Page 51 of The Love Interest
Have you ever been in love before? Tell me what you know about marriage. You write of a married couple rather well for a twenty-five-year-old. I apologize if that sounds condescending. Or maybe I don’t, because I’m a rude asshole and you’re fun when you’re angry.
Sincerely,
Sad-Eyed Grumpy Assface
* * *
Dear E,
Dammit. Why can’t you just be a rude asshole all the time? Your notes regarding my chapter were indeed unwelcome in that letter, but I have been considering them. Thank you.
My heart aches for you and Sophie though.
I can’t bear the thought of you losing the woman you loved like that. I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me that you loved someone who died, like Jack Irons. I’m so sorry she got sick. I’m so sorry the treatments didn’t help. I’m so sorry you blame yourself, but I also understand that kind of guilt. I can’t tell you not to feel guilty, even though it’s not your fault. I know how hard it is when someone you love is sick. But I hope you’re not too hard on yourself anymore. I don’t even know if I can be hard on you anymore. It’s not that I feel sorry for you. I just… I’m really sorry. I wish I could give you a hug.
But thank you for telling me. I’m sure it’s hard for you to talk about it, and I’m grateful that you did… Did Sophie like milkshakes? It’s the last thing I’ll ask you about her. You can tell me anything, whenever you want to. I’ve just wondered about that ever since we met.
As for what I know of marriage—I don’t really know what I understand about anything until I’ve written about it. I’m sure you know what that’s like. But I know how much my parents love each other. I know how they love each other. They’ve always been great parents to me, and they’ve always had a lot of passions and interests. But I’ve always known that their greatest passion in life is each other. Not in an obsessive, irresponsible way. But what they have—it’s big. I’ve never seen two people who are so committed to each other, even when they’re driving each other nuts.
When Sissy (my mom) got sick, my dad nearly fell apart. We both had to stay strong for him. I mean, you always want to put on a brave face for the loved one who’s sick. And my dad tried to stay positive for her. But he was just despondent when she was first diagnosed. If I hadn’t been there to make sure the restaurant and my dad’s other business were still running smoothly, they would have lost everything. I don’t say that like I’m some sort of a hero. What I’m saying is—they love each other a lot. And on some level it inspires me, and on another it has always frightened me.
I guess I’ve been afraid that if I fall in love like that, I’ll let everything else fall away, and I’m not willing to let go of everything else.
So, when I lived in California, I had a string of (what the kids call it nowadays) fuck buddies. I like sex. I’ve had a fair amount of it, with a number of good guys. But I’ve never had sex with someone I was in love with before. And I haven’t had sex since moving to New York, even though I’m basically horny all the time. How do ya like them apples?
Although you and I have different backstories, I guess I’ve been resisting the possibility of a first love in the same way that you’ve been resisting the possibility of a second.
Sincerely frustrated,
Me
* * *
Dear F,
You complain about me being a grumpy asshole and you complain about me not being a rude asshole all the time. I can’t win with you, so I’ll just continue to be myself all the time despite your complaints. I will also continue to fantasize about different ways to keep your sassy mouth busy so you can’t complain about me. How do ya likethemapples?
And thanks for telling me about all the sex you’ve had with other guys. Never do that again. I won’t pretend that I’m not relieved to know that you haven’t slept with anyone else since moving here. But I also shouldn’t ask you to wait for me. You’re a beautiful, horny twenty-five-year-old woman in New York. You should be having fun. You should be having sex if you want to… You should be having sex with me, but you can’t. Not yet. It’s not ideal.
You’ve already been through a lot. You’ve taken a lot upon yourself. You were supposed to come to New York to follow your bliss. I’m afraid I haven’t made your life here very blissful. When you aren’t writing or in classes or waiting tables, you should be enjoying the city with someone who can show you and your cock a good time. It’s up to you—it has always been up to you—to decide how to deal with me.
Sophie did like milkshakes. It was something I’d forgotten until recently. Until the night we met, actually. She liked strawberry milkshakes, and I used to tease her about it. I couldn’t go near anything strawberry-scented or flavored after I lost her. But my niece brought up milkshakes that night, so I ordered one. I forced myself to enjoy it, I suppose, because on some level I knew it was time for me to start enjoying things again. And then I saw you.
Your grumpy, terrible, and also still very frustrated asshole,
Me
* * *
Dear E,
I know it’s been a while since I wrote you. I can tell from the lingering looks you give me at school, when you think I can’t see you, that you’re wondering if I’ve been busy enjoying the city with Goliath and some other guy’s cock. I wish that were the case. It’s not that I haven’t been thinking about you. Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s just getting really hard to go back and forth between the three parallel universes we live in.
I’ll be writing at the diner, late, this Saturday night. Just thought you should know.
—Me
P.S. A customer left a really cool pen on my table at the restaurant. I didn’t keep it, but I bought one for myself. I thought you’d like it too and wanted to text you about it. I was sad that I can’t just text you about things like that or anything at all. Just thought you should know that too.
