by Crowe, Stan
“Hey, I like blondes.”
“Yeah… Mom mentioned that to me.”
“Well I’m still with her, right?”
“Uh… right.”
I caught up to Moiré half a block later, surprised at just how fast she could walk. When I drew up alongside her she slowed to a more regular pace and shot me a mock-congratulatory grin. I smiled back, enjoying the evening. Even after dusk the night air was warm. I drank the sweet fragrance, pretending it was coming from the surrounding flowers.
“So, you’ve got a girlfriend, eh?”
Why, of all questions, did she have to ask that?
“What makes you think that?”
“John was asking about her.”
I grimaced. “I hope you picked up on the fact that John’s not all there, right?”
She laughed. “Well, his hand was almost everywhere. I’m pretty sure his mind was in just one place, though.”
I squashed the rising tide of jealousy and quickly changed the subject. “How was your day?”
“What, you’re not going to ask me if I’ve got a boyfriend?” she said, feigning hurt.
“Well…” How was I to ask about Tall, Dark and Handsome from the Psych Department dinner, without giving myself away? The answer? Don’t ask. “Your friend Daisy indicated you were single the first night I was at her place. If you’ve hooked up with someone since,” I said, thinking again of her dinner date, “then he seems pretty open-minded and not at all possessive about you. You’ve never spoken of having a guy and you haven’t seemed squeamish about pretending to be a couple with a co-worker. My money is on the ‘no boyfriend’ hypothesis.”
“Well isn’t that just the nice, analytical way to put it,” she purred, amused.
“It surprises me, really,” I said. “That you don’t have a steady boyfriend. Or that you’re not married.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” She looked directly at me.
I kept my eyes straight ahead. “Those kind of things are hard to quantify, you know? Experience has taught me that girls with obvious confidence and at least decently good looks tend to be the ones that get snatched up the quickest.”
In a low, mock-flirtatious tone she said, “So you’re saying I’m attractive?”
I stopped. She really wasn’t making this easy. “We work together on a professional level, Moiré. My opinion of you is only relevant where it regards your work abilities and good judgment.”
She smiled wickedly. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ then.” She skipped away.
I shook my head, sighed and followed her again. When I was once more next her she gave me another sidelong glance. “So, what got you started in on writing The Book of Love in the first place?”
Hmm… interesting twist on things. She was going for gold in a roundabout way. I mentally congratulated her intellectual prowess. I would play along.
“Well,” I said, organizing my thoughts, “How detailed do you want me to be?”
“Gory,” she said with an evil tone. “Even if it has to go all the way back to a kindergarten crush.”
I smiled. “You asked for it.”
“Oh yes.”
I gave it some thought. “Well, to be perfectly honest, it started with my parents.”
She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
“My parents fell in love young. They had a fairytale fling. You know, noble, charming guy meets stunning young woman and then they magically know they’re ‘meant for each other’ and go on to live happily ever after.”
“I’ve heard stories, yes,” Moiré said.
“Well… no one ever really talks about the other side of the fairytale. No one really ever explained to me how that ‘happily ever after’ worked. I guess no one ever explained it to Mom or Dad, either.”
“So your parents are divorced,” she stated.
“Sometimes I think they should be,” I admitted sourly. “They’re still together, but their relationship consists of ice-cold ignoring, or red-hot fights. They can manage to be cordial when the situation calls for it. I love them to death—they really are great folks. It’s just… not the kind of ending I imagine they envisioned.”
Moiré nodded solemnly. “Ouch.”
I sighed. “Tell me about it. Anyway, I’ve thought about my parents’ relationship quite a bit, ever since childhood. When I started my psych degree, I took to studying their behavior whenever I was home for a visit. I’d subtly ask about their courtship, but that door was usually closed, sadly. Eventually, I managed to piece together that bare-bones account I just shared with you.
“Well, that made me wonder how two people so obviously incompatible could ever get together—to the point of marriage—in the first place. I knew that most romances start with an initial, chemical response. It’s actually quite simple—basic biology. All life is programmed to survive. Survival instinct drives reproductive desires—think of it as nature’s version of immortality.
“When an adult male meets an adult female they evaluate one another’s mating potential—the likelihood that a potential mate will produce healthy offspring and preserve the individual’s genetic identity. In humans, that typically involves physical appearance. Men need to look fit and strong enough to find food and protect the family. In layman’s terms, that’s a square jaw, nice abs and bulging biceps. They also need to demonstrate their willingness to stay with the female and her offspring to continue providing the basic needs of life—none of that cheating stuff.
“Women are evaluated on similar criteria: healthy appearance, smooth skin and basic indications of a mate that’s able to bear and rear children—yes, chests and hips.”
I paused for breath, realizing I paraphrased the introduction to my thesis. I grinned and resumed. “Unfortunately, we’ve complicated the survival game by factoring in race, religion, economic status, mind games, age, et cetera. Simple survival instinct morphed into a psychological death trap.
“So… my parents. I’m trying to find the mental and physical responses that triggered their survival instincts so strongly that decided to become married mating partners without establishing whether they’d be likely to succeed in marriage. That led me to follow relationships from cradle to grave. That includes people who are still together physically, but only just. Like my parents.
