The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. (31 page)

What Greer lacked in strict rectitude, she made up for in more feminine virtues, such as warmth and compassion. Like Hannah,
she was lively and fun to be around. Unlike Elisa, she was willing to do things he enjoyed. She also had a strong caring impulse. She liked to cook for him and to generally see to it that he was well taken care of. Initially, he found this surprising in a girl who was so wild in bed (though the whole sex-between-Greer-and-anotherwoman didn’t happen, and as time wore on, and their dynamic changed, it grew increasingly unlikely ever to happen).

Greer had met his parents briefly at his book party, but in the spring he took her to Maryland to spend time with them. He was struck by how much nicer to them she was than Elisa had been. They didn’t, on the whole, like her, he could tell. Or, rather, his father liked her okay, and his mother, who was critical of all the women he dated, hardly bothered to conceal, underneath an imperiously cordial bearing, a sniffy personal distaste. Nate, full of tenderness and gratitude for how hard Greer tried, attempted to paper over his mother’s coolness.

Although that kernel of uncertainty kept him keenly awake to his feeling for her—he couldn’t help fearing that Greer’s inexplicable attachment to him would turn off as suddenly and as mysteriously as it had turned on—he was also, over time, afflicted from the other end, by her jealousy. Whether he liked it or not, this was a fact of life, part and parcel of being with Greer. The fear of a jealous fit imposed limitations on not only his behavior but his conversation. Nate toned down his praise of other women, even of their writing. Aurit became a sore subject. (“I’ve never been attracted to her!” Nate insisted. But Greer, he finally realized, was astute enough to know that. She was jealous not of Aurit’s sexual appeal but of the respect he had for her, grudging and qualified though it seemed to him. “You treat whatever Aurit says as if it has special weight because she said it,” Greer said once. “If I say the same thing as she did, you act like her agreeing with me gives what I said legitimacy.”)

Greer was always on the lookout for ways she was being belittled or denied her due. Never would Nate have checked out
another woman when he was sitting across from her. He didn’t know if she’d wave her steak knife in the vicinity of his heart or start crying, but it didn’t matter because it never happened.

They celebrated their six-month anniversary. “I guess you don’t have a problem with relationships after all,” Aurit remarked one day, on one of the ever-rarer occasions that she and Nate got together, just the two of them. “I guess you just hadn’t met the right person.”

Although Aurit had mostly come around on Greer—had come to respect her feminism and emotional insight, even if the two of them hadn’t really hit it off as friends—something in her tone irritated Nate. “Maybe it was just the right time,” he said, largely to contradict her.

Aurit narrowed her eyes. “Do you know that you often subtly undermine Greer when she’s not around?”

“Well, I can’t very well do it when she is around, now can I?”

Aurit didn’t look especially amused.

“Relax, I was kidding,” he said. “I just think timing has something to do with it. Don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Aurit said. “For women, it’s almost always the right time.” She spoke rather edgily. Hans was just then considering going back to Germany because he still hadn’t found a job in New York. “The thing that I think sucks,” she added after a moment, “is that whenever you—men, I mean—decide that it is the right time, there’s always someone available for you to take up with.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Nate said. “What about Peter? Or Eugene?”

“Eugene has a toxic chip on his shoulder. And Peter lives in Buttfuck, Maine.”

Despite what he’d said to Aurit, Nate did feel that he’d simply found the right person. After the first few months—which, between the sex, her moods, and their fights, had been for him a dizzying adventure—he and Greer began to fight less. Over time,
ground was ceded, claims granted. Now he always took Greer’s calls when he was out. He was supportive in certain required ways. (He had learned, for example, that it was
not
ridiculous for her to want him to come over in the middle of the night because a friend of a friend had been mugged the evening before and she felt scared.) If sometimes he felt frustrated by her demands, he felt something else, too: his very exasperation contained the suprisingly pleasant reassurance that he was reasonable, far more reasonable than she was. Besides, he had come to accept that he was happier, more productive, less distracted by loneliness and horniness with a girlfriend than without. If that meant he had to make certain compromises for the sake of the relationship, so be it.

