Definitely, Maybe in Love
: Part 2 – Chapter 14

“Ms. Honeycutt?”

The back of my head whacked against the wall when I jumped. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times, dragging my mind to the present, focusing on Masen’s face sticking out his office door.

“Come in,” he said.

I tore out my ear buds—the sweet sounds of a new-to-me Maroon 5 song still running through my head. Was it any wonder my mind had drifted?

After a deep inhale and swallow, I eased myself to my feet, prepared to focus on the most important meeting of my college career.

This was our first appointment since he’d rejected my outline rewrite back in October. Since then, I’d worked like crazy. After a while, I could see what he was getting at when he’d broached the subject of the new angle. Now, my theory had a depth and richness that had been missing before. Potential.

I hated to admit it, but Henry’s help and insight had kind of made all the difference. In fact, I wouldn’t be where I was without him. After Thanksgiving, it wasn’t as though we were miraculously eye-to-eye—we still didn’t agree on key issues—but it was like the distrust and tension were gone. Another kind of tension had taken its place, however. And I could never really look at him without tasting the tang of cran—

“Take a seat.”

I jumped again, then lowered myself into an old leather chair across from my professor’s messy desk. He had a hard copy of my new outline in one hand and was rubbing his chin with the other. We were apparently skipping conventional pleasantries, because Masen dropped my paper on his desk and jabbed a finger right in the middle.

I gripped the arms of the chair, bracing myself for bad news.

“Better,” he said.

I breathed and unclenched my balled-up toes. “Thanks.”

“I’m impressed that you took my advice. I wasn’t sure you would about something like this.”

“No,” I said, “you were right. I needed a new perspective.”

“It needs work but I definitely think you’re on the right track.” He passed my paper across the desk. “I made a few notes.”

A few? The thing looks like a rainbow threw up on it.

“But I really like this part.” He drew a circle around section three.

“You do?” I said with a smile, still feeling so relieved that I wanted to stretch across the desk and kiss him. Kiss anyone! Who can I kiss?

“Tell me.” He leaned back in his chair. “Who have you been working with on this?”

My throat went dry, thinking of exactly who I wanted to kiss.

I tried very hard to stay in the present, to concentrate on Masen’s words for the next half hour, but even when we were done and I was back at the library, my mind kept hopelessly drifting, drifting, drifting…

“Hey.”

I jerked my gaze from my notebook to replace Mel staring down at me.

“What are you doodling?” She walked around the table to take a better look. “Is that argyle?”

I stared at my paper. It was indeed a cluster of argyle diamonds. “No, it’s, uhh.” I quickly scribbled over the sketch. “Pizza.”

“Pizza?” She examined the doddle again. “Wow. You really suck at drawing.”

“Right?” I laughed, closing my notebook. “I guess I’m hungry.”

“Well, then, let’s chow.”

“I can’t,” I said, dragging over my laptop. “I’ve got a paper due and two tests to cram for. I’ll be here all night.”

Mel pulled at the back of my chair. “You have to eat, babe. Come on. We’ll hop over to your place and I’ll cook for you. How does that sound?”

She didn’t have to threaten bodily harm to convince me to get out for a while, to eat something solid before I pulled an all-night study session. She wasn’t the best chef in the world, but the thought of someone cooking for me did sound incredibly comforting.

After not much of a fight, I allowed her to lead me home.

…

“And it’s also a maturing experience,” I said. “I’m learning a lot about myself and the world around me.”

“Watch out for the car!” Mel yelled.

I froze in place, one foot hanging off the curb as a pickup made a tight turn around the corner. After it passed, Mel grabbed me by the arm and yanked me back. “Pay attention to where you’re walking,” she said. “You’re in La-La Land.”

“I’m not in La-La Land,” I defended. “I was just—”

“You were just talking about Henry Knightly.”

Was I? I thought I was talking about school.

“So?” I said defensively, zipping up my coat, suddenly regretting being dragged from the library.

“So, I haven’t seen you for two weeks.” She dug through her book bag, her hand resurfacing with a tube of pink lip gloss. “I want to hear about you.” She applied the shiny tint to her lips.

“I am telling you about me.”

“Oh?” she blinked and dropped the gloss in her bag. “Oh,” she repeated with an accompanying nod. “Okay. Continue. But without stepping into traffic, please. You were saying it’s a maturing experience to hang out with Henry.”

