There’s another bookshelf full of board games, and by full, I mean I can count about fifty games stacked here. If these were my games, I’d have them arranged in thematic order. But it looks like he’s arranged them to maximize space. Now who’s the nerd? I think it’s me.
I’m also pretty envious of the big bay window he has. This is what I’d have done to my front window if I had the motivation to actually do it. There’s a beautiful built-in seat with plush cushions to rest your back on. And because the house sits on top of the steep hill that leads downtown, there’s a clear view of the harbour. It’s heavenly.
“You like?” The heat from his body sends shivers down my back as he nuzzles my neck.
“I’d trade houses with you if there wasn’t an infestation of miniatures in your front hall.”
“It’s not always like that.”
God, the way he tilts his head when he’s thinking is dreamy.
Yes. I said it. Dreamy. So, sue me. I’ve got a bad case of infatuation here.
“On second thought, it is like that a lot around here. Still, I have sound proof walls.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Pretty sure. But maybe we ought to do something to test that theory.”
Now, I have two options. I can go for funny, like ask him if he wants to break out the Twister mat. Or I can make him an offer he can’t refuse.
My shirt is loose and lightweight. It slides off pretty easily. And I made sure before I left the house that I was wearing a nude lace bra.
“Don’t you want to go play Magic or something?”
“Do I look like an idiot? Who chooses cards over this?”
Well said, Mr. Sharp. Well said.
Two weeks later.
It’s two in the morning. Evan is upstairs sleeping in my bed. Somehow we’ve settled on an arrangement where he spends four or five nights at my place. And I begrudgingly spend the rest at his.
If it were a matter of who has the better bed, we’d be at his place all the time. That man made some serious investment in a pillow top mattress that leaves me refreshed in the morning. But I just can’t handle the constant influx of guys, and sometimes disturbingly cute girls, who just waltz into his part of the house without knocking to borrow games, or play games, or take food from his always well-stocked fridge.
Tonight we had our first argument and it’s about this very thing. He can’t see that his friends take advantage of him.
“You just don’t understand friendship because the only friends you have are pompous intellectuals and artists who are too busy trying to seem aloof to be real friends.”
“You haven’t even met my friends,” I yelled at him. Which is when he sat back, crossed his arms, and got an entirely too self-satisfied look on his face.
“Exactly. I just made that up because what else am I supposed to think since you haven’t introduced me to any of them. At least you’ve met my friends.”
“You met Ingrid.”
“Once. In your office. And you kicked her out.”
“I didn’t kick her out. She had to go. And if memory serves, you wanted her gone just as badly. You were the one who started making out with me the second she was out of sight.”
“Well, I didn’t think that would be the last time I’d ever see anyone important to you.”
“So, you want to meet my friends?”
“Sure. And your family.”
“Let’s start small, alright. I’ll have Ingrid and a few others over soon.”
“Sunday.”
“What?”
“Have them over Sunday. We’ll play a game of Dixit and get to know each other.”
Like hell. My friends are not game playing people. But I will have them over. It’s time for Evan to see that there’s more to life than board games. And sex. Wait. I’m not crazy. The sex is insane. No need to mess with that part of the equation.
Sunday.
That’s it. I’m breaking up with Evan.
I told him before everyone came that I didn’t think they’d want to play a game. And what did he do all through the meal? Talk about art, and subjectivity, and impressionism, and how board games these days were catering to intellectualism. And what did my friends do the second he mentioned a great game that was based on those very concepts? Ohh and ahh and say they want to play it.
So here we are, drinking wine, playing a board game, and the world hasn’t imploded. Ingrid is especially enjoying it. Ingrid. Who once told me that the problem with men today was that they refused to grow up. That she wasn’t going for childish pursuits. Still, here she is playing a game and loving it.
