Page 73 of Maybe You

“That’s definitely not predictable,” I say. “Why history?”

He shrugs carelessly. “Had to pick something and one of the professors was unbelievably hot.”

I send him a look until he caves.

“It’s interesting,” he says. “We as a species tend to always repeat the past. Same mistakes. Same patterns. Over and over and over again.”

He gets a kind of far-away look in his eyes that is accompanied by a frown that deepens as he speaks.

He then shakes his head and meets my gaze again. “But mostly the professor thing.”

“Why UCLA?” I ask in my dogged determination to get to the bottom of him.

“Because it was on the other side of the country, so far away from New York. It was the main appeal.”

I tilt my head to the side. “You don’t like New York?”

“I wouldn’t say I don’t like it. It’s fine,” he says.

I consider that for a little bit.

“But if you don’t love it here why stay?” I ask.

“Trying to get rid of me?”

I shake my head, but the exasperation that’s supposed to accompany this doesn’t seem to be here tonight.

“Just wondering. You have the means to do whatever you want. Go wherever you want. And you said it yourself, you don’t have any obligations. Why stay?”

He sends me a funny look. It lacks the usual carelessness and arrogance. Instead, if anything, he seems startled.

“Do you like New York?” he asks instead of answering.

“Yes,” I say immediately before I shrug at the questioning look he aims my way. “It’s home.”

“So sentimentality is what keeps you around?”

I have to think about that for a bit because I’ve never actually analyzed the whys of how and where I choose to live my life.

“Partly. But I don’t think it’s just that.” I pluck a blade of grass that’s stubbornly managed to pick a tiny opening in the concrete as its growing place. “My grandparents had a farm in Wyoming. My mother took us there for the summer when school was out from when I was”—I seesaw my hand—“five, I think, until twelve, when they passed. They lived near Rawlins. Seven thousand people in total. I felt like I was under a microscope. The moment I stepped foot in town, everybody immediately knew who I was. And it feels like people thought it was a human right to know everything about what everyone else is doing. And the information network for spreading gossip? Let me tell you, CIA could take lessons. My last summer there, I climbed a water tower with a couple of local kids. By the time I got home fifteen minutes later, my grandparents had already found out about it and had decided to ground me.”

He laughs softly.

“Okay, so you’re a city boy. Why New York and not somewhere else?”

I slide my thumb over the blade of grass I’m still holding between my fingers.

“I mean, it is home. And… New York gives me faith in humanity,” I finally say.

“You’re gonna need to elaborate because we are not known for that.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Right? New Yorkers. Aggressive, unfriendly, don’t give a fuck. But it’s not really true. There are random acts of kindness everywhere. People just aren’t demonstrative about them. People help and move on, so you have to pay attention. I see people grabbing the front of a random stroller to help carry it up or down the subway stairs almost every day. People offer directions when somebody looks lost. People open doors for each other. People leave quarters at the laundromat.”

I’d go on, but he’s staring at me with a funny look, so I stop and feel relieved that it’s dark enough that he can’t see my flushed cheeks.

“You’re thinking I’m being naïve,” I say.

“No,” he says slowly, still with that funny look on his face. “No, I think you’re sweet.”

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