Touch Page 2

  Chapter 3

  Leah

  Those who stop physically reaching out to each other are doomed to fail. Noah’s words replay in my mind like a soundtrack to my relationship with Lyle. There was a time, at first, when we shared many moments of touching and spending as much time together as we could. As the pressures of school pulled us apart, those moments became more fleeting, and in our last few months we barely saw each other. It got to a point where our last hug felt awkward and distant.

  If Noah’s hypothesis is correct, we doomed our relationship to fail when we let our physical contact slip away. That can’t be right. I would have never let that happen if I had known what would come of it. What does it mean for our future now that we are living so far away from each other?

  Noah’s hand is tight around mine and I focus on its warmth. He may not believe in forever, but the look on his face tells me that his theory came out of a painful experience in his own life. How could he be so hardened to love unless he had felt the sting of love lost?

  “Who was she?” I ask.

  He hesitates, then nods. “A girlfriend from a long time ago. She broke my heart. We had this whirlwind relationship. It was the kind only teenagers could have, blinded by hormones and detached from the reality of life around us. I thought we would be together forever.” He laughs in a way that lets me know it isn’t funny. My heart clenches at the cold sound, knowing too well the pain from which it came. “Our forever was about three years.”

  Noah runs a hand through his hair and exhales a big breath. “The first two were amazing. We were so in love that I didn’t know where I ended and she started. The third year was a fucking train wreck.” He shakes his head and I feel like he could be telling my story. “I felt her slipping and I wanted to fix us. I tried everything. Looking back now I see the signs. Every move I made in her direction, she countered with a move away from me. I reached out—she pulled away.”

  “Noah, you were young. There was no way to know how it was going to end.”

  “That’s just it, Leah. Now I do know how to predict the end. I see the signs long before the people in the relationship do. I spent the first few years of my study rooting for these couples, hoping they would make it work, but at some point the numbers stack up. You start to see patterns in behavior.”

  I offer him a tight smile. I might not be a psychology student, but I know that every study has data that sits outside the curve. He’s so busy looking at the concurring data he can’t see that those couples on the outside, the ones who do make it, are just as real. “What is it like for you now, when you watch the couples?”

  “I wait for it, that moment when one of them is hurting or vulnerable. I watch to see how their partner reacts. When the moment passes without touch, I know they have taken a step closer to destroying their relationship.”

  “What about the ones that do? You have to see couples that continue to touch. What about them?” I lean forward, drawn to his answer.

  “It amazes me every time.” He smiles.

  “See, it can happen. You can’t just throw out the data that doesn’t fit.” I smile back at him triumphantly.

  Noah lifts my chin with his finger so I am looking straight into his eyes but all too soon his hand drops from my face. “Leah, I don’t have to throw out that data. They do it themselves. My study has been going on for three years now and even when they touch, their only reward is a few more years. The follow-up interviews show that they still struggle and some have even broken up. Touching doesn’t promise them a happy ending, it just prolongs the time they have together.”

  “But Noah,” I begin. He shakes his head and continues.

  “Knowing what I know now, seeing what I have seen, I will take shallow relationships that end quickly over falling that deep again any day. The risk is not worth the reward. I get the sense that you’re hurting about someone, and that you still want to fix it. Don’t make the mistake I did. Don’t chase him if he’s running away.”

  I clear my throat that is thick with emotion. “It’s different for us.” I try to sound confident but he can see through my bluff.

  “Everyone thinks that. To some extent you’re right. Your circumstances are your own, but the end result is the same. There is no forever, Leah. The sooner you accept that, the easier it is to protect your heart from that fairy tale.”

  “Just because you can’t see something and haven’t yet held it in your hands, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. So what about your touch theory, then? You think touching is a complete waste of time?”

  “I never said that.” His crooked smile is back and I can’t help but mirror it with one of my own. “I actually enjoy touching very much, but it isn’t a promise of forever.” I want so badly to kiss him as the pull between us grows stronger and stronger.

  “I need to get you home.” Noah says. It is definitely not what I am expecting and my heart almost screeches to a halt in my chest. The spell is broken and I stand up quickly, trying not to put too much weight on my ankle.

  “I can get back to my place on my own. It’s feeling better now,” I lie, trying to cover up my embarrassment. What in the world was I thinking? Noah leans forward as if he is going to help me, but stops before rising to his feet. “Thanks for everything. I’ll see you around.”

  There is indecision in Noah’s eyes, but then he looks away, detaching himself from the moment. “Yeah, I’ll see you around”

  Chapter 4

  Noah

  The office allocated to me by the university lab is small, but it’s a great workspace. I tap my pencil on my desk as I review my notes on Erin and Clint, or ‘Couple 217,’ as their file is labeled. They’ve been subjects in my study for a while now, but it’s still hard to guess where their relationship will be today when they come in. Sessions are always interesting in this profession; even when you’ve worked extensively with a couple, it’s impossible to predict what will have taken place in the time between visits.

