Read Online Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani - Free Book Online
Authors: Adriana Trigiani
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favor?”
“Yeah.”
This is one of those moments when the steam between a man and a woman creates a wall. It’s so thick that I can’t make out Theodore’s face. I do not understand him; doesn’t he know how I feel? I want him. I want this. Where is the kissing Theodore? Where did he go?
“You aren’t in love with me, Ave.”
“What?”
“You got stirred up, that’s all.”
“I liked the kiss! It was nice! It was welcome.”
“You said you hadn’t been with a man in a long time. It’s understandable. A cup of water in the desert is welcome, too.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Theodore is comparing my aching loins to dehydration. This night is not going at all as I had expected.
“What? What?” Why is it that all I can say is
What?
“I live alone. I like it. I grew up in a family with nine kids, and I’m still thrilled I don’t have to share a bed with someone. I don’t want a ‘thing.’ I like being with you. You are my best friend. I don’t want a relationship.”
“Everybody wants a relationship!”
“No. You want a relationship.”
As we eat, I am sure he is right. It is me. I want to be loved. And I want to blame somebody because I’m not. So let me blame my parents. They’re easy targets—one never loved me and the other leaves me scary letters after she’s passed away. Let me blame life. Life keeps interfering in my plans. First Fred Mulligan was sick; then I took care of Mama, business got to booming, and I took on more and more and thought about myself less and less. Poor me. I straighten up in my chair and summon all my self-esteem in my posture. Then, very casually, I lean toward Theodore.
“I can’t believe you think I kissed you.”
“You did. The whole town got a shock.”
I don’t care about the whole town. I chew in slow motion because I want to digest all of this. I initiated the kiss? I kissed him? What am I really hungry for?
“You’re going to find a good man, you know.”
Where? In the Blue Ridge Mountains? On the Trail of the Lonesome Pine? By the banks of the Powell River? Get serious, you transplant from Scranton, PA. Around here, men my age have been married since they were seventeen. Some of them are grandfathers already. There are no men! You are the man! Be my man!
“You’ll find somebody,” he assures me.
“Somebody!” Wake up, buster! I’m not the type of woman for a Somebody. I’m picky. I take an hour to eat a tuna-salad sandwich because I pick all the sweet-pickle chunks out of it before I’ll take a bite. I’m vain. I cleanse and cream my face twenty minutes before bedtime, and then I hang my head upside down over the side of my bed for an additional five to prevent jowls. I’m a snob. I want a man who reads. In thirty years I’ve never seen a man on the Bookmobile, except strange Earl Spivey, but he doesn’t count because he’s a lurker, not a reader. If this mystery man isn’t smart, I don’t want him. Why can’t Theodore see this?
“Okay, maybe not just somebody. How about a good guy, a real winner? When you kissed me tonight, you were impulsive. Daring. People around here saw you with new eyes. You watch. Something will happen.”
“If you say so.” I say this so weakly, it’s barely audible. Theodore sprinkles cheese on his spaghetti, spins a nice mound of noodles, and eats. He chews normally. Swallows. Like everything is normal! He’s ready to change the subject—like it’s been discussed thoroughly and there’s nothing more to say. He almost seems to be saying, “Okay, we kissed, it was nice, but it’s going no further, so let’s get back to our friendship.”
“Somebody needs to tell Sweet Sue Tinsley she’s not the homecoming queen anymore.”
This is another reason I want Theodore. I want to be able to come home and dissect everybody and everything. Why can’t I have this?
“She’s afraid somebody will steal her man away.” Theodore shrugs.
Were Theodore and I even at the same
“Yeah.”
This is one of those moments when the steam between a man and a woman creates a wall. It’s so thick that I can’t make out Theodore’s face. I do not understand him; doesn’t he know how I feel? I want him. I want this. Where is the kissing Theodore? Where did he go?
“You aren’t in love with me, Ave.”
“What?”
“You got stirred up, that’s all.”
“I liked the kiss! It was nice! It was welcome.”
“You said you hadn’t been with a man in a long time. It’s understandable. A cup of water in the desert is welcome, too.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Theodore is comparing my aching loins to dehydration. This night is not going at all as I had expected.
“What? What?” Why is it that all I can say is
What?
“I live alone. I like it. I grew up in a family with nine kids, and I’m still thrilled I don’t have to share a bed with someone. I don’t want a ‘thing.’ I like being with you. You are my best friend. I don’t want a relationship.”
“Everybody wants a relationship!”
“No. You want a relationship.”
As we eat, I am sure he is right. It is me. I want to be loved. And I want to blame somebody because I’m not. So let me blame my parents. They’re easy targets—one never loved me and the other leaves me scary letters after she’s passed away. Let me blame life. Life keeps interfering in my plans. First Fred Mulligan was sick; then I took care of Mama, business got to booming, and I took on more and more and thought about myself less and less. Poor me. I straighten up in my chair and summon all my self-esteem in my posture. Then, very casually, I lean toward Theodore.
“I can’t believe you think I kissed you.”
“You did. The whole town got a shock.”
I don’t care about the whole town. I chew in slow motion because I want to digest all of this. I initiated the kiss? I kissed him? What am I really hungry for?
“You’re going to find a good man, you know.”
Where? In the Blue Ridge Mountains? On the Trail of the Lonesome Pine? By the banks of the Powell River? Get serious, you transplant from Scranton, PA. Around here, men my age have been married since they were seventeen. Some of them are grandfathers already. There are no men! You are the man! Be my man!
“You’ll find somebody,” he assures me.
“Somebody!” Wake up, buster! I’m not the type of woman for a Somebody. I’m picky. I take an hour to eat a tuna-salad sandwich because I pick all the sweet-pickle chunks out of it before I’ll take a bite. I’m vain. I cleanse and cream my face twenty minutes before bedtime, and then I hang my head upside down over the side of my bed for an additional five to prevent jowls. I’m a snob. I want a man who reads. In thirty years I’ve never seen a man on the Bookmobile, except strange Earl Spivey, but he doesn’t count because he’s a lurker, not a reader. If this mystery man isn’t smart, I don’t want him. Why can’t Theodore see this?
“Okay, maybe not just somebody. How about a good guy, a real winner? When you kissed me tonight, you were impulsive. Daring. People around here saw you with new eyes. You watch. Something will happen.”
“If you say so.” I say this so weakly, it’s barely audible. Theodore sprinkles cheese on his spaghetti, spins a nice mound of noodles, and eats. He chews normally. Swallows. Like everything is normal! He’s ready to change the subject—like it’s been discussed thoroughly and there’s nothing more to say. He almost seems to be saying, “Okay, we kissed, it was nice, but it’s going no further, so let’s get back to our friendship.”
“Somebody needs to tell Sweet Sue Tinsley she’s not the homecoming queen anymore.”
This is another reason I want Theodore. I want to be able to come home and dissect everybody and everything. Why can’t I have this?
“She’s afraid somebody will steal her man away.” Theodore shrugs.
Were Theodore and I even at the same
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