by Penny Reid
“Pluto is a planet!”
His lips formed a super flat line and his eyelids drooped. When he did this, in this way, it meant he was trying not to smile. “You cannot believe that Pluto is a planet. It’s not the Easter Bunny. It’s not something one believes in. Fact, it’s not a planet.”
“Then why does it have a name?” I marched past him, my boots crunching on the snow, and lifted my index finger near his face. “Ah-ha! Don’t have an answer for that, do you? Checkmate.”
We were on a hike. Actually, not an actual hike, more like a walk. I’d shown up to help him with my car Saturday morning and—after an awkward moment where I extended my hand for a shake and he moved in for a hug—I discovered he was all finished. Not only had he fixed all the crumpled sections of metal, he’d added a new fender, bumper, taillights, etc. Both of my doors opened and closed without creaking, and the power windows and locks also worked. He’d also painted it red. Bright red. My car looked better than new.
“It’s a safe color. Everyone will see you, so you don’t have to worry about someone cutting you off,” he’d said, explaining his choice.
When I said nothing, just stared at him, he added, “Or I can paint it something else.”
I’d never had a car that was just one color before and not blue plus primer gray, or maroon plus primer gray, or black plus—you get the picture.
As such, I’d been overwhelmed, which I managed to explain along with offering my profuse gratitude. The gratitude made him look extremely uncomfortable. I didn’t care. Let him be uncomfortable in the face of my praise. So be it. He would just have to suck it up. I WAS GRATEFUL!
Since I’d cleared my schedule for the day to work on a car that no longer needed work, he suggested we take it for a ride over to Walden Pond. I’d never been, and it was far enough away to get used to the new engine, but not so far that I’d be late for work that evening.
Which brings me to now and our hike and his sacrilegious statements about Pluto.
“No. Not checkmate. Astrophysicists name all kinds of stellar objects, not just planets.”
“But Pluto has that heart.” I twisted back to him as I offered this fact.
“You mean the asteroid we call Pluto has a crater that resembles the shape of a heart, which has nothing to do with whether or not it’s a planet.”
“I disagree. I believe there’s a law that if a stellar object has the shape of a heart on its surface, it automatically gets a free pass to planet town.”
“Planet town?” came his laughing question from behind me.
I liked his face when he laughed, especially how his eyes seemed to grow both sharper and softer, so I stopped and turned to watch him approach. “That’s right. Planet town.”
Biting his bottom lip, his gaze moving over my face like he thought I was something special, he stopped directly in front of me. “Do you have a name for this scientific law?”
I lost my breath a little when he looked at me that way, but I did manage to say, “Goofy’s Theorem.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you said it was a law.”
“It is.” I shrugged, like whatchagunnado? shaking off some of the aftereffects of his sharp and soft look. “But first it was a theorem, and they didn’t get around to changing the name when it became a law.”
Victor’s grin was slow, spreading over his lips, cheeks, to his eyes, which warmed as they moved between mine. “You are . . .” His unfinished thought was spoken in a deliciously deep voice.
Oh. Oh my.
I did my best to hold still under the heat of his inspection and the scrumptiousness of his tone, both of which caused goose bumps to rise over my skin. But I couldn’t stop my smile. “I am?”
His grin waned. He blinked. He glanced at the ground. He gave his head a little shake. “You are cold? Maybe we should head back.”
“I’m not cold,” I answered reflexively, studying this strange retreat. “Are you cold?”
He shook his head, lifting his eyes to some spot beyond my shoulder. “It’s pretty. Here, with the snow.”
“You’ve never been here when it snowed before?”
He continued shaking his head. “No. We lived out near Framingham. My mom would take me here in the summer sometimes for swimming, but not in the winter.”
Wrapping my arms around myself, because I was truthfully a little cold, I continued our walk. “Is your mom still in Framingham?”
“Uh, no.” I heard him exhale a deep breath before adding, “She died a few years ago.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” I turned, again stopping, placing a hand on his arm. This poor guy, he never caught a break. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
Victor’s eyes were on the ground, and he shrugged. “No. It’s fine. It was a car accident. She lost control of her car at night on an icy road. It could’ve happened to anyone.”
“God. I’m so sorry.” I shuffled an inch or so closer, wanting to hug him, or offer more comfort, or do something.
Again, his gaze lifted to some point in the distance, he seemed to study it. But this time, since we were so close, I was able to study his profile.
Abruptly, he said, “She wasn’t a very happy person.”
“What?”
“I don’t think she ever got over my dad leaving her. She was his mistress first before she became his second wife. When they met, she was seventeen and he was very experienced, worldly, all the things she wasn’t.” His eyes returned to mine and his tone was very matter-of-fact, like he’d dissected this topic and came to a conclusion. “She’d never dated anyone before him. And he was always telling her that he loved her, even after the divorce. He’d say he missed her whenever he’d split from one of his wives. They’d get back together for a while, and then he’d eventually say he needed more than what she could give him. I think she always hoped he would come back for good.”
Victor’s gaze traveled from my lips to my eyes, like he was reading something there. He smiled at what he found, amused, but also a little sad. “My thoughts exactly.”
