Nerd Girl (16 page)

We ate our meals initially in silence. It was a welcome distraction from my thoughts. I could tell he was thinking about it, too, but I wasn’t going to press him to share. We sampled each other’s entrees again, holding out a fork for the other to taste. He still hadn’t said much since we received our food, so I decided to break the silence.

“Please don’t think I’m this bitter person. It’s been several months now. I’m ready to move on. I’m not a toxic person, really. I know when to let things go.”

“No, that’s not it at all.” He shook his head and gazed at me with complete seriousness. “You deserve someone who’s as sure about his relationship and feelings for you as you are about him. To do anything less or to be with anyone who isn’t certain about their feelings for you would be a tragedy. You would be settling.”

“Oh,” I muttered. Another completely disarming comment from him reduced me to speechlessness.
How does he do this to me?
I attempted then to turn the tables.

“What about you? Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” I asked tentatively.

There was a long pause. In those few seconds, my heart stopped and I braced myself for disappointment. The idea of him being with someone else caused me physical pain. Does a heart actually clench? My physical reaction took me by surprise. What was that?

But instead of saying he had a girlfriend; he said something else that totally surprised me. “We’re … taking a break.”

He didn’t offer up any further information. Raising one eyebrow, I wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “You twisted my arm to have me give you my whole sad story. Now I want to hear yours.”

He chuckled. “I guess that’s only fair.” He rubbed his chin again with his thumb and forefinger. I wondered if this was a habit of his. Did he always rub his chin when he was deep in thought?

“We had been together for a long time,” Ryan started slowly.

“How long?”

“Seven years.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. That was intimidatingly long and more than twice as long as Andrew and I had been together.

“I think we just fell into our relationship out of convenience. Before I knew it, a year became three, and then the relationship became like part of the scenery.”

“If I were your ex-girlfriend, I would’ve cringed at the thought of being referred to as part of the scenery.”

He looked down and chuckled, like he was experiencing a private joke. “Well, you’re definitely not part of the scenery.”

Whatever he implied by that sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I looked at him, perplexed, but he ignored me.

“It’s complicated,” he said and paused, trying to come up with the right words. “I never really questioned our relationship. I just kind of took it for granted that she was always there. I never really pursued her.” He spoke like it was a revelation. “I was really busy with my career. I worked some insane hours when I first started working at MS. I never really had much time for anything else. She works for MS as well.” He eyed me carefully to gauge my reaction to this news. I wasn’t surprised, though. “She was building her career and in the same boat as me. It was just convenient, frankly.”

I knew all about convenience. I’m starting to think that Andrew was really just convenient.

“I know that sounds sort of harsh, but it worked for us at the time. I’m not sure if she ever thought of me as more than the scenery either, come to think of it.”

“That’s so sad,” I said. “I’m amazed you guys stayed together for as long as you did. Didn’t you realize that something was missing in your relationship?”

“Like what? You mean fireworks and chemistry and the idea of wanting someone so bad you can hardly breathe?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Yes, exactly like that,” I said in almost a whisper.

“Well, I honestly thought stuff like that really didn’t exist, until...” His voice trailed off and he looked out towards the bay. “I had my doubts for a long time about her. I wanted to think that there was more, but it took me a while to figure it out.”

He shrugged and looked directly at me. “I want to explore who else is out there.”

“You want to see if a relationship with fireworks and chemistry actually exists.” It was statement rather than a question.

He nodded and looked at me with a straight face. “Yes.”

I got a warm, tingly feeling inside me. Fireworks–check. Chemistry–check. Wanting someone so bad I could hardly breathe–did my heart just skip a beat?

On our way out, we passed by a fortune teller. Ever since I could remember, even when I came here during my college years, the same palm reader sat in the corner near the entrance to the terrace. She charged ten dollars per reading. I’d never had my palm read before.

As we walked past her, she beckoned us to come forward. Ryan and I looked at each other, smiled, and agreed to a reading. I giggled like a teenager. Maybe it was the midday glass of wine, or the appreciation of being in one another’s company, but we were both in a good mood and the idea of getting our fortunes read seemed like a hopeful thing to do.

I sat down first.

The woman in front of me wasn’t dressed like I expected a fortune teller to be dressed. There was no gypsy scarf on her head or jewelry dangling from her wrists or neck. She looked more like a slightly overweight grandmother.

She took my hand in hers and started with her observations. “You are not the creative type, are you? You have more of a good business head.”

I looked up at Ryan, who was curiously observing and chuckled. “Not necessarily a bad thing,” he said.

“See this line here?” the fortune teller continued. “It means you will be very rich someday. It is your good business sense.”

Ryan smirked.

“And here, this means you hold too much tension in your stomach area. You will give yourself an ulcer if you’re not careful. You need to take care of your liver, too.”

“Time to cut down on the liquor, babe.” Ryan lifted his hand in a drinking gesture with the thumb pretending to be the head of a bottle.

He said
“
babe
.” I liked that endearment coming from him, even if his comment was only meant to tease me.

“And this is your love line. Family and love is what keeps you grounded.”

This part of the reading was admittedly where I was most curious.

“You’ve searched for a long time and you’ve had much heartbreak. This is because you love too deeply.” She looked up at Ryan. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“No,” I said too quickly and then blushed. I glanced quickly at Ryan from the corner of eye. He looked impassive, but I thought I saw his jaw twitch.

“Well, that is too bad.” She looked at Ryan. “She is a beautiful woman, is she not?”

“Yes, she is,” he confirmed.

I looked back at the fortune teller and blushed.

“But if he is not your boyfriend, then it is unlucky for him, because you will find a great love in your life.”

Ryan exaggerated being wounded in the heart.

“When?” I asked with piqued curiosity.

