Love in an Undead Age by A.M. Geever (good non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

her or for another reason? Did she even want to know? No matter what scenario played out in her mind, she ended up filled with an undirected anger. That the whole exercise was too stupid to begin with made her angrier still.

She watched through her front window as the gate closed behind Karen’s car. Karen had regrouped since last week’s breakup and was once again on the prowl. That the next guy would be as forgettable as the last was unfortunate, but at least she was not wallowing in self-pity.

Karen made her way to the door, hands laden with take-out containers. Her sparkly smile accentuated her perfect hair, makeup, and outfit. She had a spring in her step and even wore sensible shoes. Miranda suspected a pair of death-trap heels lurked in Karen’s car and her current footwear was a temporary concession to avoid a lecture. Miranda opened the door and watched Karen’s brow furrow.

“What kind of zombies did you run into, Miri? You look terrible!”

Miranda shrugged. “Just the regular kind—undead, mindless, wanting to eat me.”

“Let’s get you fed,” Karen said as she made her way to the kitchen. She set the containers down and opened the cupboard, retrieving two large bowls. “I got chicken wonton soup from Chef Chu’s. If that doesn’t fix you up, I don’t know what will.”

Karen thrust a steaming bowl into Miranda’s hands and set about fixing another while Miranda retreated to the living room and sat on the couch. The clink of silverware and low squeak of the cupboard hinges coming from the kitchen were comforting. Karen breezed in and settled into an overstuffed chair, setting her soup on the coffee table. A blissful expression settled over her face with the first spoonful.

“I swear to God their secret ingredient is crack. I don’t know how they make soup taste like this.”

“Thanks for bringing it over.”

“Of course. When Harold called to say you still looked terrible and that he’d sent you home, I figured cooking was the last thing on your mind.”

Miranda Tucci: Charity Project.

She shoved the ungrateful thought aside and began relating the story of the dumbass kids’ rescue as best she could. Karen kept interrupting with exclamations of “Oh my God!” and “Miri!” and “They did what?” Karen was always an enthusiastic listener, especially if the story or scandal was good. When Miranda’s tale was finished, Karen started telling her about a great sale at her favorite boutique, but Miranda had a hard time paying attention. She could not stop thinking about Connor.

“So then I punched the clerk, cleared out the register, and took all the clothes without paying. It was such a good deal.”

“That’s great.” A second later, Karen’s words actually registered. “Did you just say you punched the clerk?”

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said. What’s up?”

“It’s nothing,” Miranda said. Karen looked at her skeptically. “Really, it’s less than nothing.”

Karen looked at her with an expression that made Miranda nervous. Karen had a knack for going silent when she wanted information that was not being readily supplied. She could keep it up for hours. Discomfort with the lengthy silence usually made the other person talk much sooner.

The second she knows, she’ll start scheming and matchmaking, Miranda thought. She’ll decide his being back is divine intervention that we should get back together. But who else am I going to talk to who might understand?

Miranda bit her lip. The silence was deafening.

“You have to promise to not get mad at me.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. You cannot get mad at me. I have a concussion.”

“Okay, Miranda. I promise.”

“Like pinky swear promise?”

“I’m going to get mad if you keep this up!”

Fuck, Miranda thought, but she’d already made a fundamental tactical error. Now that Karen knew there was something worth knowing, she’d never let it go. She’d hang on like a zombie.

“So…you know how sometimes people we think are dead are actually alive, and it’s been a really long time and they just show up?”

Karen made an impatient, pained face. “I am not playing twenty thousand questions with you, Miranda. Who is it?”

“You promise you won’t get mad?”

“For Christ’s sake!” Karen cried. “Who is it?

“It’s Connor.”

“Connor?” Karen repeated, puzzled. “Our Connor?”

Miranda nodded. “He’s at SCU, hale and hearty.”

“Since when?”

“The day after the zombie was on the Expressway.”

“And you’re only telling me now?”

“I haven’t been feeling so hot. And I didn’t want to deal with you going into matchmaker mode.”

“Matchmaker? Last I heard he was going to be a priest.”

“Me too, but it didn’t take.”

Karen’s face lit up with a conspiratorial smile. “He’s not a priest and he just happens to end up here? Oh, Miri, that’s so romantic!”

“He’s here to do something for Father Walter.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, he is!”

“And there was no one else who could have done it?”

Just lie to her, Miranda thought, as she heard herself say, “He was supposed to stay in Mexico, but he came here instead.”

Karen squealed.

“I don’t see what you’re getting so excited about,” Miranda said. The room felt suddenly hot. “So an old boyfriend shows up. So what?”

“So what? That’s like divine intervention!”

Miranda gritted her teeth. “It’s not like I’ve been carrying a torch for him all this time. First love, first guy to break my heart? Yes. Unfinished business? Please.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I am not blushing!”

Miranda concentrated on her soup, furious with herself for letting Karen get under her skin about Connor ‘Ancient History’ MacGuire.

“He still likes you, doesn’t he?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Oh please, Miri, even you aren’t that dense. He makes a dangerous trip here and he wants to talk to you. It’s not rocket science.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Miranda said in a tone that pronounced the matter closed.

Karen returned to her soup. After a few sips, she looked at Miranda as if she were trying to figure something out.

“You and Connor were practically best friends before you were a couple,” she began. “No one gets a second chance to see someone who was that important to them anymore. I never pegged you for a coward, Miri.”

“I’m not talking about this.”

“And what if this is a second chance?” Karen persisted. “What if there is still something? If anyone deserves some happiness, Miranda, it’s you.”

“For the love of God,” Miranda muttered under her breath. “It’s been twelve years, Karen. He broke my heart and was an asshole about it. Part of me doesn’t care, and part of me is still kind of pissed off all of a sudden, which is pathetic.”

“He was twenty-two years old,” Karen said. “Show me a twenty-two-year-old who hasn’t handled their love life badly.”

Miranda scowled, her soup abandoned and growing cold. “I don’t even know if I want to see him, much less hear what he has to say.”

“You are so full of it.”

“You know what? I do want to know why he didn’t become a priest,” Miranda snapped, not sure why she was getting so angry. “But I also don’t want to know because what if it was because of me? What if it wasn’t? Why the hell should I even care? Just forget I mentioned it.”

“We have to get together, the three of us,” Karen said. “I’ll call over to the Jesuits’ and set it up. If I wait for you two to get your act together, it’ll never happen.”

The gears and wheels of Karen’s mind were spinning so fast Miranda could hear them. Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, how can I help him get her back?

“No fucking way, Karen. Not gonna happen.”

“Oh, Miranda…”

“I’m serious. Leave it alone.”