Imperfect Chemistry

by Mary Frame

I spend most of the day catching up on my e-mails and cleaning. I’m ready and hungry by four thirty, so I head over to Jensen’s.

  He answers the door and says, “You’re early,” before stepping back to let me in. It’s still cold outside, and he shuts the door quickly. The mattress is no longer in the living room, but there’s still a fire going in the fireplace.

  I shrug. “I didn’t have anything else to do, and I’m hungry.”

  “I’ve never looked forward to leftovers so much in my life. Your mom is an amazing cook.”

  “I guess when you’ve raised four boys you learn how to cook big meals.”

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he says. “I’m going to throw our plates in the oven.”

  “Okay.” I sit on the couch. There’s a DVD case on the coffee table. I pick it up.

  “Is this what we’re watching?” I call out.

  He sticks his head out of the doorway separating the kitchen from the living room and grins. “Yep.”

  We watch the movie, eating our leftover plates in the living room and sitting on the floor.

  When it’s over, Jensen shuts it off and turns to me. “So?”

  We couldn’t talk much while it was playing since it’s subtitled.

  I think it over a little. “I liked it. I liked that Amelie is an introvert, but it doesn’t stop her from trying to help people. It made me feel happy for her, at the end. It’s interesting how movies instigate emotions in us.”

  “She reminds me of you,” he says. “Her curiosity, her need to understand and help others. Her eyes.”

  I’m not sure how to respond so I stand and start cleaning up. I help him put the dishes in the dishwasher, a task we do mostly in silence, only breaking it occasionally to discuss various parts of the movie and then we end up back in the living room.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I ask, when we’re seated next to each other on the couch, our knees only inches apart.

  “Of course.”

  “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  “Well, if I don’t want to, then I won’t. Go ahead.”

  “Will you tell me about Chloe?” I ask.

  He stretches his legs out in front of him and leans back a little on the couch next to me, settling in. “What do you want to know?” he asks.

  “Anything you’re willing to share.”

  “More of your research?” he asks.

  “Partly,” I admit.

  He searches my eyes for a long moment and then nods. “We grew up together. We lived next door to each other, and when we were little, our parents would put us together if one of our nannies was sick.” He shrugs and takes a breath and thinks for a few seconds before continuing. “I used to find frogs in the pond in front of my house and try to scare her with them, but she would just pick them up and put them back outside and scold me for taking them from their home.” He laughs at this. “Then when we started school, we were best friends until around middle school. That’s about the time when we both started finding friends our own gender, and hanging out so much became a little awkward. But, we were still friends, and then it just…changed into something more.”

  I can see that he’s thinking again and I stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

  “I was fourteen and we went to the beach house. Her parents own a house in Northern California, right on the ocean. It was the summer before our sophomore year of high school, and it was the first year she wore a bikini. That’s when I noticed she was turning into a woman and was no longer the annoying girl who used to make me attend all her goldfish funerals. She was no longer a child or a gawky middle-schooler. At some point between eighth grade and age fifteen, we both changed. I remember thinking she was beautiful.”

  “That’s when you started dating?”

  “No.” He smiles at me. “I had to chase her a bit. But we were friends, good friends. And then one night after a school dance, we were making nachos in her kitchen and I kissed her.”

  I wonder for a minute what that would be like. Having someone so close to you and then falling from friendship into romance. I can’t really picture it.

  “When did you know that you loved her?” I ask.

  He sighs and leans his head back against the back of the chair, looking up at the ceiling. “You see, that’s the weird thing. Looking back, I’m not sure I ever did. At least, not in the way a man should love a woman he’s dating. I still love her, and I will always care about her, despite everything, but it’s more like how you feel for a sister or something.”

  “But at the time, you thought you were in love with her?”

  “Oh, yeah. The thing with Chloe though, there was always some part of her she held back. It felt like…like she didn’t fully trust me or something. I don’t know how to explain it. I showed her everything, every bleak and broken part of myself, but there was always something missing on her side.” There’s a pause and then he says, “Her dad died when we were sixteen. It was tough, for a long time. Her mom became really controlling, not wanting anything to happen to the only person she had left and it sort of smothered her. Eventually, Chloe wanted to find a way to escape and she sent out all kinds of signals that she needed help, but I was too caught up in my own life and my own problems to pay attention. But Liam noticed.

  “And that wasn’t the only part of our problems, really. I think that we were together for so long, I didn’t know how to be by myself. We both probably didn’t know how to be alone. And our parents were ecstatic about us being together. They practically planned the wedding when we were born. Her dad loved me, and then he died and neither of us wanted to disappoint anyone. Then, with Chloe and Liam…” He stops and clears his throat. “When everything changed it was—” he breaks off. “I don’t know. I hope that Chloe really loves him and that she wasn’t just looking for a way out.”

  “A way out of what?”

  “Us. Her mom. Her life. Everything.”

  I think about what he’s said. It would be strange, to be so close to someone, but not. “If her feelings for you had changed, why didn’t she just tell you?” I ask.

