Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [128]
“Um. What?”
“Kieran, my sham of an ex-boyfriend from school, said I was too much woman,” I said. “I think that's only a problem when you're too much annoying woman.”
“I never thought you were. Um. Annoying.”
“Then what's wrong with me?” I asked.
“Nothing's wrong with you,” he said. “It was us that was the problem. As I can only assume it was with you and. Um. Kieran.”
“And Marcus?”
He let that line of questioning drop and offered another. “Have you. Um. Heard from him lately?”
“Not since last Christmas,” I said.
“Me either,” he said.
We both took long slugs of coffee. I resisted the urge to ask him about the nature of his correspondence with Marcus, and what it had revealed, mostly because I knew that anything Len could tell me wouldn't make one bit of difference.
Instead I asked, “What did you see in Manda anyway?”
“I think. Um. That I appreciated that she was willing to change for me.”
I groaned. “That's so Freudian, Len.”
“I don't know much. Um. Freud.”
“He theorized that we don't fall in love with an actual person, but with a projection of our own desires. By changing, Manda became less of herself and more like you.”
“Maybe,” he said in an offhand way that let me know that he wasn't a fan of undergraduate psychobabble. It put me in my place, that's for sure. But I wasn't offended because sometimes I need that.
More coffee.
“Remember when you asked why you might be so. Um. Dumpable?”
“It was only about a minute ago, Len.”
“Um. Right,” he seemed embarrassed by the error. “I can only speak for myself here. But. Um. I think I knew that you wouldn't change for me. Um. I don't think you would change for anyone. It's like what makes you you is unassailable.”
“And that's been working so well for me,” I deadpanned.
“Not changing who you are isn't a bad thing . . .”
“If my romantic history is any indication, it can't be a good thing.”
Len drained his cup in lieu of a response.
“So you're really. Um. Over Marcus?” he asked after a few seconds of silence.
“Really,” I said. I enjoyed being able to say it like I meant it.
“Do you still think about him? Because I still think about Manda all the time.”
I contemplated the question. Do I think about Marcus?
The honest answer is that I try not to. But making a conscious decision not to think about someone is, by definition, thinking about them. Not to mention those studies I've mentioned that suggest the more energy you spend trying to forget about someone, the more likely it is that the person will pop up in your dreams.
Recently, my dreams all relive real moments from my past. Me buzzed at the West End in my Barnard T-shirt. Me sweating on the corner of 110th and Amsterdam. Me sparring in my dorm room. Me serving a custard cone on the boardwalk. Only instead of Mini Dub, instead of Bastian, instead of Kieran, instead of Len is Marcus, Marcus, Marcus, Marcus. And he never says a word.
“Jess?”
I'd forgotten that Len was waiting for an answer, one that would bring him peace of mind.
“I don't think about him at all.”
And Len heaved a sigh of relief, confident that one day he, too, would forget the person who was the source of so much pleasure and pain.
As the evening wore on, I couldn't help but think about how mature this was, for me and Len to talk over coffee at Helga's. Len was my first real ex (Scotty doesn't count—it was, after all, eighth grade), and one of only three guys who have seen me practically, if not totally, naked, even though it was a very, very long time ago and the cutaneous landscape has changed a bit. Still, I thought it was a really grown-up thing. It wasn't weird at all. Though I suppose it might be different if Len and I had done it. I wonder if I would feel as comfortable sitting across from Kieran. Or Marcus. I doubt I'll ever know.
Tonight I was okay with that conclusion.
As we returned to Len's car, he said, “Um, Jess?”
“Yes?”
“I never thought you had bad skin,” he said. “I always thought you looked . . .” He shyly looked down at his keys instead of at me. “Radiant.”
And I told him that