Chapter 13
Fully assembled furniture, pizza and a couple of beers, a long, lingering hug between the women and a trip back to Home Depot to return the van – it’s been one hell of a day.
But Xavier’s still stuck in that hallway, in front of the elevator, Bianca’s hand on his arm, looking up at him with sparkling eyes, grateful for the simple act of showing up.
God, it’s so fucking easy to make her happy.
Too easy.
It’s not like his calendar is full. His thesis is defended. Work doesn’t start for another two months. He could get started on turning his thesis into a book, but . . . he deserves a break.
It’s just . . . he doesn’t know what to do with downtime.
He never has.
Not that he’s had an abundance of it over the years.
He went straight from undergrad into his master’s program, to one dig and another, before his second master’s and more field experience and then into his PhD. No time to just . . . be.
And it’s disconcerting.
Even this thing with Bianca – how much of his time is it going to take up?
Probably not enough for him to feel busy and he’s always been busy.
He likes it that way, starts to feel antsy and useless if he’s not, like there’s something he’s forgetting to do or a place he’s forgetting to go, something he’s missing out on out there in the world.
He hadn’t really even thought about what he was going to do after his defense, except a vague inclination to learn how to surf before he leaves LA, probably for good.
Maybe he should take up a hobby or an activity. Hiking? So many people around here are constantly talking about hiking this spot or that. Or maybe something less physical?
He’s just contemplating the merits of learning to knit versus crochet when Bianca opens the passenger-side door.
“All good?” he asks.
“All good,” she agrees and waves to Chloe, who’s out on her front steps waving back.
They’re winding their way back toward the 101 when Bianca suddenly starts talking.
“I think people confuse milestones and accomplishments.”
“What?”
He’s pretty used to her thought process building up inside her head and then bubbling over out loud with a complete non sequitur, but this feels especially random.
“It’s a theory I have.”
“Okay, Dr Dimitriou, explain.”
“People treat engagements and weddings like they’re accomplishments. Like they’re something you’ve earned . You can’t earn an engagement, not the way you do a degree.”
“I think some people would argue that you can.”
“Chloe would have . . . at least Chloe from a couple of years ago would have. She wanted to get married and she worked at it. But it’s not . . . a meritocracy. There are too many things you can’t control.”
“I know you’re not going to argue that academia is a meritocracy, boss.”
“I mean, it’s more of one than dating is.”
“I don’t know. Everyone has a set standard of criteria they’re looking for in a spouse and once they find someone that meets it . . .”
“Yeah, but you can’t do anything with it.”
“You can get a tax write-off. And like I discovered today, people buy you things.”
She snorts. “Fair enough.”
“You’re right though, I’m just being a shithead. There’s a difference, and somewhere along the line, we as a society conflated the two. Getting married isn’t an accomplishment, though you could argue that a marriage can be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Two people, choosing to take a chance on the other, building a life together, having kids or not, creating something that wasn’t there before, for the rest of their lives. That’s an accomplishment.”
“Xavier Byrne, are you a romantic?”
“Maybe . . . maybe in some ways, I am.”
“You believe in love.”
“I do.”
“Soulmates?”
“Nah, that seems . . . unlikely.”
“Do you think we can choose who that person is?”
“I think it might be different for everyone. My mom never stopped loving my dad, but my dad falls in love like a swing voter in Ohio. I don’t know if either of them chose that. I can’t ask my mom anymore.”
“And your dad?”
“I . . . we haven’t talked in a while.”
“Because of your mom?”
He shakes his head, wondering if he’s become that easy to read or if it’s just that easy for her. “Yeah, he showed up at her funeral.”
“I . . .” She hesitates and reaches for the hand he has on the gear shift, twining their fingers together and resting them against her thigh this time. “I am so sorry, Xavier.”
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road because he knows if he looks at her now, if his eyes meet hers, he won’t be able to force down the lump building in his throat anymore.
“He . . . he said it was what she would have wanted and that was probably true, you know? But it didn’t make it any easier.”
He sniffs past it and pushes down the anger that hasn’t really abated five years later.
“What about you?” He lifts his thumb and runs it gently across the top of her hand, squeezing to let her know he’s okay.
After a beat, she squeezes back and he could kiss her for letting him off the hook. “I don’t know.”
“C’mon, you asked and I know you didn’t ask without having an opinion.”
“We’ve spent too much time together.”
