The Romance Novel Cure

by Ceves, Nina

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” he said, turning into the kitchen. “You want some soup? I made some. It’s gluten free. It has…” He started to rattle off the ingredients.

  “Sure, cool, thanks,” I said. “If you’ll eat with me?”

  He stopped, sagged against the counter.

  “I can’t eat,” he said, rubbing his face. “I can’t sleep.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I remember when Greta first got diagnosed, I said some really stupid things, trying to help her feel better. Trying to find the silver lining. It backfired, I could see, looking back, and just made Greta feel more alone with what she was feeling. So, I tried hard not to say anything dumb.

  “It’s just not fair,” I said. “You’d be… you’d be such a great dad.”

  “Thanks,” he said, quietly, looking down.

  We were quiet for a moment.

  “It just… it brings up a lot for me,” he continued in that quiet voice, “like, I’m not good enough. Who I am.”

  “Yeah,” I said, just as quiet. “But, you are. And I believe… that you’ll look back at this time, and you’ll be a father.”

  Patrick crossed his arms and sniffed. He wiped a finger delicately under his eyes, reminding me of Greta.

  He took a quick breath. “Let me pack this soup up for you guys at work, okay? You all can have some after yoga. You’re missing yoga!”

  “I wanted to check on you,” I said.

  “Thanks, Ben,” he said, nodding, handing me a large container of the soup.

  I thanked him. We walked to my car together, Patrick placing the bag of pants lovingly in the car.

  “I mean it, thanks,” he said softly, over his shoulder as he turned to go back into the house.

  Greta

  Ben texted me in the afternoon. He would pick me up so we could go to therapy together. When I was done for the day, I went to my car to put my lunch bag away in my trunk, and Elijah’s dad, Daniel, stopped on the way to his car.

  “Look, buddy, it’s Ms. Greta,” he said, making Elijah’s little hand wave. I had been the person who gave Daniel a tour of the school when he was first interested in enrolling Elijah, who was just six months old at that time. Our director was out sick, so I introduced him to the infant teachers, showed him around, and gave him all of our paperwork. Daniel had full custody of Elijah, and needed to go back to work full-time, so after relying on family for help with childcare, he needed a more consistent, reliable option. Probably because I was his first contact, Daniel seemed to bond with me, and often stopped by to say hello over the last couple of months, even though I worked with the toddlers, and not the infants.

  Elijah grinned at me.

  “Wow, two more teeth!” I exclaimed.

  “He’ll be in your class before we know it,” Daniel cuddled Elijah and looked at me, smiling. “Getting to be such a little man.”

  Elijah waved his arms.

  “Oh, you’re saying hi to Ms. Greta, huh? You want to be in her class and see her all day, huh?”

  I laughed. Just then Ben pulled up. He came over quickly and slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me close.

  “Hi, I’m Greta’s husband, Ben,” he said.

  “This is Elijah and his father, Daniel,” I said, gesturing.

  Daniel shook Ben’s hand and took a step back.

  “Bye,” he said, nodding.

  “See you tomorrow,” I said, waving to Elijah.

  Ben kept his arm around my waist, keeping me against his side. He leaned down to press a kiss on my cheek.

  The air was starting to get cooler as the sun got lower, and I shivered. Ben ran his hands down my shoulders to my hands and back up again, facing me. I leaned back against my car and Ben pressed just a little closer. My heart started racing.

  “Mr. Tattoo Sleeves chatting you up?” he murmured.

  “What?” I laughed.

  “I know the signs,” he said darkly, but with a hint of a smile on his mouth. His eyes were big and serious, though.

  “Ben,” I smiled and shook my head.

  “You kidding me?” His head dipped again and he kissed my cheek, closer to my mouth this time. He kept his mouth right there. “Of course he’s interested. Of course he has a mad crush on the beautiful, kind, smart, funny, hot teacher. Who wouldn’t be feeling that way?”

  I blushed and shivered again. This was ridiculous. This was making me feel tingles everywhere.