  “Very good question. But that’s the thing, I don’t think her feelings had changed. I don’t think she ever loved me. And looking back, I think she was terrified to hurt me and to disappoint her mom. But of course, it ended up being much worse than just breaking up. I lost my two best friends in one fell swoop.”

  “You don’t think you’ll be friends again, someday?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

  We’re both quiet for a second and he shifts a little, leaning towards me.

  “Your turn.”

  “Okay.” I clasp my hands together in my lap and wait for his question.

  “You’ve never been in a serious relationship?” he asks.

  “No. I’ve never been in any relationship.”

  “What about the science camp guy you told me about before?”

  “What about him?”

  “You said you’d kissed him.”

  “Yes. It wasn’t serious. There were no emotions involved, it was purely experimental.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.” I shrug. “We were both curious about kissing and other things and we tried it. It was very clinical and scientific.”

  “That sounds horrible.”

  “It wasn’t great,” I agree.

  “Wait. Other things? What ‘other things’ did you do?” He seems fascinated. Since he’s shared so much of himself, I suppose I can give him this. It doesn’t bother me to share.

  “You know,” I say. “Intercourse.”

  His mouth drops open. “You had sex with him?”

  “Yes.”

  He stares at me, open mouthed, before leaning back on the couch. “So, you just slept with him?”

  “Yes.” I repeat. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “I guess not.”

  He seems upset, but I’m not really sure why.

/>   “It doesn’t bother you?” he asks finally.

  “What?”

  “That your first time wasn’t with someone you, you know, love?”

  “I’m twenty years old and I have yet to fall in love. If I waited for that, I could be waiting forever. Besides, you just admitted you never really loved Chloe. So really, we’re no different.”

  He’s silent at that. I’m watching him, but he’s not meeting my eyes.

  “Jensen,” I say finally.

  His wary gaze meets mine.

  “You were with Chloe for,” I remember his words and do the math in my head quickly. Fifteen to twenty-one. “Six years. You had sex, right?” I can’t believe I’m asking this question. Of course they did. Even I—socially stunted as I am—know that people don’t engage in a romantic relationship for that long without having sex.

  He still doesn’t say anything. He puts his hands over his face and takes a deep breath before removing them and looking straight at me.

  “No,” he says. “We never had sex.”

  Now it’s my turn to be shocked.

  “We did other things,” he adds, but it barely registers.

  “No,” I say.

  “Yes.”

  “But you’ve had sex since your relationship terminated, right?”

  There’s a very brief pause. “No.”

  “But, what about Law School Lothario?” I ask, louder than I intend to.

  “What?” He chuckles.

  “Freya told me you’ve been a total playboy since you and Chloe broke up. So much so that you’re known as the Law School Lothario. And how could…how could you have been together for so long and…it just, it doesn’t make sense.” The next words shoot out without running through the filter that supposedly exists between the brain and the mouth. “How could she resist you?”

  He smiles at that and leans back against the couch, arm stretching out on the top of the sofa behind my head. “Well, when you put it like that.” He offers me a charming grin.

  “But you must have been with someone since Chloe.”

  “No. Well, I went on a couple of dates, but nothing happened.” He sighs and his head thumps back against the couch. “I can’t believe I told you that.” His grin slips and he leans towards me, arm still behind my head, fingers now brushing my hair.

  I shake my head. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m just surprised.”

  “Chloe told me, when she told me about Liam, that she never felt the way about me that she feels with him. She’s always thought of me as a brother, and I guess you don’t want to have sexual relations with brothers.” He gives me a pointed look.

  “Definitely not.”

  “Whenever things got physical between us, she would pull away and I didn’t mind, we were so young when we first got together. And then her dad died and we were almost never affectionate with each other. I mean, not in a sexual way. She needed someone to hold her more than she needed sex.”

  He chuckles softly and leans his head back on the couch, looking up towards the ceiling. “Ah, man.”

  “What’s humorous?”

  “This is probably the most emasculating conversation I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “Why? Because you’re a virgin and I’m not?”

  “That’s exactly why.”

  A thought strikes me, and I have to clench my jaw to keep the words from popping out of my mouth.

  Unfortunately, Jensen notices my efforts. “What is it?” he asks.

  “You don’t have to be a virgin.” I can’t quite meet his eyes while I’m speaking, but when I’ve finished my sentence I meet his eyes.

  “What are you saying, Lucy?”

  I’ve never done anything by half in my entire life, and I’m not about to start now.

  “I’m saying.” I slide over to him so our sides are pressed together and I reach up with one hand, placing it gently on his cheek and guiding him to look at me. “I’ve never felt this attraction with anyone else. Ever. And I would love to have sex with you.”

  His eyebrows lift, and he smiles at me. Then he bursts out laughing.

  My hand is jarred from his face and I frown. “Why is that funny?”

  “I have no idea, it just is. You never say what I expect.”

  “Oh.” I don’t think it’s very funny. At first I’m not sure why I feel upset. But then I realize it’s because I’ve been rejected. “You don’t want to have sex with me?” I ask.