“Stop avoiding the question.”
“Ugh, fine. I think we have . . . some choice in the matter, but I do think parts of it are out of our control. We can’t just decide to be attracted to someone, but someone can get more attractive the longer we know them.
I don’t know, I think if anyone had figured this out, we’d know about it, and they’d need degrees in biology and psychology and probably sociology, too, to get anywhere near the answer. ”
When she finishes her answer, silence reigns and the questions that hang in the air are obvious.
Could they choose each other?
Haven’t they already decided not to?
Bianca avoids those questions neatly, changing the subject. “Speaking of degrees, I don’t think I ever asked, why didn’t you do your PhD in Archaeology? That seems like the more natural next step, no?”
“I’ve been studying archaeology since I was eighteen years old – before that really, I was fascinated as a kid.”
“So you just got tired of it?”
“No. I love it, but I never really understood the guys who got off on the find. It’s not about the find.
It’s about the history, about getting a more complete picture of what came before us.
We’ve dug up so much in the last thousand years and it’s all just sitting in museums, taken away from the people it belonged to in the first place and it’s not right.
If I can play even a small role in righting that wrong, then it’s all worth it. ”
“But the job in Greece, it’s a dig?”
“Ongoing restoration, really. It’s one piece of a larger project. The group I’ll be working for funds both archaeological and repatriation work.”
“So it was basically designed for you.”
“Not . . . not specifically for me, but yeah, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. It felt like a fucking miracle when Paolo called me and said he’d pitched me to the group and they wanted me to be the face of things.”
“Wow.”
“He’s on the older side, not up to the amount of travel it’ll take, plus apparently I look the part.”
“Xavier . . . did you get this job because you look like Harrison Ford?”
“I don’t look like Harrison Ford,” he grumbles, since it’s not the first time someone has made that comparison.
“It’s more a vibe thing than an actual resemblance. You look like what Harrison Ford would look like if he was thirty right now.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“I think you do,” she challenges with a grin.
“My nose isn’t crooked.” It’s a weak protest and he knows it.
Her grin just widens. “Haven’t been getting into fights with any Nazis?”
“Maybe I have, maybe I just don’t let them get a punch in.”
“Truly the only way to deal with a Nazi. Punch first, ask questions later.”
“Amen.”
“So they liked the Harrison Ford look, too.”
“What?”
“For the job?” she asks.
He lets out a groan from deep in his chest, but she just laughs.
“You’re the one who brought it up. Don’t worry, I’m sure you didn’t just get it because you’re pretty.”
“Never occurred to me that I did.”
“Sure.”
“What?”
“You said they wanted you to be the face of things. I think you’re well aware that being an attractive white guy probably helps.”
“I am not unaware of that fact.”
“That’s all I’m saying.”
“But I’m gonna use my attractive-white-guy powers for good.”
“One of the few.”
“Indeed.”
Her phone buzzes in her bag and she reaches down for it, frowning at the screen.
“Shit.”
“What? Is it Chloe? Do we need to go back?”
“No, no, it’s Erik. He . . . ugh, it’s my fault. I told him I’d babysit the boys tonight and I completely forgot about it, you know with everything.”
The fake engagement, the surprise party, her parents giving her a shit ton of money, her friend breaking up with her boyfriend . . . Yeah . . . the last few days have been complete chaos.
“I’d ask if you can bail, but you’re not going to, are you?”
‘They asked forever ago. It’s for Adam’s law firm. They do this start-of-summer barbecue thing in Santa Barbara and . . .”
“So, two six-month-olds, how hard can it be? We got this.”
“No, you deserve to rest. You’ve been going nonstop and . . .”
“They won’t think it’s weird I didn’t show up with you? Besides, I . . .” he might as well admit it, “literally have nothing better to do.”
“Xavier . . .” She trails off.
“We’ll get there, put the babies to bed, order some food and watch movies. It’ll be fine.”
“You have a lot of experience with babies?”
“Absolutely none, but I have full faith, after meeting him one time, that Erik will have a laminated and bound printout of instructions he wants us to follow while they’re gone and I am very good at following instructions.”
“I’ve noticed,” she says, biting down on her bottom lip, and he can’t help it, he lets out a groan.
“C’mon, boss, that’s unfair.”
She just laughs at him and changes the subject, thank God. “You’re sure you want to come tonight?”
He ignores the double entendre entirely, despite her laughter. “Positive.”