I didn’t want to think about what my expression was, since clearly my thoughts had been visible on my face.
“Anyway. I didn’t have a bad childhood, though. Not at all. She was a great mom.” He sighed, starting forward again. I fell into step next to him, and after a few paces he bumped me with his shoulder. “I’m sorry every time I talk about my family it seems so depressing. I promise I’ll tell a funny anecdote next time.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I bumped his shoulder in return. “It’s like reading one of those classic Russian novels, but without having to carry it around everywhere.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. That’s an apt analogy. Dostoyevsky could’ve written my memoir.”
“You should meet Anna’s boyfriend, Luca. He teaches Russian literature and is one of the nicest—and yet most morose—people I know.” I glanced at Victor’s profile; he was frowning as though deep in thought.
After a long moment he asked, “Luca? As in Luca Kroft? The professor?”
“That’s right.”
Victor’s wide eyes swung to mine and then away. “Anna is dating a professor?”
I nodded, studying him, his jaw clenched, and his mouth an unhappy slash on his face.
“Hey. What’s wrong?” I bumped his arm again.
“It’s just—” He placed his hand on my elbow, bringing me to a stop, and faced me. “How did they meet?”
“Uh—”
“Was he ever her professor?”
I shrugged. “Yes, he was. She took his class last summer. Why?”
His mouth dropped open. “And he’s dating her?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Victor made a sound of disbelief, his eyes lifting to the sky like he was searching it for answers.
“What’s the big deal?”
His attention cut to me, his gaze agitated. “What’s the big deal?!”
“Victor.” I placed my hands on his shoulders. “Th
ey met about a year ago, before she took his class. Months later, she took Russian lit, not knowing he was the professor. Time passed, they realized they liked each other, so now they date.”
“Just like that?” The question and his face were both incredulous, his eyes a little wild with something like outrage.
“Yep. Thus is the magic of mutual attraction and respect. It sometimes leads to dating.” I removed my hands from his shoulders and wiggled my fingers in front of his face. “Magic!”
Some of the agitation leached from his features, but his indignation persisted. “It’s not appropriate. Professors and teachers should never cross that line.”
“What? It’s not appropriate? Says who?” I stood straighter, crossing my arms. “It’s not illegal. There’s no rule or law against it.”
Shoving his gloved hands in his jacket pockets, he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, his attention darting over my face. After a long moment, he shook his head and marched away like a man on a mission.
I heaved a sigh, and then followed at a distance, getting the sense he needed some marching time to himself. One minute became ten minutes, which then became fifteen. I lost sight of him at one point, but no matter. I wasn’t worried he would leave me here, especially since I had the car keys in my pocket. Content to be in the quiet woods, the smell and taste of snow on my tongue, watching the cloud of my breath just beyond my nose, I enjoyed my peaceful stroll.
Gradually, I became aware of the crunching sound of boots that were not my own. Turning, I found Victor walking slowly toward me, his jaw set, a stubborn glint in his eyes.
Upon reaching me, he announced, “Just because a thing is allowed, doesn’t mean it should be done.” It sounded like a proclamation, and if he’d added Hear ye, hear ye, it wouldn’t have been out of place.
Just because a thing is allowed, doesn’t mean it should be done. Where had I heard those words before? Ah yes! The Pinkery. Months ago. From him.
I wrinkled my nose.
He lifted an eyebrow.
I shook my head.
He nodded.
I pushed at his shoulder with my fingertips. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“Funny? How is that funny?”
“Because you said something similar to me at the Pinkery, when you came in with your dad. Remember?”
His gaze lost focus, like he was pulling up the memory. I saw the precise moment he remembered because his lips parted, he looked a little shocked and immediately contrite.
“Em—”
“Another thing you said, just a week or so ago, was that you should be able to trust your friends not to judge you. Right?”
All his righteousness seemed to deflate, and that look reappeared, the one where it was obvious he was trying not to smile. This time his cheeks turned a tad pink, like he’d been caught.
But instead of pressing his lips into a flat line, he gave into the barest of grins. “Yes. I believe I said that.”
“Speaking of which—” I covered the bottom half of my face with my hands and breathed into my gloves, warming my nose. “I meant to thank you for that golden nugget of advice.”
“Oh?” He seemed to sway closer.
“Yes. I told Anna about my job and we hugged it out. So, thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me.”
“Oh, but there is. I wouldn’t have told her if you hadn’t said what you did. Maybe I just needed someone to point out the obvious. Or maybe I just needed someone not to be a fraud.”
“Not to be a fraud?” The side of his mouth hitched.
“Yes. I needed someone to practice what they preach.”
“Ah. You needed evidence.” He nodded, giving me what could only be described as a gentle look. “I get that.”
“Yes! Evidence. I needed evidence. Even if it was empirical.”
“And I was that someone?”
“Yes.”
We stared at each other, mutual like and respect passing between us. Suddenly gripped by an urge, I couldn’t help myself. I lifted to my tiptoes and placed a quick kiss on his cheek, gripping his shoulders and giving him a small shake as I leaned away.
