by Piper Lawson
“Dr. Crawford, I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“I like to stay involved in the happenings around here. Especially since I was instrumental in recruiting you.”
“How are things going?” the principal asks. “I trust you’re finding our students interested in the subject matter.”
“Biology? Absolutely.”
Mostly their own.
The principal pulls out a tablet—because it’s a point of pride of this school to use technology wherever possible—and runs through a list of questions. How each of my classes is going. If I have the support I need.
“I appreciate it’s less than a month in, but I don’t foresee any issues,” I conclude, partly because I want to wrap this up and get out of here.
Before we can, Crawford weighs in. “Dr. Robinson, the beating heart of Baden isn’t the academics. It’s the extracurriculars.”
“I’m sure.” I try to sound as though I care but probably fail. What these kids do on their own time isn’t on my list of things to care about. Not after selling the DNA program to pay my bills, getting my job back, getting this paper submitted…
“Athletics, music,” the principal goes on.
World peace, laundry, the new Kendrick Lamar album…
I realize they’re waiting for me to respond. “Very worthwhile pursuits.”
“You don’t seem like an athletic or musical person,” Crawford observes.
“I was more academic.”
“I understand completely. I wish my children were more like you.”
I’m not sure who his kids are, though they must go to Baden, but I’m not about to let on. It hasn’t occurred to me because I haven’t noticed the name Crawford. I make a note to go through my lists more carefully after school.
“You’re your father’s son,” he goes on. “Which is why I saved the best for last. Debate.”
The principal leans in. “The first competition is in two weeks. We’re short a coach. Since you’re so capable and motivated, perhaps you’d agree to take on this role.”
Shit. Backpedal. “I don’t know that it’s the best fit.”
“You’re precisely what they need,” Crawford says smoothly. “Someone close to their age but who’s already achieved a tremendous amount. You have the benefit of lived experience. And Wesley, I know this fall has been challenging. This could be what you need.”
Like that, it’s settled.
The principal thanks me and says we should meet again in a month.
And I think I just got a taste for how Terry Crawford got where he is.
11
Rena
“Who actually publishes this?” Kendall holds up the book, and I raise a brow.
“They probably made a lot of money on it back in the day.”
“Yeah, but who stood by the printing presses, on quality control, cranking out a thousand copies of Top Positions for Stimulation and Closeness every day?” she asks.
“That’s the point. They didn’t. It’s a limited run. Everything in this store is.”
“No pictures of the merchandise.”
We both turn toward the voice coming from the end of the row.
“Kidding. It’s our best advertising.” The owner of the tantric bookstore points at the sign with their hashtag.
I glance at the shelf in front of me. If I ever thought I thought about sex a lot? I’m humbled to say this puts me to shame. There’s everything from the straight-up physics of it—gravity-defying positions, angles, lubrication—to the relational side of it.
And it’s organized by year, with the rare stuff at the back.
Because it’s not like they can put the smutty stuff in the back.
Kendall shelves the book and continues down the row, reaching for another. “All About Oral?”
“They should make that an e-book and distribute it free to every man. As a public service.”
Kendall laughs. “If the way men achieved sexual satisfaction was through pleasuring women, you can be sure they’d figure that out.” She nods at the book. “I’m buying this.”
“Big weekend plans?” I ask.
“Yep. Rory and I are going to Brooklyn for a festival. As for this book? It’ll live in my nightstand, on top of the condoms that never get used, as part of the shrine to the sex life I don’t have,” she decides, flipping it over. Her jaw drops. “This is forty bucks?”
The owner appears again. “It’s signed by the author.”
“The author’s a nurse practitioner from Tallahassee,” Kendall counters.
They haggle over the price, and my friend strikes a bargain.
“You’ve been dodging my pottery class invitations,” she says once they’ve agreed.
“Not dodging. I’ve been busy helping Wes sell his app. Not through Closer. Just me.”
Kendall lifts a well-groomed brow, slow. “So you’re moonlighting?”
“It’s more like a favor. Plus, he has a huge research sample. If this works it’d be great for my portfolio.” And proving I can do my job. “The idea of genetic compatibility has been around forever, but it’s only recently gotten more attention with the cost of ancestry and DNA tests going down. Plus, there are databanks people can contribute their genetic code to in order to help with research like Wes’s. At first, I thought it was super sketchy because anything to do with sorting people based on their genetics seems shady. But it’s cool—they actually match people based on diversity.”
I lead the way toward the register.
“How do you even look for someone based on literal chemistry?” Kendall asks.
“Blurry faces so you don’t swipe people away based on their looks.”
She pays and gets her purchase in a bag. “Why’re you so into this if you’re not even getting paid for it?” She squints at me through the sun when we walk outside, and we take the sidewalk to the main doors of our building.
It’s the same question I’ve asked myself a dozen times. I could say because my ego needs a boost, but I land on something I think is closer to the truth.
