Anything Less Than Everything (3 page)

I had first
met Spencer a couple of weeks into freshman year. I was walking back to my dorm
after my last class of the day when I heard someone running up behind me.
"Hey," he said. "I think you dropped this." I hadn't
dropped anything, I was sure. I explained this and kept walking, but he kept up
with me, trying the entire way back to my dorm to figure out how he knew me. He
was in my freshman seminar class, the semester long orientation they made
everyone take, but I didn't let on that I recognized him. The next day he
plopped down into the seat beside me in the lecture hall.

"I knew
I knew you from somewhere," he said, a sly smile on his face. From then on
he sat beside me each class, flirting. He asked for my number the third class,
on a date the fifth. I accepted both times. And why not? He was good-looking,
funny, and paid a lot of attention to me. We were instantly a couple, and since
I didn't really know anyone on campus yet, it became easy to always hang out
with him and his friends, of which he had many.

After a few
months, though, things started to change. There were fewer dates, more just
hanging out with the guys. When we did go out, he often made jabs at my
appearance, asking why I'd chosen a certain top, or if he needed to come back
later after I'd had time to get ready, when, in my mind, I was. I would be
crushed, but instead of standing up to him or ending things, his insults made
me want to try harder to be what he wanted. I couldn't describe the pull; it
wasn't like me. After the first year I guess I felt I had invested too much to
leave. Not that I felt capable of going off on my own: Spencer made sure of
that. He said it jokingly, but with every, "What would you do without
me?" as he smiled that too-charming smile, I believed him more and more.
So much of who I was had become wrapped up in him. I wasn't sure how to
extricate myself, how to be more than Spencer Whitten’s girlfriend. And, yet, I
wasn't altogether unhappy. These moments were buoyed by fun times and
compliments, kisses and cuddles.

And maybe
that was what had caused him to leave and also what should have been my sign
that he was not for me. Kissing was the extent of our physical relationship. He
wanted more, of course, and made sure to make a huge deal about it when I drew
away as he tried to cross my clearly stated boundaries. Apparently he went
elsewhere to find what he wanted and had probably been doing so our entire
relationship. But I had made a decision years earlier--and it was probably the
only part of myself I didn't allow him to change--that I wanted to share myself
with only one guy. I reasoned that the only way to be sure of that was to wait
for the guy I was going to marry. But even though I had long thought I would
marry Spencer, we never went there. I guess that, subconsciously, I didn't
trust him to make good on those promises.

I walked to
the room number Aaron had given me, but before I could even knock he opened the
door, a big smile on his face. "Just in time," he said. "We only
get like five channels here, and I don't think I could handle any more
Sports
Centers
today."

"Why?"
I asked playfully. "Aren't they all about you?"

"Nah.
I'm not an interesting enough figure for summer stories. Thank goodness."

"Just
wait until August," I said. "Then they'll be all over you." He
winced, apparently all too aware that this was the truth.

Back in the
car, I had the same nervous comfort as on the boat. He had to fold himself--all
6'6" of him--into my little coupe. The result was that we were sitting
very close to one another, and there was nowhere for me to hide. I felt
exposed, vulnerable, especially after what we had shared that morning, but okay
with it at the same time.

When we
arrived at the movie kiosk, I directed him to the display of new releases.
"We've been instructed to get this," I said, indicating a case
flaunting a picture of a couple on the verge of making out.

"Seriously?"
he asked.

"Yeah.
Sorry, it’s her turn to pick." My sister was a total romantic when it came
to movies and did not often consider the group when selecting
titles.  

I placed the
rental on my sister's account, figuring if she was going to force me to watch
such a pointless film she could at least pay for it. "Nice one,"
Aaron said, understanding my unspoken motives.

Our next stop
was the pizza place next door. "And what have we been instructed to get
here?" he asked.

"Nothing.
This one is all us," I replied. "What kind do you like?"

"I’m not
picky. Get whatever you like.”

“You might
want to think twice about that offer,” I said. Me picking the pizza means
pepperoni and mushroom.”

            “Really?”
he said. "I thought I was the only person who liked that pizza. I rarely
get to eat it, though, because everyone else finds it disgusting.” He smiled.
His smile was so easy, so genuine, and made it so easy to talk to him.
"Well, I guess that decides it, huh?"

I ordered a
pepperoni and mushroom for us and a sausage for Jill and Dave plus bread sticks
for us all. Aaron grabbed a Dr. Pepper from the cooler case and added it to the
counter before pulling out his wallet.

I started to
protest, "You don't have to--" But he cut me off.

"Hey,
it's the least I can do after you've spent your whole weekend entertaining
me." Like I'd minded. I knew he had no idea how much him reaching out to
me, not once, but twice, had meant to me. That those two conversations had kept
me from falling back into a very dark place. After tonight, though, he'd be
gone and I would be left to heal on my own. I didn't know if I could do it, if
I was ready.

Jill
complained about the pizza, as expected. Aaron caught my eye at her protests, a
smile twitching at his lips. "Well," she said, "I'm glad you
found someone else who likes those slimy things because there is no way I am
eating them."

We ate then
turned on the movie. It was awful. Watching others make out and grope and say
completely cheesy things to one another is never appealing, but even less so
considering what I'd been through that morning. About half way through, Jill
and Dave joined the act, though they thought they were being discreet.
Normally, I would have just gone to my room, but I couldn't just leave Aaron
there by himself.

"Hey,
you want to get out of here?" he whispered from down the couch.

I didn't
bother to whisper my reply. "Yes, please!"

