Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jeff
Devon is doing remarkably well for an un-drugged, self-proclaimed “terrible traveler.” Though it could be the upgraded business class seats—excuse me, cabins—that are keeping her somewhat serene.
I wanted this experience to be less stressful for her and it was worth it to see her reaction as she blinked back tears and told me I shouldn’t have.
But as amazing as the seats are with their lie-flat feature, private stocked mini-bar, and widescreen TVs, there is an unfortunate divider between our “cabins” that prevents Devon from curling into my side for the two-and-a-half-hour flight.
She’s been unusually quiet since I showed up in her classroom.
Devon is many things, but silent is rarely one of them.
Her foot is tapping against the plastic that separates us, the only sign of her nerves that I can find while she listens to something through the plush noise-cancelling headphones the airline provided.
She nods and shuts her eyes, agreeing with whoever is speaking in her ears.
She pulls her lip between her teeth, chews on it thoughtfully. I nearly climb over the divider.
Her eyes open and she meets my gaze. Slides her headphones back around her neck.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hey.”
She reaches her hand over the partition and I take it, playing with the bracelets that dangle at her wrist.
“Who’s talking to you over there?” I ask.
She lifts her phone off her lap and presses the screen, so her Coursera app pops up. It’s not the first time I’ve caught her taking courses. She’s told me how much she loves to learn. This time it’s a Science of Happiness series.
“Doctor Eleanor Basantis,” I read. “She’s the one you mentioned on our first not-a-date.”
She nods.
I wait for her to go on. She knocks on the partition. Sits up on her knees so she can see me completely over top of it.
“Can you get the stewardess to remove this thing?” she asks.
I smile as she grips the divider and gives it a shake, like she might be able to loosen it and lift it from between us. A flight attendant passes and gives Devon a strange look. She lifts her palms upward in surrender.
“Tell me about the lecture before you get us thrown off the plane,” I tell her.
“Could they do that?”
“Yup.”
“Ok. Well, this woman I told you about—Dr. Basantis—saw a spike in mental health issues in her high-achieving students some years back and recognized a need for something new. Something that would benefit her pupils for the long run.” Her hands are flying as she speaks, her eyes bright and alive.
“So, she designed this course that basically reinvents the way you think. It challenges all the norms that society has traditionally accepted about happiness. It’s had the highest enrollment in the history of her school. She’s incredible.”
“And what science is she using?” I ask. I could listen to her talk about this for hours. The way every word is infused with her passion for the subject. I’ve grown accustomed to her fire. It warms me.
“Neuroscience. Studies from UCLA. Harvard. Princeton. NIMH. Ummmm. Other major research facilities. Do you want to listen with me?”
Her lips are parted while she waits, brows lifted like she’s just asked me to take her to prom.
“Yeah. I do,” I tell her. And she actually bounces a little in her seat. Even if I wasn’t interested—which I am—that reaction would have been enough to sit through hours of tedium.
She starts to root around her purse for her splitter, muttering into the bag at her feet. “You’re coming into the game a little late; I’m nearing the end of her lessons. Top of the fifth inning—”
“Bottom of the ninth,” I correct.
“Mmmhmm. So basically, what you’ve missed is that she’s disproving the concept of more money, more happiness.
There’s a threshold. A Goldilocks-just-right number.
” She pops back up from rootling through her bag and holds out her hand for my headphone cord.
I place it in her palm and let my hand linger on hers. She meets my gaze and smiles.
“I’m really excited to share this with you. Is that weird?” she asks. Her smile falters for a moment, self-conscious.
I lift my hand from hers, trail my finger along the side of her perfect face.
“I want you to share everything with me,” I tell her.
She presses her lips together and my chest tightens.
Too much? Is she searching for a parachute?
Her eyes glisten in the overhead cabin light that I’ve kept on to read the legal thriller I grabbed at the newsstand at the airport.
Then she smiles again, and I see what I’ve been hoping for.
She’s happy. Tears-in-her-eyes and all-choked-up happy.
The kind of happiness I want to see on her always.
“I think I’d like that,” she whispers, leaning over the divider. There’s so much relief at hearing her say that.
I kiss her until the plastic between us becomes unbearable against my ribs.
“You ready?” she asks breathlessly, her thumb hovering over the play button.
I’m ready, Devon. Ready for anything you ask of me.
I match her grin and nod. She sits back in her chair.
Her eyes close as Dr. Basantis’s voice fills my head.
And though I give the lecture my full attention, listening closely to the documented studies about how much money is optimal for contentment, I can still hear the sound of that nagging voice in my head, reminding me that Devon and I need to talk.
“A study at Princeton University did show a positive correlation between happiness and wealth, but only to the threshold of $75,000…”
But did this study take into account if your mother was about to lose her business or her home?
Devon’s hand finds me over the partition and she wraps her fingers in mine and squeezes. I shut my eyes and lean my head back. I need to tell her how I feel about her. I need to tell her about my interview on Saturday and that this is the job I want.
“A similar study in the UK saw that doubling someone’s pay increased their happiness by less than 0.2 while having a partner saw a happiness rise of 0.6 and a close relationship with family saw a rise of 0.4…”
I don’t need to choose between the three.
We will make this work. I can get the 0.
2, the 0.6, and the 0.4. I just need to tell her.
I picture Meredith shaking her head at me, telling me to woman-up and do what needs to be done.
I look over at Devon, her eyes narrowed at the window as she nods along to the lecture.
Tonight. I’ll tell her tonight.