“Wes is a good guy. A great guy, actually. He had some hard family stuff happen lately. He deserves a break.”
Her mouth scrunches up. “I thought it was in exchange for sexual favors. Because your little make out session at the fundraiser Wednesday was hot enough to get me pregnant for the second time.”
I reach up to tug on my ponytail as she holds the door. “He paid three thousand dollars.”
I glance back, seeing my friend standing immobilized in the open doorway. “To kiss you.”
“No.” She finally releases the door and follows me inside, her heels clicking on the lobby floor after mine. “So I didn’t have to kiss anyone else.”
Warmth floods my body at the memory.
I liked having Wes at the party with me. It was like having a partner in crime, which I haven’t had since leaving Haley in Philly three months ago.
I didn’t expect him to thread his fingers in my hair, to take control like he had every right to make me feel something in the middle of the entire party.
I didn’t expect him to kiss like there was something dirty under that beautifully tailored tux.
Kendall’s eyes gleam. “Oh, that’s even better. That man is seriously into you.”
“That’s not it.” I enter the stairwell, taking each step one at a time. “First, I’m putting the casual thing on ice for now. And even if I was interested in dating Wes—which I’m not—he’s going to claim the highest peak of Mount Nerd, then look for his genetic Cinderella or whatever.
“Which is why I’m going to help him sell this app. As a public service.” I stop at the landing and turn, folding my arms. “To do that, I need to test the product. Therefore, I’m going out with a guy tonight. From the app.”
Kendall pauses in front of me, brushing a piece of hair from her shining face. “Wait. So, you’re like a test case? That’ll take forever. You can’t expect the first guy to work out. Unless you plan on
going on a million dates and Wes is willing to wait months.”
“You’re right.” I pull out my phone and dash off a text as she swipes her card by the security pad.
* * *
Rena: Hey. Any happy-ever-afters come out of your 10k-person sample?
* * *
Then I tuck the phone away, satisfied. “I want to prove Daisy wrong. I can sell anything. And in the meantime, maybe there’s a chance I’ll find someone to entertain me and distract me from my parents’ bickering this weekend. And my brother getting into trouble. And the fact that my work’s going down the toilet.”
Kendall holds up her plastic bag. “If you want to borrow this for tonight…”
I push it away. “Not necessary.”
“Not even for Wes.”
I can’t stop the shiver. “Especially not for Wes.”
She shrugs, leading the way to our desks. “You don’t think he’d be good with his mouth?”
I swallow the groan as I drop into my chair, ignoring her question.
Because yes, I think Wes Robinson would be fucking fantastic with his mouth.
Blurry lawyer turns out to be nice. He’s my height with slick, dark hair, and he confesses he hasn’t made it to the gym since articling.
But we end up talking, and he’s easy to get along with.
The subject drifts from us to how he got involved in this.
“I was part of a research study on MS. Three people in my family have it, and we agreed we wanted to be part of the study to help researchers better understand the disease and any biological markers for it. When this came up as an option afterward—the chance to get added to this pool, I mean…” He shrugs, grins. “I figured, why not? Hard enough to meet people in the city. Good to know there’s some science behind it.”
I feel myself lean in, curious. “That’s comforting for you? Knowing science can help you find someone?”
He considers. “It’s comforting knowing maybe there is someone out there for me. It’s easy to get caught up in the day-to-day shit, and after a while—by which I mean thirty—you start to wonder.”
I’m hooked on what he’s saying, though it’s not because of him. It’s his words, his ideas.
I’m going to have to tell Wes about this. He’s either going to find it as fascinating as I do or, more likely, stare back at me with a blank look.
I swallow the laugh because you couldn’t find a less likely person to start a dating app. I’m not sure Wes is into his own interpersonal interactions, not to mention other peoples’.
I’d have a hard time picturing him with a girlfriend. Asking about her day. Buying her flowers. Saying mushy things.
Dirty ones, on the other hand…
Yeah. I can totally picture Wes talking dirty. Like everything else he does, there’d be a moment’s consideration. But once he committed, he’d be all in.
And there’s a thought I shouldn’t be having—how it would sound to hear Wes say the word fuck.
Under his breath.
While he’s inside of me.
“Do you want to go out again sometime?” my date ventures, a hopeful glint in his eye.
I force my attention back, ignoring the way my thighs are rubbing together. “I really enjoyed meeting you, and you’re a great guy.” Ugh. I’m feeding him the same platitudes everyone in the history of the world fed someone they didn’t want to see again, and I start over. “I’m not sure it’s the right time for me to be doing this. I’m still figuring out if I want to believe what you believe. That there’s someone for me, I mean. But thanks for sharing your evening with me, and your ideas. And good luck.”
He puts me in a cab, and I wave as he turns away.
As the city rolls by my window, I think about the things he said. There are probably a lot of people like him. People who are serious about their work but know they’re going to lift their head one day and realize they’re lonely. If this app helps people look beyond the swipe apps that turn human beings into meat, helps them look at things from a new perspective?
