Kissing Galileo: Dear Professor Book #2

by Penny Reid

  “No deal. I guess I’ll be calling you Victor. Shall we go in?” Anna twisted slightly toward the exhibit entrance, smiling at each of us in turn.

  “Yes, let’s!” Abram agreed with a hefty dose of cheerfulness. He then slid next to me and placed his hand on the center of my back, taking advantage of my distracted sensibilities. Before I quite understood his intent, Abram had navigated us around Victor and Anna, calling over his shoulder as he speed-walked us inside the exhibit, “Anna can give you your ticket, Victor. No need to stop by the box office. We’ll meet you two inside.”

  “What are you—” I tried to stop.

  “Shh.” Abram was so much stronger than me and basically picked me up and sped us forward, cutting off my protest to whisper, “Come with me.”

  I sent my friend a severe frown, also whispering, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m helping him.”

  “Helping him? Helping who?”

  “Victor.”

  “What are you talking about? How are you helping him?” How did I get here?

  “Em.” Abram gave me a flat look, pulling me through the first room, into the second, and around a corner before finally stopping, relinquishing his hold and facing me. “Come on. The guy is insanely into you. He just needs a little push.”

  “You . . .” I licked my lips; they were suddenly dry. If I had to describe what my heart was doing, I’d call it racing on tiptoes. “You think so?”

  “Yes. I know so. He’s shy. Guys like him, they need to be pushed or they’ll never move. Trust me. He will thank me one day. I am doing this out of love.”

  “I can’t think about this.” I shook my head, thinking about it. “I can’t even consider it,” I reminded myself.

  “What? Why?” My friend was still whispering. “He seems great, and you’re great. You’ll be great together.”

  “Because we’re in a really good place, okay?” I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “We’re good as friends.”

  “Why would you settle for being friends with a great guy you so obviously have a thing for?”

  Twisting my fingers, I found I had to swallow again before I could speak. “Because being friends doesn’t hurt my heart.”

  Abram’s gaze turned sympathetic and he sighed, like he felt some of my pain. “Oh, Em—”

  “No, no. I mean it.” I shook my head again, closing my eyes, not wanting Abram’s sympathy. “Maybe he has non-friendly feelings for me, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not hoping for more.” I opened my eyes again, staring unseeingly at Abram’s shirt and yet seeing the situation clearly. “I like his friendship. It’s valuable to me. And I’m not willing to risk it, okay?”

  Maybe something had started to happen between Victor and me in the grand foyer of the museum moments ago. Maybe I’d been caught off guard by the sight of him in his sexy suit after not seeing him for so long and that’s why I’d been nervous. Maybe I’d wanted something to happen. But now that I was free of Victor’s hands and lips and square jaw and suit and shaving cream deliciousness and amazing eyes, I accepted—again—what I’d known to be true for months: we were never going to be anything other than friends.

  More than friends with Victor meant a heartsick and confused Emily. Emily didn’t want to be heartsick and confused. Emily also didn’t want to keep referring to herself in the third person.

  Therefore, I returned my eyes to my friend’s, feeling resolute, steady, and much more capable of facing Victor’s chiseled jaw now that I'd come to my senses. Meanwhile, Abram looked grim, like he was frustrated on my behalf. But he nodded.

  I mirrored his nod, seeing that we understood each other. “I know you’re trying to do a nice thing, but next time check with me, okay?”

  “I’m sorry. I will.”

  “Good. Now, let's go back.”

  But before I could step away to find Anna and Victor, Abram caught my arm. “Listen. I get it. But do yourself a favor. If being friends with this guy means you’re not giving anyone else a chance, end the friendship. Because that means you are hoping, deep down, and you deserve someone who sees and wants you—all of you—unreservedly.”

  Abram and I swapped stares as I absorbed his words, or tried to. My heart would have none of it. I gave Landon the Grasshopper my number, didn’t I? I’m not closing myself off to the possibility of other people. Look how great I am at navigating this. I am the captain of the friend-zone-ship! Under no circumstances will I be ending my relationship with Victor. Ever. Ever, ever, ever!

