Reality of Love Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Marika Ray

  Ruffling the fluffy light brown hair on top of his head, I stood up and motioned for him to follow me. “No problem, kiddo. I know I saw it in the kitchen somewhere.”

  I hadn’t, but damn if I wasn’t going to find it so he could have one less thing to worry about. It was my fault we had to move in the middle of the school year. When Pacific Coast College called with an open position to head their science department, I really couldn’t say no. It was the step I needed, both in pay and in position, to eventually land myself a job at one of the University of California campuses. Those jobs were coveted and rare. I intended to be on staff at UC before I was forty. Yes, I had six years before I hit the big four-oh, but even so, I’d be pushing it to hit my goal.

  “Can you make my peanut butter sandwich with bananas and honey like Mom does it?”

  The mention of his mom was like a dagger to my heart. Not because I held any feelings for her anymore, or maybe ever, but because I knew he kept her up on a pedestal. No little boy should have to beg for his mother’s attention, but that’s what Stein has always had to do with her. He overcompensated by talking about her all the time, and even though I was an adult and could see where the comments were stemming from, the constant reminder of his obsession with her was hard to take. Especially when I was the only parent rearranging my life every day to take care of him like he deserved.

  “Sure, buddy. Why don’t you look through these boxes over here while I make your lunch?” I kept one eye on him as he picked his way through a box of kitchen utensils and one eye on making his lunch to his specifications. No sandwich crust, one cookie, fifteen green grapes, two string cheeses. I was hoping this finicky phase passed quickly, but given the genetics involved, I feared it might stick around for life. Like father, like son.

  Lunch packed in the newly found lunch bag, we made a mad dash to brush teeth and layer on jackets. Yes, it was Southern California, but January could still be cold. Dress like winter in the morning, but have summer layers on underneath in case the sun came out full force in the afternoon.

  Right as we got to the front door to leave, I knelt down and tugged him over to stand in front of me. His backpack was nearly as big as him. I looked him straight in his gray eyes, so like mine it was spooky.

  “It’s a big day for both of us, buddy. We’re going to make new friends today and learn lots. Sound like a plan?” My heart was oddly pounding in my chest. It was like it was the first day of kindergarten all over again.

  “You’re going to do great today, Dad, don’t worry.” He put his little hand on my shoulder and I nearly confessed the secret that all parents have: we’d literally do anything for these tiny little humans. The alarm on my phone went off, breaking the moment and keeping me from spilling my guts.

  “Time to roll, Stein.” I stood up and ushered him out the door to my trusty Volvo. The safety rating was killer on that thing and with precious cargo on board, I didn’t trust anything without a five-star rating by the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration.

  He was just about buckled in when I heard the front door burst open next door. Out flowed two kids and one frazzled mother. They were putting on jackets as they hustled to their SUV, with the mom stopping to pick something up from the driveway.

  “Ooh! Look, kids! It’s heads up. You know what that means.” She looked positively radiant, like a heads-up penny was some kind of omen for good luck, when in reality, it had been her own mistake that had caused her to drop it carelessly in the first place.

  I shook my head at such utter foolishness. Even the notion of “luck” was just a simplified explanation for probability working out in your favor. Random things were usually not so random when you looked at the events that led to them. People who found “lucky” pennies were also found to be more apt to look at the ground when they walked, which led to finding more pennies because they were looking at the location where pennies would naturally be found. Luck? I didn’t think so.

  I slid into the car and got the heater going while I watched them do the same. Regardless of her lack of sense when it came to luck, she was an attractive lady with her navy blue dress and wool coat. Her blond hair was curling down her back, a few pieces on the sides pinned back artfully. Her son looked to be about Stein’s age, so I made a mental note to introduce myself later.

  As we drove to Stein’s new school, he kept up a steady stream of chatter from the back seat. I answered here and there, my thoughts darting around to all the things I needed to accomplish today on my first day at my new school too.

  “Hey, Dad?”

