According to Jane by Marilyn Brant Page A
Authors: Marilyn Brant
Tags: Jane Austen Fan Lit
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something there. The school-district staff I worked with consisted of lots of balding, married men who taught subjects like government or mechanics, but who really dreamed of coaching varsity football or basketball. Most of the unmarried guys also wanted to coach some sport but, if they didn't, they spent their free evenings hopping the clubs downtown. Not a poet in the bunch.
"I'll see what I can do to expand my social circle," I said, leaning against the doorframe, "but I'm starting to think there's got to be an element of magic involved somewhere. I'm not saying you and Leo don't work at your marriage, but you two didn't work that hard when you first met. You spotted him in that Renaissance Music class of yours, thought he was cute, talked to him. He saw you and thought, 'Oh, she's hot and a brainiac to boot. We could have beautiful genius kids together.' Then he asked you out and you got to know each other. It was a natural thing. It progressed to the next stage without being forced or manipulated. Without strategy. That's what I want this time."
Angelique fashioned a few more ringlets and took in my words. "It's always more work than you think, Ellie. Even in the most compatible of relationships there's still strategy--on both sides. And things can change between two people in an instant. There are never guarantees." She shrugged. "But knowing that doesn't help you much, does it?"
"Nope." I blew her a kiss. "Thanks for the words of wisdom, though. I appreciate them. But no blind dates. Got it, Angelique?"
"Fine, fine. Have it your way." She paused. "But if you ever change your mind, there's this really gorgeous professor of Gaelic studies who--"
I slammed the bathroom door on my goofy cousin and went in search of her daughter. Lyssa's conversation might be limited, but at least I didn't have to defend my pathetically single status to her.
Problem was, I'd totally lied to Angelique. I didn't require magic. I was willing to work at a halfway-decent relationship until I turned a shade of toxic green. I would've even gone on yet another blind date if I thought it'd do any good.
Why?
Because the fringes of desperation danced through my bloodstream every time I met a new man or even spotted one walking down the sidewalk.
Because I'd look into his eyes as we passed each other and ask myself, "Is that My Guy? Could he be The One?"
Because I was so worried True Love would never happen for me that I was willing to expend huge amounts of energy trying to maneuver a compatible match into place.
Because I knew the clock was ticking on finding someone, and soon all the good ones would be taken.
Because I was twenty-six and so lonely. Still.
But my optimism, which I used to think had been my birthright, had faded, or at least gone into deep hiding. And that was my biggest lie to my cousin: The inherent implication that the happily-ever-after thing was really possible.
Truth was, except for an occasional spasm of something resembling hope, I'd stopped believing.
Work resumed a few days later and, as the students struggled to re-assimilate into the school-day structure, the staff was abuzz with post-holiday gossip.
While I checked back in books the high schoolers had checked out over winter break, my friend and colleague, Sarah, leaned against the library desk and appraised me.
"You ought to give The Dragon's Lair a try," she told me, raising a dark eyebrow that all but twitched from the possibility of near-future matchmaking. "That's where my roommate said she went over vacation. And she found herself a new man."
"You know I'm not a club-hopping type." I checked in a copy of Twain's The Mysterious Stranger with the scanner and put it on the to-be-shelved cart.
"Technically, there's no hopping involved. You just go to that one club, you stay there, scope out guys for a few hours, take down a few phone numbers and go home. It's really a very simple process, Ellie."
She smirked, of course, as she said this. I narrowed
"I'll see what I can do to expand my social circle," I said, leaning against the doorframe, "but I'm starting to think there's got to be an element of magic involved somewhere. I'm not saying you and Leo don't work at your marriage, but you two didn't work that hard when you first met. You spotted him in that Renaissance Music class of yours, thought he was cute, talked to him. He saw you and thought, 'Oh, she's hot and a brainiac to boot. We could have beautiful genius kids together.' Then he asked you out and you got to know each other. It was a natural thing. It progressed to the next stage without being forced or manipulated. Without strategy. That's what I want this time."
Angelique fashioned a few more ringlets and took in my words. "It's always more work than you think, Ellie. Even in the most compatible of relationships there's still strategy--on both sides. And things can change between two people in an instant. There are never guarantees." She shrugged. "But knowing that doesn't help you much, does it?"
"Nope." I blew her a kiss. "Thanks for the words of wisdom, though. I appreciate them. But no blind dates. Got it, Angelique?"
"Fine, fine. Have it your way." She paused. "But if you ever change your mind, there's this really gorgeous professor of Gaelic studies who--"
I slammed the bathroom door on my goofy cousin and went in search of her daughter. Lyssa's conversation might be limited, but at least I didn't have to defend my pathetically single status to her.
Problem was, I'd totally lied to Angelique. I didn't require magic. I was willing to work at a halfway-decent relationship until I turned a shade of toxic green. I would've even gone on yet another blind date if I thought it'd do any good.
Why?
Because the fringes of desperation danced through my bloodstream every time I met a new man or even spotted one walking down the sidewalk.
Because I'd look into his eyes as we passed each other and ask myself, "Is that My Guy? Could he be The One?"
Because I was so worried True Love would never happen for me that I was willing to expend huge amounts of energy trying to maneuver a compatible match into place.
Because I knew the clock was ticking on finding someone, and soon all the good ones would be taken.
Because I was twenty-six and so lonely. Still.
But my optimism, which I used to think had been my birthright, had faded, or at least gone into deep hiding. And that was my biggest lie to my cousin: The inherent implication that the happily-ever-after thing was really possible.
Truth was, except for an occasional spasm of something resembling hope, I'd stopped believing.
Work resumed a few days later and, as the students struggled to re-assimilate into the school-day structure, the staff was abuzz with post-holiday gossip.
While I checked back in books the high schoolers had checked out over winter break, my friend and colleague, Sarah, leaned against the library desk and appraised me.
"You ought to give The Dragon's Lair a try," she told me, raising a dark eyebrow that all but twitched from the possibility of near-future matchmaking. "That's where my roommate said she went over vacation. And she found herself a new man."
"You know I'm not a club-hopping type." I checked in a copy of Twain's The Mysterious Stranger with the scanner and put it on the to-be-shelved cart.
"Technically, there's no hopping involved. You just go to that one club, you stay there, scope out guys for a few hours, take down a few phone numbers and go home. It's really a very simple process, Ellie."
She smirked, of course, as she said this. I narrowed
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