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She hated them like someone would hate the mean girl who bullied them in high school. I had never really been able to understand her hostility toward romance novels, despite her loud explanations for it. Explanations she was going to offer up all over again, by the look of it.
“Fay, you’ve got to stop filling your head with nonsense, okay? I mean, for real. What do you think it’s doing to your brain, filling it with so much crap?”
“But it’s not crap,” I insisted.
“Oh yeah? How do you figure? You aren’t telling me you think those stories are all realistic, are you? Because if that’s the case, we’ve got bigger problems than I thought. Like, ‘call the men in the white coats’ problems.”
I shook my head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Of course not. But stories don’t all have to be one hundred percent realistic to be worth reading.”
“But they aren’t worth reading. That’s my point! It’s all crap because life doesn’t work that way.”
The ringing of the little bell over the front door of the diner interrupted the momentum of Courtney’s impending tirade. At least, for the moment. We both looked up, mildly surprised at the intrusion, seeing as how people rarely ate in our little hole in the wall. Courtney took the man a menu and got him started, leaving me to mull over the things she’d been saying to me once again.
She kept trying to dissuade me from continuing my love affair with my romance novels. Over the years, she’d told me how stupid my fascination with these love stories was so many times, I couldn’t possibly have kept track. Not even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t. I couldn’t think of a more depressing thing to keep a tally of.
Her basic argument was always the same. What was the point in getting myself all worked up and moony over a concept that didn’t exist it real life? What was the point of getting attached to the idea of happily-ever-afters when I was never going to get one of my own? In short, Courtney thought I was setting myself up for failure, and her constant nagging at me was her way of trying to protect me.
She meant well, and because of that, I never got angry at her about this old argument. It was the reason that I didn’t get angry with her right now. She was trying to look out for me. Her heart was in the right place. After the death of my mother, who’d raised me all by herself, Courtney was the only one who was willing to step up to the challenge.
“See, here’s the thing,” she said in her always just a little bit too loud voice, as if there had never been a break in the conversation. “You’re setting these expectations, Fay. You’re setting these expectations for yourself, and they’re never going to be met. You don’t know what it’s like out there, sweetie. Men aren’t walking Prince Charmings. Not even close. The sooner you get that idea out of your head, the better off you’ll be. And hey? Maybe you’ll finally be able to get rid of the V-card! God knows you need to before you hit thirty. Can you imagine?”
“Courtney!” I hissed. My cheeks flamed up a hot, bright red immediately at her mention of my lingering virginity. “Come on!”
“What?” She laughed, hopping up on the diner’s front lunch counter and swinging her legs nonchalantly. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to listen.”
“Um, aren’t you forgetting about something?” I asked in a whisper, cocking my head in the direction of our one customer.
“What, that guy? He’s not listening. Old guys don’t give a shit about the kind of stuff people like us talk about. Anyway, don’t try to c
hange the subject. The point is, the sooner you get this fairytale idea of love out of your head, the better. We live in Ashville, Alaska, Fay. There aren’t millions of men walking around just waiting to sweep us off our feet. And there aren’t a bunch of things to amuse us everywhere we turn. Smoking, partying, those are the only things here to help pass the time, and they aren’t bad things, either. That’s all I’m saying, lady. The sooner you get rid of this romanticism of yours, the sooner you can come join the land of the living. And I’ll be right there waiting for you when you do, ready to throw you a fucking party!”
Courtney hopped back off the counter and headed to the back, presumably to take inventory or some other equally tedious thing. I smiled and shook my head, opening my book back up in spite of everything Courtney had just said. Almost instantaneously, I was caught up in the drama of the story again. So caught up that I didn’t even notice when our one patron approached the part of the counter I leaned up against. It was only when he cleared his throat bashfully that I looked up with a start, letting out a little gasp of surprise when I did so.
“Oh!”
“Sorry,” he said quickly, his face bashful and as red as mine had been at the mention of my virginity. “I didn’t mean to startle you, miss.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s quite alright. Is there something I can get you?”
“Um, well, no. Not exactly. It’s just that I overheard your conversation with that other one, the one who’s trying to convince you that love is bullshit.”
“Oh, you heard that, did you? I’m sorry about that. I’ll make sure that our silly conversation doesn’t interrupt your meal again.”
“No, it’s not that. I just wanted to tell you something. I wanted to tell you that true love isn’t what she says. It’s real, and it’s out there. Take it from an old man who’s lived through it himself. That’s all.”
I thanked the man profusely. I was strangely touched by both his words and his willingness to go out on a limb and say them to me. I tried to go back to my book, but I found that it was now all but impossible. Whether I wanted them to or not, my thoughts traveled back in time, back to the only boy I’d ever loved. Back to the moment all those years ago when I’d offered my heart up to him, and he’d chosen to walk away instead of taking my simple and all-important gift.
Chapter 2: Neil
Most people considered me to be a very young man, at only twenty-six years old, but I was also a man that had been described as too serious, on more than one occasion. I’d heard these comments, of course, because generally, people who talked behind the backs of others weren’t all that discreet. I’d heard the whispers, and the people calling me an asshole, or saying I was willing to walk all over anyone and everyone to get what I wanted, and I couldn’t have cared less.
I didn’t give a shit because their opinions didn’t matter. Their opinions weren’t the things that had gotten me almost all of the way through law school. They hadn’t ensured that my grades were at the top of my class across the board. They weren’t the things that had gotten me out of my bullshit tiny town, either. And they weren’t going to be the things that made me one of the top lawyers in Connecticut once I passed my bar exam. People’s opinions only mattered to those who were too small-minded to think for themselves. That had never, and would never, be me.
“Mr. Driscoll! There you are! I was wondering if you’d be here. Some of the others were saying you were far too serious to come to something as frivolous as a party, but I knew better. I was sure you would come, and now, here you are.”
I turned, scotch in hand, and saw one of my professors approaching. I’d had plenty of teachers over the last three years, and after the two or three scotches I had already slung back, this particular one’s name escaped me. It had the potential to create an embarrassing situation for me, but seeing as the older gentleman seemed to be a fan of mine already, I was sure I could slide through whatever conversation he wanted with me, without him ever knowing I wasn’t sure exactly who he was.
“Hello, sir,” I said. “Good to see you! And I’m not sure what you’ve heard about me, but I never turn down a good party. My father always told me it was important for a man to know how to work hard and play hard, and that’s a rule I’ve always made a point of following.”
