DAMON

Alexa called me as soon as she got home from the Kyle incident, trying to engage in discussion about our relationship. I told her I was busy with the glazier and hung up. She called three more times before I put an end to it. Stating again that she needed to figure out how she felt without me confusing her. When I stopped answering altogether, she gave up.

She tried to engage via email, but I shut it down by focusing on the math. She got the message pretty quickly. She’s not stupid.

Emailing Alexa an algebraic worksheet, I check her previous solutions making one correction and adapting the next sheet to give her more practice on that specific aspect. Following that, I work on the mixed revision problems for her final worksheet. Until now, I’ve kept my correspondence emotionally neutral, if not devoid of emotion entirely. Sticking purely to math, I haven’t even tried to be clever with words. I’ve been saving it for the final worksheet.

I check the academic level of the problems I’m working on. They exceed the expectations of the high school level Alexa is trying to achieve and I smile, because I know she’ll still be able to solve them. All I need to do is decide on the exact message I want to send. I’m writing it with the answers - manipulating the math to communicate by using multiple choice, word problems requiring words or names for answers, Roman numerals, algebra, and number substitutes to create my message.

Looking at what I’ve written, I wonder if she’ll even pick up on the hidden message. Deciding to re-format the worksheet to make the answer-boxes line up, I make it as clear as possible without actually writing the message plainly. In sequence, the answers read:

B, U, T, Full, Alex, A, I, 10, V, E, U, 2, ∞, Will, U, C, Acute, Guy, 4, π

Twenty questions in total - just like the other worksheets. Praying that she’ll read ‘beautiful’ and not but-full, I revise the questions again to ensure she’ll get the right answers. I’d be devastated if my attempt to profess my undying love and request to take her out for pie was turned into some garbled insult, or an arrangement I can’t even imagine because wrong answers are limitless. The butterflies in my stomach have been multiplying over the days and the closer I get to sending this final sheet, the more I feel as if those butterflies will spew out of my mouth in a fluttering, rainbow-winged explosion.

My mailbox dings and I pull up Alexa’s message.

[email protected]: Next please.

Her completed worksheet is attached. Checking it quickly, I adjust my headset and email her back.

[email protected]: That was quick! All correct too. Go and take a break while I sort out the next one.

[email protected]: No point. Can’t relax. Freaking out. Test is tomorrow.

[email protected]: I know, but you’ve got this Alexa. Did you not see the words ALL CORRECT? Go and put the kettle on.

She doesn’t respond and I take it as confirmation that she’s actually left her laptop. Attaching the second to last worksheet, my butterflies grow into giants.

[email protected]: Alexa,

I only have one more worksheet after this one.

I have another confession to make... I have been making the questions harder than necessary. You may have been doing university level Mathematics for the last six worksheets. You will be just fine tomorrow. I’d wish you luck, but you won’t need it. You’re ready for the test. (Mom told me.)

Damon.

Sending it off, I look at the final worksheet again, wondering if I shouldn’t send it. If she’s beyond nervous about the test, she might not even see the message. Or if she does, it could throw her off. Frowning, I kick myself for thinking of me instead of her.

I don’t want to admit that we might be over tomorrow. Forcing us both to give Alexa the space she needed to make her own decisions, I’ve been suffering from an intense fear of rejection. Convinced that I can’t trust what we have unless she trusts it, I’ve left it up to her. We both know that tomorrow has always been the agreed end, or the day of renegotiation. By sending her the message, I wanted to let her know that my feelings for her haven’t changed, but I don’t want her worrying about us when she’s trying to overcome the one hurdle that’s standing between her and the rest of her life. Shit.

Pacing the apartment, I think about what Alexa might want. Hoping it’s me, I start leaning towards sending the worksheet, justifying it in my mind, that she is likely to ace the math test - even if she took it blindfolded. Unless she doesn’t want me, in which case...

My laptop dings and I swallow roughly. Sitting slowly in front of the screen, I read her message.

[email protected]: Damon,

I can’t believe you’d do that to me! I’ve been freaking out because the questions were so difficult! You are such a... series of inappropriate words to say to your teacher. Your mom better be right about this.

Alexa.

P.S. Next please.

Fitting my headset on, I let out a long breath and reply.

[email protected]: Alexa,

My mom is always right about these things. I’m not sure you need the last worksheet. Go and do something relaxing and self-absorbed. You’ve earned it.

Damon.

Rubbing my face, I lean back on the couch and groan. The responding alert of more mail makes me cringe. Maybe I should take my own advice and do something relaxing - forget about coded messages and all the things I want to do with Alexa in the future.

[email protected]: Damon,

Quit messing around and send the worksheet please. I know you’ve already made it. If it’s truly the last one, I’ll reward myself when it’s done. I need all the practice I can get.