“Victor, I needed to believe in myself, and trust my friends, and let go of thinking I can control what judgmental, small-minded people think. I can’t. I can’t control them.”
He nodded like he understood. “It would be like herding PhD candidates.”
I laughed. “PhD candidates are difficult to corral?”
He lifted an eyebrow, giving me a half-smile and looking incredibly sexy and adorable. “Honestly? Worse than cats.”
That made me laugh harder, and while I did so, Victor’s hands came to my waist, settling there as we laughed together. Eventually, the laughter tapered. Looking at each other while laughing abruptly became staring at each other while smiling. Then his gaze dropped to my lips and his smile faded. He blinked. He cleared his throat and I sensed he was about to pull away.
So I tugged him into a hurried hug, not ready for the moment to be over. I just like him so darn much.
“But seriously, though. Thank you for lending me your strength.”
His strong arms came around me and he held me tightly, his voice a little rough as he said, “I didn’t do anything, Emily.”
“You did.” I squeezed my eyes shut, smelling him and the snow, and luxuriated in the feel of him, holding him, having him hold me, even if it was through a million layers of clothes. “Thank you for your great advice. And thank you for your belief in me, so that I could believe in myself.”
Chapter 15
*Victor*
“I booked the surgery. I’m getting it done over spring break.”
Andy blinked once. Hard. And then he frowned. And then he shifted his eyes from the stubborn bolt he’d been cursing for the last three minutes to mine. “What?”
“The panniculectomy.”
“To get the skin removed?”
“Yeah.”
He stared at me for several seconds before he said, “I’m probably going to regret asking this, because you know I’ve been trying to get you to do it for months, but . . .” He took a deep breath. “Why do you want to get the surgery now when you’ve always been so against it? What changed?”
“Well, for one thing, it’s uncomfortable. It’s in the way, when we work out especially.”
“But you said it wasn’t that uncomfortable and you would deal with it.”
I nodded, rearranging the toolbox next to us. “That’s true. But why deal with it if I don’t have to?”
“That was my argument.” His attention shifted back to the bolt. “And you said, and I quote, ‘It’s part of—’”
“‘—who I am.’ Yes. I remember.”
“And now it’s not part of who you are?” He grunted as he asked this, trying the bolt again.
I didn’t have an answer, so I organized the wrenches in size order, disliking the disordered direction of my thoughts.
“You want to know what I think? I’ll tell you what I think. I think you want your brunette girlfriend more than you want to hold on to sanctimonious pride. That’s what I think.”
I swallowed with difficulty. “I don’t . . .”
“Don’t what?”
“I don’t want her,” I lied, but it was also the truth.
“Nah, man. You want her. You just don’t want to want her. That’s what you don’t want. Motherfucker!” He tossed the three-quarters he was using to the toolbox, upsetting my arrangement, and growling at the bolt.
“Just use the power wrench.”
“I don’t want to strip it.” He wiped his hands on a rag and glowered at the bolt.
“You won’t strip it.”
“These old joints, they’re not built for power tools. You use a plug-in, they strip. I’m telling you.” Visibly disgusted, Andy stood and paced away, leaving me on the cement.
I was about to suggest we check out the long torque wrench when he paced back and pointed at
me. “Get the fucking surgery. Get all the fucking surgeries. And stop punishing yourself for other people being dicks.”
“Other people being dicks,” I repeated flatly, having no idea what he was talking about.
“That’s right. So some ignorant assholes treated you like shit because you were big, and now they don’t. But guess what? People treat other people like shit for all sorts of reasons—size, shape, color, scars, amputations, disabilities, mental illness, religion, politics, just look at what the gays have to deal with!—it fucking happens. Get over it. Stop letting other people make your decisions for you. Live your best life. Move on.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not doing that.”
He laughed. “You are.”
“If I were letting other people make my decisions for me, I would’ve gotten the surgery already.”
“Nooooo.” He shook his head firmly.
“Yeeeessss.” I nodded just as stubbornly.
“No. You didn’t want to get the surgery because you wanted to show all those shallow assholes that you don’t care what they think, that you might look like a Ken doll with your clothes on, but underneath they’re not going to like the saggy skin, and fuck them. Right? Fuck them. Like, ‘Surprise, motherfucker! You thought you wanted this? Guess what, I’m still ugly to you. You’re not worthy. Now go eat shit and die.’ Give me a break. You cling to your moral superiority like it’s a fucking life raft.”
I tested the bolt he’d been working on, trying to keep my temper. Not because he was wrong, but because he was right. Dammit, he was so right.
What had Emily said? I needed to believe in myself, and trust my friends, and let go of thinking I can control what judgmental, small-minded people think. I can’t control them.
She was right then, and Andy was right now. I couldn’t control what judgmental, small-minded people thought, but I’d been letting what they thought control me.
Andy paced back and forth, his hands on his hips. “Get the surgery. Date the girl. Be happy. It’s not that hard.”
My heart jumped to my throat, clogging it. “It’s not about Emily.”