Casual Sext

by Lisa Lace

  “This is really the end?”

  “We said we’d try, and we did.” She swallows and blinks away more tears. “We wanted to believe it was the timing that was wrong, but it’s us. This isn’t meant to be. Go.”

  Sophie

  I sit at the dining room table with my hands clasped around a hot cup of honey and lemon tea and cry my heart out. Lena sits beside me, rubbing my back comfortingly. I am so thankful that she hasn’t said, “I told you so.” James stands nearby, his arms folded over his chest and a solemn expression on his face.

  “Don’t cry for him. He’s not worth it,” Lena tells me softly.

  “I don’t understand,” I say through tears. “I didn’t force him into this. He reconnected with me. He pursued me. I was the one with reservations, and he convinced me that we were meant to be.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. He knew all the right things to say.” Even after all her warnings, Lena is still there to pick up the pieces when I’ve ignored all her advice.

  “I told him to go. If things are going to be like they were before, what’s the point?”

  “You made the right call, sweetie. You deserve better than flying visits and half-assed attempts at pretending to care.”

  “Then why do I feel like a bitch?” I sob. “Cole has talent. God knows he’s good at what he does. The biggest paper in New York City is begging him to come back to them. And I’m stamping my foot like a toddler, telling him that I’m more important. Am I the selfish one? Am I wrong?”

  Lena strokes my hair. “No, you’re not. No woman wants to be last priority all the time.”

  “I can’t help feeling like I’m making a huge mistake.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “You know how long it took me to get over him. Forget that—I never got over him. Despite his faults, I love him, and I always have. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel special.”

  “Until something better comes along and then he makes you feel this big.” Lena holds her fingers an inch apart. “You want a man who’s going to build his whole world around you.”

  “I feel so disloyal.”

  “Are you kidding me?” James interjects. He pulls up a chair beside me and clasps his hands on the tabletop. “You’ve given him so many chances. At some point, he’s got to give something back. He made you a promise that he went back on.”

  “Besides, the issue isn’t that he has a job he loves or that he’s good at,” Lena adds. “The problem is that you’re invisible to him when he’s doing it. You used to call me night after night, crying about how you’d cooked another dinner, and he hadn’t come home. You used to get so worried about him. ‘Lena, Cole’s not home—do you think he’s okay?’ You were depressed.”

  “It was a big change,” I remind her. “We’d spent a couple of years completely absorbed in each other. When we were traveling, we might as well have been the only two people in the world.” At the memory, a sad smile spreads across my face. “We woke together, ate breakfast together, spent the days wandering new streets, ate dinner together, went to bed together. It was only us. Then, we came back to America, and all of a sudden, I hardly ever saw him. Maybe my expectations were too high.”

  Lena bristles and leans down to catch my eye. “Stop it, Sophie. You always do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make excuses for him. You act like the sun shines out that man’s ass while putting yourself down. Why is it your responsibility to wait for him? Sacrifices need to run both ways. What has he ever given up for you?”

  I look down at the table and my empty cup. “I love him.”

  “Sometimes that’s just not enough.”

  James rests his hand on my shoulder gently. “I don’t speak for all men, but what I will say, is that I wouldn’t give up Lena for the world. No matter what opportunity came my way, nothing will ever compare to her.” He lifts his eyes and glances across the table at my sister with pure adoration in his eyes. “If the man you’re with doesn’t feel like that, then maybe it’s best you let him go. Lena’s right—you deserve someone who wants what you want from life. Or at least someone who’s willing to compromise to make sure you’re happy. It sounds like Cole’s not in that place.”

  Fresh tears rise in my eyes. “I really thought he was. He wasn’t working for the paper anymore, and everything was perfect. I felt like he only had eyes for me. I didn’t think anything would change that.”

  “I’ve never had a calling that I feel that passionate about,” James tells me, “but it must be something pretty powerful to make him give you up.”

  “James is right,” Lena says. “I think Cole’s an idiot, but there’s no way he’d walk away if he didn’t really feel like it was something he had to do, and when someone feels that strongly about something, what can you do?”

  “I either had to accept him as he was or accept that it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Exactly,” Lena says. She gives my hand a squeeze. “You wouldn’t have been happy. Maybe you could have faked it for a while, but eventually, the loneliness and resentment would have set in like before. And how long did it take last time? Only weeks. Maybe now that you’re older, you’ll drag it out for months, or even years, but eventually, you won’t be able to take it anymore.”

  “But I can’t imagine life without him.”

  “You’ve lived life without him for years and years, Soph. Maybe these few months with him will be enough to finally get him out your system. The big ‘what if’ has been answered. It was not meant to be.”

  I nod. “It wasn’t meant to be.” I force a smile.

  When James suggests ordering take-out, I agree and then make small talk while we eat. All the while, I’m dying inside. No matter what reassurances I have from Lena and James, I’m not convinced that I’ve made the right choice. I already ache for Cole. I miss him.

  But I’ve made my decision, and I have to be strong. I could spend my whole life taking Cole back and then throwing ultimatums at him. At some point, something has to give. After ten years, one marriage, one divorce, and a second chance, maybe that time has come.