  “Em?”

  “Yes. Okay.” I hurried to nod again. “Agreed. Now can we go find Anna and Victor?”

  “Sure,” he said, sounding a little sad.

  Nevertheless, we retraced our hurried steps seeking out my friends, and I heaved a big sigh. Now I was prepared. Now we could all have a nice, friendly evening of friendship and friendliness.

  Yay friends!

  Turning the corner into the first room, Abram trailing behind me, I spotted Anna standing in front of an informational banner with Claude Monet’s picture at the top, her gaze intent as she was obviously reading it. Scanning the room and finding no trace of Victor, I stepped next to her and gave my friend a little nudge with my elbow.

  She glanced at me, and then sighed. “There you are.” She sounded irritated.

  “Yeah, sorry. I had no idea Abram was going to take off with me like that. Where’s Victor?”

  Anna turned from the sign and leaned to one side to peer around me, her gaze becoming a glare, her voice hard as she said, “You shouldn’t have done that. He left.”

  “What? Who? What?” I took a step back and glanced between the cousins. “Who left?”

  The lines of irritation around her mouth softened as her eyes moved back to me. “I’m sorry, Emily.” Her gaze turned bracing and she grabbed my hand, squeezing it. “Victor left.”

  Chapter 18

  *Emily*

  “Do you want anything? From the vending machine? I need to pee,” Anna whispered.

  Glancing up from my discrete structures notes, I squinted at my friend until she came into focus. Anna stood at the other side of our study table, her thumb tossed over her shoulder, her eyes a bit hazy. She had the stupefied look of a college student studying for finals, because that’s exactly what we were doing.

  Stretching my arms, I surveyed the carnage strewn between us. Seven Starbucks coffee cups, two bags of raw almonds (one empty, one half full), a plethora of napkins, a gaggle of textbooks and notebooks and pens and pencils and highlighters and note cards.

  I tested the fullness of the coffee cup closest to me. It wasn’t empty. “Uh, no thanks,” I whispered back. “I’m good.”

  “Okay. Be back in a second.” She opened the door of our soundproof room and stepped into the elevator lobby, which was eerily silent despite being full of people.

  I liked this about our campus library, quiet hours during finals. I liked how the study rooms on the seventh floor—well, the most sought-after study rooms—opened directly onto the elevator lobby, which was also full of long study tables. The only sounds during this time of year were the ding of the elevators, the distant flush of a high-powered toilet from one of the adjacent bathrooms, the infrequent whirr and clunk of a vending machine, and the page of a textbook being turned every so often. Even the Starbucks down the hall was relatively quiet, students ordered via slips of paper.

  Anna and I had booked this particular room months ago, which meant we were allowed to talk to each other when the door was closed. Despite the fact that the room was soundproof, we always ended up whispering anyway, perhaps in subconscious homage to our silent compatriots on the other side of the door.

  Regardless, booking ahead meant reaping the benefits of our foresight. Ah, foresight. Like foreskin, but inherently cleaner.

  Whereas hindsight . . .

  My heart gave a wistful tug and I tracked Anna until she left, pulling out my phone as soon as the door to the study room clicked shut. I stared at the
black screen. I swallowed. I took a deep breath. I unlocked my cell. I clicked on my message app, and then the conversation string with Victor. I breathed through the painful constricting in my chest and read the last several messages.

  * * *

  Emily: When you get a chance, send your ETA. We’re already here but we had to park on Pluto (which is a planet). Presently standing inside between the columns on the staircase.

  Victor: I’m here, grabbed a spot close by. I hope you know about impressionists, because I know nothing. (Pluto is not a planet)

  Emily: HA! FINALLY! Something you don’t know!! (in addition to Pluto being a planet)

  Victor: Oh, Emily. I’m ignorant in so many ways, you have no idea. See you in 10.

  Emily: Where did you go?

  Emily: Are you still here? Come back.

  Emily: Come back. I was really looking forward to tonight. MY DRESS HAS POCKETS.

  Emily: Victor, please pick up your phone.

