The Romance Novel Cure (2 page)

I froze, and looked over at Greta, who was looking at her nails. I knew she was trying not to bite them. I took a breath and let it out, slowly, still looking at her. When I first arrived at the building that housed the therapist’s office, I was kind of fuming, thinking that Greta had some nerve reading books like that and giving me such hell for looking at pornography online. I felt this stupid jealousy, too, thinking that she was all into these steamy books but she hadn’t wanted to be with me, that way, for so long.

Silas the bbf.

But when I saw her, standing there, outside the office, waiting for me, holding her hands together… I just…
stopped
. I stood there just for a second, looking at her. I felt bad, that’s all. Bad that I wasn’t enough for her. Bad that things had been so hard for her. And I started to feel the glimmer of something else: curiosity. I was curious about her and these books of hers.

“I guess things started to not feel right,” I started, uncomfortably, “after we went through a hard time. I felt like… I didn’t know what to say, how to make things better. I felt as though I was just screwing up. Everything. Honestly? I have no idea how or why things are the way they are now, between us.”

Greta glanced at me, her eyes soft and sad. I took another deep breath around that tight feeling in my chest.

“That hard time,” said Mac. “Do you want to say more about it?”

“It was me,” Greta blurted. “We found out I can’t… I’ll never be able to have a baby.”

Mac nodded, compassion in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

Greta grabbed a tissue from the box on the little coffee table.

“I didn’t know what to do,” I said.

Greta wiped her eyes, looking down.

I felt the tight feeling in my chest get worse, so I started counting the red flowers in the carpet, starting from left to right.

“That’s a rough thing for any couple to deal with,” said Mac, “and I feel as though there’s lots more we going to need to say about it. You’ve just met me, though. I feel as though the priority should be strengthening the bond between the two of you. Does that make sense? Okay. So, right now I’d like to shift the focus to some strategies, some homework, all right?”

Greta nodded, looking relieved. I felt extremely relieved. I wanted to fix this, just wanted Mac to show me how.

“Greta let me know it was fine with her if I shared this with you, Ben,” said Mac. “During our first conversation over the phone we had a consultation. She let me know that the two of you have not been sleeping together, that the two of you have been arguing a great deal, and that, you Ben, have a history of using pornography, which Greta has said, according to what she told me, brings up a lot of painful feelings for her.”

I shook my head slowly, still looking at the carpet. Could this be more embarrassing? Then I thought about how I felt, seeing all those book covers of Silas with his perfect man bod. I am sure I looked scrawny and ugly compared to the illustration of Silas. I looked over at Greta. She was biting her lip and looking at Mac, her foot shaking back and forth. Greta called my iPad my iPorn and seemed to catch every time I forgot to clear my browser history. I had thought, what was it hurting her? She and I weren’t having sex, I wasn’t into weird stuff… but then I just wondered if she felt… jealous. If she felt… less than perfect. If she compared herself. It made my gut hurt, thinking like that.

“Greta, I promise you, I’m done with that. Here and now, moving forward,” I said, leaning toward her.

She darted a glance at me, looking wary and troubled.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Something I can actually do? That makes me feel as though I’m fixing this?” I gestured between the two of us. “Done.”

“If that’s your choice, I want to suggest that having an alternative to pornography may support you in creating new habits,” said Mac.

Oh, man, she looked way too young to be even
saying
pornography. So. Embarrassing.

“Uh,” I said uncomfortably, “an alternative, okay.”

“Yes,” she said serenely, “we can come up with some ideas together, or you may already have some thoughts about it.”

My mind was already jumping to a netsuke collection my college friend Kai had, which was like porn in 3D. I tried to stop thinking about that. I shook my head and inspiration struck.

“Reading.” I said, “Books. Novels. I’ve been meaning to do more reading. Greta is a big reader. Maybe she can recommend some of her favorites.”

She froze just a little as I watched her carefully. I bit my lip, trying not to smile, just a little. I wouldn’t have thought I would even come close to smiling at that point on this stressful day. But there it was.

Mac smiled. “Maybe the two of you can read the same books and discuss them, or, read different books and share them with each other.”

Greta smiled weakly, glancing at Mac and then at me, before looking down at her nails again. I liked this idea.

“Ok, so let’s see how that goes, and then the second part of your homework is one I hope you’ll find enjoyable, but it might feel awkward at first. I want the two of you to increase the number of times that you have positive interactions. So, keep a little tally going, however you want to. A smile, a compliment, eye contact that is loving or at least friendly, and hug or another kind of friendly touch. Keep it simple, be creative. Don’t  push yourselves, but go ahead and challenge yourselves, just a bit. If that makes sense? If you’d like, keep a journal about this whole process. Greta, I remember your telling me that writing was something you enjoyed. Don’t put pressure on yourselves, just have fun with this, see it as a little opportunity to make a big difference, eventually. Sound okay?”

