It’s too far for me to see much more than the fact he has sandy-colored hair from where he sits near the end of the bench.
“I hardly know him,” she admits. “I’m hoping he’s not one-dimensional.”
“That would be awkward in bed.”
She cackles, her cheeks turning pink as she shakes her head. “What do you think of Nolan? Could he and Katie be more opposite?”
“I almost want to ask if they were raised in the same household,” I admit.
Hannah giggles. She has a great gasping laugh. “Same. He seems so laidback.”
“I wish I could be like that,” I admit. “Sometimes I worry that society is making all women into anxious, over-achieving, perfectionists. It’s no longer that we have to maintain the perfect house, or perfect kids, or even the perfect job—now we have to have the perfect figure, the perfect hair, and the latest trend ineverything, in addition, be well-read, well-versed, well-traveled, an animal in the bedroom, and completely demure and professional in every other setting.”
Hannah’s shoulders sink, as though my words have set a heavy weight on her. “God, I hope Ethan isn’t a chauvinistic pig who expects me to change my eyebrows for every trend.”
“My fingers are crossed for you.”
“I mean, it’s not going to be serious so it shouldn’t matter. This is just fun.”
My attention slips from the field to Hannah. “Why are you already expecting things to fail? Maybe you’ll like him. Maybe he’s amazing and supportive and hilarious and a closet hacker.”
She clasps a hand across my chest. “Be still my heart.” She tinkers out a laugh, so different from when she giggles. “It’s just fun because I’m not getting married until I’m at least thirty.”
“Thirty?”
“I haven’t told you my plan?”
I shake my head, realizing again how often my roommates and I have narrowed the scope of our conversations to academia.
“The prefrontal cortex part of our brains isn’t fully developed until we’re twenty-five, so all we care about is instant gratification and anything that makes us feel good. We basically have little control over our impulses and are addicted to bad decisions and are easily influenced.”
I felt a heavy dose of a reprieve this morning when learning Hannah wasn’t vying for Nolan’s attention as I’d believed, but this explanation of the human brain serves a double dose of dopamine through me, explaining my ridiculous and unattainable crush on Nolan. “And that changes at twenty-five?”
She nods.
I think of my long list of impulsive temptations. “Are they replaced with something else? Like are we too busy thinking about laundry, board meetings, and grocery shopping or how does that work?”
“What?” Hannah’s studying the field or maybe the bench again.
“What happens to our impulsive thoughts?”
“What do you mean what happens to them?”
“What do we feelaftertwenty-five?”
“Common sense, I guess,” she says, shrugging. “That’s why people over the age of twenty-five pay less for car insurance, they don’t drive as recklessly.”
“Does that mean I won’t be afraid of public speaking after I’m twenty-five?”
“What?”
“I hate public speaking. Will that stop when I turn twenty-five? Will the pre-frontal whatever bury that fear?”
“Cortex.”
“Right. So will it?”
Hannah rolls her eyes, but it’s half-hearted. “Maybe? I don’t know. I mean, technically, you’ll care less about what people think and won’t be as influenced by others, but you have a fear of public speaking, not an impulse. I’m delaying marriage until I’m thirty because I want to travel and establish my career and know what I like and want before settling down with one person.”