  “They’re here.” Penny, one of my assistants, peeks in from the waiting room. “They’re ready when you are; I’ve already verified that their contact information is up to date.

  “Thanks Penny. I’d hate to lose track of them when we’re so close to finishing the study. Send them in.” Erin and Clint have been married for just over a year. They moved in together right after their wedding, and entered the study within a few months, when talk of babies began floating around their house. Both of them have advanced educations; she’s a physical therapist and he’s an engineer. They’re about my age, and they met while taking classes here on campus. In fact, I could very well be in their position if my original life plan hadn’t been interrupted by my breakup with Eva.

  I stand up and gesture toward the couch as they come in. Behind me, the small video camera mounted in the corner of the room follows their movements. Penny is monitoring the session and operating the camera from a computer in the next room.

  “Hi Erin, Clint. Welcome back.” I settle into the worn chair in the corner, careful to keep my body at an angle so that I’m not forcing their line of sight to be direct with mine. It’s a little trick I learned in my first year of graduate school to put my clients at ease. I set the folder down on the coffee table between us, lean back in my chair, cross my legs and give the couple my complete attention. I find that taking notes during a session can be disruptive—I’ve seen the worry on people’s faces when I jot something down—so I prefer to write my session notes afterward.

  “Hey. How was your weekend?” Clint asks, as he gets comfortable on the couch. Of course, sharing this kind of information is irrelevant to my study, but it helps to build a rapport with clients. For the most part I follow the unofficial guideline in my field that suggests the content of the conversation should be 90/10, with the therapist only speaking ten percent of the time, but sometimes I find that disclosing a little more about myself helps to build the therapeutic alliance. No one wants to share their deepest thoughts and secrets with someone they kno
w nothing about.

  “It was great. I caught the game with a friend. What about you? How was your weekend? Did you get the motor running?” Clint is a fan of old Chevys, like me, and we ended our session last time with a little exchange about the ’73 Chevelle he’s been restoring.

  “Oh, man. It was such an expensive weekend.” He chuckles and Erin rolls her eyes, but I notice that she smiles, too. In our last session Erin complained about a trip Clint was planning to take to a car show in Vegas. She was upset that he wanted to leave a day earlier than they had planned and she felt like he wasn’t listening to her or taking her need to spend time with him into consideration.

  “It always is.” I say and we both laugh. Erin scoots a little closer to Clint as he lifts his arm and lays it across the back of the couch, opening his body to her so she can lean on him.

  “We made it out there and partied all weekend, but on the way home I threw a rod through the block. Looks like it’s back to the drawing board.” I look to Erin to see her expression. He’s not kidding; that is a very expensive fix. She is smiling and shaking her head. I wonder how she has gone from being a little jealous of his time with his car to being so cheery about another expensive setback. My curiosity is answered when she sets her hand on his knee and looks up into his eyes, even though she’s talking to me.

  “The good news is,” she starts, and he rolls his eyes even though there is a smile playing on his lips, “we decided to put the car away for a while and try for a baby.”

  Clint shrugs his shoulders but I can see the excitement in his eyes. This is new for them. He’s been arguing for more time with just the two of them before bringing in a baby. “So Clint, how do you feel about that?”

  “I know it’s a big change from what I’ve been saying all along, but I realized something this weekend. Being married has already changed me. I made that decision and I don’t regret it. The whole time I was in Vegas I just wanted to get home to be with Erin.” He lets his hand fall lower on her shoulder so he can stroke her arm and pull her closer. “I want to be able to hang out with my friends, but I think I’ve outgrown some of the stupid shit they do. I’ve been fighting the idea of having a baby because I know it’s a lifestyle change, but I think I’m ready.”

  They smile at each other and for the first time in a long time I feel a twinge of envy deep in my gut for what they have.

  Erin turns to me. “Are you married?” she asks, and I remember my first professor in the program telling me to be careful about what I share.

  “Would knowing my marital status change anything?” I ask. She smiles and shakes her head.

  “No, I just wonder what it would be like for someone to be married to a therapist. I bet your relationships are always perfect. You must know exactly how to fix all the problems.” I hear that a lot, actually.

  “Relationships involve two people. I can control my behavior and my reactions, but I’m never in control of anyone else. I might know how to listen, but I’m just like you in that I get hurt and can dish out some hurt for my partner. No relationship is perfect.” If they knew how little faith I have in long-term relationships, I don’t think they’d trust me with theirs.

  “I guess that’s true. I just assumed you would approach relationships differently than the general population. You’re an expert.”

  “I’m human. As a therapist helping you, I sit on the outside and share what I see. I teach you skills and offer some help in getting the two of you on the same page. In my personal life, I’m just Noah. Yes, my education has had a huge effect on me and I can never unlearn what I’ve been taught, but I make mistakes and selfish choices just like everyone else.” Erin nods and then reaches for Clint’s hand to hold in hers.

  “I guess we’re all the same. We only get out of a relationship what we put into it. Knowing the right answers doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll choose them.” She couldn’t be more right about that. I decide that it’s time to get the focus back on them, so I take the lull in conversation as an opportunity to explore a different path.

