Definitely, Maybe in Love

by Ophelia London

  “No, it’s okay. I know it’s a long drive.” With alarm, I searched for my phone, which had fallen to the floor in my jostling. I grabbed it and pressed it against my chest.

  “No hurry,” Mel said, eyeing me. “There’s a restaurant up ahead. We’ll stop for a while.” She started the car and we pulled into the parking lot.

  The restaurant wasn’t crowded, and we sat in a corner booth. When I insisted on only a salad that I knew I wouldn’t touch, Dr. Melanie took over, ordering an array of vegetable sides, soup and bread.

  My cell was on the table, the calendar event still showing. I picked it up and held it between my hands. Then, I couldn’t help glancing one more time at what Henry had secretly scheduled for us to do:

  Subject: My mouth

  Location: You

  Notes: Don’t move. My mouth is on your fingers, eyelids, your face. My mouth, your neck. Your mouth. My hands, your back, skin. Your mouth. My mouth, your tongue. Your mouth, my mouth. Your stomach, my mouth, my hands. Under your hair. Under your shirt. My mouth on you.

  When the phone pinged another reminder, my heart made a mighty thwap and I grabbed for my glass of ice water.

  Mel was watching me closely, elbows on the table. “We don’t have to talk about it. I mean, I know you think I’m a gossip and everything.” She rolled her eyes. “But this is you.” She kicked me under the table. “You know you can tell me anything and it goes no further.”

  I lowered my eyes, reading his words again, need and misery hitting me like a tsunami.

  “Take another drink,” she ordered, scooting my glass over.

  “Mel,” I began, staring down, “there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “I’m listening, babe.”

  “I kissed Henry when we were camping.”

  Well, it was a six-hour kiss, but who’s counting?

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The next day, I found out something…bad. That’s why I didn’t go with you guys to Portland. Did you know Henry never left? He stayed behind at the house after you and Tyler took off.”

  “Really?” Her expression was smooth, no scheming grin, eager to hear the latest scandal. She looked like my best friend.

  “He came barging in.” I swallowed, feeling pukey again. “He told me…” I lowered my eyes. “He told me he loves me.”

  “Poor Henry.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You obviously threw him out,” she deduced. “And now you feel guilty.”

  “Guilty,” I echoed. “You don’t know what I said to him.”

  “He probably deserved it.”

  “Probably.” I laughed bitterly. “What I thought I knew about him, then after what Tyler told me—”

  “Tyler told you something about Henry?” she cut in. “That little gossip.”

  I had to bite my tongue about the whole pot calling the kettle black.

  “Henry did deserve what I said, but…” Suddenly, tears built behind my eyes and a huge lump blocked my throat. “Is it possible to feel so strongly about someone, to be so overwhelmingly attracted and connected that you want to forgive anything? How healthy is that? How stable?”

  “I don’t know.” Mel shook her head. “I’ve never felt that way about anyone. But you and…”

  I lowered my hand that was holding the phone. She stared at it, then at me. “I don’t know what to do,” I said, my bottom lip quivering. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “Careful,” she warned with a kind smile, taking the phone from my open palm. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

  While she read the subject line of the event and then the subsequent, rather detailed, description that Henry had entered, I was busy staring down at the plate before me, my fork scooting the carrots and rice from one side to the other. A few seconds later, my cell was being pushed across the table.

  “Steamy,” she offered, pointing at the screen. “And is that part even legal? Why aren’t you with him right now?” She glanced at the phone. “Doing that.”

  So I told her everything.

  Of course she’d heard Alex’s story floating around campus, but she knew nothing about Henry breaking up Julia and Dart.

  “Who do you trust more?” Mel asked, running her finger along the rim of her glass. “Henry or Alex? Or Tyler?”

  “Henry didn’t deny the Julia thing,” I said, feeling miserable.

  “Okay, okay.” Mel moved her plate and glass out of the way and placed her hands flat on the carved up wooden table. “Let’s go over this logically. First, what’s this about Lilah?”

