Wrong Number: A Forbidden Love Age-Gap Romance

by Iris Trovao

  Nick paused in front of the car where he’d been skirting it, and turned back. “Saved up all summer for WR4s.”

  “Good man,” Carson replied, and waved again. “You drive careful, now.”

  The kid nodded firmly and scurried into the car, firing it up and inching out of the driveway at a snail’s pace.

  Carson waited until the car was out of sight, crawling down the street, before he decided his fatherly embarrassment duty was finished and closed the door. He chuckled to himself, relishing in the pride as he tried desperately to stamp down the worry.

  He’d just let his daughter drive off in a death-mobile piloted by a seventeen-year-old. He rubbed his forehead and a wave of exhaustion washed over him.

  He sighed. It was rare to have a day off of work, and despite the fact that he’d slept into the afternoon and was used to being up all night, he was tempted to crawl into bed.

  Of course, now he had to wait until his daughter was safely delivered home.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket, rereading Jane’s last message.

  He knew she'd been teasing him. He knew how young people were, how they used the word love for all manner of things. He just wasn’t sure how to respond in a casual manner.

  He headed into the library, plopping down on the couch by the fireplace. He felt like he was back in med school, struggling to make friends with people. Talking to people in a professional capacity was easy, but forming connections was harder for him.

  But you’ve already formed a connection with this woman, he thought. You’ve already been casually chatting with her. He knew he was overthinking this. And he knew because he had experience overthinking social interactions. It had been a long time since he’d worried about what to say to a friend to not be awkward, and apparently he hadn’t gotten better at this type of thing with age.

  What are friends for, he typed out, and then erased it.

  He sighed. I don’t mind sharing the recipe, nobody’s using it, he typed out, and then erased that too.

  He realized that if she happened to be staring at their conversation, she’d see him typing and stopping a bunch of times.

  She’s not going to be sitting there staring at the screen. It’s been hours since her text message, he chided himself.

  Perhaps it would be best to just take the cowardly way out and ignore her text altogether. How’s your baking class? After hitting send, he tossed his phone onto the couch cushion beside him and set to making a fire in the hearth.

  This was his favourite room in the whole house. Not just because it was cozy and full of books, but because it had the best memories.

  He and Gina curled up together, studying or reading. Lily and Rose, playing with wooden blocks in the corner. The whole family, gathered around a board game.

  They still had their board game nights in the library, even without Gina, and it still brought him joy to spend time with the girls. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes in here, the scent of the fire could almost bring him back in time to simpler days.

  His phone buzzed, and once he had the flames going, he headed back to the couch.

  Jane: I baked some ballin’ ass cookies. Peanut butter chocolate chip. I have now eaten six of them.

  He chuckled. Glad to hear it went well. Enjoy your stomachache.

  Jane: Oh no, doc, I am a sugar connoisseur lol. It’s a wonder I'm not diabetic.

  He shook his head. Is there anything you're not addicted to? He hesitated before sending it, wondering if it was too blunt. But then he remembered who he was talking to, and took a chance.

  Jane: Ha ha, that’s sooooo funny. /s

  A goofy grin broke out on his face. I have been known to be funny from time to time.

  Jane: Well the joke is on you, because I'm eating delicious cookies and you're not. :P

  He shook his head. Well in any case I'm glad you enjoyed yourself.

  Jane: Yeah, it was pretty fun. I’m apparently pretty good at this when I’m paying attention to the recipe lol

  “See?” he murmured, and sent back, Told you so.

  Jane: Hardy har, doc. I’m gonna eat like ten more cookies just to spite you.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jolie took another sip of her rye and ginger, swirling it around in her glass. The ginger was too cold for her liking. Rye lost its flavour when it was too cold. She wrinkled her nose, and checked her phone.

  She wasn’t averse to drinking alone—her common pastime as it were—but this night Alicia had specifically invited her out to make up for getting stood up during Janos’ baking class.

  Wouldn’t it be hilarious if she didn’t show? She ran her tongue over her teeth and chuckled darkly under her breath at the thought. We just keep fucking off on each other, over and over and over?

  She’d never been to this bar, interestingly enough, considering it was within walking distance from her place. Alicia had specifically invited her here, though. Might have had something to do with the ripped bartender and his two-sizes-too-small muscle shirt.

  Whatever, at least I can enjoy the view while I suck back a few drinks, she thought. She couldn’t stamp down the annoyance, though. It was one thing to get forgotten about, but a whole other thing entirely for Alicia to bail after having invited her a mere two hours before.

  “Oh, hey, JoJo.”

  The back of Jolie’s neck prickled, as if each hair stood up to dance at the same time. That was John’s voice.

  She swiveled on her stool to face him, flashing him what she hoped was a comfortable smile.

  “I guess Alicia’s late, huh?” he asked, rolling his eyes playfully. “What else is new?”

  Her smile faltered, and she ground her teeth together. A burst of courage roiled in her chest, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  He recoiled, the venom in her tone apparently too much for him. He blinked at her with the big eyes she’d gotten lost in, once upon a time.

  “What?” he stammered.

  She tipped back her glass, chugging the remnants of the too-cold rye.