I know. You’re thinking why is she breaking up with him over this? I’ll tell you why. Because I asked him not to. He didn’t know how my friends were going to react. He could have embarrassed the life out of me. Made me look silly. Made them think he wasn’t good enough for me. He didn’t respect my request, and just because it all worked out doesn’t matter. It’s what could have happened. There’s a reason why I only share certain parts of my life with my friends. I don’t want to be judged. And Evan-it seems he doesn’t care at all.
How can you live your life that way? Without a care?
It’s infuriating. How am I supposed to let him meet my parents if I can’t trust him to adhere to some simple ground rules. There are things you don’t talk about around the Carew dinner table. You only talk about politics if you are in support of the New Democrats and hate the Conservatives. You only talk about religion if you’re willing to stomach the idea that the sexual abuse scandals were just an anomaly and there’s nothing wrong with the Catholic Church. You don’t talk about mundane topics like TV or movies (which sucks because I have so much to say about those topics!). And you must be willing to concede that if Paul Simon’s Graceland isn’t the best record in the history of life, then it’s at least on your top three.
I can’t go an evening not knowing if Evan is going to try to get my parents into a rousing game of Settlers of Catan, or regale them with a play-by-play of the dice rolls in his latest D&D raid.
Clearly, the only thing I can do is break up with him. I mean, it’s bound to happen eventually, right? Save myself the heart break of him doing it three months from now. Now, I just need to figure out how to do it.
“He’s amazing,” Ingrid whispers to me as she gets up to go get more wine. “Keeper material for sure.”
What? We need to have a serious chat.
I haul her into the living room the first chance I get.
“I didn’t know men like that existed in this city,” she says the second I corner her. “Hot as Hades, smart but doesn’t show off, and fun. I told you all those years of dating snots and snobs would be a waste of time. Finally, you’ve found a real man. Oh, I’d love to see him and Gregory in the same room. Evan would make mincemeat of him.”
“I thought you liked Greg?”
I’d liked Greg. Until he broke up with me when I won the fellowship he’d thought he deserved more than me. Yes, I have been in a relationship with a man who thought I owed it to him to concede a well-earned academic fellowship because he’d had more struggles in life than me. By struggles, he meant it had taken him more time to write his dissertation because he’d had to travel to Rome and navigate the Vatican archives.
“He was certainly the less nerdy of your boyfriends, sure. But he was still a stuffy know-it-all.”
Nerdy? My boyfriends weren’t nerdy.
“Come on, Jillian. You know they were nerds. Bruce wore an actual pocket protector. And a bow tie.”
“He wasn’t nerdy. That was his look.”
“Sit down, sweetie.”
God, I hate it when she gets that condescending tone. And she’s patting the sofa.
“Jilly, you know I love you. And hey, you’ve had a spectacular run of guys. More than I could ever muster. But you’ve always attracted the geekiest of geeks. Now you’ve got a real man here. He’s social. He’s fun to be around. And judging by the way he looks at you, h
e’s gone for you. And I know you. You’ve had the look of aloofness all evening. The one you save for when you’re ready to kick someone to the curb. I know that look. I’ve often waited with glee for you to get it so you’d get a dud out of your life. But listen to me now. Evan is not a dud. He’s the real deal. So, whatever it is that’s got you in a snit, it better be legit. Because if I find out you’re going to dump him because he doesn’t understand Latin poetry or he hates your collection of Gregorian chants, I am going to disown you.”
“Ingrid. When you talk about me that way I sound boring. And stuck-up.”
“No, sweetie. You’re far from either of those. You’re wonderful. But you are a little nerdy at times. You’re a hot nerd, no doubt about it. But-” This but sounds like a doozy is coming. And the sigh that follows isn’t a harbinger of joy. “Never mind. You know what’s best. But I’m warning you. If you dump him, and he’s available three months from now, I’m going to pursue him like there’s no tomorrow. And when you’re maid of honour at our wedding, keep in mind that it could have been you.”
“Ingrid. You don’t know everything about him.”
