by Megan Hart
There’s a regular crowd in the coffee shop. There’s the woman who sits by the window, typing away and listening to her iPod—she writes books and is, if it’s possible, even more antisocial than Stella. There’s a man who stares at that woman when she’s not looking; Stella wonders how long it will take for him to work up the courage to talk to her. There’s a young mother who comes in every morning with her toddler son to drink a cup of coffee while he has some hot chocolate. Stella will never talk to her. The Bible club, its members in matching home-sewn dresses and prayer caps, would probably love to have her join them, but Stella’s so completely not religious she’s also certain she’d offend them all without even trying. There’s the salesguy who fills the orders for potato salad. He smiles and nods, but doesn’t linger. He, like the staff behind the counter, is friendly but too busy to make much conversation.
Finally there’s Craig, who at first comes in for lunch once a week. Then twice. Then three times, until finally he is there every day and somehow, they are sharing a table and laughing about... Well, whatever he says to make her laugh. And it becomes this thing Stella refuses to name. This...friendship. Because that’s all it is, she tells herself every day when she wakes up thinking about him, and every night when his face is what she thinks of when she closes her eyes and pretends to sleep. It’s a friendship. If Craig didn’t have a penis, this wouldn’t even be an issue.
It’s been so long since Stella laughed, really laughed. Before she knows it, she’s looking up every time the bell over the door jingles. When the hands on her watch creep toward noon, her palms start to sweat and her heart to pound. Every day she assumes it’s the last time he’ll come in. Sometimes he’s late and everything inside her goes dark. A weight lifts off her every time Craig comes through the door.
He only has an hour for lunch, and soon that’s not enough. Stella believes Connex is the devil, but Craig loves it and “friends” her anyway. She doesn’t have much on her profile and hasn’t updated in close to a year, though she tries to check in once a week or so to make sure Tristan’s not getting into trouble there. Craig has a lot of pictures, an active wall. Stella stalks his profile, checking out the photos of him at the beach, skiing, dressed for a holiday party. She looks at the pictures of him and his family. Two daughters. A wife, now ex, and a dog. Craig was part of a family, and this somehow comforts her. He can understand the challenges of a spouse and kids.
She tells Jeff nothing, and why should she? She doesn’t tell him anything about her girlfriends, or the other people at the coffee shop. Actually, she doesn’t tell Jeff much of anything anymore. He doesn’t ask.
Stella finds work, finally, which means no more coffee shop. She’d taken a basic college course on photo-editing programs on a whim, and the job at the Memory Factory is perfect. Retouching pictures taken for church bulletins isn’t what she’d ever imagined herself doing, but with a school-age child and a husband who works sixty hours a week and travels too, she can’t go back to being a flight attendant. The hours and money make up for the slightly condescending way Jeff talks about it as a throwaway job.
She also has unlimited access to the internet, all day long, and an instant-message program. So does Craig. This is even better than their single, daily hour. They talk all day long, and even when they’re not actively chatting, looking at her contact window and seeing his screen name there is like a touchstone. He’s there if she needs him.
And, oh, Stella needs him.
She needs the jolt he gives her with every flirty comment and the small, secret jokes they’ve created that would mean nothing to anyone else. She needs his perspective on the world because it’s different than hers, and even though they disagree on politics and religion, they never argue. He makes her think. He makes her feel, and it’s been so long since she’s had anything but agony or numbness that at first she doesn’t recognize what it is that Craig gives her.
Joy.
He doesn’t know her, so there are no reminders of the past she needs to forget. No stilted conversations steeped in pity. All Craig gives her is joy, and that’s what she needs the most.
Stella knows this...thing...is wrong. But Craig makes her feel as if everything will be all right. As if she hasn’t been through what she has. He makes her feel smart and funny. And sexy, yes. There’s that. The giddy, floaty, heated rush of knowing someone finds her attractive. She needs that too.
Everything about them together is dishonest, but it’s the only thing in her life that feels like the truth.
“Can I call you?” he asks. “I miss talking to you in person. Hearing your voice.”
Craig lives alone. Shared custody means he has daddy duty only a few days of the week. The rest of his time is his own. Stella doesn’t have that luxury. She has to think about when she can sneak in a late-night phone call. When she can fit him in around the rest of her life.
There’s something special about the phone that makes it different than typing instant messages or even texts. Somehow talking on the phone is both more anonymous and intimate than even meeting in person in the coffee shop, in public, where they watch their words and are always so very, very careful not to touch.
“Why do you keep talking to me?” Stella asks him late one night when, feigning an upset stomach, she’s sought the dark and quiet of the couch in the basement rec room. She stretches on the chilly leather, reaching for a blanket to warm her.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I tell myself I shouldn’t.”
But he does. Over and over again, he comes back to her, and there is never any reason why they shouldn’t continue this friendship other than that both of them know it’s becoming more than that. It was already more than that before they ever spoke on the phone. They very specifically do not meet in person. They very carefully do not talk about why.
