“Okay, so why not?”
After a beat of heavy silence and empty air, Ethan raised his hand. “Occupational hazard.”
The room tittered, and Naomi rolled her shoulders away from her ears, a little lighter. Even if it was a reminder about why he was off-limits, it was also a reminder she wasn’t in this alone.
Naomi locked eyes with a pretty blonde wearing a denim jacket, the collar tagged with an enamel pin that readFeminist Killjoy. “How about you?”
The girl looked mildly harassed. “Men are pigs?”
The woman next to her offered a commiserating nod, and afterward the blonde sat a little straighter in her chair.
“Not just men, unfortunately.” Naomi had earned her share of disappointment from across the gender spectrum. “What else?”
A hand went up toward the back. “Dating apps suck. Everyone’s constantly swiping for upgrades.”
“Ah yes, it’s easy to gorge yourself at the digital dating buffet. We’ve gamified our mating rituals.” She scanned the room. “Good. Who’s next?”
Slowly, and then all at once, more and more people volunteered answers, until the conference room was littered with the woes of modern dating. Los Angeles was vapid. All the good ones were taken. Dating was expensive. Dating was exhausting. Half the people on the market only wanted to hook up. And the sex was terrible. She made a mental note to hand that last woman a Shameless business card. The list went on and on. Together they were exorcising dating demons, and the room was getting looser with each confession.
Naomi had her work cut out for her. Seven weeks of lectures might not be enough. These people were tired of suffering in silence. They were here because they wanted a public pyre for their grievances.
“All right.” She called for attention, bringing the room back from the side conversations of commiseration they’d descended into. “Before we go any further, I want you to give yourself permission to fail.” As the words left her mouth, they stirred up Naomi’s own insecurities and mistakes.
She wasn’t a fraud, exactly, acting as an authority on this quicksand-filled subject. She’d worked hard to gain credibility in the space of emotional and physical intimacy. Her entire career was based on understanding the intersections. But writing the syllabus for a healthy relationship was one thing. Following it was another story entirely.
“Love or intimacy, together or separate, I can’t guarantee you’ll find them as a result of this seminar. I can’t even promise you’ll ever find someone—or multiple people, if that’s your thing—who can tolerate you, even most of the time. Compatibility, trust, sex, none of the stuff we’ll talk about in this seminar is scientific.”
Naomi’s eyes found Ethan. He sat straight in his chair, legs spread, hands linked in his lap. She didn’t have time to worry about whether her style of lecture met his approval. The only thing she knew how to trust was her own instincts. An unreliable north star, perhaps, but the one available at the moment. “Maybe that’s why intimacy pairs so well with religion. The best we can do is show up and try to be worthy.”
A woman with dark braids raised her hand.
“Yeah?” Naomi placed both hands on the lectern, a little dazed.
“So what I’m hearing you say is that the dating equivalent of ‘dress for the job you want’ is ‘dress for the dick of your dreams’?”
Naomi let out a sharp, grateful laugh. And just like that, she knew she could do this. “I mean, if you’re fishing for dick, sure. But keep in mind that it’s not in short supply.” She picked up a whiteboard marker and scrawled out a sentence.If you don’t know what you want, you shouldn’t be dating.
“You can thank my therapist for that one—it’s a direct quote.”
The room relaxed a few degrees further. Clara had been right. She couldn’t effectively discuss vulnerability without showing these strangers her soft underbelly.
“Now, that advice may sound harsh. I’m sure some of you are saying to yourselves, ‘Isn’t dating how I figure out what I like?’ and you’re right. It is. But your efforts will go further faster if you first do the work of asking yourself, and being honest about, what you’re prepared to give and receive in a relationship with another person.”
The familiar sensation of performance settled over her, and suddenly, speaking felt like running downhill.
“We all want and need different things. Despite what the Hallmark Channel might tell you, not everyone’s happily-ever-after involves settling down in a small town. We don’t all want commitment. We don’t all want sex. And we certainly don’t always want them in the same serving sizes. That’s okay. Good, even. There aren’t wrong answers to the question ‘What are you looking for?’ But there are infinite lies and only one truth.”
She lowered her voice from lecture to conversation. She moved out from behind the lectern, stole one of the chairs from the front row, and made herself comfortable in it.
“You have to know your own tendencies. What kind of traps do you tend to fall into, not just romantically, but in any relationship?”
She swallowed once.
“I, for example, consistently fall for people I know I can’t have, as a way of avoiding opening myself up to love.”
As if on cue, Ethan’s head shot up from where he’d been bent over his notes.
Naomi took a deep breath. “Unfortunately,” she said, holding his gaze, “knowing your weaknesses doesn’t make you immune.”