The Rearranged Life (13 page)

“I don’t want him, but sometimes you don’t want anyone else to, either,” Sophia had mumbled. “Not when they were yours first.”

It sounded childish to me then, but now, as I sit across from James, I can’t imagine him doing the same thing with someone else. Except…
You can hardly count this as a relationship, Nithya.

“So, wait, you broke up after freshman year?”

“Mm-hmm. She was pretty traditional. Wanted to get married really young. She didn’t have much drive of her own, she was in school for the sake of being there and doing what you’re supposed to do after graduation.”

“You didn’t like that?”

“It’s one thing if you want to be a stay-at-home mom. I respect it if that’s your goal. My ex just blindly went along with whatever I said. She didn’t have goals at all. I like driven girls, ones who won’t always take a backseat. Relationships are compromises, you know? I’ll take the backseat sometimes. My girlfriend can do it other times. I don’t want to date a doormat. Anyway, I was too young to call all the shots. It felt like it was just going to become more weighted with choices like that if I kept going.”

“And now? You could handle it?” I ask. Maybe because he’ll have to make a heavy choice with me soon… or maybe he won’t, if I don’t tell him.

“I’m in a better place to, yes. I’m older, and I think I’ve learned more about life. And girls.” He chuckles. “I was more of an idiot then, anyway. No one would have wanted me.”

Somehow, I doubt that. What were those girls like? Were they anything like me? Did he pin them to walls and cause a short circuit in the air between them? Did he ever save them from anything bad? I might be the sole member of an exclusive club.

It takes two more hours before the frazzled-looking blonde behind the counter clears her throat as she puts away ice cream toppings. We’re being swept out of a second place, surely a good sign. James offers to walk me back to my place, but I tell him it’s okay, the one block to my apartment is a piece of cake. On a crowded Friday night, a walk with my thoughts is exactly what I love. The entire way home, as the idle chatter of other students buzzes around me, our conversation replays over and over.

You’re so going to fall for him.

I tell my mind to shut up. Just like my heart, it shows no inclination to listen.

here is no question anymore about whether James and I can become something. There is a spark, an undeniable chemistry that both of us feel. It’s intense, dangerous, and comfortable. Being with him is easy, like we have no boundaries.

But I should. It’s foolish to think I could disappoint my family, even for James. I have never let them down. I consider them in each decision I make, but maybe this risk is worth it. Maybe James is worth it. And I want, no,
need
to find out if I’m right.

I have always made good choices: deliberate and conscientious. If dating James becomes a reality, my parents have to take that into consideration. They would have to realize I wouldn’t make a rash decision. To even attempt this makes James an exception.

“I saw James after your date yesterday. He’s really into you!” Sophia practically sings.

“Really? Did he act weird?”

“Why would he act weird? What did you do?”

“Why does it have to be me that did something?” I mutter, indignant.

“Because you’re the neurotic one.” She sticks out her tongue.

Sophia is good with the opposite sex, and follows all the rules to ensure things proceed on schedule. She made sure not to book her first date with Luca until three days after he called.

“I don’t want him thinking he can have me whenever he wants!” she declared. She knows what to say to keep a guy’s interest, and when to pull away to add to the mystery.

I’m still trying to master the art.

“I told him I’ve never been kissed.” I literally cringe, that moment of mortification after admitting my inexperience still heavy on my mind.

“Did you feel comfortable?”

I give her a look.

“You know what I mean. Did you feel like you could trust him?”

“Completely.”

“That’s all that matters.”

She heads into the bathroom, and I continue to distractedly read my textbook. I debate for an hour whether I should call him or text him and ask him to meet up tonight. Is that too forward? Should I wait for him to make the next move?
Nithya, you’re a strong girl, and he asked you out twice. Grow a pair.

Ten hours later, I wait at the Berkey Creamery for James to join me for some hot chocolate and a walk. The sun sets slowly in the distance. The sky turns deep blue with strips of pink and gold splashing across the darkness like a banner on the horizon. A few alumni come out of the creamery–I know they’ve already graduated because they carry enormous dry ice packages containing their treats, something countless people do when they live far away but want the taste of ice cream from the department where even Ben and Jerry learned their craft.
I’ll be joining their ranks in a few months.
A giddy jolt is followed by a pang of sadness. It amazes me that I plan everything–my outfit for tomorrow sits on the chair in my room and some medical textbooks already bought secondhand to read ahead are on my bookshelf–but I couldn’t have predicted this thing with James at the end of my college career.
Who knows where I’ll be in a year? Who knows what’ll happen?

A smirk crosses my face as I reread this morning’s texts. After countless drafts, I’d fired off the first volley to James, and his response had made me so glad I’d taken initiative. For someone who tries to take every opportunity, I sure did freak out over nothing.

