It’s weird. We’re friends. But something has shifted between us. Granted, we don’t have the history that Booker and his boys do. Nor do we share the common bonds of work and proximity, like I have with Phoebe, Willa, and Mel. But Booker and I are hardly strangers.
“Willa’s stuck in traffic,” I say, making conversation. “And she didn’t want to throw Rose off her routine too much, so she asked me to pick her up.”
“That’s sweet. You’re really good to her. Rose, obviously. But also Willa. I know she hasn’t had an easy time of things. It’s nice that you two are so close.” His words are kind, but the fact that he’s still chopping grapes like it’s his job and that he has a veritable pound of them next to him, has me realizing there’s a nervousness here I hadn’t picked up on before.
To be fair, Booker’s never really totally relaxed. But today, he’s downright skittish. And I’m betting it has something to do with the Psych of Sex class. I was totally surprised when he walked back into the lecture hall yesterday. I’d have bet money that when he left class on the first day, he headed straight for the registrar’s office to drop the class.
“Willa’s one of the best people I know,” I tell him honestly, gently taking the basket of remaining grapes and storing them safely in the fridge. “I met her and knew instantly that we’d be friends. It’s like that sometimes, you know? And other times, friendship comes from unlikely sources.”
“Like you and Knox?” he asks, setting the knife down.
I laugh. Guy’s got jokes. “Ok, friend is a strong term…”
“Be careful,” Booker warns me. “One day you’re shaking your head at the guy, and the next thing you know, you’re living across the hall from him and calling him your brother.”
I smile wryly, because neither of those things is happening in my lifetime. “Thanks for the heads up.”
Booker washes his hands and returns to the fridge. He takes the sliced grapes and various other fruits and begins assembling a smoothie. He’s measuring out protein powder when he spares me a glance. “Do you want some?”
“Nah, I’m good. I’ll help myself to some water, though, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, crap. Yeah. Of course,” he says, reaching for a glass and handing it to me.
I fill it with water from the tap and lean against the sink, keeping an eye on Rose. Booker presses some buttons on his fancy smoothie machine, and it roars to life. Rose scrunches her face up in annoyance, but she must be used to the sound because she doesn’t freak out.
“So,” I say, as he takes a drink, “what do you think of Psych of Sex?”
Poor boy nearly chokes on his protein shake and I wince. “Sorry,” I say, offering him my water.
“No,” he clears his throat. “I’m good. Just, you know, went down the wrong pipe.”
“I, uh, tend to be a pretty straightforward guy,” I say. “Not straight, of course, but straightforward.” My joke falls flat as his face pales. “God. I’ll shut up now. I’m just making this worse, aren’t I?”
“Um, no offense, but nothing could be worse than yesterday’s icebreaker. You just had to start class by asking us to reflect on the number of sexual partners we’ve had, and if we think that number matters or should be shared with future partners?”
Damn. He knows my icebreaker word for word. “Caught you off guard?”
“Uh, I think it’s fair to say the whole class catches me off guard.”
“It’s an interesting question, though, right? So much focus is put on a number. Does it matter that much? Should it? Do you owe anyone that number?”
His ears are bright pink and there’s a flush on his cheeks that matches the strawberries he put in his smoothie.
“I mean, yeah. I get it,” he nods. “Like, I should be able to keep that number private, right? If it makes me feel more comfortable? I mean, it’s my knowledge and no one else’s. But at the same time, if I’m with someone, don’t I have a right to know some details about their history?”
“Exactly. And there’s the rub.” Now my ears are pink. “No pun intended. Anyway, I thought it was a good question.”
“You’ll do that every class? Start with a question like that for us to discuss?”
“That’s the plan,” I tell him honestly, filling Rose’s sippy cup with milk and handing it to her. “I’ll lead the icebreaker discussion while Dr. Bergman will handle the lectures.”
“You like working with her?” he asks, visibly happy to have found a less stressful topic.
“Hannah’s great. She’s one of my favorite professors to work with. I TA’d for her last semester, too, and I did a class with Dr. Scott. They’re both great, but there’s an easiness to working with Hannah that I really appreciate. She’s a big reason that I stayed here for my masters. She’s done a lot of work with gender identity that’s really important. I’m lucky to have the opportunity to work with her.”
“That’s cool,” he says. “You’re going to be a doctor, though, right?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Not a medical doctor, though I could go into psychiatry. But I’d rather teach psych at the college level, conduct studies, write articles, that type of thing.”