  It was too late now. She’d already said the words. She’d already snapped at him.

  She’d already started this fight.

  She slammed the empty glass down on the oaken bar. “You stand me up on Valentine’s Day without so much as a text message.” Her voice quivered as she struggled not to yell at him. “You don’t apologize, acknowledge, or seem to even notice that you did it. And now you’re annoyed at Alicia for being late? Your sister? Who you’ll drop everything and come out for drinks with?” She sneered. “I bet she didn’t even tell you I would be here.”

  He stared down at his hands, cheeks flushed. The bartender chose that moment to swoop into the tense air and ask what he wanted.

  “Rye on ice, please.” John turned to fully face the bar, motioning to his wife. “And a rye and Coke for the lady.”

  “Ginger,” Jolie seethed. “I don’t like Coke.”

  “Rye and ginger with no ice,” the bartender confirmed with a gentle smile, taking her empty glass and toasting her with it. “Coming right up.”

  As he set to work, John fiddled with a coaster, still avoiding her gaze.

  She bored a hole through his temple with her rage.

  “I bought those curtains you wanted,” he said quietly.

  She blinked at him. Her head suddenly pounded, eyeballs ready to pop and melt out of her head.

  “Fucking curtains, John?” she barked, and he winced. “I wanted those goddamn curtains when we moved in together three years ago! Nice of you to finally think of what I want, but I can tell you fucking curtains isn’t going to fucking cut it!” She slammed a hand down on the bar, glaring at his profile as it turned an even deeper shade of crimson.

  He didn’t say anything.

  Of course he didn’t say anything.

  Jolie clenched her fists, blood rushing through her ears like a hurricane. She stormed out of the pub, ignoring the rubbernecking patrons on the
way by. Once out in the icy air, she took a deep lungful that made her throat tingle.

  Alicia wasn’t coming. Jolie bet that her friend had set this up so they could spend some time together. And maybe her heart was in the right place, but in that moment Jolie didn’t want to be understanding. Her guts twisted.

  She just wanted to be angry.

  She really wanted to punch her husband, but she’d already made her dramatic exit. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and fumbled with it, hands shaking as she managed to liberate one and stick it between her lips.

  She flicked her lighter three times before finally managing to create fire, and took a deep drag. It didn’t do much to settle her vibrating rage, but at least her hands were busy.

  She turned back to the pub, glaring at the door as if it had been the one to offend her. She swallowed hard, stamping down the glimmer of hope that he would come after her.

  She knew he wouldn’t.

  John was, if nothing else, a predictable creature.

  With one last scowl at the door, she flounced off down the sidewalk. She spotted her husband’s black sedan on the side of the road and briefly considered jamming her pocketknife into one of the tires. There were too many witnesses, though. And perhaps making it difficult for him to get home later was counterproductive to their argument.

  No, not argument, she thought. My bitch fest. An argument requires two people.

  She wasn’t even one hundred percent sure what the argument had been, really. She knew she was just as guilty of putting distance between them as he was. And though part of her would always cling to what they’d had in the beginning, it had been a long time since she’d really pined for him.

  She pulled out her phone and unlocked it, opening her messenger app as she walked. She smiled at the doc’s last message from earlier, to which she’d been trying to come up with a snarky response.

  Dr: Tweedledick: Did you know that crocheting and knitting can prevent Alzheimer’s disease?

  Her anger settled to a dull ache in her belly, the stupid random health fact soothing her like a snuggly blanket.

  What was it about this guy? She chewed her lip and took another drag as she contemplated what to say to this man who seemed to be her only friend in the world.

  Isn’t that the saddest story ever? The thought was bitter, but tinged with comfort. At least she had one person she could talk to. Someone who didn’t know her or her family, with no ties and no judgment.

  She typed, My husband is an asshole, and then erased it. No, she didn’t need to rant about John right now.

  She typed, Any exciting patients tonight, and then erased it. No, she didn’t want to press him to break his confidentiality code.

  “Hm.” She pursed her lips but soon they twisted into a smirk. What, you trying to get me into old lady crafts? Isn’t baking enough for you? She hit send and pocketed her phone, warming one hand in her coat as she continued to puff away as she walked.

  She hated smoking and walking. Nicotine was supposed to be relaxing, but huffing toxic chemicals while breathing harder from physical exertion was not relaxing at all.

  You should just quit, she thought, the mental words almost resembling Alicia’s voice. She gritted her teeth and took an extra long drag out of spite. She walked aimlessly, not quite ready to go home despite the cold.

  Her cigarette dwindled away to the filter and she used the cherry to light another, tossing the butt and stomping it. By the time that one was nearly finished, her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her pocket.

  Dr. Tweedledick: Crochet and knitting are hardly old lady crafts. Lots of young artisans make a living with it.

  She raised an eyebrow as she side-stepped a slow-moving pedestrian. Do I seem like an artisan to you? She flicked the rest of her cigarette into the street and shoved her hand into her pocket to warm it up.

  Dr. Tweedledick: Perhaps an artisan baker?

  She snorted. They were damn good cookies ngl, but I wouldn’t call them artisan. Don’t you have to like decorate them to look like unicorns shitting rainbows or something?