Leaning in, I dictate a response.

[email protected]: You don’t need more practice, you need a good night’s sleep. It’s late.

[email protected]: I know what time it is, Damon. Sleep is the reward. Send the damn worksheet.

Sighing, I review my message again. It’s not terrible. At least I didn’t proceed with my first coded message, in which I proposed. Laughing at myself, I shake my head. That certainly would not have been helpful to Alexa the day before her big test.

She must know I love her, so that’s not news. And asking her on a date? There’s no real harm in that is there? I don’t expect an answer immediately. Tomorrow is the day of reckoning - I’ll know if she wants to keep me in her life then anyway. Scratching my beard, I stare at the screen.

lookm[email protected]: Alexa,

I can tell from your tone that you might be feeling stressed. Please understand that you are well-equipped for tomorrow’s exam. Here is the final worksheet. Sleep well.

Kindest regards, Damon.

Once it’s sent, I stare at my screen a while before the panic sets in. Shutting the laptop down, I find myself pacing again and have to talk myself down to a level of tolerable thinking. What’s done is done. I will have to accept whatever happens next.

Pulling out my painting chair, I organize a paint station and get to work on keeping myself busy.

***

WAITING OUTSIDE, I check the time again. I’ve arrived well ahead of time, in case she leaves early. I suspect that she could easily finish ahead of time, but I don’t know that she would actually leave. More likely, she’ll go over all of her answers until time runs out.

I didn’t tell her I was coming. Flicking through my phone to the text conversation I had with her this morning, I try to ignore the butterflies. Hopefully I can set them free soon. It’s that, or they’ll be utterly crushed and unable to flap around inside me anymore. I know which I’d prefer. There are no clues on my phone.

Me: U’ll b gr8.

Alexa: You’re texting?

Me: Toes.

Alexa: Talented.

Me: Slow.

Alexa: Well, thank you. For everything. Hope I don’t let you down.

Me: Never. Believe in u.

I’d wanted to reply me too, but I didn’t want her to think I was referring to the math when really it was me freaking out that letting me down meant letting me go. Putting the phone back in my bag, I lean back against a tree to watch the doors and wait.

Walking through the doors in a daze, Alexa walks right by me.

“Alexa?”

Jumping at the sound of her name, she turns around. It takes a moment for her eyes to focus on me and I restrain myself from scooping her into my arms as her lips break into a huge grin.

“Damon?” she says running the few steps towards me and grabbing the fabric of my jacket, shaking it with child-like excitement. “I think I did it! I think I passed this time! I mean, I won’t know for sure until I get my results in the mail, but I - we - did it!” she says bouncing on the spot.

Unable to keep my own smile under wraps, I correct her. “You were right the first time, Alexa. You did it.”

Not wanting to cross any lines by picking her up and spinning her around to celebrate, I shove my stumps deeper into my jacket pockets and look at my feet. “I know I didn’t tell you I was coming, but I just wanted to see your face. Your after-the-test face,” I add, only half-lying. “I um... I’m sure you probably want to go and celebrate with your friends, or collapse in an exhausted heap somewhere. Do you need a ride at all?” I ask, looking back to her beautiful face and trying not to sound too pathetically hopeful.

Frowning, Alexa looks down the street and adjusts the backpack on her shoulder. “Damon... I don’t really need a ride.”

Forcing a smile, I nod and take a step back, because I can smell her hair and it makes the twisting ache in my chest too much to bear. The butterflies are dead.

“Oh.”

Words Damon. Speak words.

“Well, it was good to see you.”

It’s a start, but I can’t let those be the last words I ever say to her.

“I’m really glad it went well for you. I hope everything goes well for you, Alexa. I -” The lump in my throat becomes too thick and painful for me to continue. Nodding again, I leave. After three or four steps, I kick myself for walking in the wrong direction. Turning back the other way, I head for my car down the street.

“Damon?”

Shaking my head, I keep walking. My teeth grind together in an effort to contain the emotions within me. I won’t to be the bearded weirdo crying in the street.

“Damon!” Alexa calls after me. “I thought we were going for pie?”

Stopping, I take a breath, wondering if I heard right. Turning back, I brace myself as she runs at me. Launching herself into the air, she leaves me no option but to catch her.

“Our milkshake and pie place is just down the block!” she says, wrapping her limbs around me as best she can as her lips find mine and the sparkle bursts start making my hands build towards a song. My arms lock around her, keeping her close as my brain calculates the possibility of this being real.

Alexa’s soft lips break away and she presses her forehead to mine as she gasps for breath. My breath is hard to catch too, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting confirmation.

