Chapter 22
Claire
Professor BFF
You look perfect. But do you think you found ‘the one’?
I’ve stared at Ryan’s message too many times this weekend. I typed out dozens of replies, but nothing ever seemed right. Because somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m almost certain he means more than just the dress.
And I’m not sure how to answer him truthfully.
Over the weekend, he finally read my synopsis and sent me a few little pointers for clarification. As usual, he has some great advice. But I can’t think clearly about it when I’m so torn up inside over the dress and his text.
On Monday morning, I’m teaching my calculus class, and I should be happy.
It’s Pi Day, my favorite day of the year.
I’m wearing my “I ate sum pi” shirt and jeans, my students are measuring the circumference and diameter of donuts (a formality, something they should have learned many years ago), but I can’t shake the unease I have from Ryan’s text.
Normally Ryan and I go out to lunch and eat pie. Our schedules are a little off, so it would have been a late lunch, but Ryan hasn’t breathed a word.
Things are weird between us, even after I told him we could still be friends, and now I worry I’m losing my best friend.
“This is the best day ever,” my student Calvin says from the front row.
“Can we have donuts every day?” Blake pipes up from the back.
“One day a year,” I say with a smile. “Be glad you’re in my spring class. The fall semester doesn’t get a treat like this.”
Happy munching sounds surround me, and I feel a little better. I grab a chocolate glazed because I need the sugar high, and we spend the last few minutes of class eating donuts. Right at one forty-five, the students pack their things and start leaving.
“Bye, Professor!” Calvin says. I can only wave, because my mouth is stuffed with donut.
“I hope you have room for pie,” a voice calls from the open classroom door.
Ryan’s voice.
I look over, the bright sunlight obscuring my vision, and all I can see are…balloons?
“Ryan?” I ask, taking a few steps over to the door.
“Happy Pi Day!” Ryan steps into the classroom with dozens of balloons in one hand. Yellow, gold, blue, all with the pi symbol printed on them, and a few that are actually pi-shaped.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “What is this?” I ask.
“Uh, Pi Day?” He furrows his brow at me, like he doesn’t understand why I’m having a hard time. “Only your favorite day of the year?”
I notice now that the female students are lingering in the classroom, trying to get a glimpse of Ryan. Their telltale smirks let me know exactly how hot they think he is. I say quickly, “You’re hilarious. Let’s go to the office.”
“We’re still doing our lunch, right?” he asks, and it almost sounds like he’s nervous. Why would he be nervous? “You didn’t make other plans?”
“No, of course not!” I gather my supplies as quickly as I can, but as I make my way to the door, I drop all the dry-erase markers on the floor. So much for a quick exit. I kneel and start picking up markers, and a couple students stop to help.
“Here.” Kneeling on the floor in front of me, Ryan holds out the last marker.
“Thanks.” I take it from his grasp, our fingers brushing in the process. Tingles spread up my arm and into my chest, and I look up at him, alarmed. His blue eyes study me carefully, and I swear he can see right through me.
Not wanting to dwell on what’s happening, I push off the ground and stand. “Let me set all these things down in my cubicle and then we’ll head out.”
He nods. “I’d give you the balloons, but it looks like your hands are full.”
Safely out of the classroom and away from my students’ prying eyes, we walk together from the classroom to the office.
Ryan asks, “How was your class?”
“Good. They were excited to have donuts.”
“I would be, too. Except we’re having pie.”
I look over at him and grin, so thankful that he still wants to have our lunch despite how weird things have been between us. When we reach the office, I ask, “Are you bringing those balloons in here?”
“Up to you,” he says. “Do you want them in your office or in your apartment?”
“Hmm.” I think for a moment. “Let’s leave them here. I’m moving next week during spring break, and I don’t want to worry about them getting popped or in the way of the packing process.”
“You’re moving?” he asks, following me into the office. We wave at Betsy and Grace but don’t stop to chat. Not when pie is on the line.
“Yeah. My lease was up. And I needed a new place for when Zach and I get married.” The words feel bitter on their way out. Everything I say about the wedding and getting married lately is making my stomach turn. After dress shopping, I’ve refused to think about the wedding.
When I look at Ryan, I see a glimpse of the same feeling. But he pulls his mouth back into a smile.
“Hey, that’s cool. And you have it all to yourself for…how long?”
He’s asking when the wedding will be. The problem is, Zach hasn’t agreed to a date yet. Which seems strange, right? I thought his parents were kicking him out, but it seems like having us engaged is enough to placate them, and Zach isn’t in any rush to make it official.
“Not sure yet,” I say.
Ryan sets the balloons down in my cubicle. The air conditioning blows them back and forth, and we head back to the entrance.