“I do not know for certain, but perhaps soon,” I noticed she looked at Ryan when she said it. “Your hand shows that you have been searching and have suffered heartache. But, then, see here where the line grows smooth to the end? You will find a great, deep love for the rest of your life.” She smiled at me and returned my hand.

“Thank you,” I said happily. “Now, that was worth ten dollars.” I looked to Ryan. “Your turn.”

He backed away, laughing, shaking his hand in protest in front of him. “Oh, no you don’t,” he warned. He quickly placed a twenty dollar bill in the woman’s hand, grabbed mine, and scooted us out of there as fast as he could. As he led me to the door, I turned back around to wave goodbye to the fortune teller. I swore I thought I saw her winking at Ryan. At the top of the stairs, we exited the restaurant and headed back out into Post Alley. It was almost three o’clock by the time we left the Pink Door.

He let go of my hand, much to my disappointment. “Do you have time to walk around?”

“Sure. I have a couple hours before I need to head home.”

It was crowded and people were elbow to elbow. We walked through the market vendor stands and by the famous fish-throwing stands. It was always popular with the tourists, but the seafood cost an arm and a leg. The salty smell of fish and ocean lingered in the air. We walked through the cobblestone paths, past the vegetable and fruit stands. Ryan took my hand again and led me through the crowd, down the stairs to the lower market shops. I was almost giddy feeling the warmth of my hand in his bigger one, perfectly content to follow him anywhere.

The next thing I knew, he pulled me into a used bookstore. He said he loved old book stores and could spend hours in one. Why did I find that so freakin’ attractive? It must be the nerd in me. We walked around the store, looking at the titles and displays. He kept hold of my hand while we roamed the bookshelves. There was a distinct musty odor, but not offending; it was that old college library smell I remembered from my days at the UW great library, books and must and mold and pencil shavings.

I noticed a used copy of Jane Eyre and picked it up. “I love this book. I love Brontë and Austen. They wrote such timeless love stories,” I said casually. “If you think about it, the common person didn’t have typewriters or editors; or at least, I don’t think they did. The concept of marketing was probably only by word of mouth. The thing that made these stories persist over time was the quality of the writing and the stories themselves. Jane Eyre was so beautifully written.”

“Why do all women love these books so much?”

I gave him a reprimanding look. He looked back at me, feigning innocence.

“Their love stories were so simple, really,” I explained. “It only took a single meeting or a letter or a look across the room before they wanted to profess their love for one another. Their love consumed their whole existence.”

“Simple? I totally disagree.” Ryan shook his head emphatically. “One of the main reasons why these books are such popular stories is because their stories are so
complicated
. They’re the total opposite of simple. Their social structure and etiquette makes it even more so. Each story is a misunderstanding, a long journey that the author takes the reader on, and telling the story is lengthy enough to be book worthy. It is definitely
not
simple.”

Touché
.

He continued to press his point. “I mean, look at Rochester. He hid a wife from his governess, from the whole house for that matter. That’s not simple. Did he honestly think he could get away with hiding someone behind the wall?”

“Okay, you win!” I held up my hands in defeat. “Closet Brontë fan, I see.”

He smirked at my comment, but looked smug.

“You’re right,” I conceded. “I guess love makes you desperate and people do irrational things. These stories are far from simple. It was an incorrect choice of words. I meant that their love was pure and all consuming—Jane and Rochester, Catherine and Heathcliff, Elizabeth and Darcy. Satisfied?”

“Yes,” he said smugly.

“I guess I wonder why people always have to make things so darn complicated. I think the best love stories, the real ones, at least, are those that aren’t complicated. No drama, no issues. People meet, fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after. They just know. I’ve never had that. Maybe that’s why I’m still single.”

“I’m seeing a pattern here with you. You don’t like the color gray,” he observed and then added with a mischievous look, “The best love stories are complicated, because it wouldn’t sell books otherwise.”

I purposely tried to shove him playfully with my shoulder to protest his cavalier attitude. I stumbled in my attempt and fell into him. He lost his balance and grabbed both of my shoulders to prevent his fall. He ended up stumbling into the bookshelf behind him, taking me with him, but we somehow remained standing on our feet.

“Whoa!” he laughed.

We were in the back of the bookstore and he was smiling and holding me close. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my cheeks. I had the strongest urge to kiss him. He looked down at my lips and I knew he wanted to kiss me too. It was just one of those perfect kissing moments, like the kind you read about in books, no pun intended. There was electricity in the air and a pulling force bringing our heads closer together. Just when I thought he was going to touch his lips onto mine, an older gentleman walked into the aisle. Ryan suddenly released me so quickly that I stumbled backwards and had to brace myself by throwing my hand out onto another bookshelf. It felt a little like whiplash.

The gentleman coughed uncomfortably as he maneuvered himself past us, mumbling, “Excuse me.”

“Come on. We should probably get you home,” Ryan said and led me back out to the market aisles. “We still have to pick up your car, remember?”

Despite our interrupted moment, I smiled to myself, because he was still holding my hand. “What are you doing this evening?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

He shrugged. “No plans.”

“Really?” I must have sounded sympathetic.

“Yeah, really.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m a big boy,” he assured me.

Before I could stop myself, it was out of my mouth. “Well, would you like to join me and my friends for dinner? It would be with my sister Anna and her fiancé, Ethan. My friend, Dexter, is also visiting from London.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m good. It’s really nice of you to ask, though,” he said politely.

“No, I mean it. I would love it if you would join us,” I implored with as much persuasion as I could muster. “Anna will harass you, so I’m warning you. But … I just don’t want to say goodbye to you yet.” I smiled shyly up at him, knowing I had stolen his line from earlier.

He returned my smile with his boyish, ear to ear, dimpled grin, that smile that I was beginning to love so much. “Okay, sounds like fun.”