Page 35 of The Cyrano Situation
Hart Fielding, expert in marketing literature and emotional self-sabotage. Perhaps I should add it to my CV.
"You look terrible," Priya announced the next morning, appearing in my office doorway with two coffee cups. She kicked the door closed behind her and set one cup on my desk. "Drink this. It's a quadruple shot."
"Your concern is touching," I muttered, but reached gratefully for the coffee.
She settled into the chair across from me, studying me with the merciless scrutiny that made her both an excellent friend and a formidable academic. "So, how's operation 'Help My Crush Woo Someone Else' going? Still firmly in self-destruction mode, I see."
I glared at her over the rim of my cup. "I don't recall asking for your psychological assessment."
"And yet here I am, providing it free of charge." She smiled sardonically, crossed her legs, the bright green of her eyes contrasting sharply with her warm brown skin. "You know you're being ridiculous, right? Just tell him how you feel."
"And say what, exactly?" I set the cup down harder than intended. "'Sorry to interrupt your blossoming romance, but I've developed inconvenient feelings for you that I'd like you to acknowledge before rejecting them'?"
"Yes, actually. That would be significantly more dignified than what you're currently doing."
I leaned back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose. "There's nothing dignified about any of this, Priya. Besides, he's happy. Jules is brilliant and attractive and they have actual chemistry. Who am I to interfere with that?"
"Who are you?" She raised her eyebrows. "You're Hart Fielding, the person who's been halfway in love with Cyril since he joined the department. The person who knows more about his interests and passions than anyone else. The person who apparently spends his evenings crafting romantic text messages for him to send to someone else."
I flinched. "He told you about that?"
"He didn't have to. He quoted one of your messages to me verbatim, and unless he's suddenly developed your particular brand of verbose eloquence, those were your words coming out of his mouth."
I sighed, deflating slightly. "It's not like it matters. He sees me as a friend, a mentor. Nothing more."
"Are you sure about that? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like he values your opinion above anyone else's. He comes to you for advice on everything from his research to his love life. That's not nothing, Hart."
"It's not enough, either." I gestured vaguely. "Besides, have you seen him with Jules? They're perfect together. Both brilliant, both gorgeous, both with promising literary careers. They make sense."
"And you and Cyril don't?" She leaned forward, her expression softening. "Hart, you're allowed to want things for yourself. You're allowed to pursue your own happiness."
"My happiness is not dependent on Cyril returning my feelings," I said, with as much bravado as I could muster.
"No, but your current misery certainly is." She took a sip of her coffee, eyeing me over the rim. "What's really going on here? This isn't like you, this... martyrdom."
I was silent for a long moment, tracing the edge of my desk with one finger. "Do you remember that movie 'Call Me By Your Name' that we went to as a team building exercise?"
She nodded slowly. "The one where Cyril sat next to you and kept whispering commentary in your ear?"
"Yes. There's a line in it, where Elio's father tells him that most people don't find the kind of connection they had, that most people settle for something less." I met her gaze. "I think Cyril could have that… that rare, transformative connection, with Jules. And I think he deserves it."
"And you don't?"
I smiled thinly. "I'm thirty-eight years old, Priya. I've had relationships. Some good, some disastrous. But I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about him, and he doesn't feel the same way. So yes, I'm helping him pursue someone else, because his happiness matters to me."
"Even at the expense of your own?"
"Especially at the expense of my own." I picked up my coffee again. "Now, can we please discuss something else? That new indie author you wanted were talking about signing, perhaps? Or the latest departmental drama? Anything but my pathetic love life."
She studied me for a moment longer, then sighed. "Fine. But this conversation isn't over. I'm just giving you a temporary reprieve."
"Your generosity knows no bounds," I said dryly.
She smiled, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Oh, you have no idea."
The reprieve lasted exactly three days, until Cyril appeared in my doorway late Friday afternoon, looking uncharacteristically nervous.
"Jules invited me over for dinner tomorrow," he announced without preamble. "At his apartment."
