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Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to take this path.
Being out here in the woods with Gemma reminds me of the time when we were younger, and I drove us out to the Wayland Bird Reserve at the far edge of town. We parked and I carried a blanket out into the woods, and we laid on our backs and stared up at the starry sky and talked all night.
I remember how lucky I felt, when she rested her head on my chest and wove her fingers through mine, and spilled out all her dreams to me. She wanted so many things, and I admired that.
Every time she kissed me that night, I thought about how it couldn’t last.
I knew I had to go back on tour.
I was only home that summer so I could rest my wrist. Not that it did much good. The thing still ached like a mother during that last set of the US Open, and my backhand was weaker than a limp noodle.
I also knew that night at the Bird Reserve that Gemma had her whole life ahead of her. That she’d follow her dreams, just like I was following mine.
And she did. She skyrocketed toward success like everyone knew she would.
Good for her.
This Mortimer guy, whoever he is, is really lucky.
I probably shouldn’t have even helped her with that sweatshirt hood. She sort of stiffened up when I did that, like it was out of line.
Noted. Do not touch Gemma, even if the gesture’s meant to be friendly.
She’s taken, and I’m just a random guy at this point.
Not a guy who has the right to tuck her sweatshirt over the top of her head so she feels cozy and warm.
I want her to feel warm, though. Her hair’s still wet from her shower and the temps are dropping out here. I want to find her cat, too. And more than that, I want her to stop talking about my dad’s latest scheme.
But she won’t.
While keeping perfect pace with me, she rattles off a few lines about some questionnaire and an interview process. As I listen, I slide my light across the green, lush bough of a nearby evergreen tree.
“Honestly, it’s painless,” she says. “If we sit down and I help you fill out the questionnaire it’ll take you like one hour. Two, tops. And the interviews are sort of fun. You get to talk about yourself and learn interesting things about your own personality. Like, for example, how do you feel about social engagements? The introvert-extrovert divide is a huge deal, in couples therapy.”
“Gem, I don’t need therapy.”
“No, I know, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that therapists who deal with marital problems day in and day out see common issues, and our process—the Right Match process—helps people avoid all those issues straight out of the gate. It’s based on thousands—likehundredsof thousands—of data points that we collected from couples therapists all over the country. Super comprehensive.”
Is it bad that I think it’s cute when she gets jazzed about numbers?
Yes. It’s bad.She’s taken, I remind myself. “Hey, I appreciate that you’re into your work, but it’s really not for me.”
“I’m offering you something that plenty of people pay big bucks for.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not interested.”
“Your dad thinks—”
“I already told you, Gem. I know what my dad thinks. He thinks I need to do exactly what he did… Find a wife, buy a house, raise two kids, and play Scrabble every Saturday night with the neighbors.”
“What’s wrong with Scrabble?”
“Nothing’s wrong with Scrabble. I’m saying that what makes him happy isn’t what makes me happy.Thismakes me happy, Gemma.” I stop short on the path and we both stand in silence for a minute. A feeling of wellbeing flows through me, unstoppable. Sometimes this happens to me. They don’t last long, but they’re pretty cool.
“This?” she asks.
“This,” I repeat. “Just being right here, outside, in the fresh air, without any clue what’s going to happen next. I like it.”