  “Yeah, buddy?”

  “Did you love Mom when you had me?”

  My brain froze and so did my whole body. Luckily we were stopped at a red light or who knows what ditch I would have driven into. Every horror story of having the birds and the bees talk with your kid swooped through my head. Was that what he was asking?

  “Why do you ask?” I was careful to keep my tone neutral.

  “Well, you said you met Mom at college, so maybe with this new college you might meet another girl and fall in love with her. Right?”

  I shook my head to clear the cobwebs, grateful at least we’d staved off the sex talk for another day. “First of all, I don’t know if romantic love really exists. It’s biologically programmed in most species to care for and demonstrate love for their offspring. But only a few species display any inkling of affection for a mate. If anything, some species keep a mate to help out either with offspring or simply for survival, not because of any feelings. So, I can’t say I was ever in love with your mom. I cared for her, of course, but love? I don’t think that really exists, buddy. In fact, one of these days, I’ll prove it to you.”

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, I saw his face pinched, his gaze taking in the sidewalk as we zoomed through the neighborhood by his school.

  “I don’t know what a shpee-zee is, but I think I know what you’re saying. So, if people don’t really love each other like that then why do they get married?”

  I bit my lip to keep the smile off my face. He was so damn cute. Here I was spouting off about species and biology and he just wanted to know if I was going to find some woman at my new workplace and disrupt his life.

  “I think people like companionship. They like to do things together, so they get married or live together, that’s all. But don’t worry, Stein. I have no intention of bringing home a woman from my new school.”

  “Hey, that lady from next door is right behind us!” His attention span was that of a squirrel, always off to the next thing.

  My gaze shifted to the rearview mirror and I saw her expressive face steering her big SUV into the parking lot of the school, just like Stein said. Guess her kids went to this school too. Maybe Stein and her son could be friends. A little bit of weight lifted from my shoulders at the thought.

  “Bye, Dad!”

  As soon as my car came to a stop, Stein unlocked his door and hopped out, swinging his backpack with him. I chuckled at his enthusiasm, realizing this wasn’t at all like kindergarten when he clung to my leg and begged me to stay. I tracked his progress into the school yard and then saw him approach the neighbor kid.

  A car honked behind me and I rushed to put my car in gear. I guess my pretty neighbor was in a hurry. I’d learned quickly enough that school drop-off zones were like a war zone, every mom and dad for themselves. No time for loving glances and wistful goodbyes.

  I pondered my conversation with Stein while I drove to PCC. He didn’t seem too concerned with a woman in my life, which made me relieved, but also adrift. How was I supposed to field questions to the satisfaction of a curious eight-year-old when I didn’t know the answer myself? I’d felt affection—and a lot of lust—for his mother back when we were in college, but I definitely wouldn’t call it love. When we split, I was ambivalent at best, which didn’t scream the L-word.

  My brain was hatching a crazy idea: an experiment to prove once and for all that romantic love didn’t exist. I was a s
cientist. Proving things was my life’s work. This would be no different and it would finally lay to rest that question for Stein. And myself, if I was being honest.

  A parking space with my name printed on a metal placard bolted to a post was waiting for me when I pulled into the new campus. My fingers itched to take a picture of it, but who would I send it to? My dad, the esteemed professor at Stanford? I didn’t think a parking space at a community college rated a picture. And I didn’t do that social media stuff, so what was the point?

  By the time I found my office and got settled in, I had to rush back out and find the classroom where I’d be teaching a Biology 101 class that semester. Yes, I was now the head of the department, but I still taught three classes. I was happy with that arrangement as it kept my feet on the ground and my safety goggles in a science lab every week.

  After class with a delightful load of new, eager students—hopefully my sarcasm was apparent—I hightailed it back to my office for lunch and then an afternoon of getting my office organized.

  The Star Wars theme song blared from the bottom of my satchel not long after I sat down at my desk. I fished it out and answered, knowing it was my dad from his ring tone.

