“By fornicating?” I joked.

“Exactly!” she said in all seriousness. “If you only learn one thing from me, I hope it’s this: Love is a fabrication. Now sex, that’s real. And once you start, you won’t want to stop.”

I shook my head. From what I’d seen, sex was the quickest way to destroy a political future. This nation was too puritanical; any digression was cause for social media outrage. But I didn’t want to get into that with Fiona. Instead, I diverted by asking, “Would you have sex with Dubya?”

“Maybe if he was thirty years younger. Never Hillary. Shit, even Bill doesn’t. I bet they had to do artificial insemination for Chelsea.”

I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t spew coffee everywhere. “I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”

“That’s why you like hanging out with me.”

“’Tis true. You make me laugh. And you never put any videos on the Web.”

My eyes wandered to Maya, who was removing her apron, and warmth oozed through my body. I removed my cardigan, leaving just my tank and jeans.

Fiona picked up on the change in my body language. “Oh, you got it bad, Cuz.”

Maya approached the table with a book bag and a chocolate crepe on a plate, but she didn’t say anything. I envisioned licking chocolate off her body.

Snap out of it, Ainsley. Stop acting like a character in a romance novel
.
That shit ain’t real, and even if it were, it isn’t in the cards
.

Fiona looked back and forth a couple of times and chuckled to herself. “Well, then. Don’t let me get in the way.” I kicked her shin under the table, which only made her smirk.

“I’ll let you two get to it, then. Studying, that is,” she added to rile me even more, before slamming the rest of her drink, placing a hand on Maya’s shoulder, and motioning for her to take her seat.

Maya nodded. She seemed a bit flushed, but I assumed it was due to her just finishing work, rather than a reaction to Fiona’s lewd smile.

The awkwardness remained even after Fee left.

“I’m sorry. Fiona can be a bit much.” I wasn’t entirely sure why I was apologizing; maybe because Maya was sitting across from me and not saying a word. I had no idea how to get the ball rolling.

She started to respond but resorted to a shrug.

“Okay, then…” I failed to think of anything else to add.

“Do you like chocolate?”

“Is Obama a Democrat?”

She smiled and set the crepe in front of me.

“Is she a
friend
of yours?” Maya thrust her chin in the direction of the door Fiona had just departed through.

Did she emphasize friend as a way to suss out whether I was gay?

“Fiona?” I almost toppled out of my chair. Maya the Gray was fishing for dirt. “Yes. Well, she’s my cousin to be exact.”

“Are you always exact?” Maya’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, and I caught myself staring at the moisture.

I returned a tight-lipped smile, and Maya locked her mysterious gray eyes onto mine.

“D-do you have any ideas in mind for our project?” I scratched my eyebrow with a pen in an attempt to snap out of the hypnotic gray-eyed trance.

“
Little Women
,” she stated without showing a trace of emotion.

I stroked my chin. “I’m sorry.”

“
Little Women
.”

I leaned closer and whispered, “What about them?” Was she referring to midgets?

Maya the Gray smiled her first full smile. “The novel by Louisa May Alcott.”

“Oh!” I palmed the top of my head. “Yes, yes.” I bobbled my head up and down, feeling like a hula girl on a car dashboard. “I must confess‌—‌”

Her smile turned seductive, which knocked the rest of the words right out of my head.

“You must confess…” She motioned for me to continue.

“I must confess…” I paused, unsure, but then blurted, “I don’t know much about
Little Women
‌—‌the book or the author.” I rushed the words, wondering whether she was able to parse that the reason for my nervous chatter was I was attracted to her. Uncontrollably attracted to Maya the Gray. Dammit!

“I find her fascinating.” Maya leaned back in her chair, completely at ease.

“The author?” Why wasn’t Fiona here to ask the questions I really wanted answered: Was Maya into women? Was she speaking in code or innuendo? Or was I just used to Fiona and her antics? And surely if Maya were speaking in code, she’d come up with a better clue than the unsettling and slightly pervy
Little Women
line. Wait, did that make me a perv by reading too much into it?

“Yes, the author.” She winked, giving me the illusion she understood what I meant. I blinked, and her face was suddenly devoid of any emotion, leaving me to wonder whether I’d imagined the wink.

Or had she put something in my coffee in the hope I’d do or say something crazy and she could upload a video on YouTube and make a killing? Had Susie Q already gotten to Maya as well? Apparently homeless chicks were on her payroll.

I took a deep breath and massaged my eyelids, clueless as to what we were even talking about. Was I being overly paranoid?

“What angle are you thinking of for the research project?” I asked.

“How Louisa was able to succeed in a man’s world, especially since her own father failed miserably.”

“Oh, Fiona would love this topic.”

“You don’t?” she asked in a tone that wasn’t overly concerned.

“What? Oh no, of course I love it. I was just saying… Oh, never mind.” I waved a hand. “It’s a great topic, and I think our professor will appreciate it.” God, did she think I was a suck-up now? Why did I bring up Dr. Gingas?

“Do you have a car?” she asked.