  His smile falls and his eyes roam over my face. “Lucy,” he says seriously. “That’s not it at all.” He leans towards me, cupping my face in his hands, running his thumbs over my cheeks. “I would love to have sex with you,” he says, looking straight into my eyes. A glimmer of humor enters his eyes again. “But not tonight.”

  “Why not?” I don’t understand. He’s a male, I’m a female. It’s simple biology. And his biology should make him the one convincing me, not the other way around.

  His hands slide from my face and he leans back against the couch and watches me for a moment. Then he stands. “Come with me.” He holds out his hand and I take it.

  He pulls me up gently from the couch and leads me down the hall. His duplex is set up like mine, only in reverse. We pass the master bedroom. The door is open, and I peek in. His bedroom is decorated much like the rest of the house, black and gray, sleek lines and fashionable accessories. He stops outside the closed door to the second bedroom and turns towards me.

  “I want to show you something,” he says.

  “Okay,” I say carefully.

  He smiles at my tone. “Don’t worry, this isn’t where I keep dead bodies or mutilated kittens or anything.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  He grins at me and then pushes open the door and flicks on the light.

  My mouth drops open. It’s not a spare bedroom or office or anything I expected. The multitude of bright lights running along the ceiling reveal an art studio. He has a desk with a tilted top and an array of utensils, mostly pencils and charcoal, but it’s the items hanging on the walls and resting on the floor that catch my attention. The artwork is exactly like what we saw at the art exhibit. The last one. The best one that didn’t have an artist name on display.

  “You’re the artist. The one that we saw.” I turn and face him.

  He’s watching me with almost nervous anticipation.

  He takes a deep breath. “Yep.”

  My brain starts clicking things into place. “This is a secret because of your parents,” I say. I face the array of items on display in front of me.

  “Yep,” he says again. “If my father found out I was still drawing…who knows what he would do. Cut me off, for sure. I’m only able to pursue my passion because my tuition and living expenses are paid for.”

  “You don’t need his money to be able to do this,” I tell him in a murmur because my focus is taken by the largest canvas resting against the wall. It’s nearly as tall as me and the subject appears familiar.

  I move to examine it closer.

  “Actually, I do. Art supplies are ridiculously expensive,” Jensen says from behind me.

  “This is amazing,” I say, gesturing to the portrait. It’s a woman, half clothed, some kind of soft-looking cloth covering parts of her body, but keeping her legs exposed. One of her legs is disfigured, and the skin looks wrinkled like she was severely burned at some point, but the rest of her is nearly perfect. It’s like the Venus de Milo, but instead of missing limbs, they are merely scarred.

  “Thank you. That’s Candice. Remember, you asked me about the girl who comes over sometimes?”

  The light comes on. The blonde. The leggy blonde. The one Freya thought was a hooker.

  “Oh,” I say. The night of the power outage. I told him I liked him, then I asked him about the female whom I had seen going into his house. Candice. She’s just a friend, he said, and I didn’t request further clarification.

  “Now you know why she keeps coming over.” He comes
up behind me, wrapping his arms around my middle. “Now that you know my secret,” he says in my ear. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “I wouldn’t,” I say.

  “I know. I trust you,” he says. “It’s weird. I never thought I would trust anyone again.”

  I smile. We’re still facing the portrait. I turn in his arms and look up at him.

  “I should go,” I say.

  “Stay with me.”

  I search his eyes. “Are you sure? You said earlier that you didn’t want to have sex.”

  He laughs. “I’m not asking you to stay so we can have sex.” He shrugs and looks bashful. “I just enjoy your company. Is that weird?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why is that weird?”

  I shrug. “I’m not very exciting.”

  “Says the woman who’s propositioned me to be her love slave twice since I’ve known her.”

  I feel heat creeping across my face. “Love slave is a slight exaggeration. Besides, that isn’t an enjoyable trait. Reeks more of desperation.”

  “Well.” He takes my hand and pulls me gently from the room, flicking the light off and shutting the door behind us. “I enjoy it, so maybe I’m the weirdo in this scenario.”

  “Maybe you are.”

  He gives me a large t-shirt to sleep in and a spare toothbrush—even though my own personal items are no more than twenty feet away—and within minutes we are ready for bed.

  “I feel slightly underdressed,” I say once the lights are off and we’re spooning, my back to his front in his large comfortable bed.

  I’m still in just a t-shirt, and he has flannel pants and a shirt on.

  “If I don’t keep myself contained, things might happen that we’re not ready for.”

  “You’re not ready for,” I clarify.

  His chest vibrates against my back as he laughs and then we fall quiet.

  I think I might have difficulty going to sleep while half my body is touching someone else. For a few minutes, all I can think about is his heartbeat, the feeling of his chest rising and falling next to me, and the sound of his breathing as he falls asleep.

  But miraculously, somehow, when I least expect it, I fall.

 

 

 

  Chapter Nineteen

  Science may have found a cure for most evils; but it has found no remedy for the worst of them all – the apathy of human beings.

  –Helen Keller