Page 36 of It's a Love Story

“What frame?”

“The arbor out back.”

He turns onto his back, so I do too. “It’s just something I’ve been doing since I was a kid. I made Aidan help me move our old swing set one night. And then I bought potted ivy and figured out how to train it. Sort of a hobby.”

“I like it,” I say.

“I do too. I always wanted to paint something important there, or take exactly the right photo with that ivy edge. My dad thinks I’m a little . . .”

I laugh. “Yes, he told me. Does that bother you?”

“It used to, but I’m fine with it now. He loves me. There’s a difference between someone loving you and agreeing with every single thing you do.”

This is an unexpectedly deep thought, though nothing about Dan is what I expected. We’re quiet for a bit, and I stare at the shadow that the ceiling light casts in the moonlight. “I like your family.”

“They’re a trip.”

“A happy trip.”

“But you see that I’m different, right?” He turns his head toward me and I meet his gaze.

“Oh, you’re different all right.” I mean it as a barb.

“I am.”

He doesn’t say anything more, so I go on. “I was kidding, but I can tell that you’re different, quiet where they’re loud. Intense where they’re loose.”

“Yeah. My dad, poor guy, is still trying to get his head around it. Me being in my head a lot. When I was a kid, he thought I was just really distracted, because I wouldn’t focus in school or soak up the thing he was showing me how to fix. I mean, my interest in fixing a toilet is nothing. Use it, flush it. I’m out.”

“Same.”

He smiles, just a little. “The thing my dad still doesn’t totally get is that I’m not at all distracted, that when I find something that I think is interesting or true or beautiful, I’m hyper-focused.”

“I can see that.” To prove me right, he locks his eyes on mine, and I have this flash of what it might feel like to be interesting or true or beautiful to Dan. I’m grateful for the dark, where words can bounce around without consequence.

“Aidan helped me with the arbor, but he also marketed it to my dad as construction rather than art, which is why we got to keep it.” I can only see his eyes now, the way the light’s coming in. They move around my face, like they’re looking for something. Dan says, “I have the feeling being Janey Jakes wasn’t your favorite thing.”

“It was and then it wasn’t.”

“Today, when you were playing the keyboards, I was watching you. It was like playing that song kind of hurt. I was waiting for you to smile, but you never did. Not once.” He’s looking right at me, his eyes in shadow.

“It’s just a dumb love song. I don’t really believe in romantic love like that.”

His eyes go soft. “So do you not date? You were going to go out with me,” he says, and the corner of his mouth, which I happen to be staring at, curves up the tiniest bit. I smile back at his mouth because I don’t want to look in his eyes.

“I was, before I found out you’re the worst.”

He smiles like he loves being the worst. “So you date but don’t believe in love?”

“I’d like to have a partner, I’m not a robot. But I’m just not all starry-eyed about it. I’d like to meet a solid guy, like a guy with dental insurance who shows up when he says he will and picks up milk when you need it. A guy who will stick around.”

He laughs. “That’s so hot.”

“Right?” I don’t know why it feels okay telling him this. I should be embarrassed. “So I go on dates, I wear the right thing. I blow my hair straight and try to act datable.”

Dan laughs, and it fills the room. He turns all the way on his side, his arm outside the covers and his bicep catching the light. “What does ‘datable’ mean? Of course you’re datable.”

“Well, when I focus on it, I am. It’s a whole thing. My dating protocol. I act the right amount interested and the right amount bored. I mentally track his word count so I’m not blabbering on more than he is.” Dan’s smile fades a bit, like he’s more concerned than amused. “You have to remember I was an actress. So when I’m dating, I use that. I act like a woman you’d want to date.”

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