  “And I’m the guy that gets to go home with you.” He kissed me on the mouth, gently, quickly.

  My knees got completely shaky.

  “And the guy that gets to take you to marriage counseling,” he added wryly, stepping back, grinning at me, shrugging one shoulder. I laughed. He took my hand and we went to his car. I didn’t want to let go of his hand when he opened the passenger side door for me.

  Ben

  The night before, when I had a hard time falling asleep, I read:

  * * *

  Sera held the stack of books and papers closer to her chest. Gosh, Professor Ward was such a creep.

  “So, yeah, just come by. We’ll have drinks, talk about some more resources in Boston for research.”

  His words were generous, but his gaze was predatory. He licked his lips and leaned toward her. She did not trust him. And this was the man she had to depend on here at Salem University. Something about him chilled her to her marrow, and all her sass seemed to drain away whenever she was in his presence. Somehow, whenever Sera was near him, all she wanted to do was run away.

  She took a step back, closer to her car parked on a quiet lane off of Lafayette Street. The sky was becoming purple in the encroaching twilight. She shivered.

  “Carry your books home from school?” Silas was suddenly at her side, his low voice and half smile filling her chest with relief and excitement. He gently took her books, taking a step closer to Professor Ward. Silas seemed to become larger, somehow, there in the growing darkness. The sounds of cars from busy Lafayette Street blended with a noise that almost sounded like a snarl from Silas. Sera could not take her eyes off him. He thrust out a hand.

  “Professor Ward. I’m Silas, Sera’s boyfriend,” he said, his voice reverberating in his chest.

  The professor paled, swallowed, and nodded. He reluctantly held out his hand and winced when Silas’s hand enveloped it.

  “Good night,” muttered Dr. Ward, and he turned away quickly, not even glancing in Sera’s direction.

  Silas pulled her up against him, holding her with one arm wrapped around her. He kissed her slowly, his lips and tongue lingering, as though they were completely alone, indoors somewhere. He broke off and looked into her eyes. Sera was pressed so close up against him. She sighed, and smiled.

  “Hey,” she said, breathlessly. “Boyfriend.”

  “I’ve got my eye on him,” said Silas, the warm look in his eyes becoming replaced by a hard glint. “Now he knows, though.”

  “Knows what?”

  “That you, my beautiful Sera, are mine, and that I will tear him to shreds if he even thinks about giving you any trouble.”

  Sera blinked.

  “Come on, big guy, I’ll let you help me with my homework,” she smirked, thrilled.

  * * *

  Rule number eight: be a little jealous, a little possessive. Not in a creepy, I don’t trust you way, just in a protective, you are the most amazing woman on earth and everyone needs to know you are with me kind of way.

  I had always tried to hide those feelings when they came up, feeling insecure about them or feeling as though I shouldn’t act like a Neanderthal.

  At our therapist’s office, MacIntyre looked even younger than she had last week, with one long French braid down her back and a flowing dress patterned with cats chasing balls of string. Greta and I darted a glance at one another, and I knew she was thinking the same thing.

  “Last week, we talked about increasing positive interactions, and possibly journaling this journey of reconnection. Wou
ld you like to speak to that?” She sat across from us, smiling and nodding warmly.

  I nodded and smiled back, not knowing what to say, thinking frantically.

  “I think,” started Greta, “that we’ve had quite a few positive interactions this week.” She looked at me shyly and I swear, I melted.

  “Definitely,” I said, looking into those amazingly beautiful light blue eyes.

  “Well, that is wonderful to hear,” said Mac, beaming. “We also touched upon alternatives to pornography. Would you like to check in around that issue?”

  Oh, man. That again?

  “Books,” I coughed. “Reading. Yeah, we’ve, ah, been reading.”

  “Yeah,” said Greta, smiling, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye and then looking down.

  “That sounds lovely,” our therapist said. “Well, has anything come up that you’d like to check in about, or discuss? Any conflict or disagreement? No?”

  We shook our heads, shrugging.