Greta and I looked at each other. I raised my eyebrows and nodded.

“Okay,” said Greta.

“Okay,” I said.

We made plans to meet next week, and we said goodbye.

Ben walked me to my car and I tried to smile at him as I drove off, heading for home. One positive interaction attempted, I thought miserably. I couldn’t even process how my first ever experience of therapy had gone, but at least Mac was really nice.

I was exhausted. Work had been extra demanding since two assistants were out at the preschool I worked at, Little Learners. All I wanted to do is climb into bed with some Mexican hot chocolate and the new Caspian novel. If I couldn’t find my Kindle when I got home I was going to get right back in my car and head to Barnes & Noble. The thing was though, on my reader, all the books were hidden. If I had a hardcover or paperback, the cover announced to anyone who looked: paranormal romance here.

Romance novels have always been a guilty pleasure of mine, ever since my friend Rosemary Walsh in middle school shared
Passion’s Promise
by Amanda Thorne. She had picked it up out of the free book bin at the library. That was it, we were hooked on romance novels from that point on. When I got older, I went underground with my love for romance. I had eventually realized how disrespected the genre was. I wanted to be seen as smart. The books I didn’t feel embarrassed to be seen reading fell into one category, and romances were in another. Then,
Twilight
came along and with it, my love for the sub genre of paranormal romance. It made sense to me, because when I was younger, I was a big fan of books by Madeleine L’Engle, Philip Pullman, J.K. Rowling, Mercedes Lackey, Anne McCaffery… I could go on and on. I was the only one in my family who loved to read. They teased me about it, but I didn’t stop. I loved those fantasy books. When Ben gave me a Kindle for Christmas/Hanukkah a couple of years ago, I loved the freedom of reading whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. When I got diagnosed with infertility, I started reading even more. I stopped wanting to read anything other than paranormal romances. Why read books that had so many real life problems? I had enough of that in my own life. Instead, I loved getting swept up in passionate stories of everlasting love and supernatural events and magical powers. And the thing about romances is that you always know you’ll get to that HEA: happily ever after. It’s guaranteed.

But share these books with Ben? No way. I blushed at the thought. He’d think they were stupid. They were pretty, uh, well, they were pretty
descriptive
. In terms of the romantic scenes. He’d probably look at me as though I were some kind of pervert for reading them. I think he thought the novels I read were all hearts and flowers, sighs and kisses. He’d probably think I was a big hypocrite for getting so upset about him and his igfs. But those were real women! Gorgeous, perfect women. I hated the hot, jealous feeling that seemed to start in the pit of my stomach and climb up to my heart. And those women… They had been someone's little babies at one point! I did not judge them, but did they really have good lives, doing what they did for a living? I found it all upsetting on so many levels.

Didn’t anyone feel the way I did? I felt so far from Ben, but… I wished. I
wished
for him. We’d gotten so off course.

First thing I did when I got home was put Greta’s Kindle back in the charger. I grabbed a gluten free beer and got into the shower. When I got out, Greta was in our, I mean her, room and the door was closed. No lights shone from the crack along the floor. I checked and her Kindle was gone, so I knew she had it. I looked in the fridge at the gluten free pasta, vegetables and salmon that Greta had made and ate some right out of the container, cold, standing with the fridge door open. I grabbed another beer and my laptop and went to the guest bedroom. Sitting at the desk, I went onto Amazon, ordering the Silas books so I could read them on my iPad. I’d start with the first in the series. Somehow, maybe I’d find out what made Greta tick, if I spent time with the fictitious people she hung out with.

I caught myself smiling. I had to admit I thought it was kind of cute and kind of a turn on, to think that these were the types of books Greta liked. All this time, when I’d interrupt her reading, and she look up at me, kind of dreamy and dazed — well, now I was getting an idea of what scenes she’d been immersed in.

At night, I read:

* * *

Sera pushed the cottage door open with one hip.

“Well,” she said, setting the box down on the floor by her feet, “guess I’m home.”

She felt along the wall for a light switch, encountering one, but despite the landlord’s long distance claims that the cottage was move in ready, no electricity illuminated the overhead light fixture.

