The Record of My Heart (Words #3.5) (2 page)

During today’s lecture, I found myself again thinking about Miss Price and the fact that she’s not just a student in the class, but also my father’s employee. Reflecting on what I told her yesterday about my father, I began to wonder—what if
he
somehow roped her into taking the course to watch me? Or, I thought, perhaps he surveyed the class enrollment in September and found a student in need of employment and hired her so he could have someone to report back to him once second semester rolled around?

After the tutorial, though, I felt confident concluding that Miss Price is a serious scholar. Her observations and inquiry questions were astute, and revealed an interest in the topic beyond that of the casual student of Shakespeare. I feel idiotic (and somewhat egocentric, for that matter) for imagining that someone would take a fourth-year Shakespearean course simply to spy on the class TA.

There was a panicky moment at the end of the seminar as Cara Switzer requested to speak to me alone. Now
there’s
a student I don’t want to find myself alone with. I asked Miss Price to remain behind, simply as a buffer. I could have asked anyone, but her name came to my lips first. Of course, when I had to explain why I’d asked her to stay behind, I couldn’t think of a valid reason and cobbled together some harebrained excuse about lending her books. I was decidedly curt with her. I’d go as far as to say I was rude.

I felt so rattled after the tutorial session that I went straight to Martin’s office to chat about a few of the students in the class, bringing Miss Price’s name up, among several others. According to Martin, she’s been working for my father since September. Martin even wrote her a glowing letter of recommendation when she applied for the job, based on the rapport they developed in prior course studies. He spoke very highly of her, claiming she’s “one of those students who walks through your door only a few times in a career,” and that I should count myself lucky to be able to work with her.

I’m not feeling very lucky at the moment. I’m feeling remarkably uncomfortable. Not sure what it is about this girl that has me so addled.

(Not sure? Ha! Could it be that I was a mess because your strength and outspokenness in that first tutorial intrigued the hell out of me, but I was forced to distance myself from you? Aubrey, I wanted nothing more than to ask you to stay after Cara had left so that I could close the door, take your hand and say, “Tell me all about yourself—spare no details.” Of course, I couldn’t do that, which enraged me. So instead, I was rude and obnoxious. I hated myself for the way I treated you that day. Self-preservation, plain and simple. I used you to protect myself from Cara, but you didn’t know that at the time. You looked so hurt and I felt like a frigging heel. How I wish I could go back and smack some sense into myself…)

An uneventful week thus far. No further encounters with Miss Price. She seems intent on ignoring me now. There is a sort of weary defiance in her eyes that doesn’t sit quite right, but my coolness seems to have curtailed any excessive familiarity that might have had the potential of developing. My father would be proud.

(How it pained me to see the coldness in your eyes. I hated my father that week.)

What a strange afternoon. Miss Price looked terrible during class and barely spoke a word during today’s tutorial session. Disappointing. I was looking forward to her views on Petruchio’s attitudes and behavior. She actually seemed bored, doodling and sighing as if sitting in that room was some incredibly painful form of torture. What can I do? I can’t force her to participate and it’s ultimately her mark that will suffer. Will she be as surly and disinterested this evening, I wonder.

(I couldn’t have cared less about your goddamn participation marks. I just wanted to hear you speak. But you looked so world-weary. Worst of all, I was afraid your behavior was my fault for treating you so poorly, but was equally terrified of allowing myself to believe that my actions and words could possibly have any bearing on your mood or attitude. The implications of acknowledging that scared the shit out of me—and made me feel like an egotistical prick…)

Update: Friday, February 13, 10 p.m.

I was forced to attend tonight’s performance of
Hamlet
alone with Miss Price because Miss Harper had taken ill. This was a circumstance beyond my control, but we were in public, after all, and the outing was related to curricular assessment. Unfortunately, she became quite sick during the performance, and I was forced to drive her home. I placed her safely in the care of a roommate, Matt. There was no need to enter her building. I wouldn’t have allowed her entry into my car were it not for the fact that she would quite clearly have had difficulty getting home without my assistance…

Uncovering Your Ass
and Learning to Enjoy It

Oh, hell. What the fuck am I doing??? Denial. I’ve been in an absolute state of denial, completely and utterly disregarding my interest in Aubrey Price. So cool, so professional, so detached. Ha! How superior I’ve been, “fearing”
she
might be attracted to
me
, worried that she might be harboring some sort of crush on me—Daniel Grant—the handsome, young TA.

