Clark logged out and turned off his computer, but he didn’t move from his seat. He replayed their conversation in his mind, smiling as he thought of her witty sparring; her absolute certainty that her interpretation of the book was correct.
But it was her confession about her need to get back to work that made his heart skip a beat. The idea that she was sitting at work reading his emails and composing replies – the ultimate workaholic only pretending to be working because she was as eager for his messages as he was for hers – made him want to burst with joy.
And then her final email — “You can tell me all about it later.” It was hardly a declaration of undying love, but something about the sweet, casual assumption that they would talk again soon, and not just talk but talk about mundane things like his students’ baseball game, warmed him in a way he couldn’t put into words.
The evening’s baseball game passed in a blur. And then the rest of the week ticked by uneventfully. He and Lois exchanged emails daily, discussing their favorite books amongst chitchat about their daily routines. But they hadn’t managed to time another exchange so they could go back and forth like they had on Monday, and by Friday, Clark was dreading going a whole weekend without hearing from her. It was amazing how quickly she had become a part of his daily routine.
When he returned home from work Friday, he went straight to his computer. Checking his email had become his first priority after work, and he no longer made any pretense that it wasn’t.
There were two emails from her waiting for him. The first had been sent that morning and contained a long diatribe about coworkers who drank the last of the coffee without brewing a fresh pot and a brief, vague response to his question about her weekend plans. He rolled his eyes, sure her terse reply about the weekend was a direct result of her lack of caffeine.
He was already smiling when he opened the next email.
From: Lois Lane [lane.lois@dailyplanet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: This weekend
Date: May 4, 1995, 5:06pm
I’m just waiting on my editor to send me back his notes on my story, so I can make my final edits, and then I’m leaving for the weekend. I won’t be in the office until Monday. So if you want to defend yourself against the accusation that your sci fi novels are just romance novels for men, you’re going to have to wait until Monday for my response. Unless you want to give me a call over the weekend so we can discuss. No pressure. I just wanted to give you the option since you seemed pretty upset about it yesterday. Your call, farm boy. I’ll be out Saturday evening, but the rest of my weekend is pretty open.
His heart leapt in his chest. Yes, yes, yes. He wanted to talk to her on the phone so badly. He glanced back over her email and felt a shot of hope as he realized it had only been sent mere minutes ago. He hit reply and typed quickly.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To Lois Lane [lane.lois@dailyplanet.com]
Subject: Re: This weekend
Date: May 4, 1995, 5:14 pm
Discussing this over the phone seems like a prudent move, because I have A LOT of feelings about this accusation. I’m going to be out of the house tomorrow until 4-5, but I can call when I get home unless your evening plans start early. Or I can call after dinner with my parents Sunday. I promised my dad I’d help with the planting during the day, but we’ll be done with dinner by 7, so around 8 your time. Is that too late?
He hit send and waited, hoping she was still sitting at her computer. He tapped a pencil mindlessly against the desk until the little voice told him he had mail, and he grinned triumphantly.
From: Lois Lane [lane.lois@dailyplanet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: This weekend
Date: May 4, 1995, 5:17pm
Let’s do Sunday. I honestly have no idea what time I’m going to go out Saturday. I want to go do a little undercover lurking at this club downtown, but I need to convince someone to go with me, or I’m going to be too obvious. I may or may not have gone undercover as a lounge singer there last year, and I may or may not be responsible for the old owner going to prison, so…if they look too closely, they are likely to recognize me, and I don’t need any drama. I just want to poke around and see who’s in charge now. Anyway, my schedule is going to be at the mercy of whoever I wrangle into going with me.
What are you doing Saturday that has you out of the house all day? Are you working with your dad all weekend?
He laughed softly at the picture that formed in his head of her as a lounge singer. And somehow he had a feeling that drama followed wherever she went. He hit reply and started typing.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To Lois Lane [lane.lois@dailyplanet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: This weekend
Date: May 4, 1995, 5:20 pm
Please try not to get yourself kidnapped or otherwise incapacitated tomorrow. It would be a shame to have to miss our phone call on Sunday. I’m looking forward to it.
I’m taking Sophie to the zoo tomorrow. She’s a huge animal lover, and Wichita has an amazing zoo that’s more wild animal preserve than animals in cages. The exhibits all mimic their natural habitats, and the whole experience is really immersive. And there’s a boat tour she loves. It’s kind of our thing. I got her an annual membership for her birthday and promised her I’d take her this weekend.
He hit send and waited, but after a couple of minutes with no reply, he wondered if she had finished up and left for the day. He stood, but left his computer logged in, and wandered into the kitchen where he surveyed his options for dinner.
He had just decided that what he needed after a long week was authentic Mexican food and whatever sporting event he could find on tv, when he heard the familiar “you’ve got mail!”
He was beside his computer in a flash.
From: Lois Lane [lane.lois@dailyplanet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: This weekend
Date: May 4, 1995, 5:37pm
That’s really sweet. I’m sure she’ll have a great time.