That gets her attention. “What? What’s so terrible about him?”
“You said I’m a nerd? He’s way more nerdy than I am. He plays Dungeons & Dragons, for the love of God.”
There should be a law that states that one’s best friend should not laugh at her. Never. Ever. No matter what.
“Oh, Jilly. Is that your problem? You think he’s too nerdy for you?”
“He’s not a nerd, he’s a geek.”
“And I’m a hippie. And you’re a nutjob. So what’s the issue?”
“You’re not a hippie.”
“I am. I just don’t call myself that. And what’s a geek, by the way?”
“A nerd with social skills. At least that’s what Evan says.”
“So Evan called himself a geek, yes?”
“Yea.”
“So what. It’s a word. It’s a label someone puts on another person, and if there’s anyone I know who shouldn’t care about labels it’s you. Remember when you were on the post-modern kick and spent all your time trying to deconstruct labels? You should know better.”
Shit. She was right.
Later that night.
Okay. Is it normal to want to break up with a guy and have his little geeky babies all in one day? I need to stop calling him a geek!
Because I just walked into my bedroom and found this over-the-top and utterly perfect tableau.
The bed is covered in rose petals. Like seriously covered. There are roses all around the room. In vases. Glasses. Bowls. Laid out loose on the window sill. On the bed is the most beautiful piece of lingerie I’ve ever seen. And a leather-bound book of poems by Catullus. It’s so old the pages are yellowed and smell a little musty. There are illustrations. And it’s in English. All my copies are in Latin. This might be the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received.
“You like? I noticed you have fourteen various editions of this and I wasn’t able to read one word of it. I thought maybe we could read this together.”
Heart. Stop melting.
“What’s all this for?”
“It’s a month since I first laid eyes on you. I thought that needed celebrating.”
Alright. I’m not a crying girl by nature, but there’s something about this sweetness that makes me want to sob. I feel out of sorts. Like my mind and heart are in some sort of conflict I’m not aware of. Of course, I am aware of it if I’m thinking it. I’m a freak. A nerdy freak. Who’s ashamed of her geeky boyfriend who for all intents and purposes is a certifiable god amongst mortals.
“Hey, why are you crying?”
His hands are rough on my face as he wipes away a tear, a sign of all the hard work he’s putting into fixing my house.
“Evan, am I a nerd? Am I too nerdy for you?”
“First of all, I’m not sure there is such a thing as too nerdy for me. And second of all, you are not a nerd. You’re smart and sexy and that works for me. Why are you crying?”
“PMS?”
“Again? Good thing I’m prepared for this now.” He laughs. Which is just another wonderful thing about him. He didn’t run for the hills the day he found me bingeing on ice cream, wearing a kaftan and cradling a hot water bottle like it’s the Holy Grail.
“I dunno. I get lost in my head sometimes. I have all these thoughts that just get out of control. I think my problem is that I set things up in my head and when they don’t go the way I imagine, I can’t deal. And I think I try too hard to get people to think I’m normal, when I don’t feel normal at all. You know what I mean?”
There’s something about the way he holds me that makes me feel whole.
“Not really. I don’t think about normal. I am who I am. I don’t worry about what people think. Instead, I just try to be a good guy. A good friend. A good worker. A good sport about the games I play.” This man’s hands may be rough but his lips are like butter on my neck. “A good boyfriend. Good in bed.”
“Good is too mediocre an adjective for how wicked you are in that department.”
“Oh, I don’t know. There’s always room for improvement, right?”
“By all means, I’m a strong supporter of homework.”
“This isn’t work, my love. It’s all play.”
What was I thinking? No one should ever want to leave a man with these talents.
A lazy Saturday, a while later.
“I need a lawn mower,” I say as I dip a brush into the matte black paint. “Look at the clover in this garden. It’s terrible.”
Evan is building that solar set-up with the cans we collected. I’m helping by painting them.
