me.”
I waited for some reaction from my heart, some pitter pat. But it might as well have been sprayed with liquid nitrogen. It was a frozen block in my chest.
“I’m looking forward to it too,” I said politely.
In the interest of science, I did a thought experiment. I imagined leaning over and kissing Jeremiah. Or him taking my hand under the table. I was trying hard to be objective, to put aside my bias and focus on the experience objectively.
But, while I didn’t dislike Jeremiah, the idea of physical contact with him was about as stirring as imagining doing my laundry—dutiful rather than exciting.
At the restaurant exit, he turned to me. “Well, good night, Sean.”
“Good night,” I said. He didn’t try to kiss me, not even my cheek. And I made no move either. I realized, after he’d gone, that we’d not so much as brushed hands or shoulders the entire evening, not even knees under the table. Perhaps we weren’t actively repelled, but we weren’t subconsciously drawn together either.
I thought of the day I’d met Bubba, the way he’d slugged my arm as he laughed, bent down to help me when I was in the mud puddle, cleaned my glasses and fixed them oh-so-carefully over my ears. He’d even swatted my butt as he shooed me away. And he hadn’t been flirting that day. It was just…automatic. As though he couldn’t not touch me.
Even the memory of those small touches made heat flush through my body. I shook my head to clear it. At least this little experiment was providing some interesting new data.
Up in my room, I’d just gotten into my pajamas when my phone rang. It was my mother.
“How did it go?” she asked excitedly. “What was he like? We want to hear all about it!”
I could tell she was on speaker phone with my dad—probably at home given the late hour. I wished I felt any of the excitement I heard in her voice.
“It was fine. He was nice.”
“Yes? Did you talk about his work, his career?”
“Yes.”
“His new job in Boston with the Climate Emergency Coalition sounds interesting, doesn’t it?” my father prompted.
“Yes.”
There was a loaded silence.
“You did give him a chance, didn’t you, Sean?” My father sounded disappointed.
“Mmm. Listen, what do you think about polarity?” My gaze went muzzy as I stared at the desperately neutral wallpaper.
“Polarity?” my father asked. “In what context?”
“Light, Dark,” I said. “Static and void. The Theory of Electromagnetism.”
There was a confused beat.
“What do we think about it? I’m not following you, Sean.”
I blinked, and the wallpaper came into focus. God, that tan pattern was boring. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” my mother said.
“When you guys met, it was through work, correct?”
“Yes. You know that, Sean,” said my mother.
“You were both in the same field.”
“It’s true we’re both in the same field, and that’s worked out well for us,” my father put in. “But that’s not to say your mother couldn’t have been a… a…”
“Climatologist,” my mother supplied.
“Precisely. We still would have been us. We still would have had a great deal in common.”
“You were older when you met. Mom, you were thirty-five.”
“What does this have to do with anything?” my father asked impatiently. “I realize you’re only twenty, Sean, and no one’s asking you or, indeed, encouraging you to get married. Which is our point. You don’t need to be getting serious right now, especially with someone….”
“Someone you’ve just met,” my mother finished.
I didn’t want to say what I was thinking—that they’d both been older. That they’d settled. That their relationship had never been especially romantic—just convenient and companionable. A relationship that allowed them both to focus on work.
They were alike, my mom and my dad. Which meant there was no friction. No polarity. No push-pull. They might be man and woman, but gender was about the only thing they didn’t have in common. Two cells swimming in the same solution but never colliding, never desperate to cling together—or be repelled—as if by force of nature.
“You were comfortable together,” I finally said. “And that’s worked out well for you. But perhaps that’s not what I want. Perhaps I don’t want to be with someone so much like me.”
“Sean,” my mom’s voice was softer, gentle. “Passion may seem important when you’re young. But believe me, life is long, and comfort and security—those things are much more relevant in the long run. That’s what you need to consider when you’re making a life with someone.”
“I need to sleep now. I have