He complains about his ex-wife, but Stella is carefully, neutrally quiet about her husband. There are things she could complain about, if she wanted, but if she did that, other truths would come out. Things she doesn’t want to talk about, not even to Craig. Perhaps especially not to him, because once he knows the truth, there will be no unknowing it. Sometimes things slip out, though. You can’t talk to someone almost every day for hours at a time without them learning the most important bits and pieces of you, especially in the darkest parts of the night when it’s so easy to feel alone.
“I miss you,” Craig says abruptly when the silence has stretched on too long. “I miss seeing you.”
“I miss seeing you too.” She closes her eyes against the sudden relief of a fear she hadn’t wanted to admit she had.
“Maybe we could have lunch sometime.”
She should say no, but what comes out is “Yes. I’d like that.”
* * *
“It was great seeing you. Catching up.” Craig’s gaze lingered on hers, and Stella let it.
They’d spent the hour she would’ve spent shopping lingering over their coffees and a couple very good blueberry scones he’d bought without asking her if she wanted one. He’d just remembered how much she liked them. His knee had nudged hers occasionally under the table, and once when handing her a napkin his fingers had brushed hers.
There was a time she’d wanted him so much it had been like fire inside her, consuming every thought. And now... Now, Stella thought as they stood sort of awkwardly by her car, each of them hesitating about a final hug...now, she didn’t want him anymore. That made her sadder than anything else. Once she’d been put to her knees because of the man in front of her, and it had been a place she’d willingly gone, but in the end it had broken her, just the same. She had wanted him, and now she did not.
When he pulled her close, she let him, startled but not resisting. When his mouth found her cheek, Stella closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. The warmth of his skin on hers was familiar. The weight of his hands on her. When he let her go, she swayed,
unsteady for a few seconds before she could open her eyes.
“It was so good seeing you,” Craig said in a low voice. “I’ve really missed you.”
Stella had not missed him. Not for a long time. But she smiled and reached to squeeze his arm. “Me too.”
“Maybe I could call you?”
“Sure. Absolutely.” She nodded, smiling, a little taken aback by how this all had gone. He could call her. She would answer. It might get awkward, depending on what he said or asked of her, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him no.
On impulse, she leaned in to hug him again, this time holding tighter. Craig had been there when she’d needed someone.
Maybe he needed someone.
“Call me,” she said and scribbled her cell number on a scrap of paper from her pocket. “That would be great.”
The awkward brush of his mouth on hers would once have made her shake; now it only made her smile. She touched his face and took a few steps back. Craig nodded, lips parted as though he meant to say more but didn’t. He looked back at her as he walked away, though. Waved. Stella waved back.
In her car she sat for a few minutes, thinking of how easily things could change even if it didn’t feel easy at all while you were in them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Knock, knock.”
Stella looked up to see Jen rapping on the soft edge of the cubicle. “Hey.”
“What’re you doing tonight?”
“Nothing.” Stella swiveled in her chair. “Tristan’s with his dad tonight through the weekend.”
“Want to go check out the new Justin Ross movie? Jared told me he’d rather poke out both eyes with a chopstick than go.” Jen grinned.
Stella hesitated, thinking about the empty house, the laundry she’d planned to do. Cleaning out the fridge. Paying bills. She was flying over the weekend, but tonight she had no plans. “Yes. That sounds great.”
“Dinner first?”
“Sure.” Stella returned Jen’s grin.
They went to dinner at a new Italian place that Stella had heard about but never tried. As she settled into her seat and put the napkin on her lap, Stella realized how long it had been since she’d even gone out with a girlfriend. How long it had been since she’d even really talked with one of her girlfriends.
“Wow,” she said aloud without meaning to.
“What?” Jen looked up from the menu. “You don’t like what they serve here? We can go someplace else—”
“No. Not that. Just that it’s been a while since I went out.” Stella held up a hand at the look on her friend’s face. “I told you, I’m fine without a boyfriend. I meant with a friend. It’s like I haven’t even heard from any of them in forever.”
She fell silent for a moment, remembering. “I guess I haven’t really missed any of them.”
The women she’d bonded with in the neighborhood playgroup, the wives of Jeff’s friends. Those were the women she’d spent most of her time with. They’d had coffee and dinner at each other’s houses. Watched each other’s kids. Bitched about their husbands and kids.
But had she ever really been friends with any of those women? Real, strong friendships last through good times and bad, and there’d been some very, very bad times.
Stella looked at Jen. “I guess I lost more than I thought in the divorce.”
Jen frowned. “That sucks.”
“It’s okay.” Stella shrugged. “Honestly, I really did just notice now how long it’s been since I had, like, a ladies’ night out, which says a lot more about me than anything else. So, thanks for inviting me.”
“Thanks for coming along. I’m such an enormous Justin Ross fangirl, and Jared will occasionally suffer through watching Runner with me, but he’s like, ‘no way am I going to see that movie.’” Jen laughed, shaking her head. “He’ll be waiting up for me when I get home, though. Hoping he’ll get secondhand lucky.”
