NINETEEN
Interpersonal Relationships
TODAY’S THE DAY I don’t get a job.
Nora checked her hair in the mirror once more, smoothing down the curls trying to escape from the side braid she’d managed. She glanced down at her outfit, doubting it would impress the business she was applying to, and then shrugged.
Oh well.
Today would be busy. First, Dr. Murray wanted to interview her, and then she had a rejection to look forward to.
The house was quiet. Ryan was still asleep in her bed, and Apollo had left early. She was pretty sure Matisse wasn’t back from his night out. Creeping down the hall, she saw his door was open, while Cai and Seok’s doors were closed. He definitely wasn’t home yet.
She scribbled a quick note and left. The air had turned from brisk to frigid overnight. Blades of brown grass were frozen stiffly, their tips white, and in the cold air, she could see her breath.
The streets were busy, crowded with students who verged on being late for eight a.m. classes. Feet had been shoved into boots, and pajama bottoms dragged along the wet sidewalks. The girls she passed wore their hair in messy buns, and the boys looked bleary and scruffy. Traffic was heavy, but for all the sounds of cars and trucks, people were quiet. As she stood at the crosswalk, surrounded by a dozen other silent and sleepy students, she thought about how apart she felt from them. The chime alerted them to cross, and she followed everyone.
Even with the guys, she was alone. They had a bond, a relationship built over years which left them more like family than friends. Never had she been as aware of their closeness as when they’d banded together over Beau. She hadn’t stood a chance against the five of them.
A student hurrying by her smacked into her shoulder, shoving her into a puddle. Suddenly, she realized she’d walked past her destination. Somehow she’d managed to bypass Converse Hall. Sighing, she turned around but stumbled to a stop when she saw a familiar dark head in a parking lot.
Matisse!
She started toward him, pausing when she saw him wrap his arms around another person. She hadn’t noticed anyone with him at first, but now, as the crowd seemed to clear a path just to improve her view, she saw a group of people. All of them straddling, or standing next to, motorcycles. Except for Matisse, he was slightly apart, holding a woman who fit neatly beneath his chin. From this distance, she couldn’t hear them, but she could see the way he stared into her face and his hands moved across her back.
The intensity he usually focused on Nora was focused on this woman, and it left her feeling intrusive, like she was seeing something he’d never meant for her to see.
Do I stay, or do I go? Part of her wanted to stride forward and force an introduction, but another part of her wanted to fade back into the crowd. A chime from her phone decided it for her.
Where are you?
Dr. Murray.
On my way, she typed quickly. She spared one more glance at Matisse before turning on her heel and run-walking to Converse. Straggling students hurried up the stairs, not bothering to hold the door for the person behind them. Nora barely escaped having her fingertips amputated as she caught the open door to squeeze past it. Inside, the building was as cold as outside.
“Nora!”
Her head jerked in the direction of the voice. Nil Gundersson, a colleague of Dr. Murray’s, waved at her. Only once had she met Nils, and his presence now made her stomach clench nervously.
At her first meeting with Dr. Murray, he’d introduced her to three of his colleagues. Jessica Chase was a medical doctor, while Grant Peretti and Nils Gundersson had some connection to the Department of Defense as well as positions at other universities. As he’d explained it, they had areas of expertise he didn’t, and so he relied on them to conduct interviews or finish testing.
When she’d first signed on for this study, she was given a list of “harms” she could suffer as a result of her participation. The list, which included things like post-traumatic stress, sleeplessness, and anxiety, was pretty damn accurate in her opinion.
Nils Gundersson was an unknown. Her only experience with him was on her very first days of the study when they were collecting baseline data about her stress responses.
The professor and his colleagues were different in interviews and testing. They pushed and prodded, scraping at old wounds until they bled again.
“Hi,” she greeted, approaching Nils warily.
“You’re working with me today.” He gestured toward the doors, and she followed him. Instead of going to the labs in the basement, he climbed the steps. “We’ll be in Daniel’s office. He has some students in the labs right now while the others are being renovated. Finally.”
While she followed him, she racked her brains. What area was Nils expertise? Something about society? As soon as she thought she’d caught hold of it, it escaped her.
