A/N: still gooooing. Thanks for all the kind comments and encouragement. They're really good fuel for me to finish this thing. I have it all planned out... in my head. We'll see how it goes :D
Living with Morgan and his dogs was not what Mindy had pictured herself in her early twenties. She told herself it was a character building exercise, that it would be a hilarious chapter in her future memoir. The pep talk rang hollow when she was going through a dozen lint rollers a week, and it was particularly useless when she was cleaning up dog vomit. Olivia had a penchant for devouring any and all makeup left laying out.
Still, nothing could dampen the enthusiasm Mindy had for her future life. She was going to be a successful doctor with her own practice. Then she could dress like she'd never even heard the words 'sale rack' and all of her clients would be movie stars… the really artistic ones who lived in New York and not skeevy Los Angeles. Morgan was a bump in the road… a giant, loud, frequently disgusting bump in the road.
And living in the same building as Danny was actually turning out to be a good thing. At first she had constantly worried about running into Christina in the lobby, brushing past the ice queen in the stairwell. But it never happened. and she soon found out that Danny's wife spent very little time at home, working at odd hours and traveling all over the place for her photography. Those were a few of the details Mindy pulled out of Danny, like an old timey dentist with rusty pliers going after a decaying molar. It wasn't an easy task.
Their study sessions twice a week went smoothly, spilling over the time they both allotted. Frequently they walked home together, Mindy chattering thoughtlessly about the latest movie she'd seen fifteen minutes of while scarfing down a bowl of ramen noodles. Danny was a good listener… that or he'd learned to tune her out.
They would part at the fourth floor, Danny tucking his hands into his pockets and awkwardly saying goodbye as he turned down the hall. The last few times she'd thought there'd been some hesitance in his body language, a pregnant silence hanging in the air just before he shuffled away. Today it was the same. Mindy held her breath waiting for him to say whatever the hell he was thinking, but he just turned, as usual, and she felt her heart thump offbeat in her chest.
She adjusted the strap of her book bag, turning to look at the steps in front of her. It was easy to forget how lonely she was in the city. Danny made her feel like she had a friend, some kind of companionship. It was in this moment each day that she was reminded just how alone she really was. She blinked, surprised by the sudden moisture clouding her vision.
"Min?"
She stopped, foot resting on the first step as she turned to look back at him. "Yeah?"
He looked like a little boy, nervously putting his hands in his pockets. She could see a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. What the heck was he thinking? He rocked on his heels, attempting to look nonchalant, shrugging at the same time. Mindy almost wanted to laugh at the ridiculous picture he made.
"Um… would you, maybe, want to, uh…" He tugged his hand out of his jeans, fidgeting with the strap of his own book bag. "Ma, brought over lasagna last night, and Christina's in Hoboken, and she hates leftovers anyway…"
"Are you asking me if I want homemade lasagna made by a authentic Italian mother?"
He laughed. "Uh, yeah."
"The fact that you even have to ask makes me wonder if you've actually ever met me... Of course I would like lasagna. I was going to either eat ho-hos and hot pockets for dinner or steal whatever Morgan had been planning to eat. Which honestly, is like playing russian roulette."
She could see him relax, shoulders dropping in relief. He stepped forward and took her by the elbow, guiding her down the hall to the door of his apartment. "Come on."
Mindy looked down at her empty plate, her lips curling up into a pleased smile. Danny's mother sure knew her way around some pasta and sauce. Mindy's lips still tasted like berries, the wine she'd washed everything down with was still swirling in the glass in her hand. "Mmmm... "
Danny shoved back from the table, collecting the empty dishes and walking them over to the sink. "I'll tell ma her lasagna is a hit."
"Even better than Stouffer's."
He ran the water, giving the plates a quick rinse before leaving them in the bottom of the sink. One corner of his mouth twitched up in amusement. Annette Castellano would have an aneurysm if she heard anyone comparing her cooking to store bought frozen dinners. "You really don't eat home cooked food that often?"
She shook her head, taking another deep swig of wine, emptying the glass. "Nope. Even if I had time, which I don't, cooking is just… an unpleasant experience for me."
In the past Danny would have argued with anyone that thought cooking was hard or 'not for' them. He'd seen Mindy make detailed charts of the human body, sixteen-letter words flowing from her pen effortlessly. He knew that if she put her mind to it she could conquer cooking like anything else in her life, but she just didn't want to… it wasn't her, and that was fine. "Ma drops off food like every other day. I can never finish it all. I end up throwing half of it away."
Mindy rose from her chair, leaning forward. She focused on grabbing the wine bottle sitting in the middle of the table, her depth perception slightly off. She watched the ruby liquid splash in the curved bell of her wine glass, the floral scent floating up to her nose as she raised it to her lips. "Well, I'm always up for dinner."