Stella snorted laughter. “And all I have at home is a pile of dirty laundry.” Before Jen could say anything, she held up a hand. “Hush.”
“He has a few cute friends,” Jen said, then held up her hands at Stella’s expression. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”
Dinner was good. The movie, even better. Stella had never watched Runner, the show that had made Justin Ross famous, but she knew who he was. It was impossible not to—he’d suddenly become America’s sweetheart. She couldn’t say she’d ever be the sort of fangirl Jen was, but she could definitely appreciate his appeal.
“Have fun tonight,” she teased as they both got in their cars in the parking lot.
Jen gave her a starry-eyed grin. “Oh...I will. Girl, I definitely will.”
Stella’s phone pinged just as she pulled into traffic, but she didn’t reach to pull it from her purse and check the message. She never checked her phone while driving. Ever. Tristan knew it, and was unlikely to ping again if she didn’t answer right away, so when the phone chimed again, Stella glanced at her bag on the front seat, then at the clock. It was just past ten-thirty on a Thursday night. Jeff would’ve gone to bed. Cynthia would only text if there was a problem, and even then would be more likely to call than send a message.
At the third chime, Stella’s hands started to sweat. She gripped the wheel harder, staring down the dark highway. No traffic lights to give her time to pause so she could fumble in her bag and find her phone. She had another twenty minutes’ drive to go, and when the phone chimed a fourth, then fifth time, she pulled over to the side of the road to answer it.
The messages, a string of casual conversation ending with “give me a ring when you have a chance,” had come from Craig.
First she was relieved that it wasn’t an emergency. Then a little annoyed that she’d had to pull over. And finally, as she pulled back out into traffic and finished the drive, Stella realized she was...anxious.
Confused. Anxious. A little excited. But mostly wary, she thought as she dropped her keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter and hung her coat and purse in the closet.
She put her phone on the table while she poured herself a glass of cold water. She eyed it as she leaned against the counter to drink. As if it might bite her, she thought, and laughed out loud.
It was Craig, for goodness’ sake.
She had told him to call her, she remembered that much. But, unlike those long-ago days when she’d counted the minutes in between conversations, she hadn’t been thinking much of him at all. She hadn’t really expected him to call her, as a matter of fact, and now that he had, it would be up to her to return it. Or not.
Still thinking about it, Stella took her phone upstairs and settled it into the charging dock. She showered and got ready for bed, taking her time, but even so it wasn’t quite midnight when she slipped into her bed and turned out the light. She turned on her side to stare at the dark, square shape of the phone.
It was reprimanding her.
Not replying to a message was one of the shittiest things to do to someone. She’d always thought that. Not simply not replying right away, but not replying at all, ever. Toward the end of their marriage, Jeff had started ignoring her messages, and it had driven her insane with rage.
Craig had always answered her messages...until he’d stopped.
* * *
They’ve ordered food, but Stella can’t eat. She pushes the food around with her fork and drinks too much iced tea, but her stomach’s too jumpy to put any food in it. Craig asked to meet her at a chain restaurant where you can create your own pasta dish, and she ordered chicken Alfredo, a stupid choice because it’s far too heavy and rich for her even on days when she’s not a bundle of nerves.
It doesn’t matter how many days they’ve already spent eating lunch together, or how many hours they’ve spent talking on the computer and the phone. This feels different. It is differ
ent, she reminds herself as Craig tells her a funny story she finds herself incapable of laughing at. Her face is frozen. Her fingers clumsy enough to knock her silverware on the floor so that, blushing, stammering, she has to reach for her fork.
Craig bends at the same time, his hand taking hers. He squeezes her fingers, and Stella drops the fork. They both sit up, facing each other across the small, intimate table for two. It’s a table for lovers, though that isn’t what they are.
“Hey,” Craig says quietly. “Are you all right?”
She’s not. Her hands still shake so much that she tucks them into her lap, linking her fingers to keep them still. She manages a smile she hopes doesn’t make him recoil. “Yes, sure. Of course.”
Craig carries the conversation all through lunch, and at the end of it, asks her if she wants to go for a walk with him along the river. The weather’s nice, not too hot. A little breezy. It whips her hair around her face as they follow the black curving path down toward the water. The river’s high right now, covering most of the concrete steps leading into it. She’s seen it low enough to expose them all.
That’s what Stella’s thinking about so she doesn’t have to think about the way Craig takes her hand as they walk. The height of the water in the river. How fast it flows. What would happen if she went down those stairs and into it... Would she be swept away?
He holds her hand only long enough to tug her to a stop, turning her to face him. “Stella.”
She can’t look at him. Past him. Beyond him. Anywhere but into his eyes.
“Hey,” Craig says in a low voice. “Please look at me.”
She does, and it’s not as bad as she’d thought it would be.
It’s worse.
So much worse to look into his deep blue eyes and see the lines in the corners. To lose herself in the way he tilts his head so slightly to the side as he studies her. To note the curve of his mouth and the flash of his tongue inside it when he talks.
