The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. by Adelle Waldman

colder and more connoisseur-like in their attitudes toward women’s appearances, as if the tenderer feelings that had animated the crushes of their younger years had been spent. What emerged in their place was the cool eye of the seasoned appraiser, who above all knows how to calculate the market rate.
    Physical attraction had driven him straight into the beds of Elisa and Juliet. This was not exactly a proof of its wisdom. With Kristen, on the other hand, there had been a brief window, before they’d spoken, when he thought she was a bit plain, slightly rabbity and prudish-looking. Later, when Kristen was achingly beautiful to him, his harsh initial assessment became hard for him to believe.
    The problem, he realized, wasn’t Hannah’s looks.
    Nate wandered back to the window, pulling up blinds all the way and squinting at the milky white sky. The problem was thathe was not particularly interested in the kind of relationship he’d had with Kristen.
    He thought of Juliet, the look on her face the other day right before she turned away from him. Then, later, Elisa. Jesus. When the others had left, she’d tried to kiss him. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, for either of us,” he’d said, disentangling himself. She was upset, whether embarrassed or angry, he didn’t know. He was both. He couldn’t believe she was going to put them through this again . While she cried and dredged up old grievances Nate thought had been put to rest, he downed the rest of the wine and then started in on a bottle of vodka he’d bought her ages ago and found still lying on its side in the back of her freezer. An hour later, she was still going. He was by then so angry he was tempted to fuck her—just to shut her up. But he didn’t. He had done his share to create this situation, and he knew it. After a while, they both calmed down, and he coaxed her into her bed. “Just so you know, it wasn’t about sex,” she said from under the covers. He was leaning on her bedroom door, about to slip out. “I just wanted to be held,” she said. “I wanted, for a little while, not to feel alone. You know?” “I know,” he said. As he picked up his messenger bag and closed the door to her apartment, he too wanted to cry.
    Contrary to what these women seemed to think, he was not indifferent to their unhappiness. And yet he seemed, in spite of himself, to provoke it.
    When he was twenty-five, everywhere he turned he saw a woman who already had, or else didn’t want, a boyfriend. Some were taking breaks from men to give women or celibacy a try. Others were busy applying to grad school, or planning yearlong trips to Indian ashrams, or touring the country with their all-girl rock bands. The ones who had boyfriends were careless about the relationships and seemed to cheat frequently (which occasionally worked in his favor). But in his thirties everything was different. The world seemed populated, to an alarming degree, by women whose careers, whether soaring or sputtering along, no longer pre-occupiedthem. No matter what they claimed, they seemed, in practice, to care about little except relationships.
    The sun had come out from behind the clouds. A bead of sweat rolled down Nate’s neck and was absorbed into the limp fabric of his undershirt. As he pulled off the T-shirt and tossed it to the ground, it occurred to him that maybe Hannah just wanted to be friends. Maybe he was being presumptuous?
    He returned to his computer and tapped on the spacebar. When the screen came to life, he skimmed Hannah’s e-mails again. Dickens this, child labor that. Even if she weren’t offering outright to suck his cock, she was, in a sense, doing just that. It was in her careful, deliberate friendliness even as she disagreed, in the sheer length of her initial note. These e-mails were invitations for him to ask her out. If he went along, sooner or later his dick would wind up in her mouth.
    To Nate’s surprise, the thought of Hannah going down on him caused