I turned my head to the right, trying to detect some hidden meaning in the change of conversation. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Good. We should go to her house this weekend.”

“Her house?” The crepe called to me, and I could no longer resist. My gut told me Maya hadn’t spiked it. I bit into it. “This is wonderful. Just like Paris. Thank you.” I shoveled in another bite, not caring what she thought about my gluttony. Besides, it was probably best if I didn’t speak too much.

She raised a palm, acknowledging the thank-you. “Alcott’s house. It’s in Concord. Have you been?” Her face remained expressionless, but her eyes sparked with curiosity. Why was she so mysterious? Surely she understood the effect she had on me.

I swallowed, and spoke behind my hand. “That sounds great. I’ve always wanted to go but never seemed to find the time.”

“Are you free all day Saturday? There’s so much to see. Walden Pond, Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, the Old Manse, and the North Bridge.” She put her palm up. “I know that’s associated with the American Revolution, but I’ve always wanted to see the bridge.”

“Have you ever been to Concord or Lexington?”

She shook her head. “I’ve read about them and seen photos, of course. Google Earth is amazing.”

I sat there, stunned. All of the words flew out of her mouth, and even though her demeanor didn’t show any emotion, her voice did. She was excited, thrilled even. History and historical sites ignited her passions. I never truly appreciated living in such a historical place until that moment. I imagined ripping off her clothes on the North Bridge.

“We can go wherever you want. I’ll take you anywhere.” I prayed my face wasn’t betraying me. Was I batting my eyelids, looking like a vapid girl with a high-school crush?

Maya dipped her head slightly, staring off to the right, lost in her own secretive world. Would I ever get a glimpse?

Then she handed over a sheet of paper with a list printed in elegant script. “Here are some biographies I recommend. The one by Reisen is pretty good, and
Eden’s Outcasts
won a Pulitzer. Did you know Alcott’s novels sold more copies than Herman Melville’s and Henry James’s combined?”

“I didn’t. Not surprised though. I prefer
Little Women
over
Moby Dick
.”

“I thought you said you didn’t read
Little Women
.”

I hadn’t read
Moby Dick
either. “What? Oh, I did, years ago, I think,” I lied. “Is that your favorite book?”

“One of them. What’s yours?”

“Anything by David McCullough.”

“The historian?” She perked up in her seat.

“Yes.”

“I read
1776
,” she said. “My mom is a history nut.”

“Really? I recommend
John Adams
,
Truman
,
The Great Bridge
,
Mornings on Horseback
‌—‌oh, anything by him, really. I haven’t read his latest,
The Wright Brothers,
yet.”

“I didn’t know he released a new one. My mom’s birthday is next week.” Maya jotted a note. “What do you think of Dr. Gingas?”

Her habit of changing the conversation reminded me of Fiona. “I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.”

Maya shifted in her seat. “True. She knows her stuff, though. I admire that.”

“My mother speaks highly of her.” I wanted to kick myself for mentioning the senator.

“Has she been teaching that long?”

“Oh no. They’re friends.”

“Ah, you have inside information. Don’t let Susie Q know.”

“So you overheard that conversation as well? The one when she accused me of cheating?” I kept my tone light.

“Hard not to. It happened right in front of me.” She smirked. “Why does she hate you so much?”

“Do you read her blog?” I asked as breezily as possible.

“She has a blog?” Maya’s pen scratched, and I prayed she wasn’t making a note about that.

“So I’ve been told. I don’t have time to read it.” I waved my hand in a
la de da
way. “To answer your question, Susie and I have been going to the same school since kindergarten. We’re kinda competitive.”

“Is that what you call it? Seemed more cutthroat.”

“She takes it seriously.”

“Her blog or not liking you?” The corners of Maya’s eyes crinkled.

“Both, I think.”

“Her loss.” Maya tapped her pen on a notebook. “Right. Let’s brainstorm some ideas.”

We batted around concepts. Actually, Maya supplied key facts about Alcott while I asked questions.

“Did you know she eschewed getting married? She thought women of her day were seeking marriage for money. She claimed she preferred autonomy and liberation to indulgences.” Maya tugged at a string on a flimsy leather bracelet. From its looks, it had been tied around her left wrist for years.

“I can relate.”

“You don’t want to marry?” Maya still fidgeted with the string, but she focused solely on my answer.

“Not really.”

“What about relationships?”

“They seem like they’re more trouble than they’re worth,” I blurted.

“Do you ever see yourself in a relationship?”

“Well…” Why was I hedging? The answer was never. “I hate to say never.” I was aghast this had come out of my trap.

“Such a diplomatic answer.” She grinned. “I have to agree with you about never saying never.”

“You just did. Twice.”

She smiled, and I gestured for her to continue.

“I will admit independence is the word I live by.”

Hearing her claim that was oddly unsettling, even if I wholeheartedly agreed, so I steered us back to Louisa May Alcott. Fiona would love the sick twist of fate: finding the one who didn’t want to be found.

Maya stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry. I’ve been up since four.”