Chapter Twenty-One
twenty-one
Lanie
“He sounds too good to be true.”
Lanie looked at the woman sitting across from her in the faculty dining room and shook her head.
“You have to make sure this guy’s on the level,” Narcisa said. “Fuckbois come in all shapes and sizes nowadays. Just ’cuz this one has ‘MD’ attached to his name doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
Lanie didn’t need to be told that given the father she had...and her mother’s frequent reminders.
“Well, he seems to check out. He’s a widower,” Lanie said.
“You know this for certain?” Narcisa interjected.
“Seriously?”
“What?” Narcisa shrugged. “It’s in a New Yorker’s nature to be distrustful.”
“Yes, I know. For sure.”
“Uh-huh.” Narcisa sounded severely unconvinced but nodded, and reached for her drink, causing her profusion of silver bangles to jingle.
In direct opposition to the Earth Mother image that she typically projected with her chunky quartz jewelry, healing crystals and constant aroma of essential oils, Professor Narcisa Escolástico was not a person whose bosom was available to cry into. But she was also not some acid-tongued jerk. What Narcisa was, without question, was a pragmatist. Her advice was always no-nonsense practical and her delivery was unfailingly forthright.
“Just checking,” she said, spooling the spaghetti from her plate of cacio e pepe between a spoon and fork. “You know I have my own scars from back in the day when I was still in the penis game. That’s how I know to ask.” Narcisa sighed. “People should get hazard pay for that shit.”
Lanie snorted in spite of herself, nearly choking on a mouthful of pasta. “Girl, his wife died a few years ago. Left him with a little girl. I know, okay?”
Narcisa’s face remained disappointingly impassive. “Well then, that’s even worse.”
“How so?” Lanie really didn’t like where this might potentially go.
“Then he’s rebounding.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Because she’s dead, honey. Not because there’s anything wrong with you.”
Lanie huffed in indignation as Narcisa took a sip from her negroni.
“He’s just getting back out there after years of wedded bliss. You have to take that into consideration.”
“Sure.” Lanie didn’t really need someone to tell her she wasn’t Thyra. She knew that. The more she thought about the woman, the more she knew she could never measure up. And the more she wondered why she’d begun thinking about that at all.
“And it’s damn hard to compete with a dead woman,” Narcisa added.
“This is getting dark. Can we change the subject? Because I’m not competing with his wife. It’s not even like that between us.” Although Lanie had begun to wonder if they were lying to themselves. Or she was on her side of things, at least.
“I’m just saying. Take it from me, dating a widower or a man with any significant baggage can be difficult.”
“Baggage?”
“Yes. Getting involved with a man who already has kids and very possibly an idealized version of his last partner—alive or not—can be rough. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”
“You’re making it out to be more than it is.”
“Oh?” Narcisa’s eyebrow rose dramatically as if she was trying to fit it for a monocle. She clasped her hands together on the tabletop beside her drink, waiting. “To hear you talk about him, I thought this guy was serious.”
Narcisa was too much sometimes.
“About life? Yes. About his work? Definitely. About me personally? No, I wouldn’t say that. I just like him. That’s all.”
“Lanie, has anything even happened between you and him?”
Lanie had to control her irritation at how far-fetched Narcisa’s question made the possibility of that seem. Who am I kidding? It’s Narcisa , she reminded herself.
“No.” It was still too weird to talk about that kiss.
“Do you think something might?”
She was too embarrassed now to admit to hope. Narcisa made Lanie sound foolish for even instigating this conversation. She knew she wasn’t just imagining things; she was sure something was happening between them.
Maybe.
“I don’t know. He has a real life, with real concerns. Whereas I have a bunch of student loan debt from a half-finished doctorate and a roommate that happens to be my mother.” She weighed her flat palms as if to visually illustrate the imbalance of a drastically unequal scale. “It’s more than that though,” Lanie said, losing her enthusiasm for the topic. Forget wet blanket Narcisa—she was talking herself out of wanting this.
“I’m not going to sit here and listen to you put yourself down, Melanie.” Narcisa set her spoon and fork aside to skewer her friend with an exasperated gaze. “Say you have nothing in common, say you don’t find each other attractive. But don’t suggest you have nothing to offer.”
