Chapter 3 The Writing Class #10
“He’s a guy. Okay? He’s got XY chromosomes.
” Weston shoves off the counter, stepping closer to me.
“Despite his coffee preference, he is full of testosterone, and you’re a beautiful girl who discusses poetry and ‘allegories’ with him.
No straight single guy is going to prefer to be platonic friends with you. ”
I plunk the last carnation into the jar and whirl to face him. “I could say the same about you.”
Weston’s eyebrows rise. “You think all the guys are after me?”
“No, I mean—” I sigh, shutting my eyes. “I could be suspicious and jealous every time I caught another girl checking you out. But I wouldn’t be ready to attack her because I’d know that you’re mine and she doesn’t have a chance.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Weston points to himself. “I’m yours. But you’re not mine. How does that work?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t yours.”
“Today in the café, you said, ‘You don’t own me.’”
“Well, you don’t own me.”
Weston groans, tipping his head back. “I don’t want to own you—I just don’t want some other guy thinking he can—”
“Can what? Spend time with me? Discuss books and ideas with me?”
“If only that was all he wanted.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I think that is all he wants. I think you’re inventing everything else because you’re secretly afraid I’ll be unfaithful to you or something. And I have no idea why you would think that when I’ve never looked twice at anyone but you—”
“I don’t think you’re unfaithful, Tessa,” he cuts in, softening his voice and gently resting his hands on my shoulders.
“I just… I think you like this guy more than you want to admit. Even to yourself. And I know it’s all platonic on your side, but on his…
it’s not. And I think you should just be hyperaware of that.
Because some of the things you do…” He shrugs stiffly, like he’s bracing himself for what comes next. “He could take it as encouragement.”
My eyebrows arch. “Encouragement? You think… you think I’ve been flirting with him?”
“Not intentionally—”
“What have I done that’s flirty?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he returns with a hint of mockery. “Being his critique partner, throwing your own book by the wayside so that you can work on his stupid book night and day, giving him all this feedback and ways to improve his story—”
“I’ve been helping him as a friend. I’d do the same for Shoshanna if she were my critique partner.
” I pivot back to the counter, sweeping the flower-stem clippings into the trash bin.
“And I have not thrown my own book by the wayside to work on Grayson’s.
I’ve spent a lot of time working on my own writing. ”
“Yeah, well, you spend a lot of time working on his, too. And I just think you’re selling yourself short.”
“I’m not selling myself, period. I’m helping him out as a critique partner. That’s all.” My voice hardens as I turn to look at him through narrowed eyes. “It’s one thing to be possessive of me, Wes. It’s another thing entirely to forbid me from having any friends.”
Weston lets out a sharp exhale that sounds more like a scoff.
“I’m not forbidding you from having friends—I have friends.
From school, from the boxing gym… But how would you feel if I hung out with this one girl from the gym all the time, went to coffee shops with her to ‘talk about training’ or stayed up late writing her emails, trying to help her do better? How would that make you feel, Tessa?”
I stiffen; the mere image is enough to turn my stomach. “It’s not the same thing—”
“It is the same thing,” Weston insists, lowering his voice and taking a step closer. “And if you would have a problem with me doing that, you should understand why I have a problem with you doing this thing with Grayson.”
Righteous anger bubbles up in me, curling my fingers into fists. I feel my cheeks blazing hot, unformed words boiling on my tongue as I stare at him.
“You’d be jealous, too,” Weston rasps, his eyes unraveling me with a single glance. “It’s the same rule both ways, Tessa.”
“No, it’s not the same.” My jaw clenches, voice wobbling as angry tears blur my vision.
“It’s different. Because if it were the other way around, I wouldn’t doubt you for a minute.
I wouldn’t come over trying to educate you about how ‘women look at you,’ I wouldn’t tell you to stop working with this girl because everything you did was some kind of coded flirtation—”
“I never said that, Tessa—”
“You don’t trust me!” I burst out, pulling back when he reaches for me. “That’s the truth, Weston—just say it. You’re afraid that I’ll fall for some other guy just because he’s a writer, and he’s more book-smart than you and quotes poetry—”
“I don’t give a shit about any of that. It’s not that I don’t trust you—I don’t trust him!”
“Well, I do.”
My words hit Weston like a slap. He freezes, face going slack as understanding sinks in.