“Damn,” breathed Sera, wiping her hands on her jeans. The late autumn sun was fading fast up north in Salem, Massachusetts. She quickly went to her car, got her duffel bag, a flashlight from her glove compartment, and returned to the cottage. It was a small, one bedroom house situated along some marshlands, which were protected. Sera looked forward to walks there, and learning about the wildlife who made it their home. This part of the country was far different from southern Texas, where she’d grown up and lived her entire life. Using her flashlight, she began to explore the cottage, hoping to find some candles, and still hoping that it was just that one light that had a fuse broken, and that the rest of the house had electricity. The water worked, although the pipes groaned and the first splashes of water were rusty. In a linen closet, she found a stack of candles wrapped in brown paper, a few old, dusty, glass candle holders, and several books of matches. She was sure the candles would have been nibbled away by mice, and the matches damp, but both were in fine condition. She turned her flashlight off to save the battery, and lit a candle, ready to explore the rest of her tiny new home. It was fully dark outside by now, and Sera didn’t like how her reflection met her in the windows, which had no coverings. Her olive skin tones were bleached in the window’s reflection, and her high cheekbones and large dark eyes and nearly black arched brows looked ghostly. The small bedroom had a full size bed with an old, wooden headboard. Setting her candle down, she got her duffel bag and made up the bed with her own linens. She had forgotten her pillows in the car, but didn’t want to go outside to get them. She pushed her long, dark hair away from her face and chided herself for being anxious. She had been so lucky to get this teaching assistant position at Salem University, where she could do research about witches right here in the historical area upon which her studies focused. All she needed was a good night’s sleep, and she’d have all day tomorrow to settle in.

* * *

I sank down further in the covers. I’d read just a little more. I realized that once I’d graduated from college, I hadn’t read much fiction. I tended to read articles online, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d read a novel. Probably goes without saying, this was the first ever romance novel I read. I was enjoying getting caught up in the imaginary world, wondering what happened next.

I read some more:

* * *

Sera pulled the covers up to her chin, resting her head on her folded scarf. She was grateful that the bed was comfortable, and long enough, as she was tall. At first, she startled to every sound she heard, but slowly, the long day caught up with her. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she fell asleep.

“Sera… I’m sorry to wake you. But you’ve got to wake up.”

A voice penetrated Sera’s consciousness, and despite her fatigue, she immediately woke, her heart pounding. She looked around her, completely confused. She was in some sort of cave. The floor was warm and sandy, the area lit by a fire which was surrounded by large stones. Her mouth dry, eyes wide, she told herself that she was dreaming.

“Please,” the voice said. It was a man’s voice, very low and soft. “I mean you no harm. I want to help you.”

“Who are you?” whispered Sera, holding still in terror, “where are you?”

“I’m going to materialize,” he said. “Please, don’t be afraid.”

The air in front of her shimmered and she felt a sense of heat. Slowly a figure emerged. From a crouching position he slowly stood, towering over her. He took a step back and held his hands out.

“This is a dream. This is a dream,” said Sera hoarsely, willing herself to wake up. The fire crackled and released the scent of sweet, faint smoke, which spiraled up toward the roof of the cave, where she could just make out a starlit sky. Something about the sky seemed different. Everything seemed so real, not like a dream at all.

“You are right,” the man said quietly. He was tall and muscular. His hair was very dark brown, like coffee, and fell down his back, where it was twisted into a tail. There were silver streaks running down the length of it. His gray eyes were even darker than his hair, and they were large and filled with intelligence and compassion. A long, deep, scar stretched from his left temple to his jawline. He wore a loose, white shirt and dark pants that were tucked into leather boots. He looked otherworldly, and he was looking at Sera as though he’d never stop.

“Whose dream is this?” gasped Sera. “And who are you?”

“I’m Silas. And this… this is a shared dream-space. I made it for us, so we could meet. So that I could warn you. Sera, you can’t stay here. You must flee. At once,” he said, his eyes dark and troubled.

“Just… wake up?” she asked in confusion.

“No,” he said gently, “Salem. It’s not safe for you.”

“What?” she blurted. “I have a new job, a chance to finally do my research. If I can just tie some loose ends together, I’ll be able to finish my research and my dissertation.”

She did not add that she felt overwhelmed with the need to learn more about her topic, that it had become an obsession to study about the history of witches in this part of the world.

“You have been called here,” Silas said, looking down at her, taking another step closer. “But it isn’t right. It’s not fair. So, I am meeting you here to tell you: go. Run for your life.”

“None of this is making any sense,” she whispered. “Please… Silas? Start from the beginning? I’ve been called here?”

One more step and he was close enough to touch. She looked up at his face and wondered why he seemed so familiar. She felt unnerved, confused, and frightened, but not of him.

“The beginning?” He smiled, but it was a smile colored with sorrow. “In the beginning, there was you. It has always been you. And now, after all those lifetimes, here you are, close enough to touch. And what must I do? Send you away, immediately. To keep you safe. Because that’s what I do.”

“Maybe a little more… with the whole details part of this thing?” asked Sera, bemused by his words and his anguished, affectionate expression.

Silas’s rueful laughter echoed against the cavern walls.

* * *

I turned off my iPad and the bedside lamp and closed my eyes. I guess I had thought there’d be a repeat of the type of scene I’d read while in the cafe this morning. Instead, I wondered about who Silas was, and why was Sera obsessed with witches, as I fell asleep.