Danny leaned against the sink watching her as she closed the space between them. One eyebrow raised at her last comment. This was a strange scene for a married man to find himself in, and suddenly he felt like he was cheating on his wife. "Sure, sure… I'll, uh, see if I can find some tupperware in the future."
She wasn't drunk, not really, but there was just enough wine flowing through her veins to make her feel like she should step even closer to him. She felt warm, a layer of heat simmering between her skin and the clothes she was wearing. She recognized it for what it was, a physical neediness that meant she really needed to get the hell out of here. Instead she took one more step closer. "Tupperware?"
Danny watched her already red lips part, just a millimeter before raising the glass one more time. She took a dainty sip, darting her tongue out to catch a droplet resting on her bottom lip. The move was blatantly erotic, at least in Danny's mind. His nostrils flared, and angry breath blowing out. He slipped away from her, darting back to the table, clearing away the rest of the dishes. "Yeah, you know, little plastic bowls with lids."
Mindy set her glass in the sink, shaking herself out of this strange headspace. She really needed to get out more. Danny was just the closest warm body, and it had been so long since she'd really let loose. Hell, even her battery operated boyfriend had been woefully neglected lately.
She patted her stomach, awkwardly trying to diffuse the weird sexual tension in the room. "Well, that was good. I'm so full, I think I need to go lie down."
Danny nodded, getting up to walk her to the door. When she was finally standing on the other side of the threshold, he relaxed a little bit. It had been nice to sit and talk with someone over dinner, her presence was more than pleasant. He wished he could enjoy it more without feeling guilty, without wishing he could lean forward and taste the wine on her lips. "Thanks for keeping me company…"
She nodded. "Right back at you. Maybe we can do it again?" Even as she asked the question, she already knew it wasn't likely.
"Yeah… maybe." She turned to walk away. "Goodnight, Mindy."
"Goodnight, Danny."
Danny jiggled his keys, finding the tinkling sound somewhat comforting in the cavernous silence of the church. It was too early for this kind of thing, but he'd been thinking about it all night. He'd woken up hours before his alarm went off, and slipped out of his apartment without a word to Christina. She hadn't gotten back from Jersey until nearly two a.m. and he'd feigned sleep when she'd slipped into bed.
He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of beeswax and incense. It hadn't changed in all the years he'd been coming, the dark grain of the pews gleaming with polish. It was really too early to be here, but Father Francis was used to Danny coming in at odd hours.
He'd fallen out of the habit of confessing when he was an undergrad, only doing it on the rare occasion he had time to visit his mother. He wasn't entirely sure if he believed in it anymore, but his dinner with Mindy pushed him to crawl out of bed and walk the several blocks it took to get here. Better safe than sorry.
The sound of shuffling feet caught his attention, stilling the noisy keys in his hand. Father Francis slowly made his way down the center aisle, cloudy eyes twinkling when they lit on Danny. Ignoring the hour, he said, "Daniel, nice to see you, as always. What can I do for you?"
Danny felt a stab of guilt. He hadn't been entirely open that last few times he'd confessed. It kind of defeated the purpose of coming at all, but he had no idea how to tell a man of the cloth that he'd been taking his clothes off for money. Honestly, he was angry at himself for feeling so ashamed of what he was doing. It was how he paid his bills, his mother's bills, and it hurt absolutely no one. And yet, his ears flamed, and he felt sick when he imagined divulging this information to anyone.
It was more complicated than the everyday sins he suffered from; jealousy, anger. Those were things he talked about every week, and without fail he felt lighter walking out of the church. Still, he wasn't going to tell the priest about gyrating in a thong in front of a bunch of middle aged women. No, that was off the table.
His nervousness this morning stemmed from the fact that he had recently added yet another 'everyday' sin to his list. One that made his palms sweat and his heart race when he thought about it.
Father Francis would sit in quiet judgement when he told him how much he thought about a woman who wasn't his wife. And they weren't your garden variety impure thoughts. It was the way she laughed, and how it made him feel warm from the inside out. The way her eyes were so warm he sometimes thought they were made of melted chocolate, and he found himself glancing over at her at every opportunity just on the off chance that she might look up at him. It was how she made him feel like maybe there was more to life, that he could feel full and satisfied and not merely okay. She made him feel like he could be a real person again, a good person.
Which was the most ironic thing, since every time he sat next to her in the library, warmth radiating from her favorite pashmina, all he could think about was scooting just close enough to lean forward and taste her lips. And how when he found her already slouched at one of the polished tables, all he wanted to do was sneak up behind her and bury his nose in the hair at her nape, arms tingling to wrap around her. He would never commit infidelity, and he knew the way he felt was wrong, but it tore him apart inside.
This wasn't something a few Hail Marys could absolve. Maybe confession wasn't the right route. He took a deep breath. "Father, I, uh... I need some advice."