Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Alis
“So, we’re doing this. I want this — us.” I gesture between us with my fork, as if ‘us’ requires defining. “However,” I start, “I need rules.”
“Rules?” Dexter repeats. “What kinds of rules?” He continues eating, and I’m thankful he doesn’t plan to interject while I explain myself.
“Well, first, we can’t be ‘together’ on campus.
” I’m surprised he doesn’t shoot me an annoyed look; he simply nods, finishes his bite, and asks, “By together you mean we can’t act like a couple, correct?
Because it’s kind of difficult to never be together when you’re my grader.
And before you say it — don’t even think about stopping our weekly lunch meetings. ”
I roll my eyes at his assertiveness. “That’s not what I was going to say. Yes, I mean we cannot act like a couple on campus. And no, I don’t plan on canceling our weekly lunch meetings. But I don’t want to meet alone in your office.”
This perplexes him. “We meet alone in my office all the time.”
“This is true, but all of those meetings took place before us.” Flashbacks of Margaret opening Dr. Ryan’s office door, seeing me at my lowest point.
The things she insinuated and the insults she attacked me with that day will forever haunt me.
A shiver runs down my spine. Loathing and bitterness and anger I’ve buried so deeply for so long.
I try to keep a lid on it, but my next words are sharp — too sharp.
“It’s non-negotiable, Dexter. I’m serious. I will not meet with you alone in your office ever again. We can discuss whatever we need to discuss in your pod conference room, at a picnic table on campus, or even at Nico’s. But not in your office. Never again in your office.”
Dexter never resumed eating once I made this my hill to die on, and he can’t hide the hurt on his face. “You don’t actually think I’d try anything with you in my office, do you?”
Way to go, Alis. You’re off to a great start with this relationship thing.
“It’s not that, exactly,” I begin. “It’s just …
” I pause, not wanting to rehash the past. Not wanting to make a mountain out of a molehill.
Not wanting to explain to Dexter something that never actually happened in the first place.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, honestly.
The need to remain strictly professional while on campus is important to me, okay?
I’m not trying to hide from anyone, but I, personally, need the separation.
I won’t clam up and push you away if and when someone from MPU sees us out to dinner or somewhere else, but on campus, I need for you to be Dr. Belanger and for me to be Alis, your grader.
When it inevitably gets out that we’re together, I don’t want there to be any question about our working relationship and whether or not we’ve done anything inappropriate.
I can’t have my professional integrity called into question. Or yours.”
“Speaking of,” I continue, but Dexter does interject this time.
“I already spoke with Abigail about us.” I freeze. What did he just say?!
“You did what?” I ask, once again failing miserably at holding back the sharpness in my tone.
“When? And for fuck’s sake, Dexter, why?
!” I don’t lose my cool like this. Not ever.
It’s as if making the decision to succumb to my feelings for Dexter and then kissing him senseless in the car has snapped every bit of self-control I once possessed.
I am now a loose canon, full of emotions, without walls to keep everything carefully contained within.
I can’t do this. Feel all of — of this. Everything. All of it. The feelings. All of them. I can’t even form complete thoughts right now. When the hell did my internal monologue derail itself and crash into a forest of stuttering trees?!
I can feel my heart rate rise in my chest. The tension. The panic. What is happening to me right now?! I don’t panic. I don’t worry. I don’t take control of kisses with men and devour them. I don’t fantasize about removing their clothing with my teeth. A PROFESSOR’S CLOTHING. WITH. MY. TEETH.
I feel the bench cushion shift, and then Dexter is next to me, his arm wrapped around my shoulder, and he pulls me into his body. “Shhh,” he soothes. “Everything is alright. You are alright. We are alright. Just breathe, Alis.”
Feeling him pull me close, the tension begins to seep from my body. The ominous spots dancing at the periphery of my vision retreat, and I draw my first deep breath in seemingly endless minutes. What just happened?
“Do you often get panic attacks?” Dexter’s voice is tender, his hand tracing comforting paths up and down my arm.
“No,” my reply is a whisper, a lingering dizziness and confusion clouding my thoughts, perplexed by this sudden emotional tempest. He holds me firmly, his lips gently kissing my temple, instilling in me a sense of safety that has been absent for years.
“I’m not sure what triggered it,” I lie. “Not specifically, I mean.” My mind races — so many bags to unpack. Bags I didn’t even realize were in my possession. These emotions are too complex to unpack in a one-hour lunch break.
“Do you trust me?” Dexter's question hangs in the air, his arm steadfast around me, yet he pulls back just enough to allow our eyes to meet. My response is as candid as my tangled emotions allow, “I don’t know. I want to. I mean, I do. I…”
He interrupts gently, “It’s okay, Alis. There’s no need for a definitive answer right now.
Trust is a journey; it takes time. I know you trust me; you just haven’t realized it yet.
” My brows knit together at his calm confidence, particularly because I don’t understand how he can be so calm, so sure, when I feel anything but.
“May I explain why I spoke with Abigail concerning my feelings for you?” he asks. Had he worded the revelation this way the first time I probably wouldn’t have reacted so harshly.
“Please,” I nod for him to continue.
“You aren’t the only person who has struggled with keeping their feelings at bay.
I haven’t felt a connection like this with any woman, ever, and before I threw caution to the wind and began a true pursuit of you, I needed to know that I wouldn’t jeopardize your future in the process.
” Alis remains close to me, her maintained eye contact provides the assurance I need to continue.
“I may have seemed reckless and even overstepped when I came to your apartment uninvited and when I held your hand the other night, but I’m navigating uncharted waters here.