  “Father. Happy Monday.”

  “Greetings to you as well, my son.” He chuckled, loving the act of Mr. Proper when we both knew it was just a matter of time before the f-bombs came flying. “You’ll never guess what I’m working on.”

  “You’re using the Advanced Light Source to dissect DNA damage that leads to RNA transcription errors, thus leading to curing cancer,” I deadpanned.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he boomed. “I’m using the ALS to create high-capacity lithium battery electrodes so I can make millions of dollars and retire before I’m dead.”

  “Careful. Your capitalism is showing...”

  “Enough bullshit, Jameson,” he huffed, obviously done with my teasing. “I’m calling because I had a moment of weakness this weekend. I was feeling old, so I went through all those boxes in the attic you call a fire hazard and decided to put together an online album of sorts about my parents, about my life, and then you and Stein can add to it over time as well. Basically, I’m creating a living, breathing time capsule, thus making myself immortal. Impressed yet?”

  I rolled my eyes. That was so my father. “Better than your decapitated head in a cryo chamber somewhere.”

  “That’s not a bad idea either, but I’m still alive and kicking right now, so I’ll stick to the time capsule. Anyway, I came across some articles yesterday in an old box that I think you should see. I scanned them and emailed them to you. I’ll wait.”

  Silence ensued and I realized he wanted me to log into my email and read it right now. No one said no to Mr. MacMillan without the time and energy to fight the battle that transpired. I had neither the time nor the energy, so I opened my laptop and found his email.

  I scanned over the attached documents and barked out a laugh when the meaning hit me. “Are you serious with this?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  I scrubbed a hand over my face. Maybe I needed glasses after all. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing. An article, written by Loni Sanders, the pseudonym my grandmother used in her magazine column days, was sitting in my inbox, the title mocking me.

  Fifty Ways to Find a Wife

  “I—What—” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Why did you send this to me?”

  And then I heard it. The low-pitched wheeze that signaled my eardrums were about to split wide-open. I pulled the phone away from my ear just in time as he let out the loudest guffaw known to man. I was surprised my phone case didn’t crack under the pressure.

  “Breathe, Dad.” If I knew the man, and I did, his face was bright red and he was laughing so hard he wasn’t breathing. Just wind whistling through his throat in gasps and spurts.

  “It’s just...” He cackled again, his words coming out in between fits of laughter. “So ridiculous...who would follow...I can’t believe...my own mother...wrote such shit!”

  Then he was off in another fit of laughter and I couldn’t help the smile that tugged on my lips. His laugh was highly contagious if a bit alarming. And he had a point: the article was crazy. I read through the list of fifty ways while I gave my father some time to calm himself. Granny actually had a few really interesting ones, like If your girl is ill, call from work to check on her health.

  That sounded like genuinely good advice. It was always a good idea to show you cared. Maybe Be courageous, don’t be a sissy was a little harsh, but I saw her point. Women loved a dashing hero, right?

  “I’ll forward any more gems I come across.” Rustling could be heard on the other end of the line. I was guessing it was my father wiping the tears from his ruddy cheeks.

  “Yeah, okay, sounds good.” I hung up, distracted. I couldn’t stop reading the list. And as I read, a lightbulb flared to life in my head. Maybe that lucky penny my neighbor picked up this morning meant good luck for me instead of her. Because everything was coming together. I’d started my new job, Stein started a new school, and I had the perfect idea to prove my theory correct.

  I’d unleash the fifty ways to find a wife on my next-door neighbor and when it failed spectacularly, I’d prove once and for all that romantic love doesn’t exist.

  For Stein.

  And for me.

  Brilliant.

  3

  Lily-Marie

  A car door slamming woke me from my dreamless slumber. Since my kids were with their father this weekend, I’d cozied up in my bed last night with a good Hallmark movie and didn’t set an alarm. Pure heaven to sleep as long as I wanted—minus the car door slamming—waking to the sun streaming through my sheer curtains. The week had flown by with the kids back to school and everyone finally getting work done now that the holidays were over. A few extra hours of sleep was just what I needed.