“I’m my own person, Wes. I won’t be instructed by you—or anyone else—on whom I can and cannot be friends with.” I cross my arms firmly over my chest, my voice pitching higher, thick with coming tears. “If you have a problem with that, then maybe I’m not the right girl for you.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches, and he nods slowly, something icing over in his blue eyes. “And maybe I’m not the right guy for you.”
It sends a knife through my heart.
All I can do is watch as he strides back over to the front door and lets himself out. As soon as he’s gone, I collapse against the counter with my face in my hands. Sobbing.
WESTON
I lift my bruised knuckles to Dad’s office door and knock twice.
“Come,” he says from the other side.
I let myself in, greeted by the familiar sight of my father sitting behind the big mahogany desk. Fingers hammering at the keyboard. Motivational quotes on the wall.
“What’s up?” he asks without looking away from the computer screen.
“I just wanted to let you know that I checked with Marcus, and he said there’s no additional comment from the board of trustees on the librarian dismissal story.”
Dad glances up at me, his glasses slipping to the edge of his nose. “I’m surprised Marcus didn’t tell me himself.”
“I think he wants to make sure I get the full experience as an apprentice. He had me make him a Keurig, too. Apparently, that falls under the umbrella of ‘administrative tasks.’”
Dad grunts. “Well, you can tell him I said that one day you’ll be his boss—if you want to take my place here, that is. Probably not exciting enough for you.” With a wry laugh, he leans back in his desk chair, studying me. “You got something you want to get off your chest?”
I’m not sure how he guessed—maybe because I barely slept last night and have the dark circles under my eyes to prove it. Or maybe because when I showed up at the Chronicle for work and he asked me how I was, I said, “Fine.” Not “Never been better,” like I always do.
The truth is, I have been better. A lot better. Even just two days ago, when I held Tessa in my arms and kissed her on the couch and she told me that she valued my opinion.
Apparently, none of that was true.
Her parting words to me last night eclipse every other thing she said. Maybe I’m not the right girl for you.
I sigh, shutting my eyes and rubbing the ache in my forehead. “Have you ever said something that pissed Mom off so much she… basically told you to go jump in a lake?”
Dad hums a tired laugh. “Once a week, at least.”
I relent to a weak smile and slump defeatedly into the chair across from Dad’s desk. “What do you do when she won’t see something from your perspective?”
“Well.” He steeples his hands, thinking about it. “First, after I cool off, I try to analyze the situation. See if there’s something I missed. Try to see it from her perspective.”
Her perspective. Just like that, I’m back in the café, watching Tessa and Grayson bouncing ideas off each other, her eyes full of excitement and new possibilities.
She trusts him. That’s her perspective—she told me last night. She thinks I’m inventing all this stuff because I’m secretly afraid of losing her.
Maybe some part of me is afraid of that. I mean, isn’t that the primal fear behind jealousy? Losing what you’ve got to someone else? But this is so much more complicated than simple jealousy.
When I say nothing, Dad continues, “Marriage is an education, Wes. I’ve been married to your mom for nearly two decades now, and I swear I learn something new about her every day.”
“I’m not married to Tessa,” I mutter.
“No, but you’ve been with her for a few years. The two of you seem happy together. Any long-term relationship is a test of love. And if I’ve learned anything over the past two decades, it’s that love is a choice. Sometimes not the easiest choice, but… a choice nonetheless.”
“And what does that choice look like? If she doesn’t agree with you, and you don’t agree with her, and this thing is getting between you, pushing you apart?”
Dad slides his glasses off and folds them carefully in his hands. “Well, it’s hard to say when I don’t really know what this ‘thing’ is that’s getting between you two—”
“Another guy.”
Dad’s gaze snaps up to mine. I can tell he wasn’t expecting that.
“She doesn’t like him like that,” I quickly explain. “But he… likes her. I can tell. She thinks I’m overreacting. That’s about the size of it.”
“Well, in that case, I wouldn’t let the grass grow under your feet.”
“How do you mean?”
“There’s a time to leave a woman alone, and a time to be there for her.
I’d say this case falls into the latter category.
” Dad levels a serious look at me. “If this other guy is trying to get close to Tessa, you don’t want him to be there for her when you’re not.
You want to prove to her that you’re constant—that you’re always there, no matter what. ”