My story is all finished, so I’m heading out for the day. I’ll do my best to avoid drama tomorrow night. I wouldn’t want to miss our call on Sunday.
Have fun tomorrow!
Lois
His hands hovered above the keys, aching to shoot off another reply and see if he could reel her back in for just one or two more messages. But she had said she was leaving for the day, and he didn’t want to keep her at work longer than necessary. Besides, he would actually get to hear her voice this weekend. He could be patient.
He stepped out his backdoor and slid his glasses down his nose, giving the immediate area a quick scan for neighbors lounging on their back decks or playing with kids in their backyards. As soon as he was sure he was alone, he rocketed up, and then headed south. Mexican food and a Royals game. That’s what he needed tonight.
*****
“So,” his mother said, dragging the word out as she sat the bowl of mashed potatoes on the table next to the meatloaf. “How’s Lois?”
Clark glanced at his watch. Five minutes since he’d stepped through the backdoor and into his mother’s kitchen. Five minutes it took her to bring up Lois. He was going to murder Lana.
After Sophie’s party last weekend, Martha Kent had been only too excited to get her son alone the next day and grill him about the “freaking gorgeous” woman he had his arm around the previous week. Clark had caved, so happy to just talk about her for a minute, to say her name out loud, that he confessed he did in fact have feelings for her and thought she felt at least a little of the same thing.
He was quick to point out that he didn’t think there was any realistic hope for a future between them, but Martha hadn’t let that discourage her at all. She had been so excited to hear her son talk about any woman at all, that she hadn’t pushed for too many details and had just been enthusiastic and encouraging to the point that Jonathan told her to simmer down and leave the poor boy alone.
“She’s fine,” Clark replied.
“Did you talk to her much this week?” she asked, eyes twinkling.
Clark served himself meatloaf and mashed potatoes and then allowed his mother to serve him a heaping bowl of salad. “We emailed every day,” he said. “We spent most of the week discussing books. You’ll be pleased to know she hates Salinger as much as you do.”
“I don’t understand this emailing,” Jonathan said, reaching for the gravy only for Martha to yank it out of his reach, sliding the salad toward him instead. He sighed a long-suffering sigh, and returned to the topic at hand. “It’s not like really talking. You know, in person or even over the phone. It doesn’t feel real.”
“Oh, Jonathan, don’t be ridiculous,” Martha said, waving a hand at him dismissively. “Couples have been falling in love via letters for centuries. Clark’s just lucky he doesn’t have to wait for a mailman on horseback to carry their letters back and forth.”
Jonathan huffed in response, but didn’t disagree, just changed course. “I just saw a thing on Top Copy recently about these people who create whole fake identities online and pretend to be something they’re not. You know, they say they’re an attractive 25 year old woman, or steal the identity of a 25 year old woman, but they’re really a 40 year old man in his mother’s basement bilking unsuspecting men out of their life savings.”
Clark laughed. “Dad. I met Lois in person. At a journalism conference. Not in a chat room. Besides…she’s pretty famous. If someone was going to try to steal an identity, I doubt a Pulitzer prize winning investigative reporter would be at the top of their list of easy targets.”
“Her job sounds so exciting,” Martha said, shooting Jonathan a look that clearly told him to stop talking nonsense. “It must be dangerous.”
“I’m sure it can be,” Clark said. “I know she’s been injured doing her job in the past. Last night she went to a nightclub where she went undercover last year. Her investigation led to the old owner being sent to prison, and she said she wanted to poke around and see who’s in charge now. I imagine that if whoever’s in charge recognized her, they didn’t welcome her with open arms.”
“Oh, she must be so brave,” Martha gushed as Clark tried valiantly not to imagine Lois being recognized and roughed up. He knew she could hold her own in a fight – she had detailed her taekwondo training over the course of the week, explaining that she had started training after she began working under cover because she wanted to be able to defend herself. But if the club owner was armed, as he likely was, her black belt was going to be no match for his gun.
“She is that,” Clark conceded. “I don’t know if she’s actually fearless, or if she just does a good job of hiding it, but she never backs down from anything.”
Jonathan grunted, and Martha shot him another look.
“What, Dad?” Clark asked, though he suspected he knew what was coming.
“If this woman is as tenacious as you say she is, do you really think it’s wise to be getting close to her? What if you slip up and say something-”
“Dad, I’ve made it this long without slipping up.”
“You’ve been lucky,” he said gruffly. “Lucky no one has asked the right questions. Lucky no one has wondered too hard about the things you do.”
Clark tensed, waiting for it.
“I heard about your little rescue at the beach,” he added after a pause, his voice weary.
“Oh, Jonathan,” Martha interjected. “What was he supposed to do? Leave those little boys to drown?”
“Of course not! But every version of the story I hear is more fantastic than the last. He took off after something only he could see. He ran so fast along the beach he looked like a blur. He swam so fast he was there and back before the lifeguards left the beach.”
