Definitely, Maybe in Love

Masen didn’t even wait for the first person to stand up after he’d ended class. “Spring,” he said. “Come see me.”

Lilah’s eyes shot my way but I didn’t react, not giving her the satisfaction. Today in class was the first time I’d seen her since I found out—

Well, anyway.

“Where’s the rest of it?” my professor asked when I got to his desk. He held out the twelve-page outline of my thesis. The third draft.

I was about to ask him what he meant, but why hedge?

“That’s all of it. I believe I’ve touched on the points we talked about last time,” I said, trying to sound like the expert I claimed to be, but my legs were shaking.

“Section nine,” he said, flipping to the end page. “You alluded to the point but it’s completely vague.” He took off his glasses. “This is the crux here, you see?” He pointed at it. “The whole argument of your theory funnels down to this: In the long run, over, say, a decade, is land development detrimental or beneficial? And why? You’ve posed this question along the way, but here you have to answer. Section nine is where your new angle should really come into play.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m still tweaking that part.”

He lifted his bushy brows. “Still? I thought you had most of the body written. Your final deadline is three weeks before the end of semester. In two months.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I said, my turtleneck feeling hot and strangly. I didn’t have the guts to tell him that my research was done. My notes were typed up. What he held in his hand was all I had. Foolishly, I thought I’d get away with it. For the last few months, I hadn’t been as into my research as I’d been in the fall, and I’m sure that showed.

“We talked about this before the break,” he said. “You promised me you were getting back on track.”

“I know.” I nodded vigorously. “I was—I am.”

“I’ll give you one more chance to finish a complete outline before I approve the topic with the committee,” Masen said. My stomach hit the floor. I thought he’d gotten the thesis committee’s stamp of approval months ago. “Otherwise”—he passed me my paper, the top page stained with a coffee ring—“I’m afraid I’ll have to give you a fail.”

My mouth fell open. Wasn’t it only back in September that we’d talked publication? A few months later, he’d said what an excellent job I’d been doing on the new version of my thesis.

And now I was on the brink of the first fail in my life.

I assured Masen with everything in me that I would fix it, truly this time, whatever it took, and that I’d have the new outline—the final draft!—on his desk Monday morning. That was in five days.

Before I’d exited the classroom, I was visualizing that last section, moving the different parts around in my head. There was a lot of great information there, but there were holes, pretty significant ones that I couldn’t fill myself. I knew only one person who could help.

I walked outside and sat on a bench, other students rushing past on their way to class, oblivious to my internal struggle. The bells of Hoover Tower chimed out the noon hour.

I didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, I could not get an F on my sustainable living research paper, not while there was a breath left in my body. On the other hand, I couldn’t do it, couldn’t imagine the scenario of picking up the phone and…

My mind was whirling, thinking up any and every possible solution, but I slowly realized I had no other choice. It was either that or fail. Zombie-like, I pulled out my cell and scrolled to the last time he’d called me back in December.

It rang once before rolling to voicemail. Actually, it was one of those half-rings, meaning his phone was off or he was on another call. My mouth went dry when I heard his voice asking me to leave a message. I closed my eyes and began to speak.

He didn’t call back or confirm in any way, but I knew he would show, because I knew he was free tonight. I knew this because we’d already made plans to meet. After I rushed up the stairs, I nearly fainted when my phone pinged, reminding me of our originally scheduled meeting on the top floor of the Meyer Library. The room behind the stacks. The one he told me had a lock on the door. I was fifteen minutes early.

Henry was already there.

He sat at the table, head bowed, just finishing writing on a piece of yellow notebook paper. He tore that page off the pad and placed it on top of a stack of other printouts beside his laptop. He must have heard me, because he looked up.

“Hi,” I said, not quite able to meet his eyes. “Thank you for coming.”

“I figured you must be pretty desperate to call me,” he said, speaking down at the table. His tone wasn’t completely chilly. “And you’re welcome.” He pulled out the chair beside him. I walked around the table and sat.

“Looks like you’ve been here a while,” I observed conversationally. “I hope you didn’t skip a class.”

“I don’t really have to sit in on my classes this semester,” Henry said. “They’re all recorded and archived online. I’d rather be there in person, but it’s not necessary. A few weeks ago, I considered doing the rest of the semester remotely.”

“From a castle in Switzerland?” I couldn’t help saying, hoping to lighten the mood. I was relieved when he smiled.

“Maybe.” He turned to face me. “But then I decided to stay around here.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer, but he kept his eyes steadily on mine. “Anyway,” he finally said, “this is probably what you’ll need.” He slid the stack of loose papers toward to me. “You can read over those and if you have any questions, we can talk about it.”

“Thanks,” I said. But I didn’t want to sit there and read to myself. I wanted to get into one of our classic debates. I wanted him to push my buttons and challenge my opinions until I got so impassioned that I wrestled him to the floor, pinned his shoulders down and—

“I’ve got my own reading to do,” he said, interrupting my runaway fantasy. “So let me know if you have a question.”

