Why can’t I think in such romantic prose when I’m around Alis?! Now that I think about it, the night we met I remember our conversation flowing seamlessly, filled with wit and conversational caresses.
I’ll never forget how beautiful she looked that night. Her shimmering black dress and soft, blond waves falling down her back caught my attention, but the moment I saw her reflection in between shelved bottles of Patrón and Casamigos I knew I had to talk to her. She sat alone, but not uncomfortably. Her smile was soft and supple, her eyes revealing an internal monologue she seldomly shares with others. She was stunning, warm, and I wanted to be nearer to her.
The spark of recognition that lit in her eyes when I subtly wove a line fromMarguerite de Valoisinto our conversation was my breaking point. I’ve never written a list of qualities I desire in a life partner, but in that one, fifteen-minute interaction I knew I wanted more. More talking. More smiling. More laughing. More literary innuendo and witty banter.
And when I kissed her — God, when I kissed her — I never wanted to stop. Being the well-read man that I am, I can provide centuries of documented proof that an intangible, soul-deep connection is something all of humanity longs for. I don’t believe in soul mates, nor that some supernatural power has designated one person to be your perfect complement, but I do believe a deep andunmistakable connection can exist with another person. Just as we meet certain people who trigger instant wariness, discomfort, or annoyance, sometimes life is kind enough to introduce us to people who inexplicably kindle feelings of serenity, of peace, of home.
Kissing Alis felt right, familiar. Touching Alis felt like coming home. I wanted to pull her closer to me, feel her arms around me, feel her warmth in every way possible.
That’s it. That’s why I can’t keep my head on straight when it comes to Alis. It’s not the chase; it’s not her infuriating determination to keep me at arms’ length — it’s quite simply that being with Alis makes me feel centered in a way I never felt with Laura.
I still barely know the woman, but I want to. I want to know everything about her. Every thought. Every dream. Every desire.
This feeling of familiarity and rightness cannot be one-sided. Is she fighting against it intentionally, or does she not feel as drawn to me as I am to her? And how do I gently, subtly break down the walls she so forcefully erects around herself?
I wish my pépé was still alive. My mémé was very independent, strong-willed, and made pépé work to gain her trust and her heart. If I could call him and talk with him about Alis, I’m sure he’d draw from his never-ending fountain of wisdom and guide me in the right direction.
I laugh to myself, imagining the conversation, had it ever happened. First, he would throw his head back and laugh that I’m stuck on a woman who refuses to entertain my advances. Then, he’d call out to méméto let her know his relentless pursuit of her stubborn heart has influenced generations of Bélangers and that his example is no longer seen as insanity, but wisdom. Mémé would shout back at him, “T’es donc benniaiseux!”, refusing to leave her precious peonies mid-serenade. I never understood why she sang to her flowers each day, but she swore that singing helped them grow.
I know, without a doubt, that Thibaud Bélanger would describe the years he spent in pursuit of his beloved Ruby as absolutely, unreservedly worth every second. I hope at the end of this I can say the same.
TWENTY
Alis
Amelia must beout to lunch because when I arrive for my meeting with Dr. Matthews, she’s nowhere to be found. The light is off in Dr. Matthews’ office, so I take a seat and enjoy the quiet while I can.
Brody revealed his cards today, and so did I. The look on his face made me feel terrible for hurting his feelings. Did I lead him on? Wait. No. I did not lead him on. I have no reason to feel guilty or negative at all about establishing my boundaries. I’d like to maintain a friendship with Brody, but that’s all. He can accept that or reject it; that’s his prerogative.
Would I consider him more than a friend if I didn’t know Dexter? No, I don’t believe I would. I don’t make my relationship decisions based on other people. However, I would be lying to myself if I said I didn’t wish Dexter was the one with his lips on my cheek a few minutes ago.
Lifting my hand to my face, I close my eyes and think back to the other day in my apartment corridor when he tucked the loose hair behind my ear. In my daydream he doesn’t pull back, but instead leans in close and is just about to brush his lips across my cheek …
“Alis, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” I’m pulled from mydaydream by a flustered Dr. Matthews. I stand and brush my hands down my blouse and skirt, smoothing out any wrinkles that popped up while I waited for her to arrive. The cat print on this skirt is just fun enough to convey “nerdy but flirty” instead of “I’m a crazy cat lady!”
“No worries. I haven’t been here long.” I give her a reassuring smile as she nods, pauses for a second to give my outfit a curious once-over, and then leads the way into her office.
“That view gets me every time,” I breathe, stopping for a moment to stare through her glass panel wall that boasts a perfect view of the nearby mountains, before heading to a chair in her seating area. “How do you get any work done with a view like that in your periphery each day?”
Dr. Matthews chuckles. “It never gets any less beautiful, but in time it serves as a de-stressor rather than a distraction.”
“I could see that,” I nod. “Hopefully one day I’ll have an office with a view like this.”
“I’m sure you will,” Dr. Matthews smiles at me. “With the academic prowess I’ve observed from you these past few months, I hold no doubt that with the right connections and direction schools across the country will fight to snatch you up when your dissertation is complete.”
I blush. I don’t take compliments well. “Thank you, Dr. Matthews. It means a lot to hear you say that.” I toy with the hem of my skirt and offer a moment of vulnerability. “I had been away from academia for so long, I feared finding my footing would take longer than it has. Not only that, but I left so suddenly and I’ve often wondered how that could negatively affect my future career prospects.”
“In a lot of ways, reentering the academy is like riding a bike,” she says.
I nod, “Like riding a bike.”
“And as for how leaving has affected your future, I wouldn’t worry about it. The only way leaving could have negatively affected your future was if you didn’t come back. Which you did.”
Again, I nod, still staring down at my lap to hide the blush on my face.
“Ok, let’s get to it,” Dr. Matthews says, tapping a stack of papers on her lap. I pull a notebook and pen from my messenger bag and open it to the next blank page.
Now that we’re past the compliments, I’m able to resume a professional demeanor and look at her. “The intensive I spoke with you about at the beginning of the semester is in two weeks. I assume you remember that I’ll need you with me the entire week?”
