Laughter escapes me, and my cheeks heat under his gaze.“We saved each other, Henry.”
Silence takes over again, and I search for something to say among the warm feelings he’s elicited.He’s glad I’m home.He wants me here.This entire conversation seems to bend our rules banning feelings and attachments.
“Olly’s looking forward to his garden tutorial.I can’t get him to do chores, but he’ll consider your instructions his mission,” he says, smirking.
“When would you like me to revisit?”
“Sunday afternoon, okay?I’ll ask Carly to drop him off early.”
“Yes, that’s acceptable.”
Henry’s gentle eyes turn away, and tendrils of his hair dance on his head.I imagine standing beside him, leaning against his shoulder, and his arm wrapping around me.In my fantasy, we discuss the setting—he gives me historical facts about the USS North Carolina battleship in our view, and I counter with the impact of such a massive object on the waters it resides in.He breaks our engagement with a distraction—sweeping my hair out of my eyes, running his thumb over my cheek, kissing me—and my brain empties of all thoughts except one.Henry.
“He slept with Mango under his pillow last night,” Henry says, breaking the spell.
Feelings stir again—ones I can’t afford to entertain.“Um, I’m glad Mango has found a happy home.”
CHAPTER30
Venus
My class improvesby the week’s end because, by Friday, only two students attend, which is much less stressful than talking to twenty-five.Well, twenty-four now.Not that I am talkingtothem.It’s more like talkingatthem.But as long as the information is delivered, I meet the criteria for this position.
I’m a terrible teacher.I’m not naturally charming or charismatic.Getting people to like me under everyday circumstances proves challenging—in a classroom setting, it becomes my personal hell.
Only, I don’twantto be a terrible teacher, especially when the woman in the green t-shirt shows up every day regardless of how boring I am, as if she’s waiting for the real Dr.Blake to appear.I’m passionate about the environment, and botany might as well be my religion.It’s a hateful shame that I’m failing to get that across, especially to someone who seems equally excited about the subject.
The world needs more scientists.The world needs more female scientists.
She doesn’t wear the same shirt every day, to be clear.And her name is Myla Rose, which, in my opinion, is very appropriate for a future botanist.
I’ve tried to insert amusing anecdotes into Dad’s lectures and practice my storytelling, but it doesn’t go well.It’s like my mouth fills with rocks, and my stories sound choppy and incomplete.I keep office hours, but no one shows up, except for the occasional faculty member.Those interactions fare somewhat better, as I’m perfectly capable of pleasant conversation, but none return for a secondary engagement.
Ivy says it’s my face, specifically my lack of suitable expressions.Smiles work wonders, she claims, and advises me to practice in front of a mirror.I tried, but it’s weird.Since smiles don’t come naturally for me, it’s hard to remember and awkward to fit them in.
Plus, I’m not sleeping well, and tiredness often makes me grumpy.I’ve resorted to using the hammock.All the pillows and weighted blankets in the world wouldn’t be a suitable substitute for Henry.At least in the hammock, I feel cradled, and I’m outside, which tricks me into believing I’m on a project, not mere miles from him.
Now that he has my number, Henry texts me frequently, usually sharing random tidbits about Olly and Mango or asking about my day.Sometimes, in the evenings, he’ll start a text with…
Remember when…
And share one of our stories, usually ending with a commentary on how much fun he had or how he misses those times.I enjoy his texts, but they also make me sad.
I answer, as is customary, but don’t engage beyond polite responses.I don’t know the protocol for reconnecting with Henry after we agreed to limits—no attachments, no big feelings, no more than one night, which we later amended to a weekend.So, when I see him on campus, my confusion about us prevents me from interacting with him.Dr.Broderick says avoidance is acceptable,sometimes.
“No!Not when it comes to Henry,” Ivy retorts when I share this with her.Buster yaps, as if in agreement.“Venus, apply that logic that you love so much.He jumped through hurdles to get your number, and he’s communicating with you every day.What does that indicate?”
I shrug.“Sympathy?Obligation?Boredom?”
“No, silly.Henry wants more,” she says, poking my shoulder with her index finger at each word.
“More what?”
“More of you,” she says, rolling her eyes like it’s obvious.“How do you feel about that?”
“I feel like the subject of a cruel experiment,” I say.“Iwanthis attention, crave it, even, but I don’t understand it.Henry almost refused sex over fears of complications, and yet, here he is, complicating us.I consider it… mixed signals.”
“Then, make him clarify it.Ask him directly what his intentions are.Butdon’tavoid him,” she says, squeezing my biceps, like she wants her words to take hold.“You know you don’t want to, and he doesn’t want you to, either—facts.”
