“You did good today.” We both smiled.
“Doesn’t feel good.”
“I know.”
She opened her arms, and I stepped forward into them. Marnie said something into my hair. “What?” I asked.
“I can be mad at you and still love you, you know.”
No, actually, I didn’t know that. I had no idea.
17
I slipped on one of Clare’s black dresses and a new pair of black strappy sandals. Marnie was throwing a fortieth birthday party for Pat, and miraculously, I had a date. A date with someone I was attracted to. I’d met Jeremy a few years before law school at a party that was full of 12-step people. I was enchanted by his wire-rim glasses, gentle green eyes, and insightful comments. Turns out, he was also in Carlos’s other Rosen group, so I heard tidbits about him from time to time. Like that he’d just broken up with his girlfriend.
The week before Pat’s party I stood on the train platform at Fullerton and spotted Jeremy. He was absorbed in a thick, impressive tome—by Thucydides. His khaki pants were cuffed just so, and his blue fleece made his green eyes shine. I sidled his way. When a crush of people exited the next train, he looked up.
“Hey,” he said, folding the top corner of his page and shutting his book.
“I thought that was you.” I reached for the same train pole he was holding. He asked about law school, and I asked him about work and why he was reading Thucydides. “For fun,” he said. His smile made me feel cozy, like we were sitting by a fire, not jammed into a rickety El train packed with short-tempered commuters.
“I’ve never seen you on this train,” I said when I realized we lived two stops from each other.
He let out a short, unhappy laugh. “I used to stay at my girlfriend’s in Bucktown. We broke up.”
“I heard that.” I smiled, wishing I could wink without looking stupid. He cocked his head. “I see Rosen. Tuesday morning with Carlos.”
He leaned toward me, close enough that I could see specks of gold in his green eyes, and whispered, “I’d heard that.”
“Touché.” The whispers of the Rosen-grapevine echoed all around us.
We both laughed, and the sound of our voices rose over our heads and those of the people absorbed in their phones, books, and newspapers. Desire for this smiling, literate man flowed from my fingers twined around the steel pole, down my arm, and through my chest, belly, and between my legs.
Next thing I knew, the invitation for Pat’s party flew out of my mouth, as if I was the sort of woman who routinely asked out philosophy-loving, newly single men. He agreed right away and wrote his address on a Post-it note he used as a bookmark. We touched hands when the train jerked its way to the Southport stop, and a fresh zing of desire shot through me.
He was waiting outside when I pulled up the following Friday night, dressed exactly the same as he was on the train, which put me at ease. Our first topic of conversation was Dr. Rosen. We joked about his unfortunate wardrobe choices, and his absurd optimism that group would cure absolutely any emotional impairment.
“He sure loves group,” Jeremy said, laughing.
“He sure loves brown sweaters.”
My limbs felt loose and relaxed as we ran through the common ground of our mutual therapy experiences. I had none of my usual first-date stiffness, no impulse to hold any part of myself back. I didn’t have to: he saw Dr. Rosen.
By the time I pulled up to Marnie’s house, I’d decided that the only thing Jeremy was missing in his life was the love of an emotionally available woman. By the time I’d found a sparkling water and a stuffed mushroom cap, I’d decided that would be me.
“Come here, I want to show you something.” I led Jeremy upstairs to the nursery, where Marnie had hand-stenciled ducks on her daughter’s buttery-yellow walls. Without any shame, I opened each drawer to fawn over Landyn’s tiny diapers, impossibly minuscule socks, and a powder-pink sleep sack, soft as a snow owl.
“Cute,” he said, when I held up a little bathrobe with an attached hood and bunny ears. Jeremy kept looking back toward the door like we were committing a crime. I offered him a baby cap to snuggle, and he stepped back. “Is this a prescription—to show me these clothes?” I shook my head and ran a cashmere sweater across my cheek. “Maybe we should head back to the party.” Jeremy stepped into the hall and waited for me to put Landyn’s clothes away.
Downstairs, he made conversation with Pat, Marnie, and their suburban friends. My limbs remained loose as I drove him home after eleven.
Whenever our conversation veered from Dr. Rosen, I noticed a few flags—not red exactly, but pinkish.
“I’m a bit of a loner,” he said when I asked if he hung out with his group mates outside of sessions. I wondered if that might one day backfire on me. When I thought of the type of man I wanted to date, loner was nowhere on the list.
He also mentioned that his car wasn’t working, and he couldn’t afford the spare part. Money trouble gave me a touch of heartburn—Carlos had told me that Jeremy’s breakup with his girlfriend had something to do with money he borrowed from her. I gripped the steering wheel and tried to stay loose. Would he resent my impending financial security? Was he anticapitalism? Was he, at the ripe age of thirty-six, still lost, professionally and financially? If so, how much did that matter to me?
A little, but he was so cute in those glasses.
“I don’t think I know much about your work,” I said, hoping a job description would ease the nub of tension at my neck.
“I run the front office for an industrial janitorial company. A small operation on the west side.” The nub didn’t budge. I’d had
