One and Only Boxed Set

by Melanie Harlow

My face burned. “You said we could take things slow in that department.”

  “Stella, it’s been over a year.”

  “Some things take time to develop.”

  “I know. And I was willing to wait and see if we developed that kind of chemistry, but we never did. When I met Esther, I felt a powerful attraction immediately. She just … does something to me.”

  “Oh, my God.” Humiliated, I buttoned up my blouse and fumbled around beneath the table for my shoe. I knew exactly where this was going. “It’s my fault, right? I’m cold. Unresponsive. Not sexy enough. Go ahead, you can say it.”

  “I’m not here to assign blame, Stella. Things between us are simply stagnant. Boring. Beige.”

  I couldn’t believe this. I’d spent countless hours listening to him talk about pollinators in peril. He was bored?

  And where the fuck was my shoe?

  Shoving my chair back, I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled beneath the table, mortified and hurt and praying my skirt hadn’t ridden up high enough to reveal my underwear, which was, of course, boring and beige. When I finally located my pump, I grabbed it and stood up. The shoe was beige too, which made me so mad I felt like throwing it at Walter’s head.

  I happened to like beige! It was a classic, understated color and I was a classic, understated person, godammit!

  “I’m sorry,” Walter said lamely, rising to his feet.

  “For God’s sake, stop apologizing.” I tried to slip my heel on, but had trouble balancing on one leg. Fuck, why had I drunk all that wine? I hiccuped and hopped around awkwardly on one foot, positive that every eye in the place was on me, until finally, Walter, ever the gentleman, reached for my elbow. Rather than let him help me, I shook him off and shoved the shoe in my bag. “Goodbye, Walter. I hope you and Esther will be very happy together and have lots of red-hot sex. I am taking my beige ass home.” Hiccup.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t drive.” He glanced at the empty wine glass. “Was that your second glass?”

  “None of your business.” I fished some cash out of my wallet and tossed it on the table. Hiccup. “Have a nice life.”

  Then, with as much dignity as I could muster, I slung my bag over my shoulder, held my head high, and walked toward the exit on one high heel and one bare foot, my head bobbing up and down like a fucking carousel horse.

  Two

  Stella

  Outside, I called Emme.

  “Can you come get me?” I asked after her breathless hello.

  “Now?”

  “Yes.” Hiccup.

  “Are you engaged?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, dear. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  While I waited, my cheeks flaming, my pride decimated, I imagined the story I might have told about me tonight, had I watched the scene from the outside.

  See that woman over there, the Frigid Old Maid getting drunk alone and waiting for her date? So sad how she desperately wants to make a sexy impression—look at the way she’s unbuttoning her blouse and crossing her legs. So obvious. She’s trying way too hard.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. I didn’t even want to imagine the rest. It was too humiliating.

  A moment later, Emme pulled up and I flung myself into the passenger seat.

  Her eyes went wide. “What happened? And why are you only wearing one shoe?”

  I pulled the door shut. “It’s a long story. One that does not end well for me.”

  “No proposal?”

  “Not even close.”

  As we pulled away from the curb, I saw Fear of Rejection come out of the restaurant. She looked happy.

  Maybe I should buy some black lace underwear.

  “Want to talk about it?” Emme asked.

  “What’s to talk about? I’m an idiot. A boring, beige idiot.”

  “Stella! No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am, Emme. Walter wasn’t being secretive because he was planning a surprise proposal for my birthday—he was being secretive because he’s seeing someone else.” Suddenly the tousled hair made more sense.

  Emme gasped. “You’re joking!”

  “I’m afraid not. I can’t even decide what’s worse—the fact that he came here tonight to dump me when I thought he was going to pop the question, or the fact that I was going to say yes.”

  “Oh, Stella. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s my fault. I should have seen this coming.”

  “I don’t think that’s true at all. How could you have known?”

  “God, Emme.” I propped my elbow on the window and tipped my head into my hand. “Where did I go wrong? I thought Walter was right for me. I thought things were fine. I thought we’d get married and buy a house and have two kids and a dog and some goldfish and some bees, and we’d be settled and happy. What happened?”

  “You’d have been settled, maybe, but would you really have been happy?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered stubbornly, although I wasn’t sure anymore. Had I talked myself into wanting to spend the rest of my life with Walter just because he looked good on paper? Would I have been settling in the wrong way?

  “I don’t know, Stell,” Emme went on. “I’ll just be honest—I liked Walter fine, but there was zero spark between you. And I think to be happy, you need spark.”

  “But … but what if I’m not capable of spark?”

  “What do you mean?” Emme glanced at me, brow furrowed. “Everyone is capable of spark. You just have to find the right person.”

  “But what if I’m not good at it? What if I don’t have that sex appeal thing guys like? What if fucking me is like fucking a cold, dead fish?”

  Emme’s jaw dropped. “Did Walter say that to you?” she asked slowly.

  Fuck. I hadn’t meant to spill that. “No. I never slept with Walter.”

  “Did … did someone else say it?”

  “No,” I lied, biting the tip of my thumb.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said, glancing at me. “Tell me the truth.”

