Page 59 of Like You Want It

Sure, he might just be super safety conscious on the road, keeping his eyes laser focused on what stretches out before him. But I don’t think that’s the case.

I think he’s uncomfortable. That he’s not used to people being nice to him when they don’t get what they want.

I cross my arms. Well, maybe I just let him stew in his discomfort. I mean, for all he knows, I don’t even want anything else to happen between us. I don’t evenwantto be his girlfriend.

And then I snort again.

That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told myself. Like I wouldn’t leap across this car at the chance to be his girlfriend.

Wishing I was a little bit less desperate, and hoping Fin and Susie don’t think I have some rare sinus infection from all my snorting, I continue to stare intensely out the window.

There’s this gray area that we’re not supposed to talk about as women. This space of desire that we aren’t expected to feel. It’s like, men want us to want them, but nottoomuch. They want us to want sex but not betoosexy. Don’t be a gold digger but don’t make more than them. Be put together but not in a way that makes them look like they’re falling apart. Be around, but only when they have time.

Essentially, our very existence is an inconvenience unless we’re doing what the men around us want us to do. And it drives me fucking bonkers.

When will a man come around thatlikeshaving me around. That enjoys my company and my laugh and the weird shit that makes me Carly. Because waiting on him to arrive makes me feel like just being me will never be enough.

And I really fucking like the me that I am. So I don’t understand everyone else’s problem.

So I sit in the back, staring out the window as the palm trees pass and we go from freeway to hilly roads to freeway again. I don’t even try to look as our route takes us along the ocean.

Besides, Nell’s car seat is strapped in on the right side. A perfect little pink space for her to rest during the return drive, once she’s returned to mom and uncle.

I’m excited to meet her when we get there, though neither Susie nor Fin have told me much about her.

“So, tell me more about Nell,” I say to Susie, somewhat desperate to break up this extended silence that has been permeating the car since we stopped at a donut shop forty-five minutes ago.

Susie turns in her seat, hearts in her eyes, and launches into a super detailed description of her daughter.

Stories about how old she is, what her favorite colors are and how much she laughs at certain cartoons. It goes on for quite a while, and I soak it all in, loving that I get to see this side of Susie Q. A part of her that is so different than the movie-loving, virtual assistant, wino-enthusiast that she paints herself to be.

It’s mama Susie, and this version of her is pretty amazing.

Ultimately, there are too many details to remember except that Nell is small, loud and really gassy.

“Like Fin,” she adds, and we both crack up.

Fin rolls his eyes. “Like her mama,” Fin teases back to Susie, giving her one of those rare smiles I like so much.

My heart pinches.

Yup. Biggest lie I’ve ever told myself.

He might be kind of standoffish, a little tense, a whole lot closed off. He might be one of those guys who only wants women around to warm his bed and then hit the road.

But there’s a good man in that soul of his. One that loves his sister. Loves his niece. Changes his life around to help his family.

I just wish I could have an opportunity to see who he really is, instead of this gruff, broody he-man that takes over when I’m around.

Susie continues to prattle on about Nell and the weird things you notice when you’re a mom that other people wouldn’t see in a million years. I ask more questions, indulging her in a chance to brag about her daughter, which she might not have had much opportunity to do in Nell’s short life so far.

Fin stays quiet, though the thread of discomfort and tension seems to have disappeared with the conversation about Nell. While I listen to Susie, my eyes look to him often, hoping to find his caramel colored ones looking at me.

It never happens, and it makes me wonder if I might have imagined the whole evening before. If it had been some incredibly vivid dream that had me getting off in my sleep. Because the more time I spend thinking about how we connected, the more I just can’t imagine that someone would be able to ignore me this soundly after what happened.

Before I know it, we’re pulling off the freeway, zipping past shopping centers and large, beautiful buildings.

It doesn’t take very long for me to come to the tentative conclusion that Fin and Susie had a very different upbringing than I did. Which is only confirmed when we pull up into a driveway in front of a two-story mission-style house with a large front yard filled with green grass, terra cotta tile and a garage.