“Yeah,” I said, trying hard to remember where my earlier train of thought had been headed. “That’s how I’m looking at it,” I added, dipping one foot off the curb. Mel narrowed her eyes at my daredevilness.

“Last I heard, you were about to jump off the Golden Gate because he was the only person willing to help with your thesis.” She linked her arm through mine and pulled me to the middle of the sidewalk as we walked toward my house.

“That’s still true.”

“But you’re spending all this time with him.”

“It’s called research.”

Mel’s expression bent in confusion in the gathering twilight. “I thought you hated the guy.”

“I never said that.”

She thought for a moment, biting her lip. “Are you still fighting?”

“We disagree but we don’t fight.” I paused, considering if this was wholly truthful. “Not anymore. We kind of made an agreement about that. We’re more productive now.”

A blue BMW drove toward us. It slowed, and Julia waved from the passenger side, Dart behind the wheel. All shiny teeth and shiny hair, they were a commercial for Old Navy. He honked the horn; Mel and I waved back.

“Disagreeing with Henry is natural. We’re so different,” I continued, then laughed at just how understated that was. “You know me, and you know how Henry is.”

“Not really,” she said. “I don’t know him. Not as well as you do.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring her vocal inflection.

Mel stopped walking to dig through her bag again, swearing impatiently under her breath. “I know I have a Kit Kat in here somewhere.”

“Chocolate before dinner? How unlike you.”

“Better than a cigarette,” she grumbled. “I quit smoking last week. Ah-ha!” She pulled out a candy bar and held it up like the Olympic torch.

“You quit smoking? When exactly did you start?”

Mel tore open the candy bar wrapper with her teeth. “The week before that.”

I laughed. “Anything to get you off the dreaded cocoa bean.”

“It’s a vicious cycle,” she said, taking a big bite, eyes closed, sugar being absorbed into her blood stream, endorphins all abuzz. The candy bar was gone in approximately three bites. She wadded up the empty wrapper then grabbed her phone. “Tyler’s calling again.”

“Ah.” I smiled. “The elusive summer boyfriend in Washington. When will I get to meet him?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” She shot me a withering glance. “I’ve been inviting you up to my grandparents’ house for ten years. Just say the word and we’ll go.” She smiled down at her phone and texted something. “What I wouldn’t do for seven minutes in heaven with Tyler right now.”

“Classy, Mel.”

“Speaking of,” she said as we neared my house, “how does Alex fit into the steaming and beefy pot of testosterone stew you’ve got simmering in your Crock-Pot?” She eyed me up and down.

“I haven’t seen Alex in a few weeks,” I said. “Not since—”

“Thanksgiving. I know.” Mel’s words had an I-told-you-so behind them.

When I huffed, I could see my breath. “To answer your question, Melanie, Henry and I don’t discuss Alex Parks, okay?” I actually felt my chin sticking out, like I was appalled at having to explain myself.

We crossed the street, passing by a frat house. A group of guys were outside playing Frisbee wearing only shorts. It was dark and freezing. Mel stopped to gawk.

“I don’t particularly care about whatever happened between Henry and Alex,” I added, “and I’m sure Henry doesn’t either.” I broke off, worried that I might have said too much. As far as I knew, Mel had no knowledge of their turbulent history, and it wasn’t my place to share.

“Very diplomatic,” Mel said. “You should run for office.”

We stopped in front of my house. No lights were on. Across the street, the black Viper was in the driveway, parked crooked like always.

“So, if you’re not allowed to argue,” she said, “that means there’s no political discussions between you two, no money talk, no women’s lib, no Alex. What do you guys do in that tiny study room? There’s not even space enough to… Ohhh.” She grinned and hooked her arm through mine. “Does he brush his teeth first? And use mouthwash? He looks like he has a very clean mouth.” She moaned and stared off into space. “Mmm, I bet it’s like kissing a tunnel of minty freshness, right?”

“What?” I exclaimed. “I haven’t been kissing Henry Knightly!”

The front door across the street slammed. Mel and I jumped about a mile. I whirled around to see Henry standing under the porch light, wearing a black leather jacket. No doubt, there was some form of argyle attached to his body.

“It’s a little early for you to be home, isn’t it, Spring?” he called out, pointing at his watch. I felt Mel tighten her grip on my arm. “Don’t tell me all campus libraries burned to the ground.”

Without bothering to look at her, I knew Mel’s curious eyes were glued on me, studying my every move. I could practically hear her panting as she waited for my answer. Henry was halfway across his lawn now.