  Emily: Pick up your phone or I’m going to leave you voice messages of me singing.

  Emily: Pick up your phone or I’m going to leave you VMs of Anna singing (and her voice is worse than mine).

  Emily: Hey. So, it’s been over a week. Any chance you want to get together for a movie?

  Emily: Long time no talk. Are you around? Want to go play trivia with Anna, Luca, and me?

  Emily: I hope you’re not trapped under something heavy. Maybe I should check on you. . .

  Emily: I saw this article on scientific literacy rates and it reminded me of you.

  Emily: I went to Tennessee last week and—no lie—a chicken (!!!!!) got stuck in my engine and it was STILL ALIVE when they removed it. Crazy. I have picture proof! Which I will provide for the cost of one beer.

  Emily: Thinking about you today. I hope you are well.

  Emily: Missing you.

  Emily: As a friend. Missing you as a friend. No pressure. I hope you are well.

  Emily: This is your weekly text message. If you decide to message me, great! If not, I’ll be texting next week.

  Emily: Weekly text message. :-)

  * * *

  “It’s been weeks.”

  I started, startled, and my cheeks heated at being caught. Without looking up, I nodded at Anna’s whispered remark. I hadn’t heard her come in or close the door, but she’d done both.

  I could feel Anna’s eyes move over me, I could feel her sympathy, I could feel her frustration. She was a master silent emoter and I already knew her feelings on this subject.

  Nevertheless, she repeated the same words for the tenth time this month, “If he wanted to talk to you, he would have responded to your texts.”

  Sighing, I began to type out a message to Victor. “I know.”

  “Are you texting him again?” She didn’t sound judgmental, she sounded concerned. Which—for the record—was worse. So much worse.

  “I haven’t sent him anything in a few days. Just let me send my—”

  “Why?” she whisper-implored, taking a step toward me.

  I inhaled a deep breath, placed my phone facedown on the table, and covered my face.

  “Why are you doing this? Em, I don’t want to be harsh, but you need to leave him alone.”

  “I am leaving him alone.” I dropped my hands and looked at my friend, bracing for her disapproving expression.

  “Texting him is not leaving him alone.” Anna crossed her arms, a stern—disapproving—wrinkle between her eyebrows, her smoky topaz eyes twin beams of censure. “Weren’t you the one who told me that no guy was worth torturing yourself over? That if a guy liked me—really liked me—he’d make me a priority? Well, the same goes for you. And Victor isn’t just ‘not making you a priority,’ Victor is flat-out ignoring you. He doesn’t want you to text him. Leave it. He’s not worth it, Em.”

  Ugh. I hated past-Emily. Her wisdom was super inconvenient. She was right, of course. But I just care about him so much.

  “I know you’re right, but—” I licked my lips, drawing my bottom one between my teeth. This feeling. This horrible feeling of helplessness against my worst impulses. What is this feeling even called?

  “Let him go.” Again, she whisper-implored. “Move on. You deserve so, so much better than someone who ignores you and plays immature games. He is not worth it, no one is.”

  I shook my head, my attention moving to the wall behind my friend, and even though I knew she was right, my dummy heart told me differently. “I can’t. I can’t give up on him. I feel like he needs me, or he needs to know I’ll always be here for him, that he can count on me.”

  “Do you really think he needs you? Or do you need him?” Anna gave me a hard stare, and then snorted lightly when I said nothing. Her eyes softened, and her lips curved downward in a gloomy line. “It’s not about giving up, Emily. It’s about being respectful of someone’s wishes. Like I said, if he wanted you to text, he would text you back. If he wanted to talk to you, he would pick up the phone.”

  My brain said, Exactly.

  My heart said, BUT HE NEEDS ME!

  “Anna—”

  “Okay, think of it this way,” she raised her voice, holding up a hand, “if the roles were reversed, if it were a man texting every week and a woman receiving those texts, what would you think then? That the man was romantic in his persistence? Or that he was a creepy stalker who couldn’t take a hint?”

