Instead, I sit with Patrick and remember the girl who playedHotel Paperon repeat, the girl who wanted to share her poetry with the world (not that I ever managed to write decent poetry).
She's still there, inside of me, somewhere.
And being here, in this open, honest space, I want to find her. Only I don't want to share with the world.
I want to share with him.
And that's scarier than anything.
* * *
After,I gather my things, we kiss goodbye. I think of Patrick on the drive back to my apartment, as I shower and dress and rush to class.
For an hour and a half, I study micro-economics. I think about my experiment, wonder what the hell this means. Not because I need to save this for posterity.
Because that's how I understand people.
I can break it down, sure.
The opportunity cost of exclusivity.
The mutual gains of exclusivity (safe, condom free sex).
The mutual gains of shared labor. (Pooling resources is more efficient).
It all makes perfect sense.
But where do I explain the feeling in my chest? The free fall of falling for him? The desire to spill my guts? The fear of pushing him away.
Sharing secrets leads to trust.
Trust leads to additional cooperation.
Cooperation leads to the best outcomes.
It all makes sense, but none of it explains the feelings coursing through my veins.
After class, I pull out my cell, ready to text him, check on him, plan more time together.
But I have something else to address first.
A text from Julie.
Julie: So? Are you single? Did you chicken out? Or did you tell him everything?
ChapterThirty-Four
IMOGEN
Did I chicken out?
I didn't end things, but I didn't confess either.
How the hell do I explain this to Julie? What do I owe my kid sister?
She isn't like me. She doesn't live in her head, obsess over books, pour her thoughts onto blank pages. She's a social butterfly. She can discuss anything with anyone.
I can't.