You’ve shared enough pieces of yourself with me that I know what, and who, is most important to you, and all of those things are important to me as well.
I can’t regret the time you spent keeping me at arm’s length because those months provided me the time I needed to decide that I want this — us — you.
And not just you, but Sunny. I want a life together.
I want to support you in your dreams and do everything in my power to help you succeed.
I want to learn how to be the partner you need, the man you want.
I want to know Sunny and bond with her. I want to take walks together in my neighborhood.
I want it to be our neighborhood. Our home. Our life. Our family. Our future.”
Is he insane? That’s the only logical explanation for what he just said. “You’ve known me for a little more than three months, and you’re saying you want to, what, marry me?” The incredulity in my tone cannot be missed.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” His gaze doesn’t waver, nor does his resolve.
“I would never risk your future or your integrity for anything, Alis. I didn’t talk with Abigail about my feelings for you because I needed reassurance that this is right.
I went to her because I know you, and I knew that without absolute certainty that us being together is not violating any school rules or code of ethics, you would never even consider being with me. ”
Tears well in my eyes, precariously close to spilling, and my lower lip quivers involuntarily.
This. This is the embodiment of being truly known.
Of being meticulously studied. It transcends being merely noticed, even beyond being considered; it’s being genuinely seen, authentically understood.
At this moment, two revelations crystallize within me: 1) The day my sister passed marked my inaugural journey into deep, inescapable loneliness, and 2) For the first time since that heart-shattering day, the oppressive weight of loneliness gently lifts.
“First you say we should let things take their course, then you say you want to marry me.”
“Yes,” he responds, not seeing his own contradiction.
“Do you not see the juxtaposition of those two statements?”
That panty-dropping half-smile appears on his face, accompanied by a glint of humor in his eyes.
Pulling me once again closer to him, Dexter buries his face into my hair and whispers, “Do not take Fitzgerald’s words out of context.
You and I both know Lois said those words to herself as she penned that telegram to Howard, confirming their elopement.
Letting things take their course doesn’t necessitate taking things slowly.
If anything, it’s a call to relinquish control.
To surrender to fate. To stop fighting against the inevitable. ”
He’s right, of course. I mumble, “If cowardice is all that’s been holding me back there won’t be any more holding back.”
I can feel his smile against the side of my head. He chuckles, “Thank God.”
Pulling back once again, Dexter asks, “Any more rules?”
“I won’t sit here and pretend to know anything about being in a relationship. Nor will I sit here and attempt to make sense of the tangle of thoughts and emotions fighting for dominance inside me. I just need space to work through it all. No more rules, though.”
“Glad to hear it,” he says, lifting his arm from around me to pull his wallet from his back pocket. Dexter signals for the server, handing him cash to cover both the meal and a tip when he arrives with our bill.
“Ready to head back?” he asks, and all I can think about is how badly I need a nap after feeling so much in a short amount of time.
“Sure thing.” Sliding out of the booth, Dexter grasps my hand as we walk toward the exit and back to his Range Rover. He’s opened the passenger door and I’m about to climb in when I stop, turn to him, and gently kiss him on the lips.
“Dexter,” I say, “thank you.” He smiles sweetly down at me, pressing another kiss to my mouth.
“And be patient with me. I sound like a broken record, but I truly have no idea how to navigate any of this. I’ve only ever had one true partner in my life, and she died.
I don’t think I realized how deeply her passing affected my ability to connect with people because until moving here, until meeting you, everyone close to me had always been there.
They knew Belle, they knew me, and they knew the depth of the bond we shared.
They never pushed me to work through my grief because they were all too busy carrying their own.
Not only that, but then even as time passed and life moved forward, they didn’t know I needed pushing.
Belle was always the person encouraging me to take risks and live outside the safety of my own thoughts, but she did it so subtly that I don’t think anyone truly grasped the weight of her role in my life.
I’m not saying I feel incomplete without her or that I’m incapable of loving someone because I’m irreparably broken, but with you, Dexter, I’m so far outside my wheelhouse I can’t even think straight.
“You’re a chapter that began in a life that Belle will never be a part of, and while that reality terrifies me, the truth is that this isn’t the first chapter she’s missed.
I just didn’t realize time continued moving forward until I made the decision to take an intentional step forward with my life.
It’s easy to ignore the progression of time when you’re surrounded by the familiar. ”
“You might be the most self-aware person I’ve ever known.” Did he not hear a single word I said?
“I just told you I don’t know my left from my right, and you say I’m self-aware?”
“Let’s go,” Dexter says, helping me into my seat before closing the door and walking around to his side of the vehicle.
We’re quiet during the drive back to campus. Dexter holds my hand and strokes his thumb over my knuckles. His touch quiets the chaos inside me, and the reprieve is heavenly.
He stops in front of my car and lifts my hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to my fingers.
“Awareness and understanding are two very different things, Alis. Awareness is the first step; understanding comes with time, research, and a hell of a lot of hard work.”
I let out an exasperated sigh and wave my other hand around my head, saying, “I believe understanding any of this is impossible.”
He smiles, a hint of both mischief and determination in his eyes. “Why, Alis, sometimes, I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”
Pulling my hand from his, I swat his arm and laugh. “Smart ass,” I quip.
Dexter feigns offense. “Who? Me, or Lewis Carroll?”
“Both,” I say. He concedes. “You aren’t wrong.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask as I gather my purse and step out of the car.
“Tomorrow,” he nods, smile wide, eyes happy, body relaxed.
I haven’t felt this warm, this hopeful, in a very, very long time.