  I flinched, my breath catching painfully in my throat, a stinging sensation rising behind my eyes.

  Damn.

  She’s right.

  She was so right.

  What am I doing?

  God, what was I doing? If a guy had done that to me, if a guy had continued texting for weeks after I’d stopped, I would’ve considered him a psycho, I would’ve blocked his number.

  He probably blocked your number weeks ago, psycho.

  I rubbed my chest with my fingers and tried to swallow. I could not swallow. So I released a shaky breath, my nose now stinging, and reached for my phone.

  “What are you doing?” She sounded tired.

  I stared at the black screen. I tried to swallow again. I still could not swallow, so I took a deep breath and rode the shame wave. I was ashamed of myself.

  If he wanted you to text him, he would have responded to your texts.

  “But he hasn’t,” I whispered softly, nodding to myself as I unlocked my cell. I clicked on my message app. I breathed through the searing, painful tightness in my chest and I deleted my conversation string with Victor.

  “Are you texting him?”

  I shook my head, now numbly clicking through to his contact information. “No.”

  I felt her hesitation before she prompted, “Em?”

  I cleared my throat, thick and strained, and finally managed a swallow. My thumb hovered over the “delete contact” button. “You’re right. I’ve been acting crazy. I’m deleting his contact information and our text messages.” I touched the button, and then the prompt afterward asking me if I was sure I wished to delete Victor Hanover from my contacts.

  It was done.

  Placing the phone back on the table, I stood, my legs struggling under the heavy weight of resignation and finality. It’s done.

  “Oh, Em.” Anna shot forward, pulling me into a hug. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard, and I know my cousin is an ass for what he did. But if it hadn’t happened that night at the museum, it’s clear Victor would’ve ghosted you eventually. You deserve so much more than this. You are so awesome.” Her arms tightened.

  I pulled away, not meeting her gaze as I stepped around her. She was right. I knew she was right. What I’d just done was the right thing to do. But I didn’t want to talk about right.

  The band-aid had just been ripped off my denial. I needed a moment to lick my wounds. And maybe a drink. Or seven. Except I couldn’t drink because I still had to study for my last final exam.

  “I think I’ll go for a walk,” I whispered, moving past her to the door. “I’ll get some mo
re coffee. Do you want coffee?” Turning briefly, I didn’t quite meet her eyes, but I perceived her head shake.

  Without another word, I opened the door and stepped into the lobby, the hefty burden of irrevocability making my shoulders slump and my legs unsteady. It was over.

  Wise Emily reminded me, It’s been over for weeks, hun. You’ve just been too crazy-stalker-desperate to accept it. And as my feet carried me . . . someplace, wise Emily also pointed out, Plus, it never actually started. You two were friends, and that’s it.

  Just friends. That’s it.

  I’d been content to be just friends with Victor, and I would’ve been friends with Victor indefinitely. I’d told Abram the truth about that.

  However, I’d come to realize I’d also lied to Abram. I did have hopes for more. When Victor had initially stopped returning my messages, hope sprang anew. Perhaps he also wanted more? Perhaps he’d left so suddenly after seeing me with Abram because witnessing me with someone else (even if it had been fake) made him realize how much he wanted to be with me . . . ?

  I breathed a silent, slightly hysterical laugh, smiling at my idiocy. I had a lot to think about, to unpack and figure out and mourn. However, right now, I needed to compartmentalize. I needed to get through this last test, and then I could wallow.

  And I will wallow like the Olympic champion of wallowing. Companies will want me to be the face of their wallowing products. Box o’ Wine will come calling and I will sell a special wallowing edition with my puffy face on the side of it.

  Study now, wallow tomorrow.

  I don’t know how long I paced around the seventh floor, doing laps between the stacks, going back over every moment Victor and I had spent together and trying to understand myself. Why and when had I decided to elevate him in my esteem such that I was willing to prioritize being near Victor over being respectful of Victor as a human? At what point had I crossed the crazy line? Was it the third text or the fifth? And what had possessed me?

  “So stupid,” I muttered just as I glanced up and realized I was in line for coffee.