  Cole

  As we arranged, Dennis meets me at a bar where we once shot a reception. It was the only place that came to mind. It’s not a total dive, but it’s nothing special—it smells like spilled booze, and the bar itself is sticky. The paper coasters are soggy and curled at the edges. The walls are decorated with vintage metal signs and a dartboard.

  It’s strange to see him without his camcorder in hand. He looks incomplete, like an action figure without its trademark sword. He’s wearing a T-shirt and a button-down cardigan. I think he’s aiming for hipster, but he looks like my dad.

  I shake his hand and make some small talk, but I’m nervous. I’m about to tell him that he’s out of a job.

  “Do you want a drink?”

  He sits on the stool beside me at the bar. “A beer, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  I get the bartender’s attention and order two bottles. I take a swig out of mine as soon as it’s in my hand. “Had a good weekend?” I ask.

  As always, Dennis is more intuitive than I give him credit for, and he gets straight to the point of the conversation. “In four years, you’ve never once invited me out for a beer. I’ve never been to your apartment unless it’s to edit pictures or pick up equipment. I can’t help thinking it might have something to do with Edward Bates and The New York Times.”

  I let out a long breath, my shoulders dropping. “I’m sorry, Dennis. My old boss took me aside at Bates’ funeral. He’s desperate for me to go back. Nobody else will go to Sudan.”

  “After what happened to Bates, I’m not surprised. I guess you accepted?”

  “I did. I had no choice.”

  “It’s a calling.” Dennis’ voice is resigned, and a little disapproving. “What did Sophie say?”

  “She gave me another ultimatum.”

  “The fact that we’re here talking tells me that you decided to go back to the pa
per.”

  I take a swig of my beer and look down at the table. “It’s the life I always wanted.”

  “For the last four or five months, you’ve been saying that Sophie’s all you wanted. Are you sure you’re making the right call?”

  “I’ve worked my whole life for this gig.”

  “Is this about the Pulitzer?”

  I frown. “Of course not.”

  Dennis holds up his hands. “I don’t get it. You’ve got a good life here. Work is steady. You have a woman who adores you. Your dad’s in New York. I don’t see why you’d give it all up to chase disasters unless you are chasing something else as well.”

  I simmer with frustration. “It’s not about an award, or fame, or glory, or anything like that. To be honest, I’m getting a bit sick of people suggesting it is.”

  Dennis shrugs. “What do I know?”

  “Does nobody understand that the job is important?”

  “Of course, it is. But someone else can do it.”

  “I want to do it.”

  “There you go.” There’s bitterness in his voice.

  “Are you pissed at me?”

  Dennis—who never raises his voice or gets agitated, no matter how big a tantrum a bride throws, or how demanding a sixteen-year-old’s mother may be—slams his beer down on the table. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? I thought we were partners!” he exclaims, his expression turning sour. “I’ve been at your side for four years. Not only have I been on call whenever you need me and for whatever reason, but I’ve listened to you bitch and moan about how hard your life is and tried to be your friend.”

  “You’ve been a great friend, Dennis.”

  “You, not so much. You’re so self-centered. You accepted this job without even talking to me. I would have been happy for you and supported you. You, though—you didn’t even think twice about where this would leave me. The company is ‘Tanner Photography.’ Not ‘Graham Videos.’ I’m going to have to start from scratch.”

  “You can keep the name, Dennis.”

  “It’s not about that!” Dennis retorts, his voice rising in anger. “Jesus, Cole, you’ve got no loyalty whatsoever, have you? You use people. You needed me to get your company off the ground, and I worked fucking hard for you. Your dad is old and doesn’t have many people around, but that doesn’t matter to you. You wanted Sophie when it suited you, then you dropped her, too. Maybe it’s best you disappear—at least then you’ll stop sucking people dry. Good luck with The New York Times.” He puts down his beer and disappears.

  I feel like shit. I don’t know if he’s simply speaking out of anger, or whether he’s completely right, and I’m an ass.

  Do I really suck everyone dry?

  I nurse my beer for a good hour and then order another, and another. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore; whether I’m heading in the right direction or throwing everything good away. Either way, it’s too late to go back now—I’ve burned all my bridges.

  I let myself into Dad’s house the next morning. My head is pounding from the night before. I drank myself into a stupor, trying to come to terms with the fact that I might be fucking up all over again.

  He’s sitting watching TV in his favorite wicker armchair and looks up when I enter. “Cole! I wasn’t expecting you today.”

  “I was in the area, and thought I’d drop in.”

  “Grab yourself a drink, son. There’s soda in the fridge.”

  “Thanks.” I take a can out the fridge and sit on the sofa by my dad. “What are you watching?”

  “The news.” He shakes his head. “There’s so much crime these days. It’s horrible.”

  This is my chance. I clear my throat and lean forward. “Actually, Dad, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Dad mutes the TV and twists in his armchair. His eyebrows draw together, and he frowns. I feel just like I did when I was a kid, and he used to stare me down when I was trying to get away with doing something I knew I shouldn’t. “What is it?”

  “I spoke to David at Edward Bates’ funeral.”