“Sis, we’re not even close to being the same.” Lanie sighed. “He and I together... Me even thinking about it doesn’t really make any sense, does it?”
“According to you, he hasn’t said anything besides ‘Lanie, let’s hang out.’ So why are you thinking about his home and family and whether you’re good enough for him? Yes, it’s giving a bit premature to me.”
“We’ve been hanging out.” There was indignation in Lanie’s voice that she was trying to hide but Narcisa made her feel so ridiculous. “It feels like it could be more.” Lanie itched to divulge the kiss now as proof, but was more certain than ever it would just confuse things. For Narcisa and herself.
“ Feels , huh?” Narcisa’s eyebrow arched as if Lanie had said she felt like the tooth fairy was real.
“What?”
“Lanie, have you ever heard of the term limerence ?”
She shrugged, shaking her head.
“It’s the tendency in some people to seek a happily-ever-after with every person they meet.”
“Oh wow, Narcisa! That’s really nice.” Lanie’s impulse was to grab her coat and bolt.
“Now wait, Melanie,” Narcisa said. She held out her hand like a stop sign. “Hear me out.”
Lanie’s irritation ratcheted up a notch just hearing Narcisa’s voice slide into the soothing tones of her therapist mode.
“I’m not saying this is limerence. I’m saying that this relationship could fall into a pattern of behavior that is similar to limerence, if you’re not careful.”
“I don’t see a difference.” Lanie took a deep breath to prevent herself from saying something she would regret. She settled back into her seat but folded her arms across her chest like a barrier.
Narcisa sat up straight. “Then that’s part of the problem.”
“Patterns such as...?” Lanie asked, molars grinding.
“Do you spend a lot of time when you aren’t together, thinking about him, obsessing?”
“No. Obsessing? Absolutely not.” It wasn’t a lie even if it wasn’t strictly the truth. They texted a lot, sharing memes and jokes, brightening the grayer corners of each other’s day. But that was a mutual thing. She certainly wasn’t obsessing.
“Well, I mean, we are talking about him now,” Narcisa ventured gently.
“Yes, because I wanted your opinion. As a friend.” Lanie’s voice was prickly. “Which I now regret.”
“O-kay,” Narcisa said with an air of forbearance that irked her. “But do you frequently wonder what he’s doing? If he’s thinking about you? Try to decipher the meanings of the things he says? Hang on his tone of voice when you talk?”
Lanie scoffed. “No. But I mean, we also do more texting than talking so there’s no tone of voice to hang on to.”
Narcisa rolled her eyes. “I think you know what I mean, Melanie. Does a less than optimal conversation with him affect your mood? Are you bummed if things go badly? Jazzed when they’re good? Do you spend time replaying things, measuring what he thinks of what you said?”
Lanie’s stomach began churning. She recognized the behavior, but not with Ridley. Never. She said what she said, and Ridley took it however he took it. That was one of the most refreshing parts of their relationship and it went both ways. They didn’t edit each other.
“No, I do not,” she stated confidently. “When I don’t like what he says, I turn my phone over and engage the DND button.” It didn’t happen often. Though his most recent erroneous declaration and tirade detailing why Die Hard was not a Christmas movie had gotten him ignored for hours.
“That’s good,” Narcisa said calmly, apparently reading the peevishness in the set of Lanie’s mouth. “And I’m just asking.”
Lanie’s mouth slipped all the way to one side of her face in disbelief. One thing about Narcisa—she never “just asked.”
“I mean, you have had the tendency to fall into these really intense infatuations that don’t ultimately go anywhere. Face it, you’ve got a broken picker.”
“Gee, thanks,” Lanie barked defensively, trying to clear the thought from her mind. “And so? What does that mean?”
Lanie’s love life sounded that much more pathetic coming out of Narcisa’s cynical mouth, but she didn’t bother disputing the facts. It was true, her relationships did tend to burn hot and fast. But that was only because she didn’t take them seriously. Because they weren’t ever love. Because they weren’t...Jonah.
“You’re a serial dater,” Narcisa pronounced.