The office, when Nils opened the door, was dark. Even with the blinds open, the light was dim and grey. Outside, the clouds hung heavy, but the air had been too dry for rain.
“I think it will snow,” he mused.
“I think you’re right.” Turning away from the window, she waited for him to direct her.
“Sit anywhere you like.” He gestured to the chairs facing Dr. Murray’s desk, and she took the one closest to the door and angled toward the window. “So, Nora.” His body blocked the window until he sat in the chair next to her. “Today we are talking about your relationship.”
A bitter taste filled her mouth, and she swallowed hard, pressing her hand against her stomach. She’d known this was coming; Jessica had hinted at it.
“This is confidential.” While he reiterated what her contract stated, it did little to reassure her. “You’re only identified as a subject with a letter. No one outside of the study authors will know your true identity.”
“My…” This was the first time she had to refer to them as something, and she floundered, unsure. “Boyfriends.” She finally decided. “They need to remain anonymous as well. They made no agreement to have their personal lives shared with the world. What steps are in place to protect them?”
Nils leaned back in the chair, long, booted legs splaying in a way reminiscent of Matisse and his forced calm. “You are worried this could impact them negatively?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“Vermont is a small state.”
Waving his hand in the air, he interrupted her. “This is always an excuse I hear.”
“It’s not an excuse; it’s the way it works. Someone knows someone who happens to read your published study, and they put together the pieces and then share it with everyone they know.”
“What are you worried about?”
“They could be fired or not get jobs they want or people could be mean to them.”
He barked a laugh. “I apologize. ‘Be mean to them.’ Continue.”
Her mouth shut with a snap.
“This is a temporary arrangement then?”
So far, none of his questions felt as though they posed a danger to the guys. She worried he’d ask her their names or professions or to describe them in detail somehow. Though she didn’t like answering questions about her personal life, he’d asked nothing she could outright refuse to answer.
“It’s not.”
Now he leaned forward, fingers entwining. His light blue eyes narrowed in interest. “Explain.”
“For me,” she answered. “It’s not a temporary arrangement for me. I love them. All of them. They’re it for me.”
“You believe it’s possible for you to have a relationship, a polyamorous relationship, long-term?”
“Yes.”
His boots hit the ground with a thud as he swept a file off Dr. Murray’s desk, examining its contents before speaking. “The success rate of polyamorous relationships is poor. It’s a ‘grass is always greener’ thing. Why stay with one partner when there could be someone better on the horizon? Not to mention partners often feel they have no option but to agree to a relationship with multiple people. Did all of you want to be in a polyamorous relationship, or did one of you balk at the idea?”
Apollo’s face flashed in her mind. He wanted her alone and struggled with feelings of jealousy. If he had his choice, Nora believed he would choose to be in a relationship with only her.
“Is one of you consenting to this relationship under duress?”
Had she forced Apollo into this? Had the others? Did he feel like it was this or nothing? What sort of conversation had the guys had with him before they presented the idea to her?
“Nora?”
She’d forgotten about Nils. “No.” She hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“It is possible one of you would choose not to be in this relationship?”
She didn’t know. She honestly didn’t know. “I can’t answer. I don’t know how they feel.”
“Interesting. Yet you believe you can make this a long-term relationship? A lasting relationship?” He opened her file. “You wrote about wanting children one day. You don’t know if all of your partners are in this relationship willingly, but you want to have children with them.”
The way he said it seemed hopelessly naive and downright stupid.
“Are you aware of the extra stress polyamory causes? It’s been attributed to severe drops in self-esteem. Individuals end up feeling undeserving, self-conscious, and paranoid.”
“Excuse me.” She was going to be sick. Not waiting for his permission, Nora dashed out of the office, running down the hallway to the student bathroom. She slammed the door shut, locking it, and threw up. With each heave, her mind screamed Nils’ description.
Undeserving. She knew she didn’t merit the attention of the guys.
Self- conscious. Was she enough to keep them?
Paranoid. She was waiting for one of them to leave.
Everything he’d listed, she felt, and if she felt it, it was likely the guys did as well. After she flushed the toilet, she sat against the cold tile and rested her head against the stall. God, she didn’t want to go back in there, but she also didn’t want to hide in the bathroom.
