Table for Two by Marla Miniano

type—one who
passionately pursued the object of his affection, one who believed in the power
of persistence, one who had an arsenal of grand gestures such as driving three
hours to see someone for ten minutes, and bringing someone breakfast at five AM every day, and
organizing a surprise party for someone he had just met. But then he had his
heart broken, and all these grand gestures suddenly seemed rather silly. So he
retreated into his shell, and although he remained a romantic, transformed into
the other type, the passive type. All that trying turned into hoping, and all
that doing turned into wishing. He couldn’t see the point of putting himself
out there anymore, so he decided he’d wait for someone to come and find the
point for him, or simply to come and find him. These days, he feels like he is
always waiting for someone or something to sweep him off his feet and change
his life. But perhaps he has been waiting for too long that every time someone
or something comes along, he is suspicious: Does that girl really like him? Is she just being
polite? Is he assuming too much? Worse,
he is reluctant to prove himself wrong, so he embraces his suspicions, clinging
to them tightly, obsessively, because it is the only way he knows how to hold
on to himself—if he expects very little and doesn’t risk too much, maybe
it will be harder for the world to hurt him. These days, he is content writing
his stories, where nothing is perfect but at least everything makes sense;
every rejection fits into the bigger picture and every heartbreak builds up to
the greater scheme of things. These days, he is content admiring someone from
afar, the way he did years ago in high school, when everything still felt brand
new. He is content imagining various scenarios in which they would meet,
various twists and turns that could lead to a sort of happy ending. He is
content writing, and admiring, and imagining—anything more than that
seemed superfluous. Lucas is, when you get right down to it, a romantic. But
these days, he would rather have the innocent futility of a baseless crush than
the fragile balance of the real deal.
    He does not want people to feel
sorry for him. He keeps himself occupied, and on the best and busiest of days,
he does not even have time to feel alone. He has become quite adept at keeping
the loneliness at bay, but sometimes, it manages to sneak up on him. The
loneliness finds him in idle moments like this one when he is driving home
alone (Franco has gone off to a party with the college freshman and her
friends), when he realizes that he is always working on weekdays and writing on
weekends, but has nobody to share the success or the stories with. He thinks
the heartaches may have hardened him into someone who is more comfortable going
through life on his own, and he knows this is not something to be proud of. He
thinks he may have given up on too many things, including himself, and he wants
so badly to be wrong about this.
    He checks his watch: eleven PM , much too
early to head home, change into his pajamas, turn off the lights, and climb
into bed, even by his standards. He is only a few blocks away from his house
now, and although he is tempted to go straight, he makes a detour. Home can
wait; he knows exactly where he wants to go first.

5
     
     
     
    Mandy is sitting beside Gio in the backseat of Diane’s car. The driver has not switched on the
radio, and nobody is speaking, so they are left listening to the humming of the
air-conditioner, the whirring of the engine, and Diane lightly snoring in the
passenger seat. They have just dropped off Penny (who was not so happy about
having to say goodbye to Dude and Bro after Diane downed three shots of tequila
and almost passed out), and are on their way to Gio’s house. They stay silent
until the car pulls to a stop.
    “Are you sorry you ever dated
Penny?” Mandy asks. She has to know—she has to know if girls like Penny
linger in guys’ minds long after they