There were times when he was embarrassed by Greer, when he cringed a little inside. She could be too much—too cutesy and childish, too likely to proudly proclaim a poorly thought-out and poorly informed opinion, too self-enamored to see that she sometimes betrayed a glib superficiality that at its worst bordered on vulgarity. But these were just isolated moments, flashes of feeling that passed quickly. And who was he to judge? He—bookish, moody, work-focused as he was—certainly wasn’t perfect. Perhaps what disturbed him more was an occasional feeling of loneliness. Sometimes Greer, in perfect innocence, would say something that devastated him, a remark that in its substance or even in its mere elisions expressed volumes of casual, reflexive indifference to, even derision toward, many of the things he cared about most. Certain aspects of who he was were simply incomprehensible to her. It was all just “intellectual whatever.” For Greer, writing was a way of monetizing her charisma. It allowed her to spend her time thinking about what she most liked thinking about: herself, her feelings. It was impossible for him to explain to her what it was for him, what certain books, and a certain type of thinking, were to him. He didn’t really try. It’d probably come out sounding wrong anyway—hollow. Pretentious.

Such talk wasn’t really what their relationship was about anyway. Their conversations were flirty and cheering, a change of pace, especially after a day of work. With her, Nate went into Greer mode, which was lighter, more indulgent, sillier than his normal way of being. This granted him a certain amount of privacy. He retained a separate self, distinct from his Greer self, which was untouched, free, no matter how obliged his physical person was to, say, come to Greer’s aid when she got scared. And the truth was, even then, when he trekked out to her apartment in the middle of the night, he was almost always glad to see her. Even after the passage of so much time, the particular way that Greer was pretty called out to him deeply. There was about her, in her smile, her sweet little laugh, her light, birdlike touch, her very littleness, something that didn’t just turn him on but made him positively feel—well, something he’d never felt before.

One day Greer asked if he’d broken up with Hannah for her. Nate made the mistake of saying not really. “It was on its last legs anyway.”

“So am I, like, your rebound thing?” she snapped. “I know you think she’s
so
smart.”

“Greer! I was never even serious about Hannah. You and I have already been going out for longer than she and I went out for.”

Nate learned a few days later that Hannah had sold her book proposal. Greer had probably heard that, too; it was probably what set her off. Privately, Nate was glad for Hannah. He had a fondness for her that was not really changed by the way things had broken down at the end. He thought of her sometimes, thought of things he’d like to tell her, observations she’d appreciate, and felt a pang of disappointment when he realized that was impossible. Sometimes he thought of the good times they’d had together, but more often, those memories were drowned out by the recollection of his unhappiness toward the end.

He felt guilty when he thought of various women in his past (although he was pleased, and somewhat egotistically relieved, to hear, from both Jason and Aurit, that Juliet’s wedding announcement was in the
Times
one Sunday). When he thought of Hannah, he felt something else as well. He and Hannah had related on levels that he and Greer didn’t. This was not, for Nate, a comfortable thought. His relationship with Hannah had shown him things about himself that he wasn’t entirely proud of, about what he really valued in a woman and what he claimed to value but in fact could live without.

When he and Greer had been together for a little over a year, they decided to move in together. It seemed to make sense. Things were going well with them. His lease was up. Even he had to admit his apartment left something to be desired. Greer’s wasn’t great, either.

In the midst of packing, he took a break to go to Cara’s birthday party. Over time, Cara had grown on him some. She was a nice person. Nate had even, at Mark’s request, helped her get a job, putting in a good word for her with a magazine editor who needed an assistant. The important thing was that she and Mark were happy (although, out of her hearing, Mark did spend an awful lot of time riffing about how “women” lack humor).

Before the party, Nate was to have dinner with Jason and Aurit and Hans, who had decided to stick it out in New York after all, and Peter, who was in town, and Peter’s new girlfriend. He’d actually met someone up in Maine. She was nice, Peter’s new girlfriend, an archivist in Portland. Cute, too, if a little out of place in New York, in her ponytail and fleece jacket.

