The Broken Teaglass by Emily Arsenault Page A

difficult to meet guys when you go to a women’s college, you know? Anyway. Once it started getting more serious, I lost interest.”
    “Why? What was wrong with the guy?”
    “Nothing. He just didn’t have it.”
    “Have what?”
    “I don’t know. How do I explain?” Mona pulled her navy cashmere cuffs over her wrists and tilted closer to me. “Those were really delicious, those Bellinis. I think I had one too many.”
    “You want another one?” I asked.
    “We finished the champagne on the last one.”
    “I know. But I thought maybe a Black Label and peach juice cocktail would satisfy you at this stage of the intoxication process.”
    Mona yawned and smiled.
    “Make it just a Black Label, then,” she said.
    “I thought you didn’t like beer.”
    “I make exceptions.”
    I got her the beer from the fridge, along with one for myself.
    “See,” she said, taking the beer from my hands, “I used to have this Greek professor in college. He was my ideal man.”
    “You dated a professor?” Somehow it didn’t surprise me.
    “No.
No
. I didn’t say
dated
. I had a major crush on him. For a couple of years. He didn’t know it, of course. Although he always gave me A’s on everything.”
    “Naturally.”
    “He was my advisor too.”
    “Was that a coincidence?” I asked.
    Mona raised her eyebrows as she swallowed some beer.
    “I guess not,” I said.
    She leaned forward again and clasped her hands together. “I would think a lot about cooking his breakfast. I would be sitting there in my dorm room, translating Horace, and I would just wonder what it would be like to fix Dr. Grant bacon and eggs. Or to ruffle his ridiculous, moppy hair in the morning. Iron his shirt. The guy was so disheveled, Idon’t think anyone ever ironed a single shirt for him. Hand him his briefcase. Maybe have a couple of his babies.”
    “How do you go from handing him his briefcase to having his babies?”
    “Oh, you know what I mean,” Mona said. She narrowed her eyes, examining the back of her beer can. “I thought a lot about what it would be like to be his wife. And I mean ‘wife’ in the most traditional sense possible. And there were a lot of days when I was pretty sure nothing would make me happier.”
    “Are you yanking my chain, Mona?”
    “No
. I’m serious. Maybe it was just his accent.” She glanced up from her beer. “He was from Liverpool.”
    “Well then,” I said. “That’s understandable. Everyone would like to marry a Beatle.”
    “Or maybe it was just that I was so bored, there at that girls’ school. But I’m pretty sure that on some level I was really in love with the guy.”
    “Huh.”
    “So sometime around the middle of junior year I decided it was time to wise up and start looking for a distraction. That’s when I dated that other guy for a while. His name was Alan.”
    “And you’re still in love with the professor? Dr. Grant?”
    “No. Of course not. I got over him. But Alan just didn’t have it. This is what I’m trying to explain. I never thought about making Alan’s breakfast. Not once. In fact, I’m pretty sure I would resent having to make his breakfast, if that was ever necessary. I took that as a sign. Alan wasn’t for me. It was just the same in high school. No one impressed me much, or compelled me to say or do truly stupid things.”
    “So you didn’t have a high school boyfriend.”
    “No,” Mona answered. “I dated, but I always ended up hating them after two or three dates.”
    “Why?”
    “It wasn’t their fault, really. I always just kind of wanted a
real
man.”
    “A
real
man,” I repeated. It was a little unsettling, picturing the teenage Mona scoping for a
real
man. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if I qualified.
    “Yeah. A
real
man. That’s what I’m looking for. Still. What about you? Any college girlfriends?”
    “I was with this girl for about six months sophomore year. Ella.”
    “That’s all?”
    “What do you mean, ‘that’s