That would be a seriously good thing.
My phone buzzes in my bag. The name on the screen makes me smile.
“Hi. It’s a little early to be calling to check up on my date, don’t you think?” I tease. “Or we could’ve had a total love connection and been halfway to Bali right now.”
When Wes finally responds, his voice is low and perplexed. “Did you?”
“Well, I’m on the phone with you instead of on an airplane. So, you tell me.”
“What’d you talk about?” he asks, and I force myself to focus.
“We talked about life. Dating.”
“John Hughes?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“He was really nice.”
“I’m sure he was equally charmed.”
The old-fashioned description, uttered in a startlingly sincere tone, shouldn’t send tingles running through me. But when I hold my date up against Wes, it’s hard to compare. Wes is brilliant and funny and serious and sexy.
Maybe the reason I’ve never wanted to date is that I never found the right guy to date.
And there’s a thought that’s never occurred to me before. Maybe it’s not me or them—it’s just a compatibility thing.
Maybe there’s something to this “opposites attract” deal and I’ve been looking in the wrong places all along.
“I got your text,” he says, breaking into my thoughts. “The app’s been out for six months. But I found a couple who met through the site.”
A surge of excitement bolts through me. “We should interview them. Get in their own words how it’s going, why they think it worked for them. It’ll be compelling for any prospective funders or users.”
“Then you’re going to like this.” My phone dings a moment later.
It’s a picture of a guy and girl smiling, taking a selfie in front of Rockefeller Square.
“Oh, Wes, that’s money.” My heart kicks as the possibilities wash over me. “They look so happy. That’s what sells this. It’s not even the words; it’s the promise that with your research, you could have something like that. It’s what everyone wants.”
“Everyone.” I feel the skepticism.
“Yes. To sell this, you need to get under the platitudes and to the heart of it.” I take a breath, thinking of something that occurred to me tonight. “We’re all looking, but we pretend we’re not. Because if we don’t find it, it means there’s something wrong with us. And we can drink or do drugs, but God forbid people find out there’s something wrong with us, an unfixable flaw deep down. That we’re unlovable.”
The long pause has me wishing I could take back those words.
But I shift in my seat, not ready to hang up. He doesn’t seem ready to either.
“How was your day?” I ask.
“I inherited a debate team.”
I snort. “You’re coaching debate.”
“That’s exactly what I said when they told me.”
“No. You’ll be amazing.”
There’s a moment before he says, “I don’t know how to talk to kids. Especially outside of class.”
“Wes, they’re lucky to have you. You’re smart and passionate and you know what it’s like to work for what you want. They couldn’t have a better teacher, or a better coach.”
“Thanks.” He pauses. “Speaking of surprises. I hope your mother enjoyed her souvenir of Wednesday night.”
I reach into the pocket of my bag and pull out the Polaroid of me and Wes kissing.
I set it on my lap, snapping a pic. I text it to him, hearing his phone buzz on the other end.
“Rena? You still there?”
He ignored the incoming text for our conversation, and that makes me warm all over again.
“Check your messages,” I say with a smile.
He does, and I hear his exhale. “You kept it.”
“Might be worth something someday to say I made out with Wes Robinson
once.”
“Twice.”
My pulse kicks in my throat and I have to swallow before responding. “That hardly counts. You didn’t kiss me back the first time.”
“I wanted to.”
The gravelly admission drags down my spine. “Really?”
“You made me feel something real for the first time since my dad died.”
At the party, he had to play the smooth card and snap a picture while I was too distracted to care. Now, there’s no game, no agenda, and his honesty is affecting me even more.
“And why didn’t you do it?”
A heavy exhale comes down the line, and I can almost feel him next to me. “For the same reason.”
I stare out the window, tracing a streak along the surface.
“Miss? We’re here,” the cab driver calls from the front.
We are, though I’d don’t notice the cab pulling up to the curb. I have no idea how long we’ve been sitting here.
“Sounds like you have to go,” Wes says.
“I kind of do.”
I don’t want to.
“Have a good weekend.”
“You too.”
I tuck the phone in my bag, pay the cab driver with a big tip, and get out. I stick my hands in the pockets of my coat as I walk home.
12
Wes
“In conclusion, we’re biologically predisposed to raise children,” the girl argues. “We’ve been doing it for thousands of years, and then we invented the iPhone. Obviously, we’re doing something right.”
I grind my teeth.
“Three minutes for rebuttal,” I say, hitting my stopwatch.
I spent part of my Sunday night coming up with debate topics for practice Monday.
The current topic is whether parents should be required to take parenting classes before having children.
They’re split up pro and con, and I sit in the classroom, watching. What I’ve learned in the first ninety minutes is that nearly every one of my students finds a way to sneak in the iPhone. Even on social issues.