Greer had texted him earlier in the day to say she wouldn’t be joining them. Nate felt a little guilty that he was relieved. When Greer hung out with his friends, she invariably wound up feeling bad. She thought they didn’t think she was smart enough for them,
or for him. There was no way for Nate to explain that that wasn’t it. It was a matter of conversational style. Greer liked to charm and entertain with her Greerness, to regale the group with tales of her latest quirky hobby or comic misadventure—her half-ironic interest in astrology and consequent visit to a psychic, her run-in with a neighbor who complained about the garlic smell emanating from her apartment when she cooked. Maybe a pet theory about reality television or 1990s teen movies. The kind of impersonal argument, aggressive back-and-forth, and different brand of humor that he and Jason and Aurit and Peter engaged in made Greer feel left out, even rebuffed. But contrary to what Greer thought, his friends liked her fine. They were happy to pay tribute to her charm for five minutes in the beginning of the evening and at interstices throughout, between conversations, but the bulk of the time, they simply wanted to talk normally—that is, in the way that was normal for them. There was no way for Nate to explain this to Greer without hurting her feelings.

Over dinner, Jason told him that Elisa had been promoted at the newsmagazine where she now worked.

At Greer’s request, Nate had ceased to be in touch with Elisa. This turned out to be for the best. Elisa derived satisfaction from the fact that Greer found her so threatening that she forbade Nate from seeing or speaking to her. From Jason, Nate learned that Elisa remarked on this whenever the opportunity arose. Nate didn’t doubt that the triumph of that was more than adequate compensation for giving up what even Elisa must have known was a pretty dysfunctional friendship. (Besides, she had been a lot happier since taking the new job; she’d started dating a reporter there.) Nate, for his part, was mostly relieved to be free of the burden of Elisa, without having had to make the decision to drop her himself. And Greer, naturally, enjoyed this proof of her power to effect speedy sacrifice.

Nate told his friends that his book had been long-listed for a fairly prestigious award. He tried to downplay it, but he was in fact extremely pleased. To celebrate, they made him drink a glass
of a dessert wine that Hans insisted was considered good luck in Germany.

They walked from the restaurant to the party. Nate didn’t intend to stay long. He had a lot of packing to do.

He’d been at the party for only a little while when he saw Hannah on the far side of Cara’s living room. He made her out just in time to see her see him. She flinched and immediately turned away. When Nate looked back, she was gone.

He went into the kitchen to get a drink. Hannah was by the refrigerator. He had hoped to find her. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

Her voice was cool, her expression unreadable. He said it was good to see her. She smiled blandly and looked as if she wished he wasn’t there.

Nate held a beer in one hand. In his pocket, the fingers of the other coiled and uncoiled against his thigh. He realized he wanted to tell Hannah he was sorry. Or something. But he was afraid it would come out wrong. Patronizing. He decided to do it anyway. Greer told him he overthought these sorts of things, and she was often right.

He took a breath and plunged ahead. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry. About a lot of things. Really. I was an ass.”

Hannah’s expression became a little less guarded. She said yeah, he kind of was. But she said it a little wryly, more amused than angry. After a moment, she started to apologize, too. “I shouldn’t have written what I—” She blushed.

He realized what she was referring to. Perhaps he colored as well. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

She looked away from him. But there was something arch in the way she sucked in her lips. Nate shrugged and rolled his eyes conspiratorially. She met his glance. Nate felt, more than saw, some kind of recognition of camaraderie. For an instant, the embarrassments—the disappointments—of the past were a grim joke that they alone shared.

He noticed that her hair was subtly different, still straight and falling past her shoulders but a little more fashionably cut. She was wearing more makeup than he remembered as typical for her. She had on a shortish skirt. She looked good.

Not long ago, Aurit had told him that Hannah was seeing a documentary filmmaker. Naturally, this had bothered him a little. Documentary filmmakers were the most pretentious people in the world. He’d always thought so. The thought of some jackass filmmaker enjoying Hannah’s intelligence, her humor, her maturity irritated him. He felt that only he, Nate, was smart enough to fully appreciate the value of her special merits. Which was insane.