Page 50 of The Love Interest
In my soul, I have been yours all my life and will be your husband for all eternity.
In my trousers…well…you know full well what’s going on down there.
God help me, Lucy.
As your devoted husband, all I can do is ask you to give me time.
Do not attempt to publish your book yet.
Wait.
I will not beg and plead.
I simply ask that you trust me to navigate the hedge maze of my emotions and of my family’s and society’s inevitable response to your planned irreverence. It will require patience on your part and the utmost humility on mine.
This is marriage.
In the end, you are mine and I am yours, and that is all. I have no need to attempt to fool you anymore. I have come undone for you, over and over, and I shall be undone by you again and again if that is what it means to love you. I committed to you, fully and completely, when I committed to the notion of wedded bliss. My anger has passed. You can count on me to stand by you. It is not as if I were a stranger to scandal before I met you. All I ask is that when we go down, we go down in flames together.
Do not leave me again, as I will not leave you.
Yours in scintillating matrimonial agony,
William
24
Dear E,
I don’t even know what to say, and as you can imagine, this rarely happens. That chapter is lovely. I wasn’t expecting it to be lovely. Thank you for sharing it with me. I don’t even have any notes to give you, but it certainly makes me want to read the rest of the book. I love that you’re exploring a new side of Jack’s character. The title is perfect… Okay, that’s about the limit of compliments I can give you at this point without breaking out in hives. But I liked what you sent me very much.
I actually love that Rumi quote. How did you know? I wasn’t able to ship my entire book collection here, but my Rumi book was one of the few that came with me. I always keep it by my bed. Ever since I met you, I’ve thought of you when reading some of those poems. Even when I didn’t want to think about you.
Okay, I also have to tell you that I love that you gave Catalina a scar behind her bangs. I, myself, do not have one. In case you were wondering, I wouldn’t say that I have any emotional scars either. I’m guessing you do. Why the sad eyes? I’ve always wondered. Are you divorced? Is there a One Who Got Away? Is it okay for me to ask? You don’t have to answer, but I do want to know. What’s your story?
It will be difficult, seeing you in class. I’ll manage to feign indifference. I have no doubt that you will too. It’s almost as if we exist in three separate parallel universes now. In these letters. In our manuscripts. And in the real world, on campus, where you are a grumpy assface. Just know that in the real world, beneath my sassy demeanor is a rapidly beating heart. And there’s a good chance that beneath the shirt there are two overly enthusiastic nipples that long for your touch.
Best,
Me
* * *
Dear F,
It was, indeed, more difficult to feign indifference to you in the workshop today. I applaud you for your efforts at hiding your overwhelming attraction to me, but your attention-seeking nipples have failed you, as usual. I really wanted to have a word with them after class, but I knew that any attempts at disciplining them would be futile. Furthermore, it would have been the end of my very brief career as a professor. From what I’ve seen, they are A + nipples. But I will once again request, quite seriously, that you wear some form of nipple-minimizing undergarment and several more layers of clothes over them. Thanks in advance.
I really liked the chapter you sent me. I love that you’ve made Lucy a would-be romance author. The writing is emotionally vivid, and William’s dedication to Lucy is very moving… I’m not sure if it’s appropriate for me to critique your work here… That chapter is very well-written and engaging. I’m just wondering if it’s too early in the book for that level of conflict and resolution. You haven’t shared an outline in class, and I don’t know if you have one. I don’t always write outlines myself, so I’m not saying you need to turn one in. I’m just wondering if you’ve got the character and story arc all mapped out in your head or not. Sorry. I’m an asshole for mentioning it in this letter, but I couldn’t refrain from commenting. To be clear—like William, I also understand that you must write romance novels. I’m no longer advising you not to. Not that you would have taken my advice in that regard anyway, my darling, irrepressible student.
Thank you for your kind words about my chapter. It means a lot to me that you liked it. I’m enjoying writing this book more than I’ve enjoyed writing anything for a long time. It’s not about us, obviously, but I get to think about you while I’m writing, and that makes me feel closer to you. I like having your voice more than Jack’s in my head. That fucker.
I didn’t know you love Rumi, but that doesn’t surprise me. I don’t usually read poetry, but the Rumi book was a gift from someone very special to me. I hadn’t read it in over a decade. But it’s a uniquely intimate experience, kissing a beautiful stranger while watching the sunrise. That time with you reminded me of those poems. And, in some ways, you remind me of the woman who gave me that book.
I’ve never been married. I was engaged, when I was much younger, to a woman named Sophie. I don’t talk about her. I should though. But I guess I was afraid that if I talked about her, I’d be letting her go. I loved her very much. We met at Yale. I asked her to marry me. We didn’t get married right away, even though I wanted to. She didn’t want to start planning a wedding right after we graduated. She wanted to spend a year traveling the world with me. So, we did that. And it was great. Until it wasn’t. She started to show signs of illness when we were in Andorra, but she insisted it was the high altitude. She didn’t want to ruin our trip. I’ve never been able to forgive myself for not insisting we go home sooner. She had leukemia. She had treatments. If she had been diagnosed sooner, there would have been a better chance that she’d beat it. She was still so young. It didn’t make sense that someone that full of life could get so sick, so fast. Nothing about cancer ever makes sense, as you know.
I never got to marry her. But I loved her as much as a man can love a woman, I think. I know that she knew that at least.
I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, now that you know this. I loved and I lost. Others have loved and lost before me, and many of them did not become rude assholes because of it. That’s just how I roll, I guess. Or whatever the kids are saying nowadays.
