“Good.” He smiles at me fondly, successfully obliterating all my plans to keep him distant. He takes a small step toward me.
“In all seriousness,” I say to break the building tension. “I think you’d learn more reading a romance than from any old World War II book.”
“How did you know I like World War II books?”
“All guys like World War II books—nothing wrong with that. I just get annoyed when they act like their histories are superior to romantic fiction. Is the story of two people falling in love any less important than that of a nation at war?”
“You must admit war has greater significance,” he says.
“I admit nothing. Love is the hope of the human race. War is the end of it.”
“Sure, but war affects more people.”
“Love affects everyone, or it should. Besides, the world could use more hope and happy endings.”
“Beating the Nazis seems like a happy ending to me.”
“What about the atomic bomb?” I rebut.
“Touché. But I’m still not convinced that a couple falling in love equals a happy ending. Half of all marriages end in divorce and then there’s death.” His voice falters, maybe he’s thinking of his father, but I’m too riled up to tread carefully.
“Death is all the more reason to seize love when we find it.”
“I agree. But one doesn’t have to read about romance to find love in real life.” The way he’s looking at me has me flustered. He inches closer. I’m losing my train of thought. Here I am, standing face to face with one of the city’s, strike that, the state’s most eligible bachelors, and he looks as if he is about to kiss me. I want to kiss him. But am I just another date for Liam? I think of what Noah said about Darcy being a player and edge away ever so slightly.
“But that’s not what I’m arguing; my point is that the public at large dismisses romance because it’s written and enjoyed by women. Whereas similar stories told by men are automatically given more credit.”
“Such as... ?” He looks at me expectantly.
“Twilight, for example.” I’m not sure where I’m going with this. I’m not the biggestTwilightfan, but it’s always felt a bit sexist the way some people love to hate on it. “Everyone mocksTwilight. But is it really that more ridiculous than say...Star Wars?”
“Yes, it is,” he says with a cocky look that is both sexy and irritating.
“Hear me out. Both are cultural phenomenons. “
“Phenomena,” He corrects me trying and failing to suppress a smug smile. “The word is the plural of phenomenon.” I hate that he’s right about this. I especially hate that my word-loving heart can’t help but go aflutter for a man with an excellent vocabulary—even while he’s stepping on my ego.
“You know what I meant,” I give him an exasperated look. “Both are a bit hokey and have problematic relationships. ButTwilightis universally ridiculed whileStar Wars iscelebrated.”
“You can’t compareTwilighttoStar Wars,” he says like it’s given. “There’s no comparison.”
“Why not?” I say, warming up to my argument. “They’re both chock full of cheesy dialogue and clunky special effects.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.Star Wars’special effects were amazing for the time. Have you even seen the movies?”
“Of course. And I like them.” I admit begrudgingly. “Most women I know likeStar Wars. In a world ruled by men, we’ve adapted by being open to the things you like. If only men would have the same open mind about what we like. Did you seeTwilight? I’m not even going to ask if you read it.”
“Yes, I saw some of the first film. All that I could stomach. It was intolerable.” There he goes with that word again. But he doesn’t even notice. “Twilightis just... just so silly.”
“Silly! Would you say that if men loved it?” I’m getting a little heated here. The way he keeps stating his opinions as if they were facts is infuriating. I fold my arms across my chest. “Well, personally, I thinkStar Warsissilly. It has swamp muppets!”
“You can’t be serious. We’re talking aboutTwilightversusStar Warshere.” He places a hand on my shoulder. Even in my anger, I’m hyperaware of his touch. “Tell me, Lettie, do you likeTwilightmore thanStar Wars?” I’m caught. He looks so amused, so self-satisfied, I want to slap him. And now he’s laughing. “So you don’t actually likeTwilight?”
“I... likeTwilight.” I sputter. I’m not going to tell him how, as a teenager, I gobbled up the books. But I also really likeStar Wars, especially Obi-Wan Kenobi (in the prequels). “That’s beside the point. I’m arguing that if Stephenie Meyer were a man, people wouldn’t make fun ofTwilighthalf so much.”
“Hmm... ” He looks at me skeptically. “Not everything is sexism. I like plenty of books by women.”
“You’re not even listening.” I’m beginning to lose it. “It makes me furious that anything created by a woman is fair game to be mocked, even by women or especially by women. While the work of men is accepted with far less scrutiny.”
