Page 77 of The Romantic Agenda
“That most people aren’t happy? Oh yeah. Definitely.”
“It’d be nice if I made more money or the government did something that would balance out the economy and help people. It’d be nice if I didn’t have to work six days a week, but it’s not a deal breaker. My sister finally feels happy too. I signed a lease for a small shop to display and hopefully sell some of my pieces.”
“Really?”
“Grand opening next week.” He nods. “Other than that? No real complaints. Definitely not ready for kids, but I think I’d like to be a parent someday. As long as I can afford it. They’re adorable money traps.”
“Circling back to that first ‘it’d be nice,’ ” she says, “that’s a big part of the reason why kids are expensive. It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“It’s all connected. One shitty knot of stagnation,” he says.
Joy slides from behind him to sit at his side again. “I think if there was a way for me to do it without signing off on massive amounts of debt, I’d go back to school too. I still really love the ocean.” She grabs one of the mimosas she prepared. “For now, I have to settle for making science puns, but only periodically.”
Fox snickers. “What do you love about the ocean?”
“We don’t know what the hell is down there.”
“I think we have a pretty good idea.”
“No, we really don’t. So much of the ocean is unexplored. We, as a species, can go to the moon and send rovers to Mars, but we’re just fine not knowing what’s happening on our own planet? Bullshit. I have this really stupid theory”—she rolls her eyes—“I thought of itwhen I was a kid and it’s just always stuck with me. I think we, as a species, could find out more about the ocean but we have this deep-seated, unspoken fear that stops us from going too far. We’re never, ever supposed to find out—like it’s a part of our DNA. We’re born afraid of the ocean deep. But there are some people, like yours truly, who didn’t get that fear gene. And James Cameron.”
“Hmm.” He considers her for a moment, a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “So you’re the kind of person who would open the sacred cursed tomb without hesitating that it might end the world.”
“Well, my middle nameisPandora.”
“No, it’s not.”
Joy smiles at him.
“Wink or something, because I know you’re lying.”
“Joy Pandora and Grace Cassandra.” She shrugs. “My parents have a prophetic sense of humor.”
“You know, if Malcolm were here, that one might have actually killed him.”
Malcolm. Hearing his name shatters the bubble of ignorant bliss she’d taken the past couple of hours protecting. Near instantly she thinks of him and Summer and where they are and what they’re doing. She remembers last night and her fear. She thinks of later tonight when they return and tomorrow when everything might be different. The uncertainty returns just as fierce, settling into its familiar haunts for the long haul.
“We had a deal. We’re not talking about him.” Joy stands up, muttering, “And I’m turning into a raisin.” She carefully climbs out of the hot tub, and instead of drying off, she walks down the small slope of grass and lays out her towel in a perfect patch of sun.
Fox joins her a few minutes later with a towel as well, settingup shop next to her. “Can I give you some unsolicited advice? You two need therapy.”
Joy snorts. “Grace would love you.”
“I mean it. I’m sure there’s a couple’s therapist that will take your case. I’ve never seen two people so dedicated to honesty not being able to be honest with each other. You don’t communicate at all, you just think you do, and then you get trapped in this weird back-and-forth cycle. It’s not good for you.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I’m not judging you, Joy. I just get the feeling you don’t see what’s happening clearly because you can’t. You’re too close. I’m not and I do.”
This is exactly what Joy meant when she called Fox brilliant. He portrays himself as one way, and one way only: the precise way he wants to be seen. Where one-liner quips andhmms and hesitant smiles are the most anyone can get out of him. He’s not reserved as in conservative—he’s reserved as inhidden.
But he keeps giving Joy glimpses of his insightful mind, keeps letting his guard down just enough for her to be surprised, and then it’s back up again.
Maybe he’s like Malcolm—so sensitive he had to learn to hide it. What could have made Fox want to shut his brilliance away?
“You understand, but you also don’t,” Joy says. “I don’t think it’s something I can explain. If you never experienced a relationship like what Malcolm and I have, you’ll never fully understand. You physically and mentally and emotionally can’t. You don’t just walk away from something like what we’ve built.” She sits up suddenly, rolling her neck and stretching her arms upward until her muscles feel too tight and protest.
“Okay,” he says. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
