Wanderlust

WANDERLUST

by

Thea Dawson

© Aeroplane Media, 2015

All rights reserved.

If you’d like to hear about upcoming releases, promotions and other events from

Aeroplane Media Press
, please sign up for our mailing list:

http://bit.ly/1tCEwLU

Jason

It started in the fall of 2003.

About a hundred of us freshmen were in a large, bland common room in the basement of one of the dorms, just two days after we’d all arrived at college. We were playing one of those ice breaker games; we had thirty seconds to find five things in common with the person we were talking to before we had to move on to the next person.

A few rounds in, I found myself standing in front of a girl with long, chestnut-colored hair, creamy skin, and the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen. She gave me a quick, bright smile, and we started a crash course on each other’s lives.

She was from Minnesota; I was from New York.

Her parents were married; mine were divorced.

I was studying business; she was majoring in French.

I was an only child; she was the middle of three.

We were running out of time, and the pressure was on. Aside from the fact that we were both attending the same college (which didn’t count), we had nothing in common. With seconds to go, it was starting to look hopeless. She swept her left hand nervously over her hair, pushing it out of her face, and it sparked an idea.

“I’m left-handed!” I blurted out.

“Me, too!” she shouted, her pretty mouth curving into a smile that lit up her whole face. The buzzer rang, the round ended, and we both burst out laughing at how excited we were over a game.

It wasn’t a lot to go on, but it was a start.

Intrigued by her bright smile and deep brown eyes, I took note of her name—Monica—and tried to think of ways to get to know her better. Fortunately for me, Rush Week started not long after that.

The next time I saw her was at a co-ed mixer, where overdressed hopefuls tried to impress upperclassmen with our social skills. I was holding a cup of punch and trying to make a good impression on Chip, a junior in Theta Chi. After a few minutes of chit chat, he shook my hand, wished me good luck, and moved on to interrogate another newcomer. I was left trying to look cool, despite not knowing who to talk to or what to say.

“Hi. It’s Jason, right?” said a voice behind me.

I turned quickly. “Hey, it’s Lefty! How’ve you been?” This nickname slipped out of my mouth before I thought about it. She grinned at me

She was wearing a fitted strapless dress that showed off her slim figure and long legs. I was pretty tall—six foot two—but she was on the tall side herself. She was wearing a pair of sexy, red-heeled sandals with straps that wrapped three times around her ankle, but even without them, she would have been about five seven or eight. It was nice not having to stoop to talk to her. And once again, I was struck by her beautiful brown eyes, and how they contrasted with her perfect skin. For a goofy moment, I thought about telling her that she reminded me of Bambi, but fortunately, she spoke first.

“Things going well?”

“Great.” My mind was already racing, trying to think of the next thing to say. “Pledging the Greek system—looks like we have something else in common now!”

She laughed. “I guess so. You know, I bet if you end up at the same college with someone for four years, you end up with all kinds of things in common.”

“Yeah, no doubt. How’s freshman year treating you so far?”

“Oh, it’s so exciting, isn’t it?” Her big eyes lit up. “I love meeting new people from so many different places. Minneapolis is nice, but it’s pretty bland, you know?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never been there.”

“Well, I’m not even from Minneapolis. More like from near it, but out in the countryside. You’re probably used to lots of diversity, being from New York,” she replied. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Minnesota. If you ever have the chance to visit, it’s really beautiful. It’s just kind of bland.” She paused to take a breath. “I said that already, didn’t I?” Her cheeks turned red.

It struck me that maybe she was being so chatty because she was nervous, too, and the thought helped put me at ease. I smiled. “Well, I’m not sure I’d call Long Island
bland
, but where I’m from, you’re either Italian Catholic or Irish Catholic. It’s not super diverse,” I replied.

There was a brief silence during which we just smiled at each other. Then suddenly: “How’re things going for you?” she asked.

“Oh, good. Good. Meeting people, so far classes don’t seem too hard.”

“What classes are you taking?”

“Well, I’m taking an intro to marketing class—” I began, eager to keep the conversation afloat, but at that moment, a petite redhead with a badge that identified her as a Kappa Delta appeared.

“Monica, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Monica glanced at me apologetically.

“Hey, great talking to you. I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” I said, not wanting to keep her from making a good impression on the upperclassmen.

“Nice talking to you, too,” she answered softly as she turned away.

I thought about her a lot over the next few weeks, but between rushing, then pledging, plus class work, I didn’t have the time to figure out how to get in touch with her, let alone the time to ask her on a proper date. We didn’t have any classes together and, at least at first, didn’t seem to have any friends in common.

Eventually, I started running into her at parties. Fortunately, her sorority and my fraternity occasionally hosted parties and other events together. She wasn’t at as many of the parties as I was, but she was at enough that I got to know her a little.

At some point I found out she had a part-time job at the campus coffee shop. I wasn’t a big coffee drinker, but I figured out what her schedule was, and would try to go in and order something while she was there. She always gave me a big smile, and if it wasn’t crowded, we’d usually chat for a few minutes. I learned more about her: that her sisters were named Charlotte and Lauren, that she liked to skate but couldn’t ski, that she had champagne tastes and a beer budget, especially when it came to shoes.