  She looked up at the nearest street sign. She knew she should go home—wandering aimlessly in the freezing weather was dumb, even for her. She wanted her bed. She hooked a right, walking briskly through a pharmacy parking lot to get across to the street she needed.

  Dr. Tweedledick: That sounds horrendously unappetizing.

  If cute things are shitting cute things it’s cute lol, plus they’d taste good. She pulled out another cigarette, lighting it with frozen fingers. She picked up the pace to warm herself up, and that only made the smoke less enjoyable.

  Dr. Tweedledick: I’ll take your word for it.

  She wanted to unload about John. If this guy were really her friend, she should be able to unload her marital frustrations. She already had gone on about some of her drama before, and he’d been sympathetic.

  She couldn’t help the bubbling fear that whining about her issues would drive him away, though. He had his own shit, with a cheating wife and their kids in the picture.

  It hit her like a battering ram that she cared whether she drove him away or not. The thought of him not answering her texts made her chest tighten. It frightened her how dependent she’d become on his companionship.

  Even just talking about stupid cookies and random health facts was the highlight of her day. My sad, pathetic life, she thought.

  She was suddenly struck with the need to ask how he was. How things were going. If he was okay. Would he want to talk about that stuff, or would that weird him out?

  Okay, maybe friendships are just as complicated as marriages, Jolie thought.

  Eventually she reached her condo building, and revelled in the warmth of the indoors as she made her way upstairs. The phone rang before she could even get fully inside her place, and she reached into her pocket before she realized it was the landline.

  “Who the hell?” she muttered, and shrugged out of her coat.

  Nobody had the number for the landline. She didn’t even have it saved in her cell. They never used the damn thing, and it had been a point of contention between her and John over why they even had a landline in the cell phone era.

  She figured it was probably a telemarketer, and when she checked the caller ID, it read Unknown.

  “I’m feeling frisky,” she declared, and picked it up. If she couldn’t vent her frustrations on her husband and his blank wall defying all confrontation, then she could get some jollies pissing off a telemarketer.

  She picked up the phone, hoping it wasn’t an automated machine.

  “Mrs. Hill?” a woman asked.

  “Depends on who’s asking,” Jolie drawled.

  “I need to confirm that this is Mrs. Hill,” the woman said, and something in the somber tone of her voice sent tendrils up Jolie’s spine. A telemarketer would have launched into a rapid, cheerful speech by now.

  “Yes,” she replied, heart rate tripling. “This is Jolie Hill.”

  “Your husband has been in an accident, ma’am,” the woman said, and everything after that merged into a dull hum as Jolie dropped the phone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Carson pulled into the garage, turning the car off just as his phone buzzed. He grabbed it as the door rolled down behind him, plunging him into darkness.

  Lily: There’s only one piece of tortiere left in the fridge can you leave it for me pls

  He chuckled, shaking his head. I won’t eat it on you, he sent back, but I can’t promise that Rose won’t.

  Lily: Daddddd she gets home 15 mins before me pls guard it

  He smirked. Leftovers are fair game, you know the rules, he sent back.

  Lily: Daddddddd pleeeease s’il vous plait daddy dearest????

  He laughed outright and sent back, LOL. Since you’re being so sweet about it, I’ll make sure if Rose wants some to cut it in half.

  Lily: Did you just lol??? I guess I’ll share with her but ONLY if she asks don’t suggest it k

&nb
sp; He rubbed his forehead. See you after school, sweetheart. Get to class. I love you.

  Lily: ily 2 dad

  He wrinkled his nose at the lazy acronyms, but told himself that she was just hurrying to text so she could get to class on time. Hopefully.

  He flipped over to his conversation with Jane, even though there was no new notification. She hadn’t replied since their cookie conversation the night before, which had ended rather early. He’d expected her to be up for at least a few hours after that, but if she’d gone to bed early surely she would have been up by now.

  What is wrong with you? Carson closed his eyes and rested his head back, drawing in a deep breath. You’re acting like a teenager, desperately overthinking why someone hasn’t texted you back yet. Grow up.

  He grabbed his messenger bag from the passenger seat and startled when he realized Gina’s coupe was in the garage next to him. He hadn’t noticed when he first pulled in, being so fixated on his phone.

  They hadn’t been in the house at the same time in over two weeks, and it had been somehow even longer since they’d actually seen each other. He seriously contemplated starting up the car and heading right back down the driveway, but pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose as if to push the thought out of his head.

  The cold war happening in this house is juvenile, he thought. We’re adults. Married adults. With children.

  A bead of cold sweat snaked down his spine, sending a nervous chill through him. They hadn’t been in the house at the same time since before he’d started talking to Jane. Before he’d started having dreams about a woman suspiciously Jane-like doing things to him that he hadn’t done with anyone other than his wife for decades.

  He checked his phone and sighed. The fact that he didn’t want to get out of the car, hoping that a text from Jane would materialize and give him an excuse to lollygag… It made his belly twist into even more knots of guilt.

  I can’t just keep hiding out in here, he thought. Gina likely would have heard the garage door open and close. Would she even care? Would she slip out once I’ve gone inside?