  Part of me wanted to deny it, but another part was glad to have it out there. I bit my lip. “Yes. Someone else did.”

  “Oh my God, Stella! When?”

  “College.”

  “That long ago?” Emme shook her head in disbelief, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “Why didn’t you ever say anything about it?”

  “Because it’s humiliating!” I exploded. “You and Maren are so sexy and confident, and you have such great sex lives with your sex god fiancés and multiple O’s, and I’m a failure!”

  “Oh, honey, no. That was one guy. One fucking jerk who probably has a small dick and doesn’t know the first thing about how to please a woman. Was he your first?” she asked, turning onto my street.

  I sighed. “Yeah. He was a year older than me, but I was tutoring him in chemistry. He was on the football team and needed to keep his grades up. I was totally, hopelessly in love with him.”

  “How long were you dating?”

  “Not sure you could call it dating. Mostly we just had sex in his bedroom while we were supposed to be studying. Then he dumped me at the end of the semester and told all his friends I was a terrible fuck. It got back to me.”

  She pulled into my driveway and put her car in park. “How did you feel about the sex? Did you enjoy it?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just so nervous every time. He was the first guy I’d ever been completely naked with, and I would think about all the hot girls he’d probably been with before me. I wanted to please him, but I worried I didn’t compare.”

  Emme groaned. “I hate that feeling.”

  “I didn’t have sex for a long time after that. And even then, it was tough to enjoy.” I paused. “Even now.”

  “Is it?” she asked gently, glancing at me.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I have trouble relaxing. I’m too worried about what he’s thinking, that I’m not living up to his expectations.”

  “Guy
s don’t think during sex, Stella. They’re too busy feeling like a fucking superhero.”

  “Maybe with you.”

  “But it was only the one guy who said that, right?”

  “Right. But other guys have told me I seem unresponsive in bed. Like I’m not having fun.”

  “It probably comes off that way because you’re nervous, and I don’t blame you. You just have to find the right guy! One who will be patient and understanding, one who knows his way around a woman’s body and gets off on pleasing you.”

  I sniffed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever find that guy.”

  “You also need to date guys you actually want to bang, Stella. I understand now why you pick such safe types, but maybe if you were super hot in the pants for somebody, you’d have an easier time enjoying sex.”

  “Maybe.” But I wasn’t convinced that was the answer. “Or maybe I’m just bad in bed.”

  “I refuse to believe that.” She sighed. “Haven’t you ever wanted to just rip someone’s clothes off and go at it?”

  I thought for a moment. There was this guy at my oil change place that I sometimes worked into my LELO fantasies, but—

  “You’re taking too long to answer this question.”

  “Sorry.” I shrugged. “I just don’t get those feelings too often. It’s like I’ve trained myself to shut them down.”

  She pointed a finger at me. “You know what you should do? Have a fuck fling.”

  “A fuck fling?” I wrinkled my nose. “That does not sound like me at all.”

  “Because it isn’t. You’re all about the long-term plan, the long-distance run, the big picture. But a meaningless, short-term fuck fling with someone who can teach you to enjoy sex without feeling so self-conscious is exactly what you need. Pleasure for pleasure’s sake.”

  “I don’t think that’s the—”

  “Oh! Oh!” She snapped her fingers. “You know what would be even better? If he didn’t even speak English! That way you won’t even know what he’s saying!”

  I groaned and opened the car door.

  “I’m serious,” she said, poking my leg. “Go inside and book a trip somewhere. Italy. France. Brazil. Buy some sexy clothes, pack a bag, and get out of town.”

  “I’ll think about it.” I took off my second shoe and tucked it into my bag. “Thanks for driving me home. I had too much wine.”

  “That’s what sisters are for. We’ll go get your car tomorrow. Listen, I love you and I’ve been there. Things are going to get better.”

  A sound escaped me, something between a sob and a laugh. “Right.”

  “They will,” she insisted. “Walter wasn’t the one, Stella. But the one is out there. You’ll find him.”

  As I trudged up my driveway in bare feet and let myself in the side door, I couldn’t help thinking how easy it was for Emme to be so optimistic. She’d found her soul mate living right across the hall from her apartment—they’d already been friends. He’d discovered he was father to an adorable eight-week-old baby girl named Paisley right when they started dating, so Emme already had a kind of built-in family. And Maren had reunited with her first love over the summer. Now both my younger sisters were happily engaged, planning weddings and babies, and I couldn’t help feeling left out. Left behind. Left alone.

  I made myself a kale salad and added leftover grilled chicken in my fridge from last night’s dinner for one, and I ate it standing at the counter in silence, feeling shitty about myself.

  It didn’t seem fair that sex was so easy and natural and fun for some people, like my sisters, and so difficult to enjoy for someone like me. It’s not that I begrudged them their fun, but I did envy it. Clearly they’d inherited some sort of hedonistic pleasure gene that I hadn’t.

  How could I learn to let go a little?

  While I was thinking about it, my phone rang. Grams calling, it said.

  I set down my fork and dutifully took the call. “Hello?”

  “Is this the birthday girl?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

  “I’m just … tired.”

  “Tired? At your age? Tell me you’ve at least had a cocktail or two and that fella of yours is taking you out dancing.”