  “Oh.” I shuddered and shook my head. “He just slipped up, so to speak. You know guys…a pretty face throws herself at him, and he loses all ability to think logically. I assumed Henry had a higher threshold, but we’re all susceptible at some point.”

  As proof, I almost added that I’d fallen prey to Alex.

  “I don’t know if it was a casual thing between them last summer,” I continued, “or if he thought there was more to her back then. He’s probably known her for almost as long as he’s known Dart. So it wasn’t like a one night stand.”

  “They hooked up?”

  I nodded. “Pretty sure.”

  “Ew. She’s such a gnarly hag.”

  “I agree. But think about it. If you only saw her and didn’t know the evils of her inner soul, she’s, ya know, beautiful.”

  “Gross.” Mel made a gagging face.

  “He seemed shocked that I even knew about it.”

  “That’s because he knows how you feel about Lilah, and obviously knows how Lilah feels about you. That was probably why he was so engrossed by you at the party. Make no mistake, Lilah told him crap, so he assumed you’d be some wheels-off psycho demon chick and not a smokin’ hot super-class super-babe.”

  “Whatever,” I muttered, trying not to smile. “Regardless, I think I kind of overreacted about the Lilah thing. You’re well aware of some of the road kills I’ve paired with in the past, without so much as an iota of feeling, so I can hardly get bent out of shape about Henry hooking up with Lilah. I actually feel sorrier for her.”

  “Okay, so the Lilah thing is vile but forgivable,” Mel stated. “Let’s move on. What about Alex?”

  I didn’t speak for a moment, taking the time to properly hate myself. “I fell for everything he told me hook, line and sinker. I didn’t think twice. And what if everything he told me—told everyone—isn’t true? I still don’t know what happened between them. Henry didn’t tell me.” I bit my lip. “Well, I guess I didn’t give him a chance to explain. But you know what, Mel? I told him neither of those things mattered: what he did with Lilah”—I shuddered again—“and what I thought he’d done to Alex. I told him I didn’t care, because…I…” I exhaled slowly, pressing my palms against my burning cheeks. “But what he did to Julia, I just can’t…”

  “Yeah.” Mel groaned. “That’s tough to swallow. When you called him on it, he didn’t sound remorseful?”

  “No. Because he isn’t. He thinks he did the right thing butting in like that. I have no idea why. What could possibly justify that?” I pounded my fist on the table. “I can’t be with someone who treats people that way. He says he loves me, but then he does that to one of my closest friends.” My throat felt tight, tears stung my eyes. “I don’t know how to forgive him for it,” I whispered.

  Mel didn’t say anything. She probably sensed that I couldn’t talk about it anymore. I leaned an elbow on the table and planted my face in my hand. “So much drama,” I said. “A year ago, I was free and focused. I was happy.”

  “Were you?” Mel asked skeptically.

  “Well, I was cynical and hardcore and full of crap, too, but at least I had a plan.” I twirled a braid around my finger. “Now I don’t know what I am.”

  Chapter 28

  Masen didn’t even wait for the first person to stand up after he’d ended class. “Spring,” he said. “Come see me.”

  Lilah’s eyes shot m
y way but I didn’t react, not giving her the satisfaction. Today in class was the first time I’d seen her since I found out—

  Well, anyway.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” my professor asked when I got to his desk. He held out the twelve-page outline of my thesis. The third draft.

  I was about to ask him what he meant, but why hedge?

  “That’s all of it. I believe I’ve touched on the points we talked about last time,” I said, trying to sound like the expert I claimed to be, but my legs were shaking.

  “Section nine,” he said, flipping to the end page. “You alluded to the point but it’s completely vague.” He took off his glasses. “This is the crux here, you see?” He pointed at it. “The whole argument of your theory funnels down to this: In the long run, over, say, a decade, is land development detrimental or beneficial? And why? You’ve posed this question along the way, but here you have to answer. Section nine is where your new angle should really come into play.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m still tweaking that part.”

