When she got well, Katie decided to try something different. On Friday night, she came downstairs skirted and perfumed, looking like a new person.
“I have a date,” she announced.
“I guessed,” said Jill.
“You always have a date,” I said.
“This one is different,” said Katie. “He’s a graduate student. History. He got his M.A. at Oregon but came here for the Ph.D. I met him at the infirmary actually. He sprained his foot playing soccer. I love soccer players. I think he will be pleasantly surprised to see how cute I am since last time he saw me I was completely exhausted and dehydrated.”
“You met him in the infirmary?” I was blown away. “He’s been here all this time? A Mormon historian Ph.D candidate? How did you not meet him in church?”
“It’s like a miracle,” said Jill. “What’s his name?”
“Ethan,” said Katie, hesitant somehow, like she wasn’t sure what his name was. “But here’s the thing: he’s not Mormon.”
“You’re dating someone who’s not Mormon?” Jill asked slowly.
“I am not dating him. I am going on a date with him.”
“Why?” I finally managed.
“What do you mean, why?”
“Is he religious? Is he a very devout and flexible Christian of some other kind?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” she said, annoyed. “I think you’re putting the cart before the carrot or the carrot before the horse or whatever. It’s premature to worry about this. We haven’t even been out yet.”
We were all quiet for a minute. “Besides, if it gets serious, he can convert.”
Jill and I were still considering this, stunned, when the doorbell rang. In hobbled Ethan with a cane and a grin and a soft cast on his right foot. He smiled at Katie, then at Jill, and then at me and Atlas. “You must be Jill,” he said to me.
“Good guess, but actually I’m Janey,” I said and put out the hand that wasn’t under Atlas’s ass.
“Sorry,” said Ethan and then added to the baby, “Well, you must be Atlas.”
“Better guess,” said Jill and introduced herself as well.
Ethan took off his coat, sat right down on the sofa, and started talking shop. He wanted to know what classes we were taking and with what professors, what our specialties were, what we were teaching. He wanted to commiserate about having to teach required courses to unwilling students. He told a story about a kid in his History 101 class who’d shown up for the first time at the end of the second week of classes explaining that he hadn’t been there because he’d gotten back late from winter break.
“That happened to me too,” I said. “This kid came in at the end of week two and said he’d been working at a ski resort for January and wanted to stay for an extra couple weeks to earn some more money. He was really annoyed that this didn’t seem reasonable to me.”
“Parker Tamlin?” said Ethan.
“Yes!” I was totally amazed until I realized that it wasn’t even that much of a coincidence. Most first-year students are taking both English and History 101. Ethan glanced at the TV. “Who’s winning?” ESPN Classic was showing a Mariners/Yankees game from 2001. (By late February, I get so impatient for baseball I even watch reruns.)
“Mariners,” I said. “One nothing. Top of the eighth.”
“Enjoy it.” He snorted. “Won’t last.”
I eyed him with disdain. “You’re a Yankee fan?”
“God no,” said Ethan. “Mets.”
Katie smiled at me. Ethan smiled at Katie. She glowed back.
“You guys have fun,” said Jill. “Remember I have library time in the morning, and Janey has yoga, so you’re on Atlas duty.”
“I remember,” said Katie. “We won’t be that late.”
After they left, Jill and I deconstructed their relationship. They’d been dating for five minutes. It was time.
“He’s going to want to have sex with her,” said Jill.
“At the very least, he’s going to want to take her out for a beer,” I said.
“Maybe he won’t be as creeped out as we are when he orders beer and she orders ginger ale.” Katie has this way of making you feel like a degenerate for drinking anything that isn’t pale soda.
“Maybe he won’t mind not having sex. Maybe he’ll like her that much.”
“Religious conversion for someone seems kind of wrong,” said Jill.
“Maybe it can work,” I said. “If you’re convinced, if you believe.”
“Maybe,” said Jill, “but not because you fall in love with a girl and she’s a Mormon and won’t have sex with you unless you’re a Mormon too.”
“Love is transformative,” I said.
“But he’s fundamentally different from her. Religion’s not just about what you believe. It’s cultural. It’s like saying race is just about skin color.”
“They’ll share other values,” I said. “Education. Scholarship. Whatever.”
“You just like him because he’s a Mets fan, and he made you feel vindicated about Parker Tamlin.”
“Stupid Parker Tamlin,” I said. “Stupid Yankees.”
“Plus he’s a historian,” said Jill.
“True.” Jill and I share a distrust of history and people who study it. It wasn’t like dating a Republican, but it was still good to be alert.
“It would be fun to have a wedding,” she mused. “Put Atlas in a tiny tuxedo. Have a big shower for her. Sit around bridal stores while she tried on hundreds of huge white dresses.”
“I think you’re putting the cart before the carrot,” I said.
We were still up when Katie got home. Ethan walked her to the door but did not come in. We couldn’t tell if he kissed her or not. Katie came in, took off her coat and shoes, kissed an Atlas sleeping in Jill’s arms, and asked how our evening was.
“Who cares about our evening,” said Jill. “How was yours?”
“Mmm, nice.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know. He’s nice. Did you guys think he was nice?”
“We liked him a lot,” I offered.
“He seems great,” said Jill.
Silence. Nothing.
“What did you do?”
“We went out to dinner. To the Hopvine. And then for dessert at Victrola.”
Huge pause. Nothing forthcoming. This was highly irregular.
“And? Was it fun?”
“He had a beer,” Katie said slowly, and Jill and I exchanged glances. “I didn’t,” she added as if she needed to. “But he didn’t seem to care. He’s doing interesting work. With Professor Carlson. He’s nice and funny and cute.”
“But . . .” Jill prompted.
“But not Mormon.”
“Does it matter at this stage?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I tried to feel out what he might think of conversion.”
Jill shot straight up on the couch. “Are you mad?”
“I didn’t come right out and ask him. I just hinted around. He didn’t seem too open to the idea though. He said he believed in God but not religion. I don’t even know what that means.”
“It’s a little early,” I said gently.
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
“Will you?” asked Jill.
“We’re going to have lunch Wednesday. If you can stay an extra hour or so with Atlas,” she added in my direction.
“Yeah, of course,” I said, bewildered. How can you tell someone who doesn’t already know it that a first date is too early to ask someone to convert for you? On the other hand, for someone who knows already that this would be a deal breaker, maybe it isn’t too early to ask; maybe it’s the only possibility.