Page 53 of Love's a Script
“We’re not recording yet, but feel free even once we begin.”
“Have you ever been in love?” the professor then asked.
The question caught Ruben off guard, but he answered, “Yeah, I have.”
“How many times?”
“Two. Four times if we’re counting teenage infatuations,” Ruben said, trying to bring some levity as he was uncomfortable with the attention.
“And I’m guessing how you met those people and the timeframe between meeting and falling in love and ultimately out of love were all different?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
Dr. Goddard nodded. “See, inconsistent. There’s no rubric. And are you in love now?”
“No…”
“You say that like you’re unsure.”
“I’m sure.”
“But there’s a contender.”
Ruben hesitated. He didn’t know why he hesitated. “No.”
A smile grew on the scientist’s face. “This is why I stick with base animals.”
Ruben was relieved when Novak gave him the signal that sound check was complete, and he put aside what should’ve been idle chitchat and an establishment of rapport with his guest to begin the official interview. He pushed himself to remain present and conversational, and fortunately, the talkative professor didn’t need much encouragement to expound. At the end, Ruben thanked the man and escorted him to the exit, then headed to his cubicle to prepare for that evening’s broadcast.
Chesa spotted him from her neighboring desk. “Ah-oh. Did the interview go badly?”
“No, why?”
“It’s just that you look so glum,” she said.
Did he? Ruben shrugged. “It was a great conversation. A very much needed perspective. A good reminder.”
Chapter Thirty
Mary showed up at her father’s home on a Saturday afternoon, and when he opened the door to let her in, he asked, “Was I expecting you?”
“No, I just thought I’d swing by.”
“That’s nice,” he said as they walked to the kitchen area where several piles of students’ assignments were stacked on the table. The home was too big for one man, but he seemed not to mind the gnawing space and the dust accumulating in spaces less frequented.
“I have some carrot cake from the grocery store,” he said. “If you want some.”
“Sure.” She watched him retrieve the cake from the refrigerator and cut thick slices.
“How’s work?” he asked while he put on the kettle.
“Good.”
“And how about that role you were set to get?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I didn’t get it.”
“I’m sorry,” her dad said, pausing to look at her sincerely. “Next time.”
