If this is all it takes to make her so happy, then I’m taking her to an art gallery every day.
The exhibit is called Zodiactive and is laid out in a large circle. All throughout the gallery, tiny light bulbs of various brightness are arranged, in a manner that looks completely random and discombobulated to me, but that I know from the gallery’s website is designed to mimic the constellations visible from Los Angeles at this time of year. The bulbs are strung up high, but also line the walls, creating the dazzling effect of being surrounded by stars. Gauzy strips of fabric in deep lavenders and pinks hang from the ceiling, wafting with the movement of the guests, the ephemeral panels representing nebulas and gas clouds. And punctuating the gallery space at regular intervals are huge, magnificent paintings, each one representing a sign of the zodiac, with more light bulbs studding the canvas to show where the actual stars are in each constellation.
The artist in me appreciates the effect of the light and the color and the spacey music, but the Logan in me, who doesn’t know shit about the zodiac or the constellations they come from, is deeply bored. So instead, I turn all of my attention to Devi, watching her eager eyes drink everything in, watching the way her lips move as she murmurs quiet things to herself that I can’t quite catch. We make our way around the circle, stopping every three feet for Devi to examine the light bulbs and declare which constellations they are supposed to be, and once for me to grab a couple cups of free wine.
At one point, she stops and slowly spins around, as if lost. “It’s like being in the sky,” she tells me with excitement in her voice. “It’s easy to forget that the sky isn’t flat, that the stars are actually light years apart. But it doesn’t feel cold or distant at all when rendered this way. It feels intimate.”
I lift my hand and gently sweep some hair out of her eyes. She pauses and looks at me, our eyes meeting, and it’s as if every atom in my body is thrumming with electricity. There’s something about her, some indefinable thing, that supersedes her lovely face and sexy-as-hell body and even her top-notch brain. It’s strange, because even at the height of my relationship with Raven, I could list logically all the reasons I enjoyed being with her—namely sex and shared interests—and loving her was more of a sustained choice than a feeling. But with Devi, it’s more than a choice or a feeling—it’s fact, just as much a universal fact as gravity, or the speed of light.
Because with Devi, it’s different. It’s like there’s something beyond the quantifiable, easy-to-name reasons she affects me. My pull to her is something above the sexual, above the intellectual, and maybe even above the emotional, and all of a sudden, I feel myself at the edge of a vast abyss. My stomach drops as I continue looking into those dark gold eyes, because what I feel for Devi is a thousand times stronger than anything I’ve ever felt, even after three years with Raven, and I’m scared. I’m scared by the intensity of my own feelings, and I’m scared that she doesn’t feel the same way. I’m scared that this speed of light feeling is going to blast a hole right through me, and I’ll be left gutted in a way that Raven never could have gutted me.
It’s this fear that makes me swallow and look away. “Do you want more wine?” I ask Devi, even though I know she’s barely touched the wine she already has.
“No, I’m good.” She puts a hand on my wrist. “Logan, this is more than I could have ever expected. This is the best fake date I’ve ever been on.”
Her words prick into me like needles.
Fake date.
Right. Because now we’re on location. But then why can’t it also be real? Why can’t something be real and planned? Real and recorded? Why can’t it be both?
I can’t help myself, I say the words pressing against the inside of my lips begging to be let out. “It’s not a fake date, Devi. Yes, we’re recording what happens later, but it’s real.” I plead with her with my eyes. “I want us...I mean—I want there to be an us. I want to take you on actual dates. I want this to be a real date.”