Chapter 19 #2
I’ve just stepped onto the sidewalk from the parking lot when I see Alis and Brody nearing the L she doesn’t pull away.
Then he leans down and kisses her cheek before she ascends the stairs to my building.
Just before entering she turns and says something else to him, a smile spread wide across her face.
Are you fucking kidding me? That boy is a child. Why the hell were his lips on her?!
She enters the building without noticing my approach, but Brody sees me when he turns to leave. “Hey, Dr. Belanger! How are you?” His laid-back demeanor conveys no discomfort, like kissing Alis and then seeing me is a normal part of his every day.
“Brody. Hi,” I say, giving him a stiff smile and a nod before walking up the stairs to head to my office. I don’t want to be rude to the kid, but I also don’t think I can keep my true feelings unreadable.
I’m still reeling from the thought of Brody’s lips on Alis when I enter the lobby area of Pod A.
Deborah looks up from her computer as I enter and stops mid-smile when she sees me.
Before she can get a word in I ask, “Is Alis in my office?” Deborah looks confused, as she should.
“No, sir. I haven’t even seen her in the building today.
Did I miss an appointment on your calendar? ”
“No. You didn’t forget anything. I have the days mixed up in my head,” I say, easing her worried expression. “Any messages?”
“No, sir.” Deborah looks back to her computer, clicking a few times in search of my calendar, adding, “And no meetings the rest of today.”
“Perfect,” I nod, my tone sharp. “Please set my line to ‘do not disturb’. I’ll be in my office the rest of the afternoon working on some things and would prefer not to be interrupted.” Deborah nods in acknowledgment and I walk into my office, closing the door behind me.
I don’t understand my visceral reaction to this woman.
I spent years with Laura, and I genuinely loved her, but I don’t remember ever feeling this crazed when another man paid her any attention.
Perhaps I never felt threatened because I knew she was mine — Alis, however, is not mine.
Is there something special about her or is the thrill and frustration of the chase messing with me?
I honestly have no idea. Alis and I certainly have more in common than Laura and I ever did.
We like the same books, have similar personalities, and have nearly identical senses of humor.
I hate it when people say “we’re the same person!
” but I’ll be damned if I’ve ever met another woman who harmonizes with me so well.
We’re singing the same song, and if we could only sing it together the resulting duet would be symphonic.
Why can’t I think in such romantic prose when I’m around Alis?! Now that I think about it, the night we met I remember our conversation flowing seamlessly, filled with wit and conversational caresses.
I’ll never forget how beautiful she looked that night.
Her shimmering black dress and soft, blond waves falling down her back caught my attention, but the moment I saw her reflection in between shelved bottles of Patrón and Casamigos I knew I had to talk to her.
She sat alone, but not uncomfortably. Her smile was soft and supple, her eyes revealing an internal monologue she seldomly shares with others.
She was stunning, warm, and I wanted to be nearer to her.
The spark of recognition that lit in her eyes when I subtly wove a line from Marguerite de Valois into our conversation was my breaking point.
I’ve never written a list of qualities I desire in a life partner, but in that one, fifteen-minute interaction I knew I wanted more.
More talking. More smiling. More laughing.
More literary innuendo and witty banter.
And when I kissed her — God, when I kissed her — I never wanted to stop.
Being the well-read man that I am, I can provide centuries of documented proof that an intangible, soul-deep connection is something all of humanity longs for.
I don’t believe in soul mates, nor that some supernatural power has designated one person to be your perfect complement, but I do believe a deep and unmistakable connection can exist with another person.
Just as we meet certain people who trigger instant wariness, discomfort, or annoyance, sometimes life is kind enough to introduce us to people who inexplicably kindle feelings of serenity, of peace, of home.
Kissing Alis felt right, familiar. Touching Alis felt like coming home. I wanted to pull her closer to me, feel her arms around me, feel her warmth in every way possible.
That’s it. That’s why I can’t keep my head on straight when it comes to Alis. It’s not the chase; it’s not her infuriating determination to keep me at arms’ length — it’s quite simply that being with Alis makes me feel centered in a way I never felt with Laura.
I still barely know the woman, but I want to. I want to know everything about her. Every thought. Every dream. Every desire.
This feeling of familiarity and rightness cannot be one-sided. Is she fighting against it intentionally, or does she not feel as drawn to me as I am to her? And how do I gently, subtly break down the walls she so forcefully erects around herself?
I wish my pépé was still alive. My mémé was very independent, strong-willed, and made pépé work to gain her trust and her heart. If I could call him and talk with him about Alis, I’m sure he’d draw from his never-ending fountain of wisdom and guide me in the right direction.
I laugh to myself, imagining the conversation, had it ever happened.
First, he would throw his head back and laugh that I’m stuck on a woman who refuses to entertain my advances.
Then, he’d call out to mémé to let her know his relentless pursuit of her stubborn heart has influenced generations of Bélangers and that his example is no longer seen as insanity, but wisdom.
Mémé would shout back at him, “T’es donc ben niaiseux!
”, refusing to leave her precious peonies mid-serenade.
I never understood why she sang to her flowers each day, but she swore that singing helped them grow.
I know, without a doubt, that Thibaud Bélanger would describe the years he spent in pursuit of his beloved Ruby as absolutely, unreservedly worth every second. I hope at the end of this I can say the same.