“Not like that.” Harlow shook her head. “Not like I’m going to stop being your friend or something. But I will find someone one day. At least, I hope I do.”
“Oh, right,” she said, feeling like an idiot for not thinking about that.
“I was with someone for two years, and it didn’t work out, which, I think, you and I both knew would be the case for a few months now, but I’m hoping I can find someone itwillwork out with, and we’ll have a house together and all that.”
“I’d be the third wheel.”
“No, because you… You can find someone if you actually try. You could go out or get on an app or, really, just walk down the street indicating with something rainbow-colored or shaped that you’re into women, and I swear, women would flock to you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not. You’re gorgeous, Larissa. You’ve got this whole hot nerd thing going on that lesbians would eat up. You’re smart. Dense when it comes to common-sense things and, apparently, love, but very smart otherwise. You’re even funny sometimes.”
“Gee, thanks,” she replied sarcastically.
“You’d find someone. You just don’t leave here much unless you have a specific purpose, and people on missions are hard to hit on.”
“What?” Larissa laughed loudly.
“If you’re in the grocery store, kind of just perusing the fruits and veggies section and walking slowly, not paying much attention to your cart, a woman could walk up to you and pretend to be doing the same thing. She could say, ‘The cucumbers look good this year, huh?’ or something equally lame like that, and there’s the conversation starter. But if you’re on a mission, pushing that cart up and down an aisle, paying attention to the shopping list on your phone, she won’t talk to you about the cucumbers.”
“Oh, my God. This is a wholeseriesof books.” Larissa picked up her phone off the table to make a note. “There’s the first one, but then, there’s the friends talking or not talking about sex thing, and the how to pick up or get picked up. The whole concept could be–”
“Hey, stop for a second,” Harlow interjected.
“What? Why?”
She looked up from the note she’d started to type.
“I only got you the one-month membership. Let’s just work on this one and think about your dissertation after that. Then, if you want to write fifty books, you can.”
“I just made a note of the concept. I’ll put it away for now, though.”
“Good.”
“But tell me, on average, how long does it take you to fall in love?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever done the math, but I guess I can leave that to you. Wait. Is this for the book? Like, one of the interviews?”
“No, Harlow. This is me talking to my friend at dinner. I’m curious. We’ve never really talked abouthowyou fall in love. You tell me you meet someone, you’re dating, it’s going well, and then, one day, it’s either over, or you tell me you’re in love, and she knows or doesn’t yet.”
“Right. Well, I’ve only told three women that I loved them.”
“Only three?”
“Just because I have relationships, doesn’t mean I’m in love. Most of them end before we get there, but I would say the first time I told someone I loved them was before I met you.”
“We met when you were nineteen.”
“I know. I was in love in high school. You know that.”
“But was that real love or teenage love?” Larissa asked.
“What’s the difference? I was a teenager, but it felt real to me.”
“When you’re in high school, your brain’s not even fully formed yet. You have no idea who you will be in five or ten years.”
“Well, the brain’s not fully formed yet stuff aside, that’s always true: you don’t know who you’ll be when you’re forty, for example. I don’t know who I’ll be in five years. Yeah, I was young. She was, too. She was my first in all ways. Maybe that’s childish or not real love to some people, but itisreal when you’re in it. And now that I’ve been in love as an adultwitha fully formed brain, I can see that some things are different, but not the thing that matters most.”