  He lifted his bushy brows. “Still? I thought you had most of the body written. Your final deadline is three weeks before the end of semester. In two months.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” I said, my turtleneck feeling hot and strangly. I didn’t have the guts to tell him that my research was done. My notes were typed up. What he held in his hand was all I had. Foolishly, I thought I’d get away with it. For the last few months, I hadn’t been as into my research as I’d been in the fall, and I’m sure that showed.

  “We talked about this before the break,” he said. “You promised me you were getting back on track.”

  “I know.” I nodded vigorously. “I was—I am.”

  “I’ll give you one more chance to finish a complete outline before I approve the topic with the committee,” Masen said. My stomach hit the floor. I thought he’d gotten the thesis committee’s stamp of approval months ago. “Otherwise”—he passed me my paper, the top page stained with a coffee ring—“I’m afraid I’ll have to give you a fail.”

  My mouth fell open. Wasn’t it only back in September that we’d talked publication? A few months later, he’d said what an excellent job I’d been doing on the new version of my thesis.

  And now I was on the brink of the first fail in my life.

  I assured Masen with everything in me that I would fix it, truly this time, whatever it took, and that I’d have the new outline—the final draft!—on his desk Monday morning. That was in five days.

  Before I’d exited the classroom, I was visualizing that last section, moving the different parts around in my head. There was a lot of great information there, but there were holes, pretty significant ones that I couldn’t fill myself. I knew only one person who could help.

  I walked outside and sat on a bench, other students rushing past on their way to class, oblivious to my internal struggle. The bells of Hoover Tower chimed out the noon hour.

  I didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, I could not get an F on my sustainable living research paper, not while there was a breath left in my body. On the other hand, I couldn’t do it, couldn’t imagine the scenario of picking up the phone and…

  My mind was whirling, thinking up any and every possible solution, but I slowly realized I had no other choice. It was either that or fail. Zombie-like, I pulled out my cell and scrolled to the last time he’d called me back in December.

  It rang once before rolling to voicemail. Actually, it was one of those half-rings, meaning his phone was off or he was on another call. My mouth went dry when I heard his voice asking me to leave a message. I closed my eyes and began to speak.

  He didn’t call back or confirm in any way, but I knew he would show, because I knew he was free tonight. I knew this because we’d already made plans to meet. After I rushed up the stairs, I nearly fainted when my phone pinged, reminding me of our originally scheduled meeting on the top floor of the Meyer Library. The room behind the stacks. The one he told me had a lock on the door. I was fifteen minutes early.

  Henry was already there.

  He sat at the table, head bowed, just finishing writing on a piece of yellow notebook paper. He tore that page off the pad and placed it on top of a stack of other printouts beside his laptop. He must have heard me, because he looked up.

  “Hi,” I said, not quite able to meet his eyes. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I figured you must be pretty desperate to call me,” he said, speaking down at the table. His tone wasn’t completely chilly. “And you’re welcome.” He pulled out the chair beside him. I walked around the table and sat.

  “Looks like you’ve been here a while,” I observed conversationally. “I hope you didn’t skip a class.”

  “I don’t really have to sit in on my classes this semester,” Henry said. “They’re all recorded and archived online. I’d rather be there in person, but it’s not necessary. A few weeks ago, I considered doing the rest of the semester remotely.”

  “From a castle in Switzerland?” I couldn’t help saying, hoping to lighten the mood. I was relieved when he smiled.

  “Maybe.” He turned to face me. “But then I decided to stay around here.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer, but he kept his eyes steadily on mine. “Anyway,” he finally said, “this is probably what you’ll need.” He slid the stack of loose papers toward to me. “You can read over those and if you have any questions, we can talk about it.”

  “Thanks,” I said. But I didn’t want to sit there and read to myself. I wanted to get into one of our classic debates. I wanted him to push my buttons and challenge my opinions until I got so impassioned that I wrestled him to the floor, pinned his shoulders down and—

  “I’ve got my own reading to do,” he said, interrupting my runaway fantasy. “So let me know if you have a question.”