She was a girly girl—she liked pretty clothes and manicures, as well as shoes—but she had a sweetness and a seriousness that some of her sorority sisters lacked. She knew how to listen, but she could also be goofy and giddy, and once she felt comfortable with someone, her keen sense of humor would come out.

But I was still too shy to ask her out.

You know that stereotype about high school athletes getting all the girls? It’s not true. At least, it wasn’t for me. I was a swimmer—and a pretty good one; it got me a scholarship that covered a major chunk of my college tuition—but on dry land, I was, well, like a fish out of water. I was outgoing and social, I got along with just about everyone, but if a girl started flirting with me, all I could do was blush and stammer back.

Especially if they were as pretty as Monica.

So I got to know her only gradually, and it wasn’t until the night before we all left for Christmas break that I worked up the nerve to ask her out.

Monica

I’d been kind of hoping that Jason would ask me out, but by the time the holidays rolled around, I figured he just wasn’t into me that way. He was always really nice—but he was nice to everyone. He was outgoing and talkative, the kind of guy who was friends with everyone, while I was quieter, more reserved. It took me a while to really open up to someone. So although I sometimes thought he might be looking at me longer than necessary, and I sometimes got the feeling he wanted to talk a little more, I wrote it off as wishful thinking.

But of course, that didn’t stop me from being attracted to him. He was tall, with a toned swimmer’s body. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and his eyes were a startling shade of green. By Minnesota standards, he looked exotic, and his New York City accent added to his incredibly sexy appeal.

Even if he hadn’t been so handsome, he would have been pretty likeable. He drank, but I never saw him get drunk, and unlike some of his fraternity brothers, he was never crass or obnoxious—at least not when I was around. He was easygoing, funny and thoughtful—but he was like that to everyone, not just me. So I focused on my studies and my sorority, and tried not to think about Jason.

But at the party his fraternity held the night before Christmas break, he managed to get me alone in a corner.

“So I’ve been meaning to ask you …” He sounded casual, but I thought I caught just a hint of anxiety from him. “Maybe when we get back from break, we could … we could go out sometime? Like dinner? Or a movie or something?”

I was equal parts surprised and thrilled, but I tried to act cool. “Yeah, that would nice.”

I smiled. He smiled. We looked at each other awkwardly. I kind of wondered if he might try to kiss me, but just then there was a roar of laughter from the other room. Chip, an upperclassman, walked past us, still laughing, and slapped Jason on the shoulder and started telling us a story that someone had just told him. The mood was broken.

But when I got back to Minnesota late the next night, I checked my email and there was a message from Jason, just a short, sweet note asking if I’d gotten home safely. So we started emailing each other, sometimes several times a day. Then we started calling. On New Year’s Eve, we were on the phone for almost two hours before I got pulled away to a party by my older sister, Charlotte. She interrogated me mercilessly, but I didn’t mind. The long-distance Jason was just as funny and thoughtful and sweet as the in-person one, but he was more open, and it was easy to talk to him. We talked about our favorite books and movies, his parents and their divorce, our dreams for the future. I couldn’t wait to get back to school to see him again.

We made plans to meet up on campus the evening we got back, but my flight to Albany was delayed four hours by the weather. I sat in the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport trying to read, but mainly just stamping my feet with impatience until I was able to board the plane and feel it take off under me.

By the time I finally made it back to campus, it was almost midnight. Jason had made me promise to call him no matter how late I got in. Unfortunately, my cell phone had run out of power, so I couldn’t call him until I got back to my dorm. I almost didn’t call at all, hating the idea of waking him or his roommate up. But I dialed his number and he picked up immediately, wide-awake.

“Can I come over?” he asked.

“I’d love to see you, but it’s so late, and my roommate’s asleep.” I wanted to see him, but at this hour, there wasn’t anywhere to go besides the chilly common room. Plus, his dorm was on the other side of campus, and I knew he didn’t have a car.

“Just give me fifteen minutes,” he replied, “and make sure you’re there to let me in,” he added with a laugh.

As soon as we hung up, I started to feel jittery. I hadn’t seen him in two weeks. We’d gotten deep and personal over the phone, but never in person. Would things be different now? Weird? Suddenly fifteen minutes didn’t seem like nearly enough time. I hastily brushed my teeth and redid my makeup, cursing the airline and the weather all over again.

I paced the cold, empty lobby in front of the main entrance, watching the snow come down in thick, fluffy flakes outside, hoping I looked okay, and trying to think of something to say. After two weeks wishing I could talk to him in person, I suddenly felt tongue-tied. Just as I was about to dart back to my dorm room to change from my sweatshirt to something prettier, I heard a knock and turned to see him waving at me through the window. I pushed open the heavy door and let him in.

He stood there for a moment, stamping the snow off his Timberland boots and brushing it out of his wavy hair. My mind had gone completely blank and I couldn’t think of anything to say.

