Touch (2 page)
Authors: Sarah White
Noah
I thought twice about going after Jen when she bolted from my apartment, I really did. She was more pissed off at me than she’s ever been before and I had no desire to stage another world war with her in the lobby of the building. I couldn’t have cared less whether she came back, either, but I was afraid she might trash my car as she left. I never imagined that she would slam right into a woman so beautiful I couldn’t look away. As soon as I saw Leah’s dark chocolate eyes I forgot all about Jen and her drama.
Now, somehow, I’ve got Leah sitting here with me in my apartment and I can’t stop thinking about how this is going to be a serious problem. This girl is gorgeous in that unpretentious way that sends me right over the edge, with her cutoff shorts and her old concert tee, and her long brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. I’m already fighting an unnerving instinct to reach out and touch her, to let my fingers dance beyond the soft skin of her ankle, but my mind is warning me that I need to stay clear. I don’t make a habit of hooking up with neighbors, because when things go bad—and they always do—you’re stuck running into each other every day for God only knows how long. Still, my body is revved up and ready to start something as we sip our wine and get to know each other.
“So…I know it isn’t really my business, but did I witness an epic breakup today between you and Jen?” Leah asks. She steals a glance at me and those full lips of hers curve into a killer smile. Her cheeks flush a deeper pink.
“I’m not sure you could call it a breakup,” I answer. I can’t avoid the fact that I’m going to sound like a total dick when I explain this. “It isn’t that she’s coming back; it is definitely a permanent goodbye. We just never really were a couple. I don’t do committed relationships.” I look down at my glass and then bring it to my mouth for another drink.
“You can’t be serious,” she argues. “Everyone wants the real thing. You just haven’t found that special someone, but eventually you will.”
She hasn’t seen what I have. I’ve been studying couples breaking up for the last three years. It’s what I do; my dissertation is a study of couples who are struggling in therapy. I see them when they have a chance at making it work but most of the time I watch them crash and burn. Of course, some couples make it, but I am not convinced it will be forever.
And then there’s my own experience. I was hopeful once and had a three-year relationship with someone I thought I could be committed to forever, but we failed just like all the others. I know the game now and I have no interest in playing it.
“Not everyone wants forever, Leah. Most people do, okay, I’ll give you that, but more often than not, it doesn’t work out. I’ve seen it too many times to count. I don’t want to be a part of that statistic. It’s like sitting through a super long movie even if you know the ending is going to suck. Relationships suck.” Her mouth is agape. She smells sweet, like apples, and I want to taste her. I wonder what she would do if I tried.
“Well, I believe in forever,” she says. “You just have to find the person you’re meant to spend it with. I’m not saying it’s easy, but I do think it’s possible.”
I always get this response from the women I share my theory with. They’re raised on Disney movies and romance novels. It’s all bullshit, really. I laugh softly because I know there is no way to win this argument with a romantic.
“I hope that works for you, because it sounds amazing. Just remember that love is like an equation where the variables are always changing. Most couples think they have it solved, only to find out that it no longer works. Very few things are constants.”
“It’s not an equation, it’s a chemical reaction.” Leah waves her hands around to emphasize her words. “Once you’ve joined the two elements, the work is done. The basic ingredients are always the same even though the outcome might vary.”
“
Always
is
never
true, beautiful.” I say, almost to myself. She still has so many painful lessons to learn. “Take it from me. I believe I’ve found the one thing that gives the equation a higher likelihood of success, and yet I still don’t believe in forever.” I down the last of my wine and set the empty glass on the table. Leah finishes hers, as well, and our fingers touch for a brief moment when she hands the glass to me. I swear I feel the connection all the way down to my soul. I pull my hand away quickly.
“What do you mean you’ve found ‘the one thing?’" she asks.
“I work with couples in counseling for my dissertation. I believe that there is one behavior that helps to accurately predict whether a couple can fix whatever isn’t working between them. I’ve seen it play out numerous times on video.” This has her attention.
“What is it?” she asks eagerly. “Compassion? Honesty? Commitment?”
“Touch. Any kind of touch. The soft brush of a palm across your partner’s skin or a familiar caress.” My eyes fall to her hand. “The more intimate touch of a lover’s hand on your face…It doesn’t even have to be sexual, just a simple touch. The couples who continue to touch, or learn to use it as a tool when things get difficult, tend to make things work longer. Those who stop physically reaching out to each other are doomed to fail.”
Leah’s expression changes as my words sink in, from hope to pain right before she pinches her eyes shut. And there it is. She can’t deny that I am right because somewhere in her past she has seen this play out. I can see that she is hurting and instinctively I reach out and squeeze her hand tightly in mine. I fear I’ve crossed a boundary I shouldn’t have, but I can’t bring myself to let go. We sit together not saying a thing, and yet communicating volumes.
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”
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 know 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.