The word for wanting
It’s their third library session. The table’s starting to feel like neutral ground—like a country between them where nobody talks about what happened in the before times.
Jackie’s early again. She’s got her notebook open, but she hasn’t written anything.
Her copy of Eros the Bittersweet is hidden inside Great Gatsby like it’s contraband. She keeps peeking down at it, trying to find a line that won’t sound so desperate .
It’s not going well.
Shauna arrives with windblown hair and a thermos that smells like cinnamon. She doesn’t say hello, just flips open her folder and starts outlining points about the green light and American exceptionalism.
Jackie listens with half an ear. The rest of her is trying to time this perfectly.
Shauna says, “I think Gatsby’s more obsessed with the idea of Daisy than Daisy herself.”
Jackie nods. “Like… Eros.”
Shauna pauses. Looks up. “What?”
“Like Eros,” Jackie repeats, suddenly unsure. “The—uh. Greek thing. From mythology or whatever.”
Shauna squints, amused. “Have you seen my copy of Eros the Bittersweet?”
Jackie’s neck heats. “I might be.”
Shauna tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “You’ve read Anne Carson?”
“I skimmed,” Jackie says, trying to sound breezy. “It’s, like, poetic. Or confusing. Or both. She said something about wanting and… triangles?”
Shauna laughs—soft, involuntary. “Yeah, that’s one way to describe it.”
Jackie crosses her arms. “What, you think I didn’t get it?”
Shauna shrugs. “I think maybe you felt it more than you understood it.”
Jackie opens her mouth to snap back. But nothing comes out.
So she closes it again.
They go quiet for a beat.
Then Shauna, flipping a page, says, almost kindly, “There’s this part where she talks about how wanting something means never really having it. That it’s the distance that makes you feel alive.”
Jackie taps her pen against her palm. “Sounds exhausting.”
Shauna looks up. “It is.”
Jackie swallows.
They go back to their work, but Jackie doesn’t take her eyes off Shauna for a long time.
She doesn’t say it, but she thinks: Then why does it still feel better than nothing at all?