by Amber Garza
Even though I didn’t really know Lennie, I’d always felt a connection with her. Maybe it was stupid. Perhaps it was nothing more than a childhood fantasy. Something I need to get out of my system. But I suspected it was more than that.
Not that I’d ever have the chance to find out.
When we ran into each other earlier today, it was clear that she wasn’t interested in seeing me again. Not as a date, or even as a friend. I believed her story about the ex-fiance, but I doubted that was the only reason she turned me down.
Plunking down on my soft, spring-less couch, I rested my head against the cushions. Blowing out a breath, I stared up at the ceiling. Listening to my upstairs neighbor stomping around, I closed my eyes. In my mind, I replayed Lennie and my conversation in the coffee shop. Only I imagined it going differently.
I imagined her differently.
Not the sad, broken Lennie I ran into today. But the old Lennie. The bubbly, carefree, innocent Lennie I remembered from high school.
And I imagined our conversation going a little more like this: “Lennie?” I stood from the table, stepping toward her.
She whirled around, a question in her expression. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“We went to high school together,” I explained, pressing a palm to my chest. “Colin Wilde.”
A smile leapt to her face, her brows raising. “Oh, right. Colin. I remember you.” She lightly touched my arm. “How have you been?”
I shivered from her gentle touch. “Good. You?”
“Great.” Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks bright.
“You look great,” I complimented her.
“So do you.” Her smile deepened, causing my heart to flip in my chest. Then her gaze shifted to my laptop. “Tell me, Colin. Did you ever write that romance novel?”
“I’m working on it,” I told her.
“Really? I’d love to hear about it.” A couple came toward us, and Lennie moved out of their way to let them pass. Her hand fell to the extra chair at my table. “Mind if I sit down with you for a minute? It’s too wet and rainy to go out just yet.”
“Of course.” I motioned for her to sit. Once she did, I dropped into my chair.
After setting her coffee down on the table, she leaned forward, rubbing her palms together. “Don’t keep me in suspense. I want to hear all about your book.”
“It’s still in the early stages,” I said. “So there’s not much to tell.”
“Really? That’s all I get?” Giggling, she reached up and yanked the beanie off her head. Then she shook out her blond hair until it spilled in loose waves down her shoulders.
I swallowed hard. “For now. But pretty soon I’ll have more to share,” I promised.
“Is that your way of asking to see me again?”
“Is that your way of accepting?” I bantered back.
She shrugged, her face growing serious. “Honestly, I don’t know if I should. I mean, I just got out of a serious relationship. Actually, I’m back in the city because I broke off my engagement.” Shaking her head, she pursed her lips. “Guy was a total jerk.”
“Then today’s your lucky day, because I can promise I’m not a total jerk.” I grinned.
“I know.” She stared into my eyes. “We may not have exactly been friends in high school, but I remember you fondly. You were always a nice guy.”
“So does that mean you’ll let me take you to dinner some time?” I pressed.
She hesitated, but only momentarily. “Yeah. That actually sounds nice.”
Coming out of my daydream I blinked, the room coming back into focus. Picking my head up off the cushions, my pulse quickened. That’s it. The thing I’d been waiting for. Scrambling off the couch, I raced toward my laptop which sat closed on my kitchen table. After lifting the lid, I pressed it on and plugged it into the nearest outlet. The screen roared to life. Sliding into one of the wooden chairs, it creaked beneath my weight. I pulled up my document and started to type. Before I knew it, I had the first chapter written.
Months of nothing, and now after seeing Lennie one time I was able to write whole pages. I didn’t know if we would ever cross paths again, but I was grateful to have found my muse.
3
It had been almost a month since I’d seen Lennie, but the impression that one conversation left was still with me. I’d written almost half of my novel. The words poured from my fingers day after day. I needed only to think of her, and inspiration would hit. Sitting in the same coffee shop I’d been in the day we reconnected, I pounded out a few scenes in between cups of coffee.