  I threw back the covers and stretched, finding my slippers by the bed. It was cold still in Southern California in January and the tile floor was freezing in the mornings. Shuffling into the kitchen to get my first cup of coffee brewing, I peered out the window and saw an unfamiliar car out front. It was parked between my house and the new next-door neighbor.

  Feeling like a busybody, I went over to the window in the front living room and peeked through the blinds. A tall brunette stood by the car, her arms folded and an irritated expression on her face. Then my tall neighbor came down the walkway with his son practically jumping out of his shoes. I’d learned earlier this week that the little boy went to my kids’ school. This exact scene played out every other weekend in my life for the last two years, so I recognized it for what it was: a divorced parent hand-off.

  That reminded me. I needed to bake some cookies this weekend and take the kids over tomorrow night after their dad dropped them back home. We needed to introduce ourselves to the new neighbors. I searched for a Post-it note in the kitchen and wrote it down on my to-do list. That was the only way I’d remember. I had Post-it notes all over the house, decorating every surface like a demented Pottery Barn catalog. Grabbing my coffee, I moved back to the front window for more free entertainment.

  My neighbor walked back up the walkway after his ex’s car drove away. He had that familiar slump to his shoulders. Poor guy. I didn’t know how fresh his split was, but it was hard at first to see them leave. Don’t get me wrong, I still missed my kids when they were with their father, but I was also enjoying the perks. Like sleeping in on a Saturday morning with no one but myself to get ready.

  My gaze trailed absentmindedly over his pressed slacks and dark cranberry sweater. His outfit could have been worn by an eighty-year-old for all the fashion sense it exuded, but his strong jawline and gorgeous dark hair kept him in a decidedly younger age bracket.

  I tilted my head, seeing him from a different angle. Yep, with a trendier outfit on, he could look quite dashing. Handsome, actually, if you dug the moody professor type.

  He was confuz
zling. Who wore slacks and a sweater like that so early on a Saturday morning? I usually met my ex at the door with my pajamas and yesterday’s hair in a messy bun. I’d briefly considered sprucing myself up early on and showing him what he gave up, but quickly decided that would take far too much effort that was better spent finding my Prince Charming. This guy? He was really taking things to the next level if he was trying to impress his ex.

  I went to sip my coffee and found my mug empty. Time to stop snooping on my neighbor, get another cup of coffee, and get started on what was one of my favorite pastimes. Saturday mornings were for yard sales! Since my left hand was busy holding my mug, I was forced to do a one-handed jazz hands motion there by myself in my kitchen. My kids weren’t there to groan at my mom-moves, so I really put some muscle into it. I absolutely loved finding deals. Plus, I fully believed that one man’s trash was another man’s treasure. Or in this case, woman’s.

  Rushing through my routine—after all, it was Saturday, how fancy did I need to be—I was out the door in record time. No sign of my single neighbor, but then again, I wasn’t exactly looking for him either.

  By the time I’d made it to my third yard sale in a ten-mile radius of my house, I was about to call it a day. I’d found an old book I’d always wanted to read, a Disney princess ornament I didn’t have already, and a sterling silver nut cracker. Like an actual tool that would crack nuts, not a red soldier. Figured I might need a nut cracker if I went on any more dates. Get it? Nut cracker? I snorted to myself as I got out of the car and perused the offerings at the front. That was a pretty bad joke, I admit, but then again, my dates had been pretty bad jokes too.

  This yard sale sported a lot of furniture, but I really didn’t need any of that. I was about to leave in defeat when I spotted a tall stack of old magazines. A small smile lit my face when I saw they were Prevention magazines I remembered reading when I visited my grandparents’ house as a small child. I flipped through the one at the top and then the second one. A title of an article caught my eye and I scrambled to get back to the right page.