  “Today, I’d like to see if you’d be open to considering increasing time together over the next week. Specifically, getting closer, physically.”

  I started to feel a little warm. I rubbed the back of my neck.

  “Some couples start with just hand holding, some are already kissing each other. Whatever path you are taking in reconnecting physically, I want to talk about boundaries and communication.” Mac nodded, looking impossibly young. Why couldn’t we have an old man therapist? Someone with a long beard and spectacles? Some Jungian who would ramble about archetypes?

  “You might want to set some ground rules. For example, kissing, and caressing only from the neck up, on the arms, and from the knees down. You can’t go back in time and pretend you are dating again, but you can take the time to check in with each other, creating a space for open, caring dialog about feeling safe. Taking things one step at a time.”

  I had this sudden image of kissing Greta’s knees and that was it, I was on fire. Periodic table of elements, I muttered in my head, elements. There’s Hydrogen and Helium…

  Greta crossed her legs and swung her foot, glancing at me, her cheeks pink.

  I looked deliberately up at the ceiling, away from her knees peeking out from between her skirt and boots. Elements. There’s Hydrogen and Helium…

  Mac waited, but we were quiet.

  “So, another idea I wanted to share: vision boards. Each of you can think about creating a vision board about the relationship, the marriage, that you imagine. The marriage of your dreams. Perhaps next week, you can bring in what you have, and the two of you can share your vision for the marriage you want to see become a reality.”

  She got up and reached behind her.

  “I’ll share my vision board. When I was younger, I had a dream about what I wanted to do with my life. I made this.”

  She held out a large poster board filled with images of tranquil Zen gardens, people smiling, and sunshine.

  “I wanted to find a way to help people feel happier. And now I’m living my dream.” She smiled radiantly.

  We smiled back, charmed.

  Driving back to the school’s parking lot, we were quiet, until Greta said, “When she was younger? Like, what? Yesterday?”

  I laughed. “Next week, she’ll look about twelve and I swear I’ll run from the office screaming if she brings up anything even remotely connected to sex.”

  She laughed so hard she snorted.

  “Therapy is like meeting with Jackson Galaxy, but without the cat,” she continued, thoughtfully.

  I laughed even harder. “What, like Jackson Galaxy would come over, open his guitar case, and be like, hey, bubba, hey girlfriend, wait… where is your cat?”

  “Exactly,” she said nodding, and smiling. “Oh, Jackson, we don’t have cats, but we need help with our relationship. I was all traumatized for more than a year and now I forget how to have sex, oh, please help us!”

  I slowed down, pulled into the parking lot. I put the car in park but left the engine running. I turned to Greta. I reached out and touched her hair, her cheek. She was looking down at her lap, looking embarrassed, not laughing anymore.

  “Hey,” I said, softly. “It’s going to be okay, you know? I just don’t want you to feel bad, to feel rushed.” I searched for words. She looked at me, her eyes all big and dark in the night. “We’ve got our homework for this week. Maybe you’ll be into… me kissing your elbows? Maybe your knees?”

  She burst out laughing and then suddenly she leaned forward, kissing me. Our seat belts tugged us back. I unbuckled hers and mine.

  “Come here,” I said, leaning toward her again. We kissed and kissed, slowly, tentatively. Greta mouthed my bottom lip, licking it, and then kissed along my jaw to my ear, where she gently bit my earlobe and exhaled into my ear.

  Gone. I was gone.

  I gently fisted my hands in her hair to keep them from touching her body, and I kissed her mouth, again and again, wanting to be as close to her as I could, even with just a kiss.

  Finally, she pulled back.

  “I’m shaking,” she said, breathing fast.

  “I’ll drive us home. I’ll drive you here tomorrow morning,” I said. My heart was pounding, everything was pounding and straining.

  “No, no, that’s okay,” she said, smoothing her hair down, swallowing.

  “No, let’s just go,” I said.