“Dad always told me that the true mark of a man was his ability to make and keep vital commitments, no matter how hard keeping those commitments was. But I still wonder whether they missed glaring signs that they were ill-suited for each other. My hypothesis is that their neurophysical responses must have been off the charts.” I didn’t add that I was also desperate to find a cure to the flat, staleness of my own engagement. The moments of happiness with Ella were fleeting at best and the time between them was growing. Ella and I were headed down the same road as my parents, but I wasn’t about to tuck my tail between my legs and chicken out. No, I had chosen my path and I would stay that course. I just needed to make some corrections.
Moiré nodded. “And yet, despite the problems with your parents, you’ve been dating seriously since high school. You also, presumably, want to marry. You’re even let a girl get close enough to give you hickeys.”
“What hickeys?”
She stuck out her tongue. “You told me about the hickeys after Prom.”
“I told you no such thing.”
She rolled her eyes. “You told me about the hickeys.”
“You got me. But that was just a crush. She caught me off guard that night.
“As for marriage, I’ve seen some really wonderful marriages. My parents may have botched it, but that’s no reason for me to think the whole thing is wrong. It’s my hope that one day, I’ll have one of those great marriages I’ve seen.”
“It’s your choice,” she said. “At least half of it is, anyway.”
“I thought you were a Pride and Prejudice fan,” I said, turning to her.
“Fan? Possibly. But that doesn’t mean I agree with everything the ch
aracters have to say. For one, Charlotte was dead wrong, in my opinion.”
I stroked my chin. “So you don’t believe marital happiness is just a matter of chance?”
“I know you don’t believe that, either,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Oh,” I replied, “what if I do? And how is it you think you know so much about me?”
She smiled thinly. “Hey, pal, I’m a psych major too, don’t forget. Just because I’m an undergrad doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes and ears, or that I can’t put two and two together. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve made it pretty clear that you think there’s something other than dumb luck that makes a marriage work.”
I licked my lips, thoughtful. Wasn’t I already choosing the happier path in my engagement? I was loyal to Ella. I was kind to her and I was willing to live with the fact that Ella—like me—still had some room for improvement. I chose to forgive her complaining, irresponsible attitude, as well as the fact that she often ignored my needs. I could turn a blind eye to the way she often walked the borders of flirtation with other men; I was sure that would change. So… what of choice, then, if even in choosing well, you lost? Perhaps Charlotte was more right than Moiré would want to admit.
Moiré said, “Think about those great marriages you mentioned. You said you wanted one, right?”
I nodded. “Who doesn’t?”
“Well, tell me about your ideal version of marital bliss.”
We resumed walking. I stared up at the sky, pondering silently until we finally reached Rotary Club Park. Moiré seemed content with that. We planted ourselves in the swings and Moiré smiled.
“Give me a push, while you’re thinking,” she said.
I stared stupidly at her. “You’re… kidding me, right?”
She frowned. “What kind of a Prince Charming are you if you’re not even willing to help a pretty lady out? Most guys would jump at the chance of pushing a girl on a swing. If nothing else, it’d give them a really good excuse to put their hands on her.”
I half-stood. “Whoa, you’re not asking me to—”
She laughed heartily and then kicked off the ground, swinging upward in a long arc. Embarrassed, I sat down again.
“So,” she said between laughs and passes, “have you figured out your ideal marriage yet?”
I thought for another moment and then nodded. “I think so, actually.”
She stopped and turned in her swing to look at me, her eyes effortlessly melting my will. My heart alternated between spasms and a dead stop. Ella used to do that same thing; it usually resulted in serious lip-lock. I suddenly wondered what Moiré’s lips tasted like.
I shuddered and rebuked myself for the thought. I forced my gaze to the ground. I was engaged! I had to remind myself that Ella was my sworn love. Ella. Ella. Ella. Not Moiré. I took a few deep breaths, before answering.
“Well,” I began slowly, “I guess my ideal is pretty simple.”
“Promise I won’t laugh,” she said.
“I knew you wouldn’t,” I replied. “My ideal marriage is one in which I love my wife with my all and take care of her every need and desire—within practical reason—and in which she feels and does the same for me. We’ll eventually have kids and find all that happiness and joy those parenting magazines talk about.”
She raised her eyebrows at the mention of the magazines, but didn’t voice the question in her eyes.
“Research.”
She nodded.
“So… that’s it, I guess. Just mutual love, trust and respect.”
She smiled softly. “You’re sweet, Nick.”
I bit my tongue before I could blurt, “And you’re gorgeous.”
I suddenly realized that I was making things worse by fixating on potential problems. I closed my eyes and forced myself to let go of my tension. I got out of the swing and knelt on the grass; she followed suit. This was wrong. This was dangerous. Then it hit me that, yes, it was okay to be friends with Moiré. I could choose how I saw her; romance was not required.
Carefully, I opened my eyes and willed myself to see her the way I should. She looked back in silent appraisal. Perhaps she sensed my intent? Finally, I realized that deep in my heart there was a real, true friendship with her that went beyond that initial “mating evaluation” I’d mentioned. For the first time since I’d met her, I felt totally relaxed with Moiré De Lanthe.