  I nodded, wiped my palms on my jeans and stared down at the neat stack of papers. I read for a while, trying very hard to concentrate. A group of guys walked past the room and stopped right in front of the open door, having an animated and rather filthy discussion about the busty redhead working the circulation desk.

  Henry scraped back his chair and walked to the door, giving the guys a look before pulling the door closed. His hand lingered on the knob and I couldn’t help noticing how his thumb brushed along the protruding lock button. When my gaze moved to his face, he was watching me. Slowly, steadily, my temperature started to rise, thinking of what we might be doing at that very moment…if only I hadn’t damaged my relationship with the one man I wanted to trust. If only.

  “This floor is usually pretty deserted,” I observed, trying to keep myself in my chair.

  “That’s why I chose it.” A shadow crossed his face and he dropped his gaze. “And it’s got the best vending machines. Hershey bars.” As he returned to his seat, I could almost catch a tiny glimmer in his eyes. Maybe he was also thinking about that chocolate bar we’d shared beside the campfire…barely a week ago.

  “Henry,” I couldn’t help saying, though I had no idea how to continue.

  He’d been typing something on his laptop, but turned to me. I could see the gold flecks in his eyes and the tiny freckles on his nose, the ones I’d traced with my finger while he’d hummed in my ear. I’d been so relaxed with him, so at peace…yet out-of-control, free of control in the most spectacular way.

  My sudden need was so surprising, it almost scared me. But was it temporary? Would I forgive him now and resent him later? The thought of doing that to either of us made me physically ill. I wanted to trust him, wholly, so very badly. I wanted him like I’d never wanted anything in my life.

  Maybe I wasn’t ready to act on that, but didn’t I owe it to both of us to say something? Talking…that used to be what we were good at.

  “Henry,” I repeated, licking my dry lips.

  He lowered his hands from the keyboard. “Yes?” He tilted his head, brows bent. “What’s—” Before ei
ther of us could continue, his eyes flashed to my cell sitting face-up on the table, ringing with an incoming call. My stomach turned to ice when a thumbnail-sized picture of Alex’s face appeared on the screen.

  I glanced at Henry, who was staring at it. A second later, he closed his laptop and scooted back his chair. “I’ll let you answer,” he said, not looking at me.

  “Wait.” I grabbed my phone and silenced the ringer.

  “If you have questions about that,” he said, glancing down at the papers before me then walking to the door, “you can email.”

  “Henry.” I held up my cell as evidence of…something. “It’s not what you think.” Right as the words left my mouth, the phone began ringing again. Henry’s dark eyes glared at the face pointed directly at him.

  “Unbelievable, Spring,” he muttered, his tone angry yet detached. I’d never heard him speak like that before.

  “What?” I flipped my phone over and looked at its face. It was Alex again.

  We stared at each other until finally Henry clenched his jaw, opened the door and left. I watched him stride all the way across the room then round a corner toward the stairs. When I was conscious enough to realize that my phone was still ringing, I cocked my arm and threw it against the wall as hard as I could. It smashed apart, leaving a dent in the wall.

  “Frack,” I yelled, slumping into my chair.

  …

  With back-to-back exams and a paper due, I couldn’t make it to the Apple Store for three days. I chose a white iPhone this time and one of those ultra-protective cases, as insurance for the next time I had the urge to hurl a two hundred dollar device against a concrete wall. I was dying to get home and charge it, feeling a little out of touch with the world.

  I plugged it into my laptop then laid face down on my sheepskin rug. After a few minutes, I heard bleeps and chirps. I rolled over and grabbed my phone, watching the numbers of new emails appear on the screen. And one new text.

  I sat up.

  Tonight. Meet me at the library. Midnight. You know where. Please come, Spring.

  The text had been sent an hour after he’d walked out of that study room…three days ago.