Page 31 of Guy's Girl
Adrian can’t stay away. He tries. Lord knows, he tries. All that next week, he plunges himself into work, anything to distract him from thoughts ofher.But Ginny is black ink in the clear water of his mind; all it took was one drop.
The following weekend, his schedule is clear. No requests for decks or reports in Excel. After sleeping in far too late, he buys two iced lattes and meets Ginny on the West Side Highway.
The Hudson is still that day. Ferries and tugboats carve smooth lines onto its surface. On the walkway, joggers—Adrian often among them—speed past. Out on Pier 45, couples sprawl on blankets with plastic cups and bottles of rosé.
“What do you think it’s like to be in love?” Ginny asks.
Adrian looks out at the water. He cycles through his past relationships—all years before, none longer than a few weeks. “I haven’t the slightest clue.”
“I’ve read that it’s like being a drug addict,” she says. “You get this feeling of euphoria around them—giddiness, increased energy, a rush of dopamine—and then, when they leave, you crash. You want them back right away.”
“That doesn’t sound very stable.”
Ginny shrugs.
“I thought love was supposed to be about comfort and certainty.” Adrian tucks his hands into his pockets. “That, one day, you’ll be with someone, and you’ll justknow. You’ll be a hundred percent certain that this is the person with whom you want to spend the rest of your life.”
“Maybe. Maybe both are true.”
Out at the end of the pier, a man offers one sweaty palm to his girlfriend, tugging her to stand by the railing.
“Well, in any case,” says Adrian, “you would know better than me.”
“Why is that?”
“You once thought you were in love. With your high school boyfriend. Right?”
Ginny looks down. “I did.”
“What did that feel like?”
She’s quiet for a long time. She watches her feet, lining them carefully up with the cracks in the sidewalk. A minute passes, and Adrian thinks she won’t answer, but then she says, “It hurt.”
He inhales. On one side, his hand clenches into a fist.
Ginny continues, “I let him hurt me, over and over, because I thought I loved him, and I wanted so desperately for him to love me back.”
Adrian doesn’t respond. He wants to, but something strange has happened to his throat. It has become blocked by a brick of anger, of violence. By the desire to find whoever hurt Ginny and sink his knuckles into that man’s face.
This impulse startles Adrian. He is not the violent type.
Out on the pier, the sweating man fumbles around in his pocket.
Adrian clears his throat. “So where did you read all that? About love and dopamine?”
“Where else? The Internet.”
“A highly reliable source.”
Ginny laughs. “I quiz people, too,” she says. “People who have been in love. My mom, my brothers, my sister, Clay, Finch... They all say the same thing: that they just knew.” She sighs. “So unhelpful.”
Out on the pier, the sweating man’s hand closes over a little velvet box.
“You’re really invested in this subject, huh?” asks Adrian.
Ginny kicks a pebble out of their way. “I just get scared, you know? That I won’t recognize love when it’s right in front of my face.”
Adrian looks out across the pier. He sees a flock of seagulls, a gathering storm cloud, a man and woman leaning against the railing, the man’s hand jammed into his pocket.
