Christina received her law degree.
Her marriage officially lasted until the beginning of her second year in law school. Jim Peterson never developed a serious interest in fatherhood. But he maintained a strong Midwestern commitment to handling all of its moral, economic, and legal obligations—until he and Christina divorced.
After graduating from law school and passing the bar, Christina worked as an assistant district attorney in Ramsey County, which encompassed metropolitan Minneapolis and Saint Paul. Law bored her. She saved enough money to buy a women’s dress shop in Wayzata, and developed two generations of loyal clientele, thanks in part to a wave of prosperity that produced an ever-expanding pool of wealthy and upper-middle-class households in Minneapolis’s southwest suburbs. Her business became so successful that it afforded her the time and the means to become one of the best women’s amateur golfers in the Upper Midwest. In the meantime, Heidi graduated from Brown University, married her psychology professor, and moved to London.
“Christina’s been a part of my life since the day she moved in next door. I’ve always been attracted to her. But I was afraid that I’d jeopardize our friendship if I tried to take us beyond that. She seemed so comfortable with our friendship. She gave me no indication that I’d have a better-than-even chance at drawing her into something deeper.”
Adams put his finger in his glass, swirled his whiskey around, and put his finger to his lips. “I think I fell in love with Christina the week before I left for Iraq. Heidi was back for a visit and they invited me to go across the river to Wisconsin for her parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary.”
Adams paused. “While her mother was telling me about Christina’s first day of school, Christina gave me a ‘What’s next?’ expression that invited me into every corner of her life. It was a road I’ve never taken—one that begins with years of friendship rather than a wild night of passion. I was supposed to be off to Iraq in a few days. I’d be gone for at least six months. Good timing, huh?” Adams shook his head and flashed his disarming smile.
Politics had made Jonathan Adams a master at talking in sound bites. He’d developed an extraordinary ability to express complex thoughts and ideas in twenty words or less. His talent often flowed from his political discourse to his casual conversation. But as he talked about Christina Peterson that night, succinctness was nowhere in earshot to be found.
“As soon as I got to Iraq, I knew I wanted to be home with Christina. I missed her a lot at first. I’d look at the calendar and get lonely and depressed, then I’d write her an e-mail or Skype her. But, gradually, with all the craziness going on, and with me at the front end of a long-term commitment that required so much of my attention, I figured it would do neither of us much good to get involved in a full-blown long-distance romance. I couldn’t afford the distraction and she didn’t need to be burdened by a load of worry because of where I was.”
Adams cleared his throat. “A week in Iraq is like a month in Minnesota. Everything is speeded up. The longer I was there, the more difficult it was for me to think about things the same way I’d likely think about them if I were back here. I began to question the depth of my feelings for Christina. I wondered if they might be exaggerated by loneliness and my being stuck in a war zone thousands of miles from home.”
Adams was struggling to explain himself. “In lots of ways, I reverted to how I used to be in high school.”
I decided I had better join our conversation, regardless of whether I had anything profound to say. Adams needed time to catch his breath and organize his thoughts.
“Does this have anything to do with your compulsion to be absolutely sure a girl would say yes before you asked her for a date? You know—the fallout from your Pamela Drake
Her marriage officially lasted until the beginning of her second year in law school. Jim Peterson never developed a serious interest in fatherhood. But he maintained a strong Midwestern commitment to handling all of its moral, economic, and legal obligations—until he and Christina divorced.
After graduating from law school and passing the bar, Christina worked as an assistant district attorney in Ramsey County, which encompassed metropolitan Minneapolis and Saint Paul. Law bored her. She saved enough money to buy a women’s dress shop in Wayzata, and developed two generations of loyal clientele, thanks in part to a wave of prosperity that produced an ever-expanding pool of wealthy and upper-middle-class households in Minneapolis’s southwest suburbs. Her business became so successful that it afforded her the time and the means to become one of the best women’s amateur golfers in the Upper Midwest. In the meantime, Heidi graduated from Brown University, married her psychology professor, and moved to London.
“Christina’s been a part of my life since the day she moved in next door. I’ve always been attracted to her. But I was afraid that I’d jeopardize our friendship if I tried to take us beyond that. She seemed so comfortable with our friendship. She gave me no indication that I’d have a better-than-even chance at drawing her into something deeper.”
Adams put his finger in his glass, swirled his whiskey around, and put his finger to his lips. “I think I fell in love with Christina the week before I left for Iraq. Heidi was back for a visit and they invited me to go across the river to Wisconsin for her parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary.”
Adams paused. “While her mother was telling me about Christina’s first day of school, Christina gave me a ‘What’s next?’ expression that invited me into every corner of her life. It was a road I’ve never taken—one that begins with years of friendship rather than a wild night of passion. I was supposed to be off to Iraq in a few days. I’d be gone for at least six months. Good timing, huh?” Adams shook his head and flashed his disarming smile.
Politics had made Jonathan Adams a master at talking in sound bites. He’d developed an extraordinary ability to express complex thoughts and ideas in twenty words or less. His talent often flowed from his political discourse to his casual conversation. But as he talked about Christina Peterson that night, succinctness was nowhere in earshot to be found.
“As soon as I got to Iraq, I knew I wanted to be home with Christina. I missed her a lot at first. I’d look at the calendar and get lonely and depressed, then I’d write her an e-mail or Skype her. But, gradually, with all the craziness going on, and with me at the front end of a long-term commitment that required so much of my attention, I figured it would do neither of us much good to get involved in a full-blown long-distance romance. I couldn’t afford the distraction and she didn’t need to be burdened by a load of worry because of where I was.”
Adams cleared his throat. “A week in Iraq is like a month in Minnesota. Everything is speeded up. The longer I was there, the more difficult it was for me to think about things the same way I’d likely think about them if I were back here. I began to question the depth of my feelings for Christina. I wondered if they might be exaggerated by loneliness and my being stuck in a war zone thousands of miles from home.”
Adams was struggling to explain himself. “In lots of ways, I reverted to how I used to be in high school.”
I decided I had better join our conversation, regardless of whether I had anything profound to say. Adams needed time to catch his breath and organize his thoughts.
“Does this have anything to do with your compulsion to be absolutely sure a girl would say yes before you asked her for a date? You know—the fallout from your Pamela Drake
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