you want it – that’s exactly why I’m arguing –’
‘Reid.
He needs me
.’ She chokes up. ‘He needs me, and I’m not going to fuck this up – dammit, I mean
screw
this up – not this time. I’ve never done anything in my whole life that wasn’t selfish –’
‘Brooke,’ I sigh, lacing my black Prada boots. ‘Five years ago, you were a pregnant teenager. You moved to Texas. You had him without your parents’ support, without
my
support. I don’t know why you made that inadvisable choice, but you did. That wasn’t selfish.’
‘You’re wrong. It wasn’t some moral judgement or an unselfish choice – I just knew that when we made him, I loved you, and I couldn’t … there was no other choice for me. That decision was about
me
, and I can’t pretend otherwise.’
Weeks ago, when she told me that he was unequivocally mine and I finally believed her, I was dumbfounded. But this kicks the breath out of me.
When we made him, I loved you
.
‘There’s no choice for me this time, either. Thanks for listening, Reid. I know what I have to do, but I’m not going to tell Janelle right away – she hasn’t even got the
Paper Oceans
offer yet. I think I can get through the premiere of
Hearts Over Manhattan
first. God, she’s going to go off like a roman candle.’
A slight drawl – it was never thick – threads through her words, almost imperceptibly. Must be a by-product of her being back in Texas, living with her stepmother.
For a moment, I drift in the memory of it.
And then my phone beeps. It’s Dori.
11
DORI
‘I was in class when you texted – I just got out and thought I’d call instead of text since I’m wearing mittens. So you’re going to come up this weekend? Are you sure you have time?’ After an hour in an overly warm classroom, I exit Barrows and immediately begin shivering in a gust of north wind.
‘I can escape from the promo tour overnight Saturday, but I’ll have to fly,’ he says. ‘I don’t have time to drive it. I can’t leave LA until after 7:00 p.m, and I have to be back by noon.’
We’ll barely have twelve hours inside those parameters.
Like the swipe of a hand across a fogged window pane, I see clearly, abruptly, that this is how it will be between us. Berkeley is where I’ll be for the next four years, and when I try to imagine him, or us, after that, I can’t. I visualize myself, applying to earn my master’s in social work. Possibly leaving California to do it. Alone.
My teeth chatter – from cold or fear or both – and Istruggle to dispel the ache from my voice. ‘What do you want to do … while you’re here?’
His low chuckle initiates a warmth in the pit of my belly that spreads like a slow blaze. ‘Do you need to ask? It feels like months since I’ve got my hands on you.’
Entering the library, my voice drops to a whisper. ‘It’s been ten days … I think.’
‘
Months
,’ he insists. ‘And did you say you were wearing
mittens
? Photo. Now.’
I shake my head and laugh soundlessly. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see them in person.’
‘Is there a matching hat? And scarf? Hmm, I like the thought of a scarf … scarves are so handy for draping or blindfolding or trussing –’
‘
Stop that
,’ I hiss softly. ‘It’s abnormal to blush like this in the library, you know. Maybe you should bring your own scarf and I’ll use it on
you
.’ When he doesn’t reply, I say, ‘Reid?’
‘Sorry. I’m
way
too turned on for a proper comeback.’
I was certain my research on social interaction in groups and organizations would be more productive if I spent my time in the library around other equally studious undergrads. Instead, the hum of low voices and rustling movements of books and papers keeps lulling me into thoughts about the social interaction of two people, connected. Thoughts about the nature of love.
People in a group attempt to fit together like puzzle pieces to make a uniform whole. A
‘Reid.
He needs me
.’ She chokes up. ‘He needs me, and I’m not going to fuck this up – dammit, I mean
screw
this up – not this time. I’ve never done anything in my whole life that wasn’t selfish –’
‘Brooke,’ I sigh, lacing my black Prada boots. ‘Five years ago, you were a pregnant teenager. You moved to Texas. You had him without your parents’ support, without
my
support. I don’t know why you made that inadvisable choice, but you did. That wasn’t selfish.’
‘You’re wrong. It wasn’t some moral judgement or an unselfish choice – I just knew that when we made him, I loved you, and I couldn’t … there was no other choice for me. That decision was about
me
, and I can’t pretend otherwise.’
Weeks ago, when she told me that he was unequivocally mine and I finally believed her, I was dumbfounded. But this kicks the breath out of me.
When we made him, I loved you
.
‘There’s no choice for me this time, either. Thanks for listening, Reid. I know what I have to do, but I’m not going to tell Janelle right away – she hasn’t even got the
Paper Oceans
offer yet. I think I can get through the premiere of
Hearts Over Manhattan
first. God, she’s going to go off like a roman candle.’
A slight drawl – it was never thick – threads through her words, almost imperceptibly. Must be a by-product of her being back in Texas, living with her stepmother.
For a moment, I drift in the memory of it.
And then my phone beeps. It’s Dori.
11
DORI
‘I was in class when you texted – I just got out and thought I’d call instead of text since I’m wearing mittens. So you’re going to come up this weekend? Are you sure you have time?’ After an hour in an overly warm classroom, I exit Barrows and immediately begin shivering in a gust of north wind.
‘I can escape from the promo tour overnight Saturday, but I’ll have to fly,’ he says. ‘I don’t have time to drive it. I can’t leave LA until after 7:00 p.m, and I have to be back by noon.’
We’ll barely have twelve hours inside those parameters.
Like the swipe of a hand across a fogged window pane, I see clearly, abruptly, that this is how it will be between us. Berkeley is where I’ll be for the next four years, and when I try to imagine him, or us, after that, I can’t. I visualize myself, applying to earn my master’s in social work. Possibly leaving California to do it. Alone.
My teeth chatter – from cold or fear or both – and Istruggle to dispel the ache from my voice. ‘What do you want to do … while you’re here?’
His low chuckle initiates a warmth in the pit of my belly that spreads like a slow blaze. ‘Do you need to ask? It feels like months since I’ve got my hands on you.’
Entering the library, my voice drops to a whisper. ‘It’s been ten days … I think.’
‘
Months
,’ he insists. ‘And did you say you were wearing
mittens
? Photo. Now.’
I shake my head and laugh soundlessly. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see them in person.’
‘Is there a matching hat? And scarf? Hmm, I like the thought of a scarf … scarves are so handy for draping or blindfolding or trussing –’
‘
Stop that
,’ I hiss softly. ‘It’s abnormal to blush like this in the library, you know. Maybe you should bring your own scarf and I’ll use it on
you
.’ When he doesn’t reply, I say, ‘Reid?’
‘Sorry. I’m
way
too turned on for a proper comeback.’
I was certain my research on social interaction in groups and organizations would be more productive if I spent my time in the library around other equally studious undergrads. Instead, the hum of low voices and rustling movements of books and papers keeps lulling me into thoughts about the social interaction of two people, connected. Thoughts about the nature of love.
People in a group attempt to fit together like puzzle pieces to make a uniform whole. A
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