correct brand?”
“It is.”
She smiled and felt a rush of satisfaction, but said, “I'm afraid I won't be joining you. I think that stuff is disgusting!” Of course, she had already told him she didn't drink: not beer, not wine, no liquor of any kind, not even coffee.
“So I suppose you're into drugs instead?” Patrick had asked, teasing her.
He was often teasing. It bothered her. Sometimes she didn't know when he was teasing or not. “No , I do not!” she'd snapped back but then quickly realized she had over reacted, but still didn't apologize. He often caught her off guard like that. He may not have had her snappish reply coming, but he was playing with her and so deserved it. She would have to watch it, though. She did not wish to be caught off guard like that again. At the time, she'd offered, as a way to soften the moment, “I like water, and sometimes skim milk, and, of course, soda - Doctor Pepper is my favorite.”
When hearing this he had laughed aloud, “Oh well, that explains everything!”
“What does ?!”
“Your taste buds stopped growing sometime after you reached twelve!”
She could tell he was joking but she nonetheless bristled. “You like what you like, I like what I like!” She could not keep the ice out her voice no matter how hard she tried.
Patrick had never married. She'd thought it odd at first. Most people their age were married, or had been married. Not him, though; and not her, either - but, then again, she knew she was not like everyone else; marriage was not for her. She once told herself she would never stoop to say the words, “ To honor and obey...” particularly the “obey” part; that was definitively not for her. It was one of the first things she'd told Patrick about herself.
He just shook his head. “ You once said you’ve never been in love, and I believe that now,” he'd said; “There's only been you. You wait – when you do, finally, fall in love, it will change everything and you’ll forget all about that crap.”
She had again bristled. She knew it was true, but she'd bristled.
There had been one other, though, she reminded herself thinking she had at least some experience in the matter – something that Patrick incessantly inferred that she did not. Anyway, she liked to think there might have been something to it - but in the end, he had preferred someone else. He would otherwise have been nearly perfect. His name slipped out of her mind… God how she hated that! It made her worry that she might be losing her edge if not her mind. She remembered the essentials if not his name: not a bad looking man, dark eyes, good build, and tall for an Asian. He was a linguist studying at the School of Fine Arts up at Harvard. He was fully versed in ten languages, all of the base European, and many Asian. With all that command of language, you would have thought he would have a lot to say but the truth was he rarely spoke, which made him just about perfect. He was one of the quietest men she had ever met – a rare find. They had met at a party and they had – or, rather, she had - talked all evening, she winding up the evening with a full revelation of her love for differential equations and he smiling politely all the while. She dreamed about him for a while, the mere thought of him like a pulse of warmth inside her. She imagined she was in love; she was a woman, he was a man; it was natural she should feel something like that toward someone who was obviously so compatible. It was biological, an involuntary impulse, like blushing; something inherited from the animal kingdom, she knew.
The woman he ultimately ended up with was a friend of hers, one of the few women who, like Ashleigh, graduated with a PhD from the Hopkins School of Engineering that same year. He preferred female Engineers, it seemed.
“What about you?” she asked Patrick, unable to remove the sarcasm from her voice, instantly frustrated by her inability to control even that. But
“It is.”
She smiled and felt a rush of satisfaction, but said, “I'm afraid I won't be joining you. I think that stuff is disgusting!” Of course, she had already told him she didn't drink: not beer, not wine, no liquor of any kind, not even coffee.
“So I suppose you're into drugs instead?” Patrick had asked, teasing her.
He was often teasing. It bothered her. Sometimes she didn't know when he was teasing or not. “No , I do not!” she'd snapped back but then quickly realized she had over reacted, but still didn't apologize. He often caught her off guard like that. He may not have had her snappish reply coming, but he was playing with her and so deserved it. She would have to watch it, though. She did not wish to be caught off guard like that again. At the time, she'd offered, as a way to soften the moment, “I like water, and sometimes skim milk, and, of course, soda - Doctor Pepper is my favorite.”
When hearing this he had laughed aloud, “Oh well, that explains everything!”
“What does ?!”
“Your taste buds stopped growing sometime after you reached twelve!”
She could tell he was joking but she nonetheless bristled. “You like what you like, I like what I like!” She could not keep the ice out her voice no matter how hard she tried.
Patrick had never married. She'd thought it odd at first. Most people their age were married, or had been married. Not him, though; and not her, either - but, then again, she knew she was not like everyone else; marriage was not for her. She once told herself she would never stoop to say the words, “ To honor and obey...” particularly the “obey” part; that was definitively not for her. It was one of the first things she'd told Patrick about herself.
He just shook his head. “ You once said you’ve never been in love, and I believe that now,” he'd said; “There's only been you. You wait – when you do, finally, fall in love, it will change everything and you’ll forget all about that crap.”
She had again bristled. She knew it was true, but she'd bristled.
There had been one other, though, she reminded herself thinking she had at least some experience in the matter – something that Patrick incessantly inferred that she did not. Anyway, she liked to think there might have been something to it - but in the end, he had preferred someone else. He would otherwise have been nearly perfect. His name slipped out of her mind… God how she hated that! It made her worry that she might be losing her edge if not her mind. She remembered the essentials if not his name: not a bad looking man, dark eyes, good build, and tall for an Asian. He was a linguist studying at the School of Fine Arts up at Harvard. He was fully versed in ten languages, all of the base European, and many Asian. With all that command of language, you would have thought he would have a lot to say but the truth was he rarely spoke, which made him just about perfect. He was one of the quietest men she had ever met – a rare find. They had met at a party and they had – or, rather, she had - talked all evening, she winding up the evening with a full revelation of her love for differential equations and he smiling politely all the while. She dreamed about him for a while, the mere thought of him like a pulse of warmth inside her. She imagined she was in love; she was a woman, he was a man; it was natural she should feel something like that toward someone who was obviously so compatible. It was biological, an involuntary impulse, like blushing; something inherited from the animal kingdom, she knew.
The woman he ultimately ended up with was a friend of hers, one of the few women who, like Ashleigh, graduated with a PhD from the Hopkins School of Engineering that same year. He preferred female Engineers, it seemed.
“What about you?” she asked Patrick, unable to remove the sarcasm from her voice, instantly frustrated by her inability to control even that. But
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