“Dad,” Clark said, holding up his hands to stop the tidal wave of words. “You know how people exaggerate. None of that is true. Other people did see them eventually – I just noticed them first. And I met the lifeguard in the water on the way back and we each swam one boy to shore. No one who was actually there was suspicious at all. What you’re hearing now is just typical tall tales. No one is suspicious.”
“This time,” Jonathan conceded. “But what about next time? And what if this reporter girlfriend of yours-”
“She’s not my–”
“You know what I mean,” his father said, his tone firm and angry now. “You got away with it this time, just like all the other times. But one of these days-”
“All right, that’s enough,” Martha said, ever the peacemaker. “Clark is well aware of how important it is to keep his secret. He’s not going to do anything to endanger himself.”
She turned her attention to Clark. “We trust you, honey. We just get worried. Your father and I love you and want you to be safe. And not just safe, but happy. We want you to have a life.”
“So do I, Mom,” he said, and for the first time in a long time, he really meant it. Not just that he wanted to protect the life he already had, which had always been true, but that he wanted to dream of more, to imagine a life where he had someone who loved him, all of him, and allowed him to be his true self.
It was a crazy thought. He and Lois were only friends, and barely that. He wanted desperately to believe that the attraction he felt to her, the inexplicable draw to her, meant something. But his dad was right. Of all the women in the world, he had to fall for an investigative reporter? Was whatever this was between them worth the risk of becoming the subject of her next Pulitzer?
Clark shoved that thought away. He was an expert in hiding his abilities and differences. If he could keep the truth hidden from his closest friends, his college roommates, his neighbors and coworkers, certainly he could keep it hidden from a woman who lived half a country away and barely knew him.
“We made good progress on the south field today,” Clark said finally, changing the subject without finesse. The subject was closed for now, and his parents seemed to accept his desire to move on.
The rest of the evening’s conversation revolved around the farm and neighborly gossip, but Clark caught his mother studying him surreptitiously more than once. He knew she was dying to hear more about Lois and their correspondence, and he was torn between indulging her and trying to keep his own emotions in check.
He had never felt like this about anyone before, and suddenly he felt a new pang of empathy for all of the friends who had used him as a sounding board over the years to talk about their own trials and tribulations in the game of love. Where once he had wondered why they didn’t just force themselves to move on, he now understood the overwhelming compulsion to analyze and reanalyze every interaction.
He wanted desperately to gush about how funny she was, how smart, and how beautiful. He wanted to say her name over and over until everyone around him was sick of hearing it. He wanted to ask what it meant that she told him she was only pretending to work while she waited for his emails; what it meant that she suggested he call her this weekend. And what should he say when he called? Would it be awkward and forced, or would the conversation flow naturally the way it had in person; the way it had over email?
But he was a grown man, not a teenager. And she was a busy professional who had made it crystal clear that she thought long-distance relationships never worked out and weren’t worth the effort. Her last relationship had ended because of distance. There was no way she was going to leap into a new relationship with a man she barely knew who lived twice as far away as her last boyfriend.
He needed to accept that their relationship was going to be platonic, and just be grateful even for that. She was fascinating and brilliant and hilarious. And he would be lucky to be her friend, especially since it was clear to him how few people she bestowed that honor upon. Maybe someday, if he was incredibly lucky, their circumstances would change and all the stars would align, and they could explore something beyond friendship. But he couldn’t befriend her with only that goal in mind. She deserved better than that. She deserved a friend who respected her boundaries and valued their friendship as more than just a means to an end.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Martha said, as they cleared the dishes at the end of the meal. Jonathan had gone upstairs to shower and change, leaving them alone in the kitchen for the first time all evening.
“Just…a lot on my mind,” he said finally.
“You know, when I first met your father, I thought there was no future for us. He was so focused on the farm, and I wanted to get out of this little town. It didn’t seem like we wanted the same things in life.”
Clark said nothing, but listened quietly while he washed the dishes and she dried.
“I know it’s not that simple for you, Clark. It’s not just about the distance. Heck, distance has never been a problem for you. If you wanted, you could be in Metropolis before I finished drying this dish.”
He looked up and met her eye, nodding slowly. “Dad-”
“Your father’s a worrier, Clark. And I suppose that’s not a bad thing. Every family needs one person to worry. He keeps us on track. Without him…well, I don’t even like to think about where I’d be without him. But the point is, you have to take him with a grain of salt. He doesn’t like change, and he doesn’t like taking risks. Of course he’s worried about you dating or thinking about dating or whatever it is you’re doing. He knows where that can lead, and it’s all sorts of change and risk.”
“And you aren’t worried?” Clark asked.
“Oh, I always worry about my boy. But I worry about your heart more than your safety. And I think some changes are worth the risk. Is she? Is she worth the risk?”
He shifted under her gaze, averting his eyes until they fell on the dish he was washing. “I don’t know, Mom. I hope so.”
“Me too,” she said, and he didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling.