  “Actually, Grams, there is no fella.” I walked over to the fridge and pulled out the bottle of wine I’d opened last night.

  “What happened to that professor you were seeing, the one who was so gassed about the bees all the time?”

  “He’s out of the picture.” I poured a glass of pinot grigio, adding a little extra for pain and suffering.

  “Well, I don’t blame you for calling that off, honey. He seemed a bit dull, like he wouldn’t be too good in the feathers.”

  I paused with the glass halfway to my mouth. “In the feathers?”

  “You know. On the mattress. Between the sheets.”

  Oh, Jesus. I took a gulp of wine. “So how are you, Grams?”

  “Oh, fine. But I do get lonely up here. How about coming for a visit? I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

  “I know.” My grandmother’s guilt trips were legendary. Next she’d remind me exactly how old she was.

  “I’ll be ninety-three next month.”

  “I know.” Then there’d be a jab at my mother.

  “And it’s not like your mother ever comes to visit me.”

  “Didn’t she just offer to fly you down to Florida to see her?”

  “Florida? In the summertime? I’d die of heatstroke. And I don’t enjoy flying anymore.”

  “No?”

  “No. The seats are too close together and the drinks are terrible.”

  “Right.” Next would come a list of ailments, although she was in perfectly good health as far as I knew. Still cooked for herself, still drove herself around, still drank a dry martini every night at five o’clock sharp.

  “And anyway, I’ve been having some pain.”

  “Pain? Where?”

  “I think it’s my hips. But I’m sure it’s nothing, honey. Don’t you worry about me.”

  “Have you been to the doctor, Grams?” She’d had both hips replaced years ago.

  “Not for a while. I’m not driving anymore, see. So I have no way to get there.”

  “What?” I set my wine glass down. “Why aren’t you driving anymore? Did something happen?”

  “Not exactly. I just don’t think I should because … of my eyes. Yes, my eyesight has been worsening. And my hearing.”

  “Your hearing, too?”

  “What’s that, dear?”

  I took a deep breath and spoke a little louder, although part of me suspected this was all an act to get me to come visit. “Do you need a ride to the doctor, Grams? Have you scheduled an appointment?”

  “Yes, I have an appointment. It’s next week. But Frank will take me.”

  For the first time, genuine worry sent chills up my spine. “Frank who?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Your grandfather, you silly goose!” Then she lowered her voice. “I should be quiet, because he goes to sleep early these days.”

  My grandfather, a World War II veteran, had died ten years ago at the age of eighty-eight after a long and happy life.

  I spoke clearly and evenly. “Gramps isn’t there, Grams. He’s gone. We lost him ten years ago, remember?”

  Silence. “Oh, of course we did. Silly me, I get so confused sometimes. I think I hear him talking to me, and it’s just the wind. Anyway, don’t worry about me, honey. I’ll find a way to the doctor’s office. I can always ride my bike.”

  “Grams! You can’t ride your bike there if you’re in pain.” I tipped my forehead into my hand. “Listen, let me see if I can rearrange some things on my schedule, get some appointments moved. I might be able to come up there this week and take you. What day is your appointment?”

  “What appointment?”

  “Your doctor’s appointment,” I said loudly. “The one you said you made for your hips.”
>
  “Oh, that! Right. That’s, uh, Thursday. This Thursday.”

  “Okay. I’ll try to get up there by then.”

  “Thank you, dear. That will be lovely. I’ll tell Gramps you’re coming. He’s so fond of his granddaughters, he’ll be tickled pink.”

  Another deep breath. “Right. Listen, I’ll check in with you tomorrow and let you know for sure. Do you have a phone in your room in case you need to call for help at night?”

  “Yes. And it’s one of those newfangled ones, you know, that doesn’t have a cord like the one in the kitchen. You can walk around with it. The boy next door helped me install it. He’s very good to me. Just a darling.”

  “That’s nice,” I said distractedly, already trying to rearrange my week so I could make the four-hour trip to the sleepy northern Michigan town where she lived. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay, dear. See you soon.”

  As soon as we hung up, I called my mother. She didn’t answer, and then I remembered that when she’d called earlier in the day to wish me happy birthday, she’d mentioned dinner plans with Phil, her longtime companion. I left her a message asking her to call me and dialed Emme.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  “You doing okay?”

  “Yes, but have you talked to Grams lately?”

  “Grams? Yes, I had to call her a couple weeks ago to get some family addresses for invitations.”

  “Did she seem odd to you? Say anything strange?”

  “No. She guilt-tripped me about not visiting her, but she seemed sharp as a tack. Had all the information I wanted and rattled off decades-old stories about every relative on the list. Why?”

  “Because I just spoke with her, and she seemed … off.”

  “Off how?”

  “She said she’s not driving anymore because she’s losing her eyesight and her hearing.”

  “What? She didn’t mention that to me. And Mom talks to her almost every day, doesn’t she? Wouldn’t we have heard that by now?”

  “She also said she had to speak quietly because Gramps was asleep in the bedroom.”

  Silence. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “I know. And she said she’s in pain, and she wants me to come up there and drive her to her doctor’s appointment, which is Thursday.”