“Claire! Ryan! Wait!” Grace exclaims as we pass her desk. “Shawna had her baby!”
“No way!” I rush over to her computer, where an email from Shawna is attached to a picture of a tiny, squishy newborn. “Was she born on leap year day?”
Grace shakes her head. “She was eight days late. Can you believe that?” She grimaces. “But they’re home and healthy now.”
“Oh, that’s good,” I reply. “I’ll have to text her.”
“Yes! Go visit! You’ll probably be the next one, right?” Grace looks up at me with a gleam in her eyes.
I furrow my brow. “Next for what?”
“A baby, of course!” Grace shakes her head at me like I’m being ridiculous.
My mind goes to the rhyme we’d all say as kids. Claire and Zach sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in a baby carriage.
Is that what’s expected of me next?
I don’t have a problem with kids, and I actually do want to be a mom one day. But what is it about this expectation that’s turning my stomach into knots?
I imagine Zach as a father and nearly shudder. He’d probably be an excellent playmate—a fantastic uncle, even. But a father? He can’t even take care of himself.
Grace’s face drops when she reads my expression. “I’m so sorry. I assumed, and I know that’s something not all women want these days, and—”
“No, no, it’s fine,” I say, cutting her off and pasting on a smile. “Maybe I will be the next one, who knows?”
Grace lets out an exhale and grins. “I hope Shawna brings the baby here so I can squeeze her! She’s adorable.” I’m not sure I totally agree, but maybe newborn babies just aren’t my thing. She glances between me and Ryan. “Are you heading out for your Pi Day lunch?”
“Yep!” Ryan says, finally getting a chance to speak. “Want a slice?”
“Would you?” Grace reaches for her wallet in her purse. “I’d love some.”
“I got it,” Ryan says, waving a hand at her. “We’ll be sure to bring you back…what, banana cream?”
Grace smiles up at him. “You remembered! Yes, thank you.” Her eyes are light, and as she flutters her lashes at him, I have a realization.
Grace…and Ryan… Is he interested in her? She’s clearly flirting with him.
And something about that twists my stomach into knots.
Not jealousy. Of course not jealousy. Just…protectiveness.
“Gotta go!” I say loudly. “Pie waits for no man! Or…woman! See ya, Grace.” I grab Ryan’s arm and pull him out of the office quickly.
“Bye, Grace!” Ryan calls over his shoulder. Once we’re out of the office, he gives me his signature grin. “You’re in a hurry. You’re really serious about your pie today, huh?”
“Aren’t I always?” I tease, hoping I’ve covered my tracks. It’s at this moment I register that my hand is still wrapped around Ryan’s biceps. There’s a layer of fabric between us, but it’s not difficult to feel the tension in his muscles and…
I snatch my hand back and dig in my purse for my keys.
“I’ll drive,” Ryan says. “You relax.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I got this.” He pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks his car, then walks to the passenger side to hold open my door.
“Thank you, kind sir,” I say in a silly voice.
He bows and heads around the car. I wonder when Zach last opened the door for me. On our last date when he picked me up for the surprise party, he just texted from the car, and I let myself in. Maybe it’s just one of those things that comes from years of being together.
I watch Ryan walk to his side and wonder if he’s been this courteous to all the women he’s been dating. Who am I kidding? Of course he is. He’s a gentleman. And something about that, combined with my certainty that Grace was flirting with him, fills me with an irritation I don’t want to explore.
He slides into his seat and closes his door, and I ask, “How was your date this weekend?” Scratch that. I guess I do want to explore this irritation.
He turns his head to look at me, as if he’s studying my expression and trying to understand what the motivation behind my question is. Your guess is as good as mine, buddy.
“Not good,” he finally says. He starts the car and backs up, and I feel a strange sense of relief.
“I’m sure there’s always next time, right?” The words are bitter, but I say them anyway.
“Nah. I think I’m done trying.”
“Oh?” I can’t hide my surprise, but I try once more. “Grace was giving you ‘come hither’ eyes. You could always ask her out.”
Ryan laughs out loud. “That’s a new one. But, no. I’m done dating.”
“Why’s that?”
He pulls up to a red light and looks me straight in the eyes. “Because none of those women are the right one.”
I swallow hard under his intense gaze. “How would you know unless you try?”
“Trust me.” His blue eyes pierce mine, but I can’t look away. “I know.”
There’s meaning and emotion laced in his words. But I don’t read into them. I can’t read into them. He can’t mean what I think he means. It’s just…Ryan being picky.
Right?
A horn blares behind us, breaking the moment, and Ryan just grins and waves an apology to the driver behind us for sitting too long after the light turned green.
And I fight the urge to fan myself.