4. A Case of You
CHAPTER FOUR
a case of you
LOGAN
EMERALD BAY UNIVERSITY
PRESENT DAY
Some people race cars for an adrenaline rush, some people sky dive…
Me? I’ve been teaching for a long time, but I still get a thrill just before I start a lecture; standing up at the front of a room full of students gets me that same hit.
“Okay, so, when we examine the idea of research historically, we’re looking at a very smash and grab kind of situation.” I pull up a slide, taking an instinctual look at my notes even though I’ve got most of it memorized. “Researchers often come into communities, remove specific pieces of knowledge out of context, and write about these things as though they invented them. Now, what can we do to combat that?”
I glance around the room, watching my four PhD students scroll through their laptops as they search for an answer.
“Exercising critical reflexivity?”
Audrey. I learned her name before everyone else’s because she emailed me directly to be her supervisor.
“Okay.” I nod. “Now what does that look like to you?”
Methodology courses are my favorite, and today we’re doing a unit on the deconstruction of research, something that always gets at least a couple students buzzing.
“Well, for example, I’m writing an entire chapter about my background and all of the biases I can think of. I’m also going to go into the fact that this entire thesis is just my interpretation of all my interviews and my readings.”
“That’s great! Exactly! Knowledge isn’t held by one person, it’s a community effort, and it takes all of us. When I first started doing research on medically-assisted death, I walked into the field totally ignorant outside of my experience. What I’ve learned is each person is an expert in their own lives?—”
I glance down as my phone buzzes on the table next to me, the name on the screen making my stomach drop to my feet.
THERESA
Hey, Logan! Just touching base about the other night. Things were chaotic at work and by the time I’d looked at my phone, it was so late I figured you’d gone home already. But I’d love to reschedule if you’re free.
Is she serious? She ghosts me, deletes her profile on the app, and now she just crawls out of the woodwork like it’s a missed doctor's appointment?
“Dr. Flynn?”
I’m yanked out of this waking nightmare, looking up to see my students still hanging on to the sentence I left half finished. It’s about 10 minutes until the official end of class, but clearly, I’ve already checked out.
“I think we’ll leave it there for today. Really excellent work, everyone. Let’s pick this up again next week, and remember your final papers are due on the last day of class. If you need anything or want me to look over your outlines, shoot me an email. I’d be happy to chat.”
Everyone starts packing up as I grab my phone, staring at the text message, my stomach tightening with each passing second.
I’d love to reschedule if you’re free.
What’s to say she won’t ghost me again?
I slump back in my chair as the last student makes their way out the door, my phone still clutched in my fist. Should I give Theresa the benefit of the doubt? Maybe she really was just busy. She’s a lawyer. It makes sense that her life is kind of chaotic.
But then again, so is mine, and I still manage to show up to shit on time.
Okay, maybe ten minutes late, but at least I tell people .
And why, pray tell, didn’t she reply to the text I sent her the next day?
I really like Theresa. We bonded over a mutual love of theory and comic books, but she’s also cool . She dresses like an eccentric high school art teacher: boldly colored earrings matched with chunky necklaces, and a collection of eyeglasses that she wears depending on her mood.
She’s so much like Abi, it?—
My stomach sinks and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Three years of trying to get over Abi and I pick someone who’s just like her.
Okay, no. Not right now. Focus, Flynn.
A half-assed apology a week later isn’t going to cut it, but I don’t want to be rude or push her away, because what if I’m pushing away a real chance at love?
My mom’s always said I give people the benefit of the doubt too often. I wish I was more like my sister in that respect. You push Imogen Flynn to her breaking point and she’s got no problem cutting you out of her life. Meanwhile, I hold on to threads of past relationships with a desperate hope that someday, they can be repaired.
I don’t even think my standards are crazy or anything. I want someone who shares at least a couple interests, someone who can introduce me to new experiences, and who makes my heart race when they walk into a room.
Like Abi did.
Last week, after that date, she made me feel so much better. Arriving at her apartment was purely instinctual; it seems like my heart always knows where to go when I need comfort.
But Abi and I work together, and besides, she’s not interested in a relationship, she’s interested in her career. It’s never going to happen for us, and I’ve accepted that.
A sharp knock drags me back into the moment, where I find Roman standing lazily in the doorway. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he flashes me a cocky smile.
“Hey, I’m looking for this guy Logan,” he drawls. “Big nerd, glasses, talks way too much… You know him?”
This is the most relaxed I’ve seen him, wearing his standard black t-shirt and blue jeans, his cowboy hat tipped back on his head. I grin, pretending to scratch my eye with my middle finger. It's crazy the difference a few months makes.
“I think he’s waiting at the corner of go fuck yourself avenue and get bent street , but who knows.”
Roman chuckles, opening the door a little wider as he leans in to make sure no one else is around.
“Ready for lunch? I’m buyin’.”
I glance down at the text that’s still open on my phone, my stomach flipping as I consider what I should do. Ghost her back? No, that’s rude. I don’t want to take the low road. Relationships are so fucking complicated sometimes.
“Hey, Big Bird?” Roman cuts in. “You okay?”
“What?” I slide my phone into my pocket. “Oh, yeah. Busy day is all.”
He narrows his eyes, tipping his head to the side as I shove everything into my messenger bag and haul it over my shoulder.
“Bullshit.”
“I’m good!” I exclaim, my voice cracking a little as I involuntarily rise in pitch. “Let’s just go, okay? I’m starving.”
Roman raises a brow, scratching his salt and pepper beard.
“You’re not good. Your voice did that weird thing it does when you lie, like you’re going through puberty again. That, and you were staring a little too hard at your phone.”
