Table Talk

Marc Leavitt was at his usual table in the library on Friday morning. He’d finished his ‘real’ work for the week and was furiously grinding away on his hobby, writing fiction – a special kind of fiction. Marc knew from experience that when the words were pouring out of him like they were now that he just needed to keep typing until the flood stopped. He could always polish up the text later. His fingers flew over the laptop keyboard. He was really in the zone today.

At last Marc reached a natural section break in his story. He leaned back in his chair for a bit of a mental break and reached for his water bottle. That’s when he noticed her.

Emmy was sitting diagonally across from Marc. She had taken the seat without him noticing. Her backpack was on the table in front of her, and one finger twirled in her short curly hair as she read her book. Emmy glanced up and noted that Marc had stopped typing. Their eyes met and locked for a moment. Emmy felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She had to force herself to pull her eyes away. His expression hadn’t told her anything, but maybe he was just preoccupied. Eventually he began typing again. Emmy sighed to herself. Why couldn’t I just say something to him??

Marc kept working on his story, but now he felt a bit distracted. The woman across the table was not a stunning classic beauty, but there was something about her that nagged at him. Slender, nicely proportioned, curly hair, attractive face, and… that was it. Those striking blue-green eyes, the way they bored right into his. It had only been for a moment, but that moment was now fixed in his consciousness. He managed a few more paragraphs before that mental image of her became too much. He stopped and looked up again... but she was gone.

Emmy’s experience with Craig, her last boyfriend, did not end well. The man was incredibly handsome but at 22, immature and arrogant. He had flirted shamelessly with most of her friends, and simply waved off her protests. “Don’t be such a jealous bitch.” What a toxic asshole he turned out to be.

In hindsight it was inevitable that she eventually caught him with that slut Melody. When Emmy let herself into Craig’s apartment, there they were pawing at each other. Their shirts had already come off, and Craig was pulling off her bra. Emmy screamed invective at Craig, threw her spare key at him, and stormed out, slamming the door. Craig blew up her phone with texts and calls: it was all a mistake, would never happen again, babe you gotta get past it, you’re the one I really want, blah, blah, blah. She immediately blocked him and didn’t look back.

Emmy had gone back to graduate school after two years in the workforce. She realized now that dating a younger guy from school had been a big mistake. She needed someone who was not only interesting but stable and loyal, not some prick constantly looking for fresh meat. Her best friend Cecilia sympathized.

“Em, stop messing around with the hot but flaky students. I know you. You’re a bright woman, you’ll never be happy with some airhead bad boy even if you could manage to pin him down. You need to find a slightly nerdy, more mature guy with some real substance who’s totally into you. Get off the campus, go to museums, galleries, the library, or even concerts.”

“Has that worked for you?”

Cecilia chortled. “Well, I found Vic in the produce section at Whole Foods, so maybe go there too!”

“I do go there, just not to troll for men,” Emmy said, sounding just a bit defensive.

“Maybe you should try trolling more, Em!” Cecilia smirked, then turned serious. “The world’s changed, girl. The young guys either play the field or get their claws into some rich cougar. Women our age need to look carefully for stable guys with real substance. The most interesting guys are the ones that have a lot of layers to be unraveled. And the best of them have this smoldering sexuality that just needs to be tapped. Vic only needed a little bit of coaching, and he turned into a real bedroom tiger. Rowwrr!”

Emmy rolled her eyes. But she thought that maybe Cecilia had a point. She could try hanging out in some of the places Cecilia suggested. She already knew that not one of the single men at her accounting firm was worth pursuing. Why not try to meet a guy with more substance?

Emmy had no classes on Friday and on a whim decided on a trip to the public library. She wasn’t certain what to expect: homeless people, retirees, or toddlers and their moms. What she found though was a nice looking guy who was maybe 30 or a bit younger, with wavy dark hair, a day or two of stubble, horn-rimmed glasses, a trim, wiry physique, dressed in a comfortable vintage Levis shirt.

He was sitting at a multi-seat table on the second floor, apparently working. She was interested enough to sit at the same table and try to read. She glanced at him occasionally but he was lost in concentration, typing away on his laptop. This guy is kind of hot. I wonder what he’s working on, and why he’s doing it in the library?

After their eyes eventually met, Emmy sensed that he wasn’t going to make a move; she didn’t feel confident enough to speak to him, and he didn’t stop working again. She finally left, regretting her shyness. But she thought about him a few times during the week, wondering if she could manage to see him there again and how to kick-start a conversation. It couldn’t hurt to try.