We talked in the park while the moon fully swept across the sky. We shared happy stories, sad stories, funny stories and embarrassing stories. Mostly, we shared an unspoken camaraderie the likes of which I’d never felt with a girl. After we’d finished an unexpected tangent about cheesecake, she looked at me again with a smile.
“So,” she said, “you’ve got these great ideas about marriage and ‘Don John’ thinks you're lucky in love already. You told me—and remember I already pegged you on it—about the hickeys. But can I ask you something personal?”
“I assume that despite the fact that you’re currently an eligible bachelor, you've probably taken a turn in love before. I know better than to open old wounds, but I also know that sometimes there are things we need to get off our chest or valuable lessons we’re willing to share.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to bill me for this, aren't you?”
“You just put yourself on the clock. Now lie down on this couch over here...”
I choked, but recovered quickly. “Yeah... How about I just stay seated.”
She paused and then gave me a knowing grin. “So, that innocence is just a facade.”
I put my hands up defensively. “No. I’m perfectly innocent. I have no idea what you're talking about.”
She laughed lightly. “Uh huh. Your story?”
“Yeah. My story.” I pointed to the swing set. “See those?”
She nodded.
“That swing you were just in? It's the same one she used that night.”
“You habitually swing in the dark?”
“As much as you do, apparently.”
“Toupee.”
“Don't you mean 'touché'?”
“No. Hair pieces are more amusing than fencing.”
I stopped mid-word and then chuckled. “Gotcha. Anyway, I've been at this school here since my freshman year. I love this place. Not sure if that's a sane thing to say about a school, but it's true.”
“So, wait,” she interjected, “you're telling me that your lost love was an affair with an institution of higher learning?”
I grinned. Her humor was growing on me. “Shall I go on?”
“Yes. Please do, Doctor Cairn.”
“Anyway, I've been here long enough to have experienced love. The first girl I ever actually loved was a girl I met here. We worked together. She was cute and we were both available. Naturally, I took a liking to her. We'd talk at work and eventually I got up the guts to ask her out.
“We had a great date and started spending time together. She was halfway hung up on another guy though—not about to rush into things. Still, she seemed like she was interested in giving me a chance.
“Well, I remembered all those times I’d tried to rush a relationship it never worked. So with this girl, I decided to try just being her friend. And you know something? It worked far better than I ever expected. More surprising, I found that what started as some little crush was blossoming into the kind of love I'd never really known before. I cared about her more than I cared about myself. That blew me away.
“Our second date ended in this park.”
Moiré leaned toward me and rested on an elbow. “Go on.”
My breath caught, but I pushed on nonetheless. “Right. Things looked pretty good as the semester went on. Then... then I screwed everything up.”
“Uh oh.”
“Nah, it was nothing really serious. It's just... well, my childhood had issues. But I got over them and decided to try clinical psychology as a way of helping other people through their problems.”
�
��Enough said.” She nodded solemnly.
“Yeah, I've spent plenty of time shrinking my own head. But back before I figured myself out, I was pretty thoughtless sometimes. That's what killed my relationship with her.”
She nodded again. “Gotcha.”
“The semester ended and she put a thousand miles between us.” I continued. “I didn’t cope well with that. In fact, I decided to one-up her, fleeing all the way to England, for a summer of ‘cultural experience.’ We half-way kept in touch by e-mail until I systematically killed our trust and friendship by being an immature moron. She was engaged by the time I returned. I deserved it all.
“Oddly, being thrown into a foreign culture helped me grow up really quick. When I met her fiancé, I was truly happy for her. Though I’d lost the best thing that had ever happened to me, I was able to close that chapter of my life and quit wondering 'what if'?”
A soft breeze carried Moiré’s scent to me, as if the universe were telling me I had been forgiven for being an idiot as a child.
She sat up. “And you've been looking for a replacement ever since, huh?”
I shrugged. “I've had other interests. Even girls I've wanted to marry. So, there's my war story. How about you, Moiré? How many guys have you shot down over the years? Three, four dozen? Did you ever keep any of the rings?”
She looked uncharacteristically stunned for a moment. I instantly knew I'd hit a nerve. “Oh... Oh no. I'm so sorry, Moiré, I was just trying to be cute...”
She looked away. “No. You didn't know. It's all right. I didn't take it personally.”
I peered at her. “So you were engaged?”
Moiré's half-smile under those sad eyes made my heart do funny things. I wanted to reach out and pull her into a comforting embrace and tell her everything would be alright, but I knew better. I just sat quietly, waiting for her to continue.
“I guess I can say I've lost love twice.”
Wow. This was worse than I'd expected. Moiré climbed back into her swing and sat in silent stargazing. On a hunch, I quietly occupied the swing next to her. She reached out a hand and I took it without thinking. Ella would kill me for this, but then Ella never had figured out how to connect to another person who was in pain. The warmth of her palm was soothing, I hoped I was helping her through the hurtful memories I had so carelessly dredged up. Eventually, her soft voice broke the silence.