  “No, I’m okay, I’ll follow you home.” She got out of the car and got into hers. I waiting until she started her car, had her seatbelt on, and nodded at me, before I slowly drove off. I kept checking my rearview mirror. Did I move too fast, kiss her too much? Had she wanted some space?

  Greta

  I was shaking. Driving home, following Ben, all I wanted was to kiss him again. I had started to feel so out of control, kissing him in the car. I parked next to him in our lot and he took my hand. We walked upstairs to our condo, not making conversation. Ben unlocked our door. I think his hands were trembling a little.

  Inside, Ben put his keys, phone, and wallet in the bowl we keep on a table by the front door. I saw him place his hands on the table and take a deep breath, steadying himself.

  “Ben,” was all I could say, and he turned to me. When he saw my face, he took two long strides to me, taking my face in his hands, kissing me. He walked me backwards to our couch and I felt it at the back of my knees. I pulled him down with me.

  He held himself above me, but I could feel how aroused he was, and it made me want him even more. We kept kissing, our lips, tongues, and breath saying what words could not. I shifted under him, trying to get closer, and he pulled back.

  “Did I hurt you?” His eyes were cloudy, his mouth looking even fuller from all the kissing.

  “No.” I shook my head, running my hands up and down his arms. I wanted his sweater off, I wanted his tee shirt off, so badly.

  “Let me get your boots,” he said, and sat up. He put my legs on his lap, and he slowly pulled one boot off, stroking my leg, then the other boot, caressing that leg, too, up and down, from my knees to my ankles. He began to pull my socks off, one at a time, so slowly. I bit my lip. It felt so good. His eyes were on my legs and feet, and then he looked at me, the expression on his face full of heat and intent. My throat hurt for a moment. I realized that I had missed this side of Ben. He was such a sweet, strong guy with such a great sense of humor, but at a certain point, when he wanted me, he morphed into Mr. Serious, dark and sexy, and I just loved it. I had almost forgotten it, how his face would change, his eyes would spark. My toes curled. I reached for him.

  Ben

  If I hadn’t opened my big mouth.

  If we had just stayed on the couch.

  I ruined everything.

  I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just was lost in the moment, and I wanted Greta to be comfortable. I wanted to be together, in our bed. So, I stood up, holding her hand. At first, things were okay. She looked so sexy, her hair a mess, her lips swollen from kissing, eyes dazed and happy. She came with me
eagerly, to the doorway of our bedroom, the room that had been hers alone for all this lonely time. Then, she stopped. Her hand dropped to her side, then lifted to push her hair out of her eyes. I was horrified to see that she had started to cry.

  “Hon, what is it, what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, covering her mouth.

  I don’t know why, but I had an instinct to get her out of the room. I put my arm around her shoulders and steered her into the guest room, sitting her down on the bed. I kicked off my shoes, sat up against the headboard, and pulled her gently so that she was sitting with me.

  “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,” she said, after a few minutes.

  I swore. “I moved too fast. I’m the one who is sorry.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She laughed a little. “I was the one moving fast.”

  “You okay?” Obviously she wasn’t, but I didn’t know what to say.

  “I was fine, and then, I don’t know, I got this sudden memory. Just, flooded with this crystal clear memory of, I don’t know, maybe the last time we made love? Trying to get pregnant? Just, all those feelings… and it just hit me, so hard, like that.” She took a shaky breath.

  I fought a sense of despair. I tried to tell myself to be brave and to have hope. It just felt so awful.

  I touched her cheek. Was there anything softer? She leaned her head on my shoulder and yawned, on a half sob.

  I wished I knew what to say. I held her closer.

  I must have fallen asleep at some point, after a long time. I don’t know if Greta stayed with me in the night, or not. I woke up, on top of the bedspread, my head at a weird angle, still in my clothes. I stumbled to my feet, squinting at the overcast glare coming in from the window. Leaving the bedroom, I looked around. Greta had gone, and I was running late.

  I rubbed my jaw and cursed, looking out the window. This was too hard.

  Rule number nine: Never give up on being married, never give up on Greta. Never give up.