I can’t deny the truth any longer. The only thing I’ve feared or worried about is that she might not give me more than a second glance, because I’ve given her several glances, and they’ve virtually ALL been inappropriate. For almost two weeks I’ve been congratulating myself for remaining distant and for keeping Aubrey at arm’s length, but let’s face it. I’m completely taken with her.

She’s beautiful, but there’s so much more to her than that. She’s intelligent and funny—no, not simply funny—
witty…clever
. I gather from talking to Martin that she’s independent and self-sufficient, and watching her interact with her peers shows that she’s warm and well-liked. This combination of qualities goes well beyond my kryptonite…

If I didn’t understand my feelings before, the truth hit me like a fucking freight train tonight. I almost jumped for joy when Aubrey told me that Julie Harper had taken ill and wouldn’t be joining us at the show. There we were, in that theater, watching a play for co-curricular credit, and I actually felt like we were on a
date
. What a moron I am.

Every time she leaned over to tell me something, I felt her breath on my cheek and wanted to still her face with my hand and find her lips in the darkness. Aubrey has the most delicious looking rosebud lips. Oh yes. I’ve noticed. Have I ever. (Writing that—just
Aubrey
—all I can think about is how I’d love to brush my lips against her cheek and whisper her beautiful name in her ear…Jesus.)

When she got sick, I was useless. I went into panic mode. What if someone had seen us walking together to my car? What if I’d gotten caught driving her home? On the one hand, I’m glad I had the wherewithal to feel alarmed by the implications of my behavior; on the other hand, I can’t believe I allowed Nicola’s accusations and my experiences at Oxford to dictate my actions so completely. I was a total boor. My reaction was a defensive mechanism, of course, but Aubrey must think I’m an asshole, and if she doesn’t, she’s a frigging saint.

Actually, what am I thinking? She’s probably not giving me a second thought. This guy…this Matt…he was waiting for her when I dropped her off. He practically lifted her into his arms like some sort of fucking knight in shining armor. He’d literally run back to Jackman Hall from a party to be there for her when she got home. How can I compete with that? I can’t even talk to her alone in a room for fear of reprisals. Christ, I’m afraid to even refer to her by her first name!

Acknowledging my frustration that he has what I can’t even get
close
to, makes it impossible for me to continue denying my feelings. So here I am, two weeks into the semester and already careening toward disaster, unable to share my predicament with anyone, my computer screen the only safe place to vent.

As I sit here contemplating this mess I’ve gotten myself into, I can’t help thinking maybe I deserved what happened at Oxford. Perhaps I did give Nicola the wrong idea. What if her accusations were exacerbated by some sort of inappropriate behavior on my part?

Bottom line: I am screwed and it’s my own damn fault. I’ve lost my moral compass, and when I close my eyes to try to center myself—as indeed I’m doing right this very minute—all I see are Aubrey’s sparkling green eyes looking back at me…

Sad sack that I am, I spent Valentine’s Day with Penny. Not that I don’t love the girl, but really, what a pathetic state of affairs. Things might have been worse, I guess. I could have gone out with Jeremy. I had myself convinced that I was doing Penn a favor by meeting her for dinner to keep her company while Brad’s out of town, but let’s face it—I was the one in need of distracting this evening.

All I could think about was Aubrey, wondering if she was feeling all right after last night’s craziness, and obsessing about whether she might be out somewhere with her “roommate,” enjoying Valentine’s Day. I felt physically sick at the thought. Would Matt buy chocolates? Flowers? Maybe take her out for dinner and a movie? And then afterward…shit. The thoughts that flood my mind when I imagine them together—there’s not enough brain bleach in the world, I fucking kid you not.

So, thank God for Penny. We met at Canoe, and she sat and listened as I shared my pathetic tale—carefully, mind you. I made no mention of Aubrey’s name and didn’t reveal that she works for my father, only the fact that she’s just a student. (
Just
a student! Ha! Listen to me! I’ve lost my fucking mind, I’m sure of it…)

Penny promised to keep my secret, even from Brad. I don’t want to put him in an awkward situation. Of course, that doesn’t mean Penny isn’t in one hell of a position…

You know, after everything she’s put up with over the last year and a half, I’m amazed Penny is still prepared to spend time with me. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve her friendship and loyalty, but maybe she figures there’s no point writing me off. Soon she’ll be my sister-in-law, and then there’s no escaping me.

Penn’s advice was predictable. She told me I have to put thoughts of “this girl” out of my mind and remember she could ruin me if I allowed myself to cross a line. She reminded me that I’ve been given a second chance, and if I screw up, I’ll have no one but myself to blame. She also made me feel like a complete prat, pointing out that I’ve known the girl for all of two weeks and I’m pining for her like a pimply fourteen-year-old! She’s right. What the hell is my problem?