I nodded, wiped my palms on my jeans and stared down at the neat stack of papers. I read for a while, trying very hard to concentrate. A group of guys walked past the room and stopped right in front of the open door, having an animated and rather filthy discussion about the busty redhead working the circulation desk.

Henry scraped back his chair and walked to the door, giving the guys a look before pulling the door closed. His hand lingered on the knob and I couldn’t help noticing how his thumb brushed along the protruding lock button. When my gaze moved to his face, he was watching me. Slowly, steadily, my temperature started to rise, thinking of what we might be doing at that very moment…if only I hadn’t damaged my relationship with the one man I wanted to trust. If only.

“This floor is usually pretty deserted,” I observed, trying to keep myself in my chair.

“That’s why I chose it.” A shadow crossed his face and he dropped his gaze. “And it’s got the best vending machines. Hershey bars.” As he returned to his seat, I could almost catch a tiny glimmer in his eyes. Maybe he was also thinking about that chocolate bar we’d shared beside the campfire…barely a week ago.

“Henry,” I couldn’t help saying, though I had no idea how to continue.

He’d been typing something on his laptop, but turned to me. I could see the gold flecks in his eyes and the tiny freckles on his nose, the ones I’d traced with my finger while he’d hummed in my ear. I’d been so relaxed with him, so at peace…yet out-of-control, free of control in the most spectacular way.

My sudden need was so surprising, it almost scared me. But was it temporary? Would I forgive him now and resent him later? The thought of doing that to either of us made me physically ill. I wanted to trust him, wholly, so very badly. I wanted him like I’d never wanted anything in my life.

Maybe I wasn’t ready to act on that, but didn’t I owe it to both of us to say something? Talking…that used to be what we were good at.

“Henry,” I repeated, licking my dry lips.

He lowered his hands from the keyboard. “Yes?” He tilted his head, brows bent. “What’s—” Before either of us could continue, his eyes flashed to my cell sitting face-up on the table, ringing with an incoming call. My stomach turned to ice when a thumbnail-sized picture of Alex’s face appeared on the screen.

I glanced at Henry, who was staring at it. A second later, he closed his laptop and scooted back his chair. “I’ll let you answer,” he said, not looking at me.

“Wait.” I grabbed my phone and silenced the ringer.

“If you have questions about that,” he said, glancing down at the papers before me then walking to the door, “you can email.”

“Henry.” I held up my cell as evidence of…something. “It’s not what you think.” Right as the words left my mouth, the phone began ringing again. Henry’s dark eyes glared at the face pointed directly at him.

“Unbelievable, Spring,” he muttered, his tone angry yet detached. I’d never heard him speak like that before.

“What?” I flipped my phone over and looked at its face. It was Alex again.

We stared at each other until finally Henry clenched his jaw, opened the door and left. I watched him stride all the way across the room then round a corner toward the stairs. When I was conscious enough to realize that my phone was still ringing, I cocked my arm and threw it against the wall as hard as I could. It smashed apart, leaving a dent in the wall.

“Frack,” I yelled, slumping into my chair.

…

With back-to-back exams and a paper due, I couldn’t make it to the Apple Store for three days. I chose a white iPhone this time and one of those ultra-protective cases, as insurance for the next time I had the urge to hurl a two hundred dollar device against a concrete wall. I was dying to get home and charge it, feeling a little out of touch with the world.

I plugged it into my laptop then laid face down on my sheepskin rug. After a few minutes, I heard bleeps and chirps. I rolled over and grabbed my phone, watching the numbers of new emails appear on the screen. And one new text.

I sat up.

Tonight. Meet me at the library. Midnight. You know where. Please come, Spring.

The text had been sent an hour after he’d walked out of that study room…three days ago.

A tiny primal scream escaped from my throat as I stumbled to my feet, grabbing a jacket as I dashed from my bedroom. I’d had to run across campus plenty of times, but I think this sprint broke all my records. When I skidded around the corner, my heart tanked, finding the study room in the back corner dark and empty. Of course I didn’t expect him to still be there after three days, but I had to check. I leaned against the doorway and pulled out my phone, sliding my fingers down the face, not knowing what I should write back to him, but knowing I must.

Sorry, my fingers raced. Phone died, just got your msg. I’m at the lbry now. Can you meet?

Send.

I stared at the two words until they spun like a Ferris wheel. I needed to sit down before my knees gave out, so I walked into the dark room and slid into the chair Henry had used three days ago. There was no new writing on the whiteboard and the trashcan appeared untouched, pieces of my busted phone still in the carpet. The room probably hadn’t been occupied since our meeting.

I rested my elbows on the table and held my head, breathing in the smell of old books, dusty carpet, and the faintest hint of spicy aftershave…although that was probably my imagination.

When I opened my eyes, I caught a glimpse of something on the chair beside me, the one I’d used the last time I was here. I scooted the chair back to find a few sheets of yellow notebook paper neatly folded in half. No name on it, as if it was someone’s leftover trash.

But I knew better.

I grabbed the pages, five in all, flipped on the light and began to read.