Standing up, she took a moment to steady herself. I can do this. I got this. Leaving the stall, she washed her hands and took a moment to stare at her reflection. I can do this.
“Are you all right?” Nils asked, putting his phone away when she walked in. “I was afraid I’d have to come find you.”
“Fine.” Clasping her hands together, she lifted her eyebrows. “Okay, keep going.”
Running his fingers through the strands of his long, blonde hair, he sat as well. His hair was tied back in an elastic band, and he took it out, gathering it into a ponytail at the back of his head and wrapping the band around it again. “Okay.”
There was a pause as he thumbed through pages, and she prepared herself for his questions. “Are you intimate with one partner at a time or multiple partners? Are they intimate with each other?”
A trickle of sweat ran down her neck, and she fought not to bolt again. Her face was hot, and she was sure she was blushing like crazy. “One at a time.” Though she would admit the thought of being intimate with more than one did have its appeal, she wasn’t there yet. “No. As far as I know, they’re not intimate with each other.”
“Not something you’ve discussed?”
“We will if we need to.”
“Do any of you have STDs?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Kids.” Scoffing, he leaned against the desk. “Are you telling me, in this day and age, you haven’t had a discussion about diseases and whether you’ve been tested before being sexually active?”
“I was a virgin.”
“You’re sharing five partners.”
“I—”
“What kind of discussions do you have with your partners?”
“We talk about a lot of things.” For the life of her, all she could think about was the mocking tone in Nils’ voice and the sense of being exceptionally stupid.
Papers rustled as he dug through the file. “Great. I have an Interpersonal Communication Test; this will give me a sense of how you communicate with your partners.”
He gave her a quick rating system, from completely true to completely false, and asked her to rate statements. It was very similar to other tests Dr. Murray had given her, except this one questioned her ability to read body language and nonverbal signals, like facial expressions.
You feel comfortable interrupting someone when you don’t agree with their point of view.
You feel comfortable disagreeing with a person in power.
You find it easy to take another’s point of view.
She answered the questions honestly, watching Nils shake his head at her answers. Wasn’t he supposed to be unbiased? Should he be giving her feedback while she answered? She wasn’t a doctor, but she didn’t see how the way she answered the questions was wrong.
“Interesting.”
It was such a typical psychiatrist answer, she smothered a chuckle. A moment later though, she didn’t want to laugh at all.
“You’ve scored high on the Insightfulness subcategory, which speaks to your empathy for and understanding of others but quite low on the Listening portion. Do you often find your partners have to repeat what they’ve said to you in different ways in order for you to understand them?”
Unwillingly, she thought about how she’d misinterpreted Ryan’s words to mean he was breaking up with her. How many different ways had he told her he loved her? Yet she was still unsettled and nervous. Was it because she wasn’t listening?
“Communication is the determining factor in a relationship like yours. In your answers to your relationship questionnaire, you’ve stated you hope this to be a lasting, long-term relationship. Professionally speaking, your answers on the Interpersonal Communication Test don’t bode well for its success.”
I will not throw up again. I will not throw up again.
As she searched for the right words, Nils stood, effectively cutting off any reply she might formulate. “Thank you for your time today, Nora. You’ve given me some great information. Your relationship is fascinating, very unlike what I expected given your scores on the Intelligence Quotient.”
He opened the door and smiled. She understood she was dismissed and gathered her things, hurrying to the door. “Okay.”
“I forgot that we will have one more meeting, the two of us, and then, most likely, I won’t speak to you again until after your relationship ends.”
The way he said it, matter-of-factly, was insulting. He was baiting her, waiting for her to either argue with him or break down like she did earlier. The truth was, he’d given her a lot to think about, but she didn’t believe her answers on the test were the death knell for her relationship. She could change—be a better listener, ask more questions. Scared as his predictions made her, the fate of her relationship wouldn’t be decided by a test; she and her guys would decide it.
“Then I guess we’ll only meet once more,” she heard herself say. “Goodbye, Mr. Gunderson.” She had one brief, satisfying moment of seeing his surprise before the door closed. Then she was alone again, standing in the hall, her mind swirling with questions, resolutions, and doubt.