I’m truly at a loss to understand what it is about Aubrey that affects me so profoundly. Maybe I’m just starved for female companionship. After being unattached, frozen emotionally for almost a year, perhaps I’m finally starting to thaw. Then in walks Aubrey, who is warm and intelligent, beautiful and sexy, and I’m blindsided.

To top it all off, we do seem to have some sort of strange chemistry—something I haven’t felt in a long time. It can’t be possible that I was imagining the undercurrent between us last night. But perhaps I’m overreacting, since it’s been so long since I’ve felt connected to anyone. Given the fact that she clearly has a boyfriend, I must be reading into things. Simply put, where this perceived connection between us is concerned, I’m seeing what I want to see.

Chemistry or not, Penny is right. I have to steer well clear of her. I have to put an end to these futile fantasies. Come Monday morning, I will be everything my father has advised: helpful and interested in Aubrey’s work, but emotionally detached. This is how it has to be if I hope to protect my position at the university and preserve my sanity.

What I really need is a diversion. I’m tempted to call Sabrina. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

But really, what would be the harm? I need a friend, and she was supportive when I came home from the UK, telling me she’d always be there for me if I needed her. All I know is that I have to
do
something. All this overthinking is killing me. A trip to Ottawa might be fun. We could take in a few museums, hit up some good restaurants…

Yes, I’ll call Sabrina—not tonight, though—a Valentine’s Day call might be misconstrued. I’ll call her tomorrow. I feel better already, just having made a decision.

I phoned Sabrina today. I can’t decide how I feel about our talk. I have the distinct impression I’ve leaped from the frying pan smack dab into the middle of the fire. When I mentioned a trip to Ottawa to visit her, I swear I heard her exhale—a long, low sigh—a sigh of victory perhaps, as if she’d been waiting for me to utter those very words since she left for Ottawa at Christmastime. I should have left well enough alone. As she breathed out, I felt my own chest tighten, and the rest of the conversation was a jumble of words competing with the shrieking inside my brain, something to the tune of “WHAT IN THE LIVING FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

But there I go, overanalyzing again. In fact, allowing myself to believe she’s so eager to see me makes me sound like an arrogant git. In what way is securing my attention a victory? I’m a mess, and if she knew better, she’d keep her distance. Either she doesn’t know better or she’s just as desperate for companionship as I am…

How many sensations can one woman provoke in the course of an hour? In the case of Aubrey Price, apparently a metric fuckton. She gave me an emotional workout this morning, handing me my ass in the process.

First, there was anger. I arrived at my dad’s office to look for him after he didn’t show up for our coffee meeting, only to find Aubrey alone in his private office, rooting through his desk. What the hell was she doing in there alone? My father would be horrified at the thought that she was in there without his approval. (Add to that the panic I felt, being alone in that office with her without any witnesses…imagine my first thoughts. I lost all ability to be rational.)

Next came embarrassment. As it turned out, her reason for being in my father’s office was not just legitimate, but sanctioned by him. He’d been called away and she was helping him find some documents in his filing cabinet. He confirmed as much when I phoned him. I had needlessly lost my temper and made a buffoon of myself. Great.

Shame followed. She could have been a bitch and thrown my words and accusations back at me, but she immediately brushed my behavior aside, claiming I’d made an honest mistake.

Finally, I settled into a state of gratitude. Not only did she forgive my asinine behavior, she listened to me as I waxed on about my brothers and my friendship with Penny. I completely forgot myself with her. I could have sat and chatted with her for hours. She was so frigging receptive to my jabbering, I swear I was on the verge of telling her all about what happened at Oxford. Luckily, I caught myself in time and got the hell out of there.

(But not before allowing myself to believe she’d enjoyed our chat as much as I had. So, I suppose you can add
delusional
to the emotional catalog of my day.)

And now, I’m left thinking that all the qualities I’m observing in Aubrey (some borne of attraction—I won’t attempt to deny it—but others based on her actions and words), would make her an amazing friend and confidante. I can imagine her listening quietly and nodding sympathetically as I pour out my soul to her. The thought of doing that, however fantastical and ill-advised the notion is, makes me feel strangely content.

If I could speak to her now, perhaps wax poetic, I’d share a sonnet with her—one which I’m identifying with in a completely different way tonight. It makes more sense to me now than it ever has before…

Sonnet 29

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

~W. Shakespeare

“
I think on thee…and then my state…sings hymns at heaven’s gate…”
God, how I wish I could feel this way when I think of Sabrina (or anyone but Aubrey, for that matter). That would be so very convenient.