  “You’re going back to the paper.”

  I nod. “I know it’s not what you want me to do.”

  Dad shrugs. “It’s not about what I want. You’re a grown man, and it’s your life.”

  He turns back to the television but doesn’t turn the sound back on. I can tell he’s processing the news, and I think about what Dennis said to me the night before.

  I didn’t even think about Dad when I told David I’d go back. He’s getting older, after all.

  “What does Sophie think?”

  “Dad.”

  “I see.”

  “You’re angry with me.”

  “I’m not angry. I’m disappointed. I’m sad for you. I think you’re making a mistake.”

  “You never wanted me to pursue photography.”

  Dad’s face softens. He looks resigned. “I only want you to be happy, son. I know that Sophie makes you happy. While you’ve been doing your wedding photography, you’ve been happy. All this photojournalism stuff makes you someone else, gives you something different.”

  “Like purpose? Meaning? The chance to do something important with my life?”

  “Perhaps. But one day all that will be over, and what will be left? I’ll be gone soon enough, like your mom. Then you’ll be my age and on your own.”

  “Maybe if Sophie can’t accept that this is what I want to do, then she’s really not the right person for me after all.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  I look down. No, I don’t. Sophie’s perfect. “I could refuse the job and stay with Sophie, but that huge ‘what if?’ will always be hanging over us. It’ll always feel like I didn’t fulfill my potential. Like I could have done more.”

  Dad shrugs. “Then do what you have to do, Cole. Only you know what’s going to make you truly happy. Whatever you decide, you’ll always be my son.”

  Sophie

  Twenty minutes late, Lena sweeps into Latte Latte, immediately apologizing. “I’m sorry I’m late, sweetie. The head chef from the downtown branch called to tell me there’s been some kind of electric malfunction. The whole kitchen is down.”

  “Oh, wow. Do you have time to be here?”

  She waves away my concerns with a sweep of her hand. “I’ve got Janet on it. What am I going to do anyway? I’m not an electrician.”

  I sigh wistfully. “God, I’d love your life.”

  “Latte?”

  My cup is empty. I guzzled down coffee while I was waiting, as well as a muffin—although the waitress has already cleared away the evidence. When Lena asks if I want a treat, I casually ask for a brownie and pig out. I’ve gained five pounds in the three months since Cole left.

  Lena returns from the counter with a tray of goodies and sits down beside me. We’re at the small round table by the window on low, well-cushioned chairs with geometric patterns.

  Outside, a young woman with blue hair and Doc Martens is trying to drag a stubborn basset hound down the street. Lena follows my gaze and laughs. “Have you considered getting a dog?”

  I make a face. “I thought spinsters like me were meant to get cats.”

  “Maybe you should break the mold.”

  “I could get a St. Bernard.”

  “No. I think you’re more of a Bichon Frise gal.”

  “Are you kidding? Those things look like pom-poms. If I’m going to get a dog, I want one that looks like a dog.”

  “A pug?”

  I laugh. “Hmm. Still not so sure. Maybe a nice terrier or something.”

  “Seriously? You nearly killed me when I spilled wine on your sofa. I feel sorry for any dog you get.”

  “Hey, that sofa was my one big splurge. Everything else was from thrift stores and Craigslist.”

  Lena smiles. “It’s good to hear you joking again.”

  I take a sip of my latte and smile. “It’s good to joke.”

&nbs
p; “How are you doing?”

  I shrug. “Funny enough, it’s easier getting over Cole the second time. You’re right. I just needed to get him out of my system.”

  It’s a complete lie. As soon as I wake up every morning, I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I’ve never felt more alone in my life. But I don’t want Lena to know. It’s bad enough that she’s seen me break down a second time.

  “How’s work? You must have heard about the promotion by now.”

  “I’ve had the interview. They’re going to tell us who’s been selected next week.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you. Not that I need to—you hold that place together.”

  “Thanks, Lena.”

  We chat about work and our parents for a while when suddenly, I’m distracted by something I spot out of the corner of my eye.

  On the windowsill next to us is a rack of papers and magazines. There’s The New York Times. Instinctively, I reach for it. Since Cole left, I’ve scoured every copy, just to get some idea of where he is and what he’s doing.

  I don’t need to scour this copy. Cole’s photo is on the front page, a credit to his work in tiny print underneath the picture. “Oh, my god,” I breathe. “He’s in Syria.”

  Lena’s eyes widen, and she grabs the paper from my hands. “Cole? I thought he was going to Sudan.”

  “He was there. One of his pictures was on page six last month. He must have moved on.”

  I look at the photograph. It depicts a line of soldiers with their guns raised marching by the cover of a brick wall. Behind the wall, the Syrian landscape is in full view. Smoke spirals from the ruins. It looks like a shot from World War II.

  “The story’s from Idlib,” Lena tells me, reading from the article out loud. “Two hospitals were hit by airstrikes by pro-Assad forces.” She looks up at me to see my reaction.

  My trembling hand is over my mouth, and I’m shaking. My stomach is in knots. I think about the last time Cole was shooting in a war zone in ruins like this. A building collapsed on him. I can’t help it; the tears stream down my face.