  The session seems to fly by as they discuss their plan for bringing a baby into their relationship. I let them know that in addition to getting married, buying a house and changing careers, having a baby is right up there with the top events that cause conflicts in relationships. They take my warning with careful reflection, but I can see from the excitement on their faces that they are committed to overcoming that challenge, as well.

  We end the session with a plan to meet again and while I know their data is going to skew my results, their happiness is infectious and still has me smiling as they leave the office.

  “Looks like it’s a mark in the other column, Dr. Pessimism.” Penny teases as I pack up my briefcase. “I think they seemed pretty happy.”

  I agree, but I’m not going to admit it. She knows I’m too stubborn to admit defeat. “Give it time, my friend. They just survived Tropical Storm Wedding and have no idea how much worse Hurricane Baby is going to be.” I know that if they stick together as a team, having a child could make them feel more connected, but one misstep and their relationship could spiral out of control with contempt and feelings of isolation.

  She waves her hand dismissively and shuts down the video equipment. “You know, people have been successfully surviving in relationships for centuries. Why must you pee on our parade?"

  I can’t help but chuckle. “We used to die a lot younger.” I wink at her as I head out into the hallway. As I make my way across campus, I feel my lips curl into a smile at the thought that my new neighbor and Penny would make great friends.

  Chapter 5

  Leah

  The warmth of the sun on my face feels wonderful as I sit on the grassy hill outside the student union. I haven’t even been here a week yet, but I love this place, like I knew I would. I’ve known forever that I wanted to study at UCLA—my grandmother attended classes here back when being a female college student was a privilege.

  The first time I visited was when I was in junior high, and my father took a week off work for my spring break to drive me down the coast to see it. We took the guided tour and I remember loving how big the campus was and the way the brick seemed to trail along the walkways as a reminder of the history of this elite establishment of higher education. Later, I decided that my best bet for a well-rounded education would be to do my undergrad and graduate degrees at different schools, but I wanted my master’s degree to have the UCLA emblem so I waited to apply until I was ready for my graduate studies. I feel a twinge of pride at having made my dream come true.

  But I miss Lyle. We must have spoken a million times about UCLA and he’d led me to believe he’d applied here, as well. I guess he didn’t have the heart to tell me he didn’t share my dream.

  I lie back on the grass and close my eyes, listening to the bits and pieces of conversations of students passing by. I should go to the student store and buy that bumper sticker my dad’s been bugging me about—he’s threatening to drive down here himself if I don’t do it soon—but I’m in no mood for shopping.

  I pull out my phone and dial Emma, my roommate from San Francisco.

  “Hey , Leah ! ” Her cheerful voice is so soothing.

  “Hey Emma. Are you getting all settled in?” Hearing her voice makes me miss her even more. The miles between us make it harder for us to support each other on a daily basis the way we used to.

  “Yes, it’s getting better. I still have a million boxes to get through, but I know how to find the best Italian food around , and where they make the strongest coffee. I’m going to own this town soon.”

  “You know, if you spent a little more time at your place you could be all settled in by the time I have a chance to come visit , ” I tease . I can picture her smile.

  “What would be the fun in that? ” she argues good-naturedly . “ Maybe if you went out a little more and found someone to distract you from your current situation, you ’ d be over Lyle by the time you visit.” This is the Emma I
love. Her encouragement helps me to believe I might actually survive this break-up.

  “Emma—you know that isn’t my style.” I try to sound serious, but my giggle gives me away. I hear a knock on her end of the line.

  “I’ve got to run. I’m serious , Leah . T he best way to get over an old love is to get under a new one. Make me proud.” The line cuts off and I drop my phone onto my chest , still chuckling .

  “Laughing to yourself, huh? You do realize it’s not 4/20 yet, right?” a deep voice draws nearer and I open one eye slowly to verify what I already know. Noah. I sit up and use a hand to shade my eyes from the sun so I don’t have to scrunch up my face to look at him. He looks just as handsome as he did that first night, his slacks fitting him perfectly, drawing my attention to the muscular shape of his strong legs. He rubs at his chin and I hear the low scratch of his hand against the stubble. His smile is crooked as he looks down at me. My eyes move to his button-front shirt and rolled up sleeves. He looks so enticing—the perfect mix of wild student and professional.

  “4/20?”

  “I almost forgot — you ’ re new here. You are sitting on a patch of grass that is rumored to be federal land and therefor e not under the jurisdiction of campus police. Every year on April 20, students try to test that legend and hundreds of them cram into this space and light up , believing the zoning loophole will keep them from being arrested.”

  “That can’t be true,” I say , not believing that anyone would take that risk.

  Noah shrugs his shoulders and take s a quick glance around at the other students. “It’s interesting. They aren’t arrested while on this hill , but as soon as they step off they are cited for public intoxication. I’m not sure if that’s because the legend is true, or if the police are just messing with the students so they can meet their ticket quota for the year.”