“I like clover. You know, the red ones have healing properties. Remember what that missus at the farmers’ market told us about how she eats them to cure a headache?” He stops to take a long drink of ice water.
“Quackery. I’d sooner pop an Aspirin.”
“Why do you trust drugs more than nature?”
“Why do you trust a hippie more than a doctor?”
“I happen to like my doctor, thank you very much. But I also respect the world.”
Oh God. Here we go. It’s time for the professor to get schooled on the environment again. It’s not that bad. I like debate. We’re good at it. We’re also good at the resolution.
“Well, I’ll pick some for you before I mow it all down. I want a lawn I can walk around on in my bare feet.”
“You can walk in your bare feet on this.”
“No, I can’t. What if a bee stings me?”
“A bee isn’t going to sting you. They’re not aggressive like that.”
“If I step on him, he’s gonna sting me.”
“That’s not him choosing to sting you. That’s you basically forcing him to hurt you as you kill him with your foot. Bees will not attack you on purpose unless they feel threatened. They wouldn’t do that because they know they’ll die.”
Welcome, friends, to one of the things about Evan that drives me bonkers. Uninformed opinions. I’m a researcher. An academic. I’m used to scrutinizing data and realizing that facts aren’t always the truth. Things are always more complex than we think. For Evan, it’s more black and white.
“And how do you know a bee knows he’s going to die if he stings someone? Did a bee write a paper on it?”
“Yes, he did. He polymorphed into a human just so he could tell the world, ‘Hey, stop hating us bees. We’re nice and make honey and don’t want to sting you because we’ll die. So, don’t attack me or my hive and we’ll get along real good.’ I’m surprised you didn’t read that in one of your journals or something. It was a big deal.”
This! This look is why I’m head over heels in love with this man. It’s a look that says “Woman, you and I are going to have some hot lovin’ when we’re done this nonsense.” I’m sure the neighbours think we bicker all the time. But he’s just so fun to argue with. He’s wrong most of th
e time, but it’s fun. Even when it’s driving me mental. I now understand something Mom told me ages ago when I asked her how she could stand Dad always picking on her about her book collection.
“He does it to get me riled up. It’s all good. We have an agreement.” At the time I didn’t get what the glint in her eyes meant. Now, I wish I didn’t know.
The night Evan met my parents was an eye-opener for me. Turns out Dad and Evan have a lot in common. If I was worried about how they’d react to him, it was once again nothing but my foolish head taking over. All it took was Evan asking Dad if he played chess and they were fast friends. Here’s the thing about Evan. He doesn’t care what game it is he plays, he just likes to play. And although I’m warming up to board games, I have no intention of playing chess with him. Truth be told, I don’t have the head for it.
While he and Dad spent two hours playing, Mom and I spent the time talking about how much she likes Evan in comparison to my other boyfriends. And then the shoe dropped.
“You’re not going to ask him to live with you, are you?”
I hate how she can read my mind sometimes. Not that I was going to ask him any time soon, but the idea had entered my mind. Since the first night he slept over, the only nights we’ve spent apart are Thursdays when he plays D&D, and three nights when I was in Montreal for a conference.
“Why not?”
“Because you shouldn’t live with him unless you’re married.” She held her hand up in defence. “Listen, I’m not being old-fashioned here. I lived with Dad for a few months before we got married. Living with a man is hard. And sweetie, you don’t do well with roommates. It’s far better to go through the living together growing pains as husband and wife than it is before you get married.”
“But isn’t it a good way to know if we’re meant to be together? Why would I marry someone I can’t live with?”
“You marry someone because you love them. You live with them because you have to.”
“Well, Mother. What if I don’t intend on getting married? What if I just want to live in sin for the rest of my life?”
“It’s too soon for this discussion, Jillian, and you’re just saying things now to push my buttons. I’m not rising to the challenge. Let’s go get those two apart and have dessert.”
Passionate Kisses 2 Boxed Set: Love in Bloom Page 140
