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 I struggle 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 recognizable representation of the efforts and goals of the organization itself.
I used to think of two people in love like that. Like puzzle pieces, fitting together. But it’s not like that at all. Love pulls a part of you out, and it pulls a part of him – like taffy, stretching but not separating. The tendrils of each one wrap around the other, until they meld together. One, but not quite. Separate, but not quite. Like my parents.
And then there are those like Colin and me. He never shared a shred of himself, but I didn’t know it. I’d embedded myself into him because he wanted me to, and thought he did the same. But when he broke free, he ripped a part of me away. He retreated, unaltered, and I came apart, fractured and incomplete.
What Reid and I have, right now, is enough. I love him, and he loves me in a way Colin never did, but that’s no guarantee of forever. I don’t know when it will end, only that it will, and I want to protect us both. I can’t let myself become a part of him, and I can’t let him become part of me. So I won’t whisper the words to him, even if they’re true.
Shayma is tossing a change of clothes and her toiletries into her backpack. She’s spending the night with a friend, and leaving the room to me – and my boyfriend.
‘Are you sure it’s okay? You’re sure you don’t mind? We can go to a hotel –’
She shakes her head and laughs. ‘Will you stop? If I say I’m good – I’m good. Hotels are expensive.’
‘Uh …’
‘One tiny stipulation, though.’
‘Yeah?’ I say, distractedly glancing around the room. I can’t imagine Reid here. Our low-cost dorm room, the size of his closet, looks like a set of a movie in which he stars as an average, albeit very beautiful college guy – not somewhere he’d deign to spend the night.
‘I need to meet him. Wait. Two stipulations. Second stipulation: not on my bed, mmkay?’
My face goes sunburn-hot and my mouth falls open. ‘I – I would never –’
‘Wow.’ Her brows shoot up. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen somebody blush that hard. You’re like … maroon.’
I hide my blazing face behind my hands, mortified.
‘So he’s driving from LA? Flying?’ She plops on to her bed, four feet across from me.
‘Flying.’
‘And you don’t need help picking him up, since you don’t have a car?’
‘No. I’m meeting him at the Starbucks. He’s going to … get a car from the airport.’
Her head angles. ‘Get a car … Like a rental? Like a taxi?’
I shrug. Shayma is one of the most low-key girls I’ve ever met. This level of curiosity from her is as weird as if the stuffed Cal-cap-wearing Golden Bear Deb bought for me two years ago – now sitting on my overcrowded desk shelf – suddenly struck up a conversation. I take a deep breath. If Shayma is going to meet Reid tonight, she might as well know it ahead of time.