“What’s that mean? Is it like being a serial killer?”
“Yes, but hopefully with a smaller body count.” She winked at Lanie. “Basically, you fall out of relationships as quickly as you fall into them.”
“No, I don’t!”
“Okay, what about John, who you planned a Valentine’s weekend getaway with but then he went back to his ex?”
Lanie groaned.
“Or Luis, who decided you were too tall for him after you wore heels to his niece’s quince?”
“How was I too tall? I wore kitten heels and he was six foot one!” Lanie griped. “I bought a brand-new dress for that.”
“That was your own fault. What did you think you were doing meeting his family? You’d barely known him a month,” Narcisa pointed out, showing no mercy.
Lanie shrank in her seat and, despite it being midday, guzzled her glass of merlot.
“And what was the name of that guy who worked in Sociology who convinced you to donate some of your sick days to him when he broke his leg skiing?” Narcisa snapped her fingers trying to recall. “Without you, I might add. Darius—”
“But I’ve never claimed to be in love with any of them!”
“No, you’re right. Technically, you didn’t,” Narcisa conceded. “Are you claiming to be in love with this Ridley guy now?”
“No.” Lanie crinkled her nose, voice barely above a whisper, averting her gaze. “Of course not.” Lanie tried to keep her tone light. Narcisa examined her closely. “What? I admitted I barely know him! And I’ve never claimed to be in love with anyone. Only—”
“Right, right, only Jonah,” Narcisa continued with a deep sigh, shutting Lanie up.
Jonah was the one who had occupied her life and concentration. The only one whose attitude when they spoke could dictate her mood that day, be it in person or via video chat. The only one who’d had her counting the days every year until her summer vacations to London. The only one she ever obsessed over—the one whose attentions made her feel important and validated.
“But Jonah’s never felt that way about you, correct?”
Lanie began to rebut, her mouth opening, before she stopped.
They were the greatest of friends— up until recently, at least —and there had been a brief moment when she thought he did. When they would hang out as teens, up until the wee hours of the morning talking. And that one time, which amounted to little more than a night when it seemed like they were finally on the same page. The night she thought he finally felt the same way about her that she did for him. But Lanie would never share that story. Not with Narcisa, not with Gemma, not with anyone.
“No,” Lanie answered instead. “Never.”
“And that’s precisely what limerence is, Lanie,” Narcisa explained as if she could hear Lanie’s thoughts. “All that love energy expended on people who didn’t earn it and don’t want it. It’s an immature version of love, an imitation of the real thing that is more about your fantasies of what love could be and who you think these men are than about the actual person and who they are showing you they are.”
There was a ponderous silence as the reality of Lanie’s clearly imaginary love life bounced around her brain like a pinball. Remarkably there was even the jarring ring of the bumpers inside her head, courtesy of the glass of merlot she’d drunk with her lunch. Still, she reached again for the now empty glass feeling sick.
“Now,” Narcisa continued, in her normal bulldog style, not finished making her painful point. “I’m not saying that your thing with Ridley is the same. What I’m saying is, take the time to ensure it’s not the same.”
“How?”
“By being thoughtful. Don’t idealize him. How is he as a person? Is he a good man? Is he respectful of you? How is it when you’re together? Does he even really like you?”
“Ouch.”
“Babe, I don’t mean it like that. I just mean stop with the lovesickness. You’re a physicist for God’s sake.”
“No, I’m really not.”
“Here we go with the self-defeating impostor syndrome again. Stop! You were making moves in a novel space where they were actively trying to undermine you. As my girl Brittney says, you were an infiltrator. Own that,” Narcisa corrected her. She patted her best friend’s hand, which sat limply on the table. “Anyway, mi amor , if anyone’s equipped to consider this logically, it’s you. Does the way this Ridley treats you equate with actually liking you? Or are you getting mixed signals? Does being with him make you feel uncertain or appreciated?”
“Narcisa, it’s too soon for all that.” It wasn’t. Lanie knew the answers to a lot of that already.
Narcisa nodded. “Okay, that’s good that you even realize that.”
That was the problem, and it only left her more confused. She bristled at how stupidly immature this whole conversation made her feel.