I let out a deep sigh, stuffing my hands into my pockets and glance down at my mismatched converse— one green, one pink.
“I got stood up last week.”
Consistent inconsistency.
“Ah,” Roman murmurs. “And I take it you’re still not over it?”
“No— I mean, yeah— I mean…” I take a breath. “I just got this really lame-ass excuse and— God, this feels so...”
I laugh, shaking my head.
“Stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Roman replies. “Come on. Lunch special is vegan sloppy joes on a kaiser roll with caesar salad. Made it all myself.”
“So, what should I say?” I ask, taking a napkin and wiping some of the sloppy joe juice off my chin.
We’re in Simmer Down , the quirky little diner Roman works at as a prep cook on the weekends when he’s not in culinary school. It’s a decently popular lunch spot on the edge of town, but last month a video of him went kind of viral. He wasn’t even doing anything, just standing talking to a server but I guess if you caption a video with Chef DILF, it tends to catch on. The comments were insane, but it’s gotten the restaurant a hell of a lot more business.
My sister thinks it’s hysterical.
“You said you called her? Texted her?”
“Yeah, and no response until today.”
“Doesn’t take much to just text someone back… trust me, I’m the expert on fucking that up. If it were me, I don’t know if I’d want to reschedule.”
“And you apologized too,” I reply, pointing at my phone. “There’s no apology here.”
Roman and Imogen had a bit of a rocky start to their relationship, what with it being secret and all. She was his teaching assistant and they met on a dating app, neither of them having a clue who the other person was. Once their jobs and livelihoods were threatened by the university, Roman retreated and didn’t text her for weeks.
I was afraid it would be the end for them.
“Maybe she’s saving it for in-person,” he mutters halfheartedly, picking at his food for a moment or two before looking me right in the eye. “Okay, look, do you like her?”
I sit with the question, bouncing it around in my head the way my dad used to throw his tennis ball at a little spot on his office wall. He said it helped him think. Mom said it made her want to smack him. Either way, I always knew dad was working when I heard that thud, thud, thud from downstairs.
“I… think I do.”
Roman sips his beer, smearing the sweat gathering on his glass with a thumb.
“And I think you’re a bullshitter, Flynn. I think you want everyone to like you so when there’s conflict, you can fawn and tell people it’s okay. You never stick up for yourself?—”
“Hey, I yelled at the two of you when I found out about Iggy.”
“That’s not sticking up for yourself,” he chuckles. “That’s being taken by surprise.”
I slump back down in my chair, suddenly deflated.
“You really think I don’t stick up for myself?”
“I think you’re afraid of what’s going to happen if you do.” Roman leans forward, lowering his voice like he’s about to reveal a terrible secret. “You’re afraid you’re going to push people away, that you’ll lose a connection, but the fact of the matter is this woman stood you up. Are you willing to forgive someone who doesn’t even care enough to apologize?”
If there’s one thing Roman’s gotten really good at since he’s started dating my sister, it’s speaking his mind.
“We haven’t even been talking that long. I mean, what’s there to forgive?”
Roman stares at me, giving that don’t bullshit me look he’s so damn good at.
“Leaving you alone at a restaurant, all dressed up with a big bouquet of flowers? Call me crazy, but it seems a little thoughtless regardless of the excuse, especially one she came up with a week later.”
I stare at him, suddenly grinning from ear to ear.
“Hot damn, partner, when did you become a therapist?”
“Since I started going to therapy,” he chuckles. “Seriously, though. You want people in your life who make you a priority; who love you and respect you enough to be up front. And maybe she’ll end up apologizing in person, but I think she may have already shown you who she is.”
I stare at the phone sitting next to my plate and take another deep breath.
“Yeah, to tell you the truth, I always have more fun watching horror movies than I do going on any of these first dates. I’m sick of them.”
Roman gets a twinkle in his eye. He’ll never say it, but I know he and Imogen think there’s something going on with Abi and I. Nobody really knows what happened between us, and that’s the way it’s gotta stay.
“First dates aren’t all bad. You just have to find the right person.”
“That’s easy for you to say, dude. You and Iggy were made for each other.”
“Good point, just start taking every girl you meet out to play mini golf.”
I snort.
“Hey, change of topic: how are the two of you doing?”
I ask every time we talk like this, figure I’m just doing my brotherly duty.
“We’re great.” Roman beams, glancing around the restaurant before pulling out a small box from his bag and sliding it across the table. “I got her something. Wanted to, uh…”
I swallow the little burst of jealousy at the back of my throat. Sure, Roman and Imogen’s relationship was paved with secrets and catastrophe, but it all ended so perfectly. I don’t think it’s selfish of me to want something like that.
“If you say you want my blessing, I’m gonna beat you with a Judith Butler book,” I laugh.
“No, no, I just want your opinion on it.”
I pop the box open, and my jaw practically hits my plate. Sitting inside is a big pink diamond with some smaller ones clustered around it, all resting on a rose gold band. I don’t know much about jewelry, but I do know he paid a shitload of money for it.
“Dude… When did you… when are…?”
“I’m biding my time,” Roman says with a curt nod. “She’s going to be All But Dissertation in a year and a half. I’ve been saving up, and I’m gonna take her to Italy for a few months so she can decompress, write a little, and then I’ll pop the question.”
“This is beautiful, dude,” I manage to choke out before sliding the box back. “I’m really happy for you. For both of you.”
Roman flashes me another softer smile as he tucks the ring back into his bag.
“It’ll happen for you too. I have faith.”
“Glad someone does.” I raise my beer, matching his grin. “To becoming brothers.”
Roman clinks his glass against mine.
“Finally.”