“I have a study group in an hour,” I called back.

“Stopping home for some tofu first?” he asked as he changed direction and started walking toward his car.

“Funny,” I muttered. I heard him laughing.

The Viper’s car alarm chirped twice and its lights winked. Henry ran a hand through his hair. It was extra curly tonight, like he’d let it air dry after a shower.

“Holy-mother-of-sexy,” Mel whispered. “Seriously, Springer, he’s hotter than the friggin’ Sahara. Look at that body and that face…those lips. How can you not jump his—”

“Shut up,” I hissed.

“Are we still on for tomorrow night?” Henry called, pulling open the door of the Viper.

I snuck a quick glance at Mel. She was gawking at me now, waiting for my answer. “Um, yeah,” I said as he climbed in his car.

“Bye, Henry,” Mel sang, her voice high-pitched and childlike.

He regarded Mel blankly. “Right. Take care, now.”

After he closed the door, Mel broke from me and doubled over laughing.

The Viper’s engine roared to life, and Henry revved it a few times, the tailpipe emitting gray exhaust. It wafted up, blending in with the night fog. He backed out of the driveway then straightened out. I couldn’t see him through the dark tinted windows, and after he drove past, I let out an exhale. Mel was still wiggling her fingers after him.

“Stop that,” I snapped, slapping her hand. “He’s going to think—”

“What?” she asked eagerly.

“Nothing.” I laughed, bumping her shoulder. “You’re such a ho-bag.” I was relieved Mel hadn’t circled back to the kissing thing. I didn’t know how I’d explain Thanksgiving morning. Me covered in cocoa powder and Henry with cranberry sauce running down his face…our mouths—

“So you’re going out with him tomorrow night?”

“It’s not a date.”

“Aren’t you going to the lecture on campus? The keynote is the lady who chained herself to the redwood tree. I thought that was right up your alley.”

“I am going.”

Mel took a beat. “Henry Knightly is going with you to the tree lady?”

I rubbed my nose. “He said he was interested.”

Mel tossed her head back, erupting in cackles. “Oh, babe. That is the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.” Cold breath billowed from her open mouth like smoke from a chimney. “So if the two of you aren’t talking about all his money or his sweet butt, and you refuse—for some insane reason—to tear off those designer suits and have your way…what do you do?”

“His sweet butt?” I repeated.

“Yes, and don’t dodge the subject. This is fascinating. So? What do you do?”

“Well, when we’re not studying, we talk music sometimes. He was appalled when he learned I’m listening to strictly female singers.” This seemed like a good subject, because Mel perked up.

“You’re still on that all-chick musical kick?” she asked.

“I was until he confiscated my phone on Thanksgiving and added a new playlist. All men.” I made a face.

“Anything good?”

My left hand was in my coat pocket, my thumb absentmindedly running over the face of my phone. I felt a jolt, almost as if my fingers knew what was in there.

“Um, yeah, there’re a couple tolerable songs,” I admitted. “I was going to delete the whole playlist right away but thought it would be rude, since he took the time to load it.”

“Aww, how polite of you. Especially since none of his songs interest you.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, wishing I hadn’t brought up the subject.

“I don’t know, Spring. I’ve seen guys flit in and out of your life. To most of them you don’t give the time of day, and the others, like Alex, you treat like your personal scratching post.”

“Ew.”

“I’ve never known you to be your real self with a guy. Not lately.” She paused. “Not ever, actually. You and Henry have an interesting relationship.”

“We’re not in a relationship,” I countered. Mel was starting to bug me. I walked to the mailbox and wrenched the face open.

“I’ll put on some water for the noodles,” she said, walking up the porch steps.

I nodded as I sifted through letters. A few seconds later, almost naturally, my attention tiptoed across the street. On the second floor, the window of the second bedroom was glowing yellow. Henry left his light on again. I swear he does that on purpose, just to make me march over there and give him another lecture about wasting energy. I sighed and walked inside my house.

When I peeled off my coat and entered the kitchen, Mel was perched on a stool with one elbow on the breakfast bar, her hand cupping the side of her head. I didn’t appreciate her inquisitive eye.

“I’m starving,” I said. “Where’s the food you promised?”

“Pasta water’s on the stove.” She swiveled around on her bar stool. “But first things first, babe.” She lifted her open hand. “Where’s your phone?”