Love in an Undead Age - A.M. Geever (love story novels in english .TXT) 📗
- Author: A.M. Geever
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Miranda shuddered. “More than you can imagine.”
“That bad?”
“Worse. Guess what Mario did right before we left.”
Doug frowned. “Karen only told me about dinner.”
“Karen wasn’t around for this.”
“What did he do?” Doug asked warily.
“He caught me alone and apologized. Apologized! He said he got jealous and then he said he missed me. Just like that, apropos of nothing. ‘I miss you, Miranda. I miss us.’ I was so shocked I just stood there like an idiot.”
A troubled expression clouded Doug’s face for a second. Sympathy, and something else, but it was gone too quickly to identify.
“And what did you say to him?”
Miranda’s voice dripped with self-loathing. “I said I wished things were different too. It was out of my mouth before I knew it was open.”
She leaned forward and hugged her knees against the increasing chill. The shadows had grown long while they talked, twilight hastened by gathering clouds that promised rain.
“I know there’s no going back. I know that. But when I saw him…” The conflict between desire and duty, love, and betrayal, filled her trailing voice. “I’ve never been more surprised in my whole life, even by zombies. For a second, I wanted what I wanted, and to hell with everything else.”
Doug leaned forward and put his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder tight. “I’m sorry, Miri. I really am.”
“It’s my own fault. I should know better,” she replied, shaking him off. She was furious with herself for having feelings that did not fall into neat categories where bad people were hated and good people loved. She felt helpless and adrift when the lines between them blurred.
“I wanted to talk to him, of all fucking things! Like we used to, instead of seeing who could draw blood first. So then I was a bitch, just to keep myself in check. I wondered what if I’d met him first, what if I’d let him leave her? Would he still have done it?” A tear slipped down her cheek that she quickly wiped away.
“And why was I so adamant he stay married? Everybody knew. Emily never loved him; she just needed— It’s not like we would have abandoned her and the children to fend for themselves. What the fuck was I thinking?”
“You felt guilty, as I recall,” Doug said. “You are Catholic, Miri. And Italian. And a woman. When it comes to guilt, you’re kind of screwed.”
Miranda smiled despite herself, shivering in the breeze. She had left her jacket in the Rover, not expecting the temperature to take such a plunge.
“So, little Coppertop,” he said, giving her auburn head a rub. “You’re going to see Lover Boy.”
Miranda hid her face on her knees. The whole situation felt over-the-top ridiculous.
“I’m on my way to see Lover Boy, yes,” she admitted, never lifting her head. “I might as well see if it’s any less weird today.”
“It can’t be that weird if you’re asking me what I think of him.”
She sighed and raised her head. “It’s not. I just don’t know what to do, or what I want. And that’s without He Who Shall Remain Nameless screwing with me. I don’t want Connor to think I’ve been hanging around pining for him all this time. That’s just too humiliating.” Her frown returned. “Why are you pushing this, anyway? Has Karen recruited you for her Miranda and Connor Live Happily Ever After Campaign?”
Doug’s face became serious. “I’m not pushing anything, Miri. Maybe there’s still something with you and Connor; maybe you just need to get laid. I sure as hell don’t know. Why do you feel like you have to decide now?”
“I don’t,” she said, sounding more defensive than she cared for.
“That’s not what it sounds like.”
“It’s not every day someone really important to you turns up alive.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to rush into anything, especially right after you’ve seen Mario for the first time in years. I know you’re beating yourself up because you can’t just hate him.”
“I do just hate him.”
“And I’ve got a bridge to sell you.”
Miranda scowled at him, annoyed. “You make it sound simple.”
“It is simple. You’re putting all this pressure on yourself when there’s no need for you to make decisions about anything.” Doug stood up, pulling her with him. “I was going to go to karate and then teach physics to some acne-afflicted teenagers, but you need an intervention. Let’s get Lover Boy and go to The Hut. We can get good and drunk and just be silly.”
“I have a pretty good idea what’ll happen if we do that.”
Doug laughed and twitched his hair out of his eyes. “If all it takes for you two to hit the sheets is a couple of drinks, there’s your answer. Problem solved.”
Miranda pretended to be shocked. “Aren’t you supposed to be worried about my soul?”
“And watch our friendship go kaput? Walter can worry about your soul. But seriously Miri, don’t rush into anything? Can you just enjoy hanging out with a friend, maybe have some fun? You do remember what fun is?”
“I’ve got a priest lecturing me about not having enough fun.” She smiled, shaking her head. “I need to call Karen. We’re supposed to meet her at Trials. She’s my out.”
“I’m a much better out than she is,” said Doug. “She’ll meet some creep and leave you stuck.”
Fat raindrops began to fall all at once.
“Have I ever told you you’re far too handsome and entirely too much fun to be a priest?” Miranda asked as they ran for the shelter of the Jesuit Residence.
Doug grabbed her hand and picked up the pace. “All the time. You’re not allowed to stop.”
The Hut was packed, especially for a weeknight. “Free Bird” blared from the jukebox in a lazy twang of electric guitar. The music was just below the threshold of too loud for conversation where they sat at the back of the bar.
Crammed into the booth between Connor and Doug, Miranda was enjoying herself immensely. She had been annoyed with Karen for shoving her into the booth so that she was next to Connor, but a couple hours and drinks later, she didn’t mind anymore. Karen, and Connor’s friend, Seffie, were perched on either end of the worn black Naugahyde cushions. They snagged the waitress to off-load the empty glasses and bottles that littered the table to make room for new ones.
“We thought we had cleared the room, so Miri climbs up to check out the loft,” Doug said.
He was telling his favorite Miranda story. Connor and Seffie were the only ones who had not heard it. Miranda sat back, waiting for the punch line.
“The loft wasn’t high, maybe six and a half feet from the floor. All of a sudden, this shambler staggers out of a nook by the fireplace that I never even noticed. The place smelled like a slaughterhouse; it wasn’t like I could smell it. It startled me, so I kind of hopped back and ended up tripping and falling flat on my ass like it was amateur hour. I knocked my head so hard I saw stars! Miranda takes one look and lies down on her stomach with her arms out over the side, holding this machete in her hand like Thor’s hammer.”
Doug held his beer bottle high over his head in demonstration.
“She reaches down over the edge and catches it by the hair. Before I can even get up, she cuts clear through its skull with the machete. She’s lying there hanging over the edge of this loft, holding the back half of this shambler’s head by the hair with black blood dripping and its brains falling out and says to me, ‘Are you seriously going to be a priest?’”
The table erupted. Seffie fell out of the booth, which made Karen snarf her drink up her nose. Connor laughed so hard Miranda thought he might hyperventilate. Even she and Doug, who had heard and told the story countless times, could barely breathe.
“That story never gets old, Doug,” Karen snorted, dabbing the front of her top with a napkin.
Doug squished into Miranda, trying to make room for Seffie to cram herself back in the booth.
“You are unbelievable,” Connor said, still laughing as he reached for his beer.
There was a momentary lull while the jukebox switched to a new song. A dramatic ascending slide of piano filled the bar, then Gloria Gaynor’s voice began to sing about how she had been alone and petrified.
Karen dropped her glass onto the table. Doug bolted up like he had just received an electric shock.
“They’re playing our song, Karen!” Doug cried as he pushed Seffie out of the booth. He grabbed her hand as he and Karen bounded toward the dance floor. “You haven’t lived till you’ve survived with us.”
“Do you want to join them?” Connor asked as the trio headed for the dance floor.
“Nah,” Miranda said. “‘I Will Survive’ is much more fun to watch.”
Now that there was more
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