“You got my message?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, her arms tightening around my neck. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I didn’t see it until the last few questions. I was busy giggling about acute Guy, and wondering if you’d done it on purpose to make me laugh like you always do when I get too serious; you know, to make me feel better. But then I kept going and got ‘four pi’ and I knew the chances of you making jokes, and rhyming, and making sense when I read it together was too much of a coincidence, so I read it from the start and was so happy!”

“Because you knew that you must have answered all the questions correctly?” I ask with a smile. I’m rewarded by her laughing in my arms, which is the most wonderful feeling of all, until she shakes her head and tells me to shut up.

“I was happy because you still wanted me! You shut me out when I wanted to tell you I loved you, and you wouldn’t let me back in for a second. I’d been thinking about failing the test on purpose in case the list of things I’d need a tutor for wasn’t enough to convince you to stay in my life!”

“You love me?” My voice trembles with the enormity of it.

Nodding, Alexa kisses me again. “Yes. And I’ve missed you so much. Can we please go celebrate, and kiss, and eat pie, and make love?”

“You make it pretty damn hard to say no, Alexa.”

“Good. Let’s go.” Dropping to the ground she pulls at my sleeve, dragging me towards the pie place.

“We probably shouldn’t make love at the pie place,” I joke as she marches.

“You think?” she says with a laugh, not slowing in the least. “Maybe we can take our order home?” she says with a sexy backwards glance that makes my dick twitch.

Shit.

“Um, Alexa?”

Pulling open the cafe door, she waits for me to follow her inside. “Yeah?”

Lowering my voice, I bend to her ear. “I don’t want to rush into bed with you.”

Her eyes widen and she loses her grip on the door. It hits me in my stupid head and I laugh as I shift out of the way.

“I mean, I do want to,” I say, holding my stumps up to appease the look on her face. “I just would like to make this first time special.”

Unimpressed, she puffs a loose hair out of her face and raises an eyebrow. “Keep talking.”

“I have something in mind, but I can’t make it happen until... this Sunday. At the earliest.”

“Sunday?!”

“Night.”

Scowling at me, she clamps her lips together. Scanning the available tables, she heads to a seat, removes her coat and sits down with a thump.

“It’s only two days away,” I utter through my lust as I drink in her curves for the first time in days. Two days might as well be years when I think of how badly I want to be with her.

“It’s more like three,” she says, opening a menu as her leg bobs restlessly up and down. “I wanted to feed you pie.”

Closing my eyes, I moan in agreement. “I want that too. Maybe we’ll get pie on Sunday.”

“I was going to ‘accidentally’ drop some and everything,” she says, conjuring up fantastic images in my imagination. I open one eye to see if those images align with her expression. I shouldn’t have looked. My dick grows harder as she continues, throbbing with need at her every word.

“It’d be on you and on me,” she teases, apparently starting to really enjoy herself as she leans in. Flashing seductive eyes at me, she lowers her voice, “I was going to lick it off both of us. It was going to be sweet, and messy, and unbelievably satisfying. I put our separation to good use by sorting out a few things. I was going to ask if you were clean and invite you in bare. There would’ve been no barriers between us.”

“Enough. You’re killing me,” I grind out between my teeth, lying my jacket over my erection as the waitress comes to take our order. Grinning, Alexa orders for both of us as I fight to control myself.

When the waitress leaves again, I take a long, deep breath. “That was cruel.”

“You started it,” she fires back, crossing her arms.

“I wasn’t trying to be cruel, I was trying to be romantic.”

“Well... be romantic faster than Sunday!”

“Fine. Get the damn pie and I’ll lick it from you now!”

Blushing bright red, Alexa looks to the elderly couple seated beside us and hides her face in her hands as she bursts out laughing. Shaking her head as her chuckles start to fade, she lowers her hands. “I can wait until Sunday,” she concedes.

“I’ve decided there won’t be pie on Sunday,” I inform her, in a low, flat tone, to keep the neighbors from any further entertainment. “If you want pie, I’ll give you pie. But we’re not going all the way with pie. Not until after Sunday, anyway.”

Studying me closely, Alexa raises her chin. “We’ll eat the pie now. And we’ll get pie again another day. Sunday sounds important to you and that makes it important to me too.”

“I’m only planning it because I already know it’s important to both of us,” I reply with frustration. “You’re my sparkles girl Alexa. I only want to make you shine.”

Staring at me a moment, she cracks up again.

Rolling my eyes, I sigh. “That wasn’t a joke.”

“I know,” she says, wiping away a tear. “I think I’ve just got too many happy endorphins and hormones charging around my system. You want to play some cards after pie?” she asks, thanking the waitress as she delivers our order. Doing the same, I wait for her to leave before I shake my head.

“I’d like to win at something for a change. Are you any good with a hacky-sack?”