“I found out more about what you do for a living,” Cortland added. Rachel says you're kind of like a Mother Theresa. I think her exact words were, “Who else would want to teach English to a bunch of immigrants?'”
“That oozes with pride. She makes me sound like a volunteer who's taken in stray cats. She wouldn't be the first person who doesn't see immigrants as flesh and blood feeling humans. They aren't a charity case.”
“I never said they were. Panchal is one of my dear friends. He had nothing but great things to say about you.”
“Is there anyone you don't know?”
“My father used to say there are two types of people. Those who know many people a little bit and those who know a few people very well. I guess I fall into the first, but would prefer the second.”
“More intimate connections.”
He pulled me in closer to him. “Exactly. It's the few people that mean the most that should matter. I get the feeling you're the second type.”
“Bingo. Only I do know a lot of immigrants.”
“And one immigrant very well.”
“Da Vinci?”
“Are you two dating?”
“Dating da Vinci? That would be an odd match.” Cortland couldn't have been more direct and I couldn't truthfully answer yes or no, because we were somewhere in the middle.
“Really? Well, you know what they say about opposites attracting. And I see the way he looks at you.”
I wanted to change the subject. “Did my sister mention I'm getting a PhD in linguistics?”
“Wow. She left that part out. Probably so as not to make me feel dumb. I might start watching every word I say because you might dissect it later.”
“Root. Origin. Meaning. Subtext.”
“No wonder you knew the meaning of Leibe's name. Then there's the whole body language thing, too. Do you know much about that?”
I could talk on it all evening, but I couldn't share that I had been watching couples everywhere I went for the signals of love through body language. I couldn't tell him that he had shown signs of flirting with me when I first met him and that he exhibited “excuse touching,” the next stage in the tactile messages of attraction. He had touched my arm when we talked and had grabbed my hand to lead me on to the dance floor. He might get the wrong idea. Some people were just more touchy-feely than others. It probably came with his profession, and only someone deficient in touch as I had been the last two years would read so much into it. Cortland obviously paid attention to whatever was happening between da Vinci and me. “Actually my dissertation is on the language of love. Even Rachel doesn't know that.”
“I'd love to read it,” he said.
“Fascinated with language, are you?”
“You know how we men of science are. We like to prove everything,” he said. “Love is the great enigma of the universe. The chemistry, biology, pheromones, hormones and the mystery in falling in love. How can that not be fascinating?”
I began to feel flustered with all the talk of pheromones and chemistry mixed with the smell of his cologne and the vodka coursing through my blood, and nearing that time of night where Joel normally told me he would take me for his wife all over again, and then take me literally.
Fortunately, the song was over and as I headed to get my purse and my inebriated best friend, I noticed da Vinci out of the corner of my eye and when I turned to him, he crossed his arms, his body language clearly angry and jerked the kitchen door open and slipped inside.
Chapter 7
Greek to Me: Ancient Love
The language of love took written form thousands of years ago, with great philosophers like Plato and Aristotle tackling the meaning, seeking truth by Eros.
Eros (éros) is passionate love, with sensual desire and longing. The modern Greek word “eratos” means “romantic love.”
Plato believed eros helps the soul recall knowledge of beauty and contributes to an understanding of spiritual truth.
“ARE YOU DONE YET?” da Vinci stood over my shoulder, looking down at my laptop. Nothing like a hot Italian to make me forget about my Greek. Of this I was sure: Plato got it right. Love is the Highest Good. Provides the ultimate meaning found in human beings. And I was so sure I'd never experience eratos again that the very thought of romance felt Greek to me.
Which made the fact that da Vinci wanted my attention all the more mesmerizing. Being interrupted meant there was someone to interrupt me, and it wasn't to find his missing sneaker or fetch him a snack.
“No. I probably won't be done for weeks.”
“That won't do,” da Vinci said, taking my hand and pulling me out of my seat. “Do you see outside?”
I surveyed the back yard, where the crisp orange leaves had nearly all fallen to the ground. “Time to rake.”
Da Vinci shook his head. “No. We do this.” He handed me a flyer that he got who knows where. I knew he couldn't read it all, probably the sight words, but his comprehension was aided by the photos of couples drinking wine at a festival. “Eat. Drink.”
“Be merry?” The wine festival was at least an hour into the country at a local vineyard that had gotten a lot of press. Joel and I had talked about going to a wine festival for years, but they seemed to always conflict with college football Saturdays, and in fact, so did this one. Bradley was on the couch now, watching the Longhorns play the Sooners in Dallas for their annual Big River rivalry. Bradley was decked out in his burnt-orange football jersey that Joel had given him for his birthday. It was too snug on him now and I'd offered to buy him a new one, but that wasn't the point. He liked it because his father gave it to him, and seeing how much he'd grown was a painful reminder of how quickly things change. The boys were growing every day, while for the longest time, I felt I'd been shrinking. But today seemed like a gorgeous day to grow. Only I couldn't possibly just leave for the day with da Vinci.
William grabbed the flyer from my hands. “Cool. I think you guys should go. I'll rake the leaves, Mom.”
I shook my head. “You'll what? Are you feeling okay? You've never offered to do the chores before.”
“It's fine. You two go and have a great time and when you get back, we'll make chili for dinner. I found Dad's recipe, and da Vinci has never eaten chili before. Especially good Texas chili.”
Da Vinci nodded enthusiastically. Were the two of them in on this together? “But we're supposed to play Scrabble,” I told him. “You've been waiting all week.”
William pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and shrugged. “The sunny day won't last forever and Scrabble will. We'll play tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” I could feel the guilt of spending a day with da Vinci in the sun melt away with each reassuring word from my son. “What about you, Bradley?”
“Whatever,” Bradley said, which was his way of giving permission.
An hour later, the boys were back home with a neighborhood sitter while we were out in the country, which felt the same as being on another planet. The change in da Vinci was perceptible; he was more at ease in the country, as if we were closer to his homeland. Even though we were in the middle of nowhere, we were surrounded by food vendors and throngs of people who had done just as we had and gotten away from it all.
Da Vinci took my hand as we made our way through the crowd to the wine tables where we could sample a dozen wines, and I was surprised at how comfortable his hand felt in mine. We took our first glass of wine-a white, sweet varietal-and plopped down right in the middle of two dozen blankets around us, filled by couples and even young families. I wondered if we should've brought the boys, but I knew Bradley would've complained about missing the game and I would have to be the mom instead of what, da Vinci's date?