Chapter Ten
May 1975
“What’s it really like to be in love, Hilary?”
They were at the campus coffee house, taking a much needed break from studying for finals. Tables had been brought outside under an awning, like a sidewalk café in Paris. They were surrounded by the sights and smells of spring, including her favorite, the hot-fudge tease of the cocoa mulch. She would miss this.
She should have been happy. She was on schedule to graduate in less than two weeks. The paper had offered her a job as a reporter for the Lifestyles section. Her parents told her they’d help with a deposit on a car. Her life beckoned.
But she was miserable. She was stressed by the coming exams. She was saddened to leave there – which seemed ironic, considering she had rushed to escape after her freshman year. Hilary had helped her turn that corner. She would miss her friend tremendously. She hoped Hilary followed through on her plan to move to New York City. It was a much easier place to visit than the hills of Kentucky.
And she couldn’t let go of what had happened with Tom. She wondered if she’d run into him at home. She hoped she wouldn’t and prayed she would. But what would be the point?
“Being in love,” Hilary responded, “is feeling like you and Tom feel about each other when you’re not being complete asses.”
“Don’t sugar-coat it, Hilary. Tell me what you really feel.” God, she would miss this woman. She had never known anyone who could be so completely honest and so completely likeable. There wasn’t an artificial bone in her body.
Hilary and George had seen each other a few times since January. It was different somehow, Hilary insisted. They still had some laughs. Occasionally they slept together. But there was an invisible barrier between their psyches that hadn’t been there originally. She had never learned what it was last summer that changed him.
“Did your relationship with George change when you began sleeping together?”
“I thought it brought us closer together. Now I’m not so sure. Or maybe the glow wore off.”
“What do you mean?”
She searched the horizon for her response.
“The first time we did it, it all happened so fast. I mean—I suppose I shouldn’t be telling tales out of school—but what’s the difference at this point? I mean he was fast. So fast that we had to go a second round before we did it.” Hillary looked at her sideways. “Do you know what I mean?”
“No, I want you to spell it out for me, Hil,” she teased.
Her roommate shook her head and smiled.
“I thought, wow, he’s really hot for me. When we finally did it, though, it took forever. I mean, women all over the world complain about the wham-bam-thank-you-maam syndrome. It was the opposite with George. I was so horny that first time, I was popping off one orgasm after another for a while. I was drained and satisfied. But he kept going. Hadn’t made it to the top yet. And kept going. I was getting dry and sore. And he kept going. When he finally came, I was so grateful, I let out a little shriek. He of course, being a man, thought I’d had yet another orgasm, and he was just as proud as a man can be. I don’t mean to make fun of him. I really do love him. I just mean that in the sex department things weren’t all that great right from the beginning. But we had fun together. And until last summer, we could be relaxed and comfortable with each other. I feel sometimes now like I’m getting to know an entirely different man.” Hilary lifted her cup to her. “I’m getting another – want one?”
“Keep that caffeine coming.” She handed over her cup.
She wondered how things would have changed for Tom and her if he hadn’t had so damn much self-control that last weekend. She sighed. The relationship could go only one way – away. And not because of sex. Because he wanted something she couldn’t give. Over the last two months she had given it a lot of thought. Did he just need to fulfill that expectation to marry and have children, and anyone would do, or did he really want to spend his life with her? She’d find out soon enough. All he needed was a job. If the “who” was less important than the “what”, she’d be reading about his wedding plans before too much time passed. Maybe she’d be writing the announcement – weddings were in the Lifestyles section. Wouldn’t that be something?
Hilary returned with two coffees and a napkin full of cookies.
“They’re really taking pity on us during exam week. All the sugar you can eat with your coffee.”
“So, do you and George have any plans for the summer?”
“Oh, same as last summer. He’s supposed to come for a visit. But he cancelled once, he could do it again. My parents are beginning to think he exists only in my imagination. He can’t take much time from his summer job anyway. He has to make as much as he can before he goes back to school.”
Kerry nodded. George was taking the full four years to finish college.
“Do you mind if I ask you something?”
Kerry laughed. She had just finished probing Hilary about the intimacies of her sex life, and Hilary’s seeking permission to ask her something?
“What are you really afraid of with Tom?”
The therapist was in.
“It’s not Tom I’m afraid of. It’s what he seems to want out of life.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s programmed to live a traditional life—husband, father, bring-home-the-bacon kind of thing. The very thought of that gives me an anxiety attack. I picture my haggard mother and how miserable she is. You know she told me if she lived in our generation she wouldn’t have had kids, maybe not even married. It’s not that my father isn’t a good man. It’s just that pigeon-holed existence women get forced into when they marry. You see I’m having trouble breathing just talking about this.
“I’ve watched her get more miserable and more phobic with each passing year. Because she’s trapped in a powerless, unfulfilling life. She’s a bright woman. And what has she got to show for it? She’s a wife and mother. Period. I want to make something of my life.”
She took a deep breath.
“You know how I feel about being a wife and mother,” Hilary responded. “We’ve had that talk before. But we also said you have choices. Have you ever talked to Tom about this without automatically shutting him out, like it’s black and white, no gray?”
“Ever the therapist, encouraging open communication.” She smiled fondly at Hilary. “But it’s more than that. Even if Tom were open to an alternative relationship, I don’t want to live my life with him.”
Hilary looked genuinely confused.
“You’re crazy about him,” she exclaimed. “Why would you not want him?”
“I’ve known him since I was in eighth grade. We went through puberty together. We know each other better than most brothers and sisters. God, how boring is that? We’ve already had every conversation. Life with a man with no new layers to peel off? Wake me when I’m dead.”
number two? I recall that the author of some massive bestseller (was it Harry Potter or Fifty Shades of Grey? I’ve lost track of all the stories intended to bolster the hopes of aspiring novelists.) received in excess of sixty rejections before some agent or publisher recognized the diamond emerging from the coal.
I’m a firm believer in not announcing vacations in advance to the social media world. There are, unfortunately, too many not-so-nice people out there who would gladly take advantage of knowing a home is vacant. It’s not that I have a lot of valuables. I just don’t like anyone messing with my stuff. So I didn’t let cyberspace know I’d be away, and now I’m back. Take that, you would-be burglars!
Although very bright, Sarah’s actions suffer from the limitations of her immaturity, sometimes endangering her, always confounding the grandparents who love her. Meanwhile, Marian struggles to balance her resentments of aging and foiled plans with her genuine love for her only grandchild. As an admirer of novels by Catherine Ryan Hyde, Anne Tyler, and Nicholas Sparks, I aspire to emulate their skill with having flawed characters tell their complicated and deeply emotional stories.”
and ignoring the phone when it rings. Usually on my alone days I’m writing my latest novel or a blog post, developing queries for Gram & Me, working or playing on social media, updating my website. “Alone” isn’t synonymous with idle, and it’s not truly antisocial.
My husband and dog are there, needing at least a small ration of my time and attention.
by day four I couldn’t wait to retreat into myself.
Liken me to a machine that needs to be plugged into a charger and go into sleep mode in order to be ready to function the next day.
school acquaintances as to where they were “on the spectrum” back in the day when that wasn’t identified. It started me thinking. Maybe, had I been born thirty years later, I would have been assessed the same way. This preference for being alone, but willingness to participate socially on a limited basis, has always been with me.
spontaneously or frequently enough. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel—powerfully and deeply—but rather that feelings get stuck inside me and resist release. It’s another aspect of me that I’ve always known but never labeled and was not motivated to change even if that were possible.
JUST WRITE IT! 