Page 16 of Love's a Script
“Not necessary.”
He insisted, and she took a moment before relenting.
“I’m still getting used to there being three of them,” she told him as they moved toward the elevators as a group.
“You’re doing fine,” he said.
On the ride down, Mary reminded the boys that they’d be using their inside voices for the rest of their library visit. When they exited on the ground floor, they passed stout shelves filled with colorful slim books on their way to the reading corner where children and their guardians had gathered. A woman in an owl-print dress had already begun reading from a picture book, so they tiptoed to a spot in the back.
Ruben had planned to leave after handing off the diaper bag to Mary, but the path he’d taken there had somehow closed up. So he sunk onto the green carpet with Mary and her nephews.
“Thank you, but you don’t have to stay,” Mary whispered as she removed the baby from the contraption on her chest and plopped him on the carpet with a wood stacking toy he immediately took to.
“Can’t,” he said, matching her volume. “I don’t want to step on tiny fingers trying to fee-fi-fo-fum my way out.”
The older boys, like most of the children in the room, were engrossed in the vibrant illustrations and progressing story of a bird in the Serengeti learning self-esteem.
“I’m sorry for taking you from your work,” Mary said after some minutes.
“Don’t worry about it, I’m enjoying story time,” he said, and debated before adding, “even if the lady reading sounds like she was just shotgunning NyQuil.”
It was satisfying to watch Mary shake her head but fail to squash her smile. And what a pretty smile, he thought, noticing the way her eyes crinkled. Mary’s gaze suddenly met his, and he realized he was gawking. In an attempt to deflect, he asked, “Have you ever seen old matrimonial ads?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, so he produced his phone and showed her what he’d been researching all morning.
“This is for your documentary?” she asked.
He nodded.
“They look like job postings,” she said. “It’s a little depressing.”
“How so?”
“You don’t think it’s sad that people were pitching themselves like a used futon on Facebook Marketplace?”
“How different is it from dating app bios or even what you do?”
“For one, I want you to actually fall in love.”
“Okay, but love wasn’t their focus or the priority,” he said.
“Then my point still stands. Depressing.”
“To you as a person living in the present day. But I’ve been reading this anthropologist’s research on marriages across times, and different peoples from communities in northern Cameroon to Roman philosophers to French peasants viewed love as a threat to rationality, or just a bonus, or an entirely illegitimate emotion. So while the matrimonial ads weren’t romantic, they were honest.”
“I don’t know about honest,” Mary said. “I think marrying solely for practical or economic reasons would’ve incentivized exaggeration and scams. Jebedia says his wagon is bigger than it is to get a wife with great cooking skills. Meanwhile, Edna lies about being the best canner on this side of Hudson Bay. One fails to mention their hoarding habit, and the other doesn’t reveal their debt.”
Ruben chuckled, somewhat compelled by her reasoning. “Are you single?” he asked, realizing late that the question might be invasive.
She looked at him, her eyes wide. “Why?”
“I guess I’m wondering how your work influences your romantic life. Are you too enlightened to slum it with the rest of the mortals on dating apps?”
“I wouldn’t call myself enlightened,” she said. “But my job has altered what I expect from a future partner.”
“And what do you expect?” he asked, not sure why he was curious about the specifics or why he watched her closely as she pondered.
When she emerged from her thoughts, she said, “Someone who sees me for exactly who I am and what I am, and doesn’t just accept it but relishes it.”
