A quiet whining sound came from the back, and both of us turned instantly to check on Gretchen. We were close enough that I could feel the heat emanating from her head as we peered into the car seat.
Gretchen was fine, but I wasn’t. As we turned to the front again, I couldn’t stop myself from staring at Faye. Her features were so distinguished, yet there was a softness to them I hadn’t seen when we first met. She wasn’t only the super-intelligent deconstructor of postcolonial literature who’d intimidated me so much in the 201 lecture. She was… relatable.
And I liked her.
My hand landed on her, grabbing it off the gearshift. I stared at it, knowing my initial impulse to bring it to my lips was completely inappropriate, but unsure of what else to do with it. With her looking at me in confusion, I squeezed that hand, unwilling to let it go.
For such an innocent gesture, it was sure doing a lot. Heat rushed through me, growing with every passing second that our hands touched. The longer the touch went on, the more exhilarated I felt. I wanted Faye. Needed her. And it seemed like maybe, maybe, I had a chance with her.
“Your ex was a fucking moron,” I said hoarsely.
Gently, she extricated her hand from mine. “We should go home.”
8
Faye
So the woman I’d spent the past week dreaming about was into me, too. So what?
Did it really matter if our first official non-thesis-or-baby-related hang-out had gone better than I could’ve hoped? If her annoying ditziness was actually cute when I let myself see it that way? If she was able to recite beautiful verses of feminist poetry off the top of her head?
If she was adorably shy about her crush on me?
No, I told myself as I spun the wheel to bring my car into the driveway. She wasn’t for me.
I had to stop visualizing the two of us reading great works of literature to each other by a fireplace. Get rid of the idea of her getting her Ph.D. and co-authoring groundbreaking essays with me.
At the very least, it couldn’t happen now.
As soon as I shut the apartment door behind me, I picked up the phone.
Jaz answered on the first ring. “Faye? Is something wrong with Gretchen?”
“No, she’s here with me. I’m about to change her diaper and feed her.” I marveled for the millionth time at how quickly this had become normal to me. Things I had never imagined a few weeks ago were just everyday routine.
“So what’s up?”
I balanced Gretchen on my hip for the moment, wanting to give this conversation my full attention. “Jaz… I’ve been thinking about professors and students, and the relationships they can have with each other. If a student were to be interested in a professor…” She attempted to say something, but I shushed her. “Just listen for now.”
“Okay,” she squeaked.
“It’s fine if it happens. Similar interests, perhaps a shared sexuality, it’s only natural that it would cross a person’s mind.” Like it had mine. “Thing is, professors are busy people, and sometimes they have other things going on in their lives. They might not be in a place for any kind of relationship. As wonderful as the student may be, it simply isn’t always possible.”
Jaz’s voice got even smaller. “Oh.”
“You understand, don’t you?”
“I do.” She swallowed. “But are you saying if that professor, hypothetically, didn’t have all these outside obligations…”
The baby wriggled in my arm, and I remembered the urgency of changing the diaper she was wearing. “I can’t answer that right now.” I grabbed the towel Jaz had allocated for this purpose and laid Gretchen down on it. “You’re okay though, right? You’ll still keep babysitting and everything?”
“Of course.” Disappointment hung over Jaz’s voice, but she made an effort to sound like she wasn’t bothered. “You know I adore that kid. Even if she moved out to her mom’s, I’d probably drive two hours to go babysit her.”
“Right.” Why was it so strange for Jaz to imagine Gretchen living with my sister? That was my goal here. That was why I was spending so much time hunting for Amanda. Just… hearing it from someone else felt funny.
“So… see you Monday?” Jaz asked.
“Monday morning, bright and early.”