"Lead
the way," he said. Neither Jill nor Dave noticed as we slipped out of the
den and into the backyard. We wandered through my mother's rose garden, its
scent perfuming the air. The swing at the end of the path seemed as good a
destination as any, so there we sat, the wooden seat gently going back and
forth, back and forth.

Aaron broke
the silence first. "So your mom's a gardener."

I nodded.
"Professional. She designs rose gardens all over the area. Any time she
has extras from those jobs they end up here."

"Wow. So
if a guy brings you flowers, they'd better be really impressive, right?"

I screwed up
my face. "Actually, I hate flowers."

"You
hate flowers? Is that legal?"

"Well,
not flowers, really, just getting them."

"Why is
that? I thought all girls love getting flowers."

I sighed,
knowing I was about to say something that would seem ridiculous to him. That he
would finally see me for the messed up person I was. "Flowers die," I
said. “Maybe it's a literary thing--you know, symbolism. Like, the relationship
is doomed to die just like the flowers." Aaron laughed softly. "What?
I'm an English teacher; it's what I do."

He was still
smiling, "I just never knew that girls read so much into guys'
gifts."

"I think
that's probably what I hate most about getting flowers, that there's really not
much to read into with them. It's...a cop out. You don't know what to get, so
you give the universally appreciated gift."

"Universally
appreciated except by you."

I shrugged.
"I appreciate thought. Flowers don't generally have thought behind them.
You don't usually even know what the bouquet will end up looking like when you
order them. If it was a particular flower that had meaning, that would be
different."

"Ah, I
see. So what displays of thought would impress you, Brooke? Pepperoni and
mushroom pizza?"

I laughed.
"Exactly. I don't know...maybe a book by my favorite author. Or a DVD of
the movie we watched on our first date."

"So, no
diamonds?" he asked.

"Well, I
mean, diamonds are pretty hard to turn down. But really I just want a gift to
be tangible evidence that someone was thinking of me. I know it's silly--"

"No,
it's not," he interrupted. We swung in silence for a few minutes, and when
he spoke, I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "Brooke? Did
Spencer ever give you things like that?"

"Yeah,
right. He used to buy me DVDs of his favorite movies so when he was over we
could watch them without him having to remember to bring his copy. And I never
got to pick the pizza, or even the appetizer."

"Why did
you stay with him if he was so selfish?" I froze as he said this. It was
the question I had avoided answering to myself for the last two months. Maybe
the last two years. I had focused on what I had done to make him leave, but
never on why I had put up with him. "I'm sorry," he said quickly.
"Don't answer that."      

"No,
it's okay," I said. I looked out over the garden, past the pond, into
space. "I guess it became a habit. I tried to give him a chance, thinking
it would get better. After awhile it was just the way it was and I forgot that
his behavior wasn't normal." Saying this out loud was painful. I had never
admitted to anyone how uncaring Spencer was, assuming that that was what I
deserved for staying with him. And now I was admitting it to a virtual
stranger.

"No one
should be treated like that. Especially not by someone who says they love you.
Especially not someone like you."

I laughed.
"What? You mean girls who allow themselves to be trampled because they are
too afraid to hurt someone's feelings if they dump him?"

"No,"
he said, "girls who care so much about others that they put those feelings
above their own, even at great consequence."

"Same
thing."

"No it's
not. You cared, he didn't, but you wanted to believe he was capable of it, to
care about him anyway because you believe everyone should have someone who
cares about them. Tell me I’m wrong."

I'd never
thought about it that way. Aaron had taken my thoughts, but turned them so that
my actions were not a fault, but a virtue. I sat there, thinking about this for
a moment.

"Okay,"
I said finally, "assuming you're right, then how do I keep from ending up
in the same situation again?"

"Easy,"
he replied, stretching his arms out in front of him. "Find the right
guy."

I laughed
again. "Yeah? What's he look like?"

"Oh, I
don't know...about 6'6", dark hair..." He said it seriously, but his
eyes gave him away.

"I wish
it was that easy. To just look to your right and find him. Perfect guys don't
exist anyway. Even the seemingly perfect guys could be lying."

"I never
said he had to be perfect, just right. For you."

I wanted to
thank him for his words, for taking the time to listen and not just offer
platitudes, but how do you do that without sounding cheesy? Or, really, without
revealing more than you mean to? "Are you always this good at making
people feel better?" I finally asked.

He shrugged.
"I guess it comes from having sisters. It's like I was born a big brother;
it's in my nature to protect and make things better.
Do
you feel
better?"

More than
you could imagine
, I
wanted to say. Instead I just nodded. "Thank you."

"Any
time." He smiled and nudged my leg with his knee. "But now I’m
changing the subject back to our conversation last night and you knowing more
about me than I do about you."

“I think
you’ve learned more than enough about messed up me today,” I said. I was
shocked he was still sitting next to me, that he hadn’t suggested I take him
back to the hotel, or even chosen to sit through the rest of the movie. But he
didn’t.

“Nope,” he
said. “None of that is who you are, just what has happened to you. I want to
know
you
.”

I looked at
him, confused. “Why?” I asked.

“I haven’t
figured that out yet,” he said, no humor in his voice, “but I know that I want
to.”

I could feel
the color rise to my cheeks, but Aaron was looking out over the garden, not at
me. It would be so easy to like him. I mean
like him
, like him, as my
students would say. But that would be silly for so many reasons.
Just enjoy
the night, Brooke
, I told myself.

From there
the conversation drifted to school, our families, plans for the summer. I had
never met someone so easy to talk to. I had known Aaron for only twenty-four
hours, and yet it felt like I had known him forever, but not. It was hard to
describe: on the one hand, I felt at ease telling him things I would never tell
my sister or girls I taught with; on the other, there was so much more I wanted
to know about him and to share with him about me.