Thanks again for last night. I had an amazing time,
I’d sent.

-
So did I. Next time, we need to find a place that’s open all night :)

Who says there’s going to be a next time?

-Please. There will be.

Getting cocky, I see.

-Not cocky. Just confident,
he corrects me,
and using deductive reasoning.

Always the lawyer, counselor. You’re right on the money.

-I do my best, doc. I’m glad you want to see me again.

I was hoping to, tonight. Do you have plans?

-I do, now, with you.

“You look pretty,” he says as he walks up to me.

My jeans and tunic top suddenly feel like a ball gown. He kisses my forehead, and I can still feel the soft pressure there as we pay for our drinks.

Time freezes as the sky turns from periwinkle to deep blue to black. We walk toward the stadium with no destination in particular, talking about everything from why fall is my favorite season to the fact that he is a Penn State football fan, and used to go to all the games with the colors painted on his chest.

“My mom told me she wouldn’t pay for my funeral when I died of pneumonia,” he tells me with a chuckle. Sports are a difference in our interests. He thinks I’m funny for not being a fan of the big football program here, and I tell him he’s beginning to sound like Sophia, who moped for three days when she was unable to purchase student season tickets because they sold out in minutes.

“Our senior year is going to suck!” Sophia had cried, clicking the refresh button on her browser like it would change the outcome.

“Soph, I’m pretty sure the success of our senior year isn’t dependent on whether we’re cheering on a football team,” I told her patiently, but she whined about it anyway. Before James and I know it, we’ve come full circle.

He proposes going to the arboretum so we cross the street toward the law school and soccer fields. Walking along Park Avenue is like balancing two worlds–cement dorms and all the classroom buildings on the left, and farms and greenery on the right. The arboretum glows in the distance, its neat pathways and plants lit up by the soccer field lights a block away.

James catches me watching him and gives me a shy, faint smile. His eyes travel down my arms, and his right hand slowly makes a move toward my left. I hold my breath, and the clouds of moisture I’ve been exhaling into the atmosphere dissipate as I wait for him. Every millimeter closing the gap between us is in slow motion, and the tingle in my nerves intensifies, reaching a peak where I want to scream just to break the anticipation. His fingers skim the inside of my forearm and leave a trail of sensation behind them. As his hand travels slowly down my wrist, mine responds. My fingers find his and twine with them. It takes all of two seconds, but feels like much longer.

The stars, twinkling in all their glory, brighten and align themselves in perfect concentric circles as if the universe is creating the perfect setting for an epic romance. Everything around us, from the breeze to the shifting grass, has a softly whispered undertone:
This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Let it happen.
The charge between our hands ignites and feels like it’s bursting out from within me. Or maybe that’s just my heartbeat. I have never felt such contentment or wonder. This is where I am meant to be.

“So, um, thanks for coming out tonight…” I start breathlessly. It feels as though he’s come to my lame party and made it incredible by simply showing up. “I mean, I hoped you would, but I’m glad you did.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He gives my hand a quick squeeze as if to illustrate his point. “I’m always looking at the clock, like, ‘hurry the hell up, I’m seeing Nithya.’”

It makes me happy. How many times have I done the same thing? Hundreds? Thousands? He mistakes my giddy giggle for mockery.

“That’s probably not a really manly thing to admit,” he adds as an afterthought.

“It was sweet!” I giggle again.

“Exactly. So much for being cool.”

“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I never thought you were cool in the first place,” I tell him, deadpan.

“So this was a pity date?”

“Totally. I felt sorry, so I made time for you.”

“Well, I’m sure the guy you bumped off the schedule to fit me in is crying into his drink at the Phyrst right now.”

“Him and all the others. I mean, you can see the line waiting to date me.” I gesture into the empty night air. He lets out a bellow of laughter at my self-deprecating humor and squeezes my hand again.

“They probably thought you were out of their league.”

I shake my head in wonder of his assessment of me. It’s not the fact that he sees me as out of someone’s league–it’s extremely flattering but not what catches me. He has seen me at my most vulnerable, in a disorganized mess in class and in a heaping ball of tears on his floor, yet he sees greatness in those experiences. It’s like he feels something for me because of the moments of vulnerability, not in spite of them. There is no
sign on the dotted line
contingency. There’s me. There’s him. It really is that simple.

We’ve already ignored the signs saying the grounds close at dusk. Our trespassing doesn’t bother me–not only because we aren’t going to do any vandalizing, but because somehow, tonight feels safe. Like nothing can go wrong. The pavilion, a contemporarily styled structure, looms before us. It’s similar to a Japanese tea garden pagoda, but for the angles of the roof that make me think of the Sydney Opera House. Billowing white curtains encase the terrace, our destination.