It felt like hours, but it was only a few seconds before he looked me in the eye. “I missed you,” he breathed.

“I missed you, too,” I said, leaning toward him shyly. He leaned in toward me and the next thing I knew, we were kissing for the first time. His coat and his skin were cold, but his lips were warm. He smelled nice. Snow from his coat began to melt through my sweatshirt.

Finally he pull back gently. “You’re getting all wet,” he said.

“I don’t mind,” I whispered, but I stepped back enough for him to unzip his parka. I snuggled back in against his broad chest, wrapping my arms around his waist and letting my cheek rest on his wooly sweater.

“Let me look at you,” he pulled himself away and took a step back. “God, you’re beautiful.” I felt myself blush and looked down, but he took my chin in his hands, tilted my face toward him and kissed me again. My shyness fell away.

We stood there kissing for a few more minutes. Finally, I pulled away. “I can’t let you into my room or my roommate’ll have a fit, but do you want to go sit in the common room for a while?” I asked.

He smiled ruefully and shook his head. “I’ve got to get back.”

“You just got here!”

“I’ve got swim practice at six. And you need your sleep, too, Lefty.”

“You mean you walked all the way over here just to kiss me?” I was disappointed, charmed, and incredulous in equal measure.

He shrugged bashfully. “Well, I didn’t know for sure I was going to kiss you. I hoped, but …” he smiled. “I missed you,” he said again. “I just wanted to see you and make sure you were okay.”

I smiled. “That’s really sweet.”

We kissed again for a minute before he pulled back. “Okay, I’d better go. Maybe we could meet for lunch tomorrow? Dining hall at noon?”

I nodded. “I’d like that.”

We kissed one more time, and he walked back out into the snow. What girl wouldn’t be smitten by a guy who walked across a snowy campus at midnight just to kiss her goodnight? I watched him out the window until he disappeared into the snowy night, already falling for him.

*****

By the spring, we were madly in love. We studied together, went to parties and dances together, ate meals together. We made out whenever we could get one of our dorm rooms to ourselves, which was never often enough or long enough.

I’d dated a couple of boys in high school, but it had never gotten serious. A real, serious boyfriend was new territory for me, and I loved exploring it. Jason was an ideal boyfriend: thoughtful, romantic, and very, very sexy. And he was as crazy about me as I was about him.

He used to tell me that by our senior year, he’d be president of his fraternity and I’d be president of my sorority. Then we’d graduate and both get amazing jobs in the same city. We even joked, half seriously, about how many kids we’d have and what we’d name them. He had it all mapped out.

“And of course you’ll be a millionaire, right?” I said one afternoon. The coffee shop was empty except for the two of us, and we were flirting over the counter as I made him a latte.

“Well, give me a few years.” He looked at me suspiciously over the latte when I handed it to him. “Hey, you’re not just after my money, aren’t you?”

I shrugged. “A girl’s gotta have good shoes.”

“For a girl who likes shoes as much as you do, you sure picked the wrong place for college.”

“Tell me about it,” I grumbled. The snow was almost as deep and persistent in upstate New York as it was in Minnesota. Even now in early April, the ground was wet and muddy, and there were still traces of snow on the quad. “Totally didn’t think that one through.”

“So what kind of shoes do I have to buy you?”

“Oh, I dunno, Manolo Blahniks, Louboutins,” I said airily, coming up with the two most expensive brands I could think of off the top of my head.

“All right, when I make my first million, baby, I’m buying you a closet of whatever-you-just-saids. In the meantime, can you lend me a couple of dollars to pay for this latte?” He winked.

I knew he was kidding. “Goofball,” I said and kissed him. “It’s on me this time. But I’d better get those shoes!”

He shook his head with mock sadness. “I knew you were just marrying me for my money.”

I laughed. “You don’t have any money. Besides, who said I was marrying you at all?”

“You think you could be happy with anyone else now that you’ve had a piece of this?” he asked, gesturing at himself.

I studied him. “It
is
hard to imagine. But you know, it’s polite to ask a girl first.”

“Be patient. Maybe I’ll ask you at the Junior Formal,” he said casually.

The Junior Formal was a tradition for all the junior-year students at our college. It was a throwback to debutante days—all the girls wore white gowns and were formally introduced during a big ceremony. Inevitably, some girls ended the evening with engagement rings.

I smiled as I placed the cup on the counter between us. “Aww, so sweet! But that’s two years away, and I won’t be here for it anyway.”

“Why not?”

“I’m going to spend my junior year abroad.”

“Why?” he asked.

“You know, French major?” I reminded him. “I’m going to France, or at least somewhere where they speak French.”

“You can’t do that, Lefty,” he replied, looking like he’d lost all his appetite for the latte. He recovered himself and smiled his charming smile again. “Maybe you could major in something else, like … English! Which they speak here. Problem solved. No need to go anywhere.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere
yet
. Plenty of time for you to get tired of me.”

He took my chin in his hand, leaned over the counter, and kissed me, long and deep. I was glad the coffee shop was empty.

“I’ll never get tired of you,” he whispered. “I promise.”