I preferred writing here as opposed to home. That’s not to say that I never worked in my apartment. I had been known to burn the midnight oil. But here was where I got the most done. Funny how the silence at home seemed to stunt my creativity, whereas the noise here spurred it on. You would think it would be the opposite.
Bending over my keyboard, my fingertips flew over the keys to the soundtrack of people’s voices, dishes clanging, and the whir of the espresso maker. The scent of freshly ground beans filled the air, mixing with other smells like perfume, cologne, and sweet baked goods. It sure beat the musty smell of my studio apartment. As I neared the end of the scene, the door opened, the bell tinkling. It was cold today. Not raining, but bitterly cold. I actually wished for rain when it got this frigid. When the air hit me, I shuddered, but didn’t stop working. I was at a good part; a pivotal moment, and nothing would interrupt my flow.
“Looks like you figured out what your book was about.” I froze at the sound of her voice, my hands suspended over the keyboard. Well, nothing except for her.
For one second I thought I’d finally gone mad. As if my desire for Lennie had caused me to imagine her. Slowly, I looked up. At the sight of her standing over me, I exhaled with relief, grateful that she was real and not a figment of my imagination. It was odd to see the flesh and bone version of her when the imaginary version had been with me for weeks. Shaking my head, I forced myself to decipher the difference between the two.
“Uh…yeah. I have,” I finally answered. Then before she could see what I’d written, I swiftly closed the lid on my laptop.
“Top secret, huh?” She eyed my arm which held the lid down as if it was a guard standing watch.
I felt stupid. “Well, you know, it’s still in rough draft form.”
“I get it.” She nodded. Today she wore almost the same outfit as last time, down to the beanie and scarf. But she seemed different, happier, I guess. Perhaps she’d resolved some of the issues that weighted her down before.
My stomach knotted at the thought, realizing that they may have to do with the ex. Maybe they’d gotten back together or something. That would explain why she’s being so friendly this time. She wouldn’t have to worry about me hitting on her if she’s taken. I’d noticed that in other social situations too. The women that were taken were usually the nicest. It was the ones who were available who often had a chip on their shoulder toward me. It was confusing, and it was one of the reasons I took myself out of the dating scene. The last thing I wanted was to play games or try to decipher what women were thinking. It was impossible anyway. So why even attempt it? I’d never liked losing, and this didn’t seem like an area I could win.
“You got another appointment today?” I asked.
A look of surprise painted her features. “How’d you know?”
“It’s the reason you came in last time,” I reminded her. “Because you were on your way to an appointment.”
“Oh, right,” she said. “Well, yeah, I am on my way to an appointment, actually.” Her gaze flickered to the coffee counter. “Just gathering some liquid courage first.”
“I doubt you need courage. I’m sure you’ll knock ‘em dead.”
She frowned. “I don’t know about that.”
I paused, searching her face. “I take it the last appointment didn’t go well?”
“Not so much.” She shook her head.
“I’m sor
ry.” I sat back in my chair. “But I’m sure this one will go better.”
“I hope so.” She sighed, her gaze dropping to the table. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I better let you get back to it.”
A few minutes earlier, I’d wanted nothing more than to be left alone with my book. But now the thought of her leaving filled me with dread. What if she never came into the coffee shop again? The chances of running into her somewhere else were pretty slim. I’d let her go not once, but two times prior to this. I didn’t want to do it again.
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “I needed a break.” Throwing my arms out in the air I stretched. “These hands were getting tired. You’re doing me a favor. Trust me.” I winked. “In fact, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you a coffee.”
“Oh, no. That’s okay.”
I stood. “I insist.” Reaching out, my fingertips brushed her shoulder as I gently guided her toward a chair. “If you don’t tell me what you want, I’ll have to guess.”
“Vanilla latte,” she said, sinking into the chair with a resigned huff.
With a sense of satisfaction, I sauntered over to the register. After ordering a vanilla latte, I headed to the counter. Leaning against the wall, my gaze rested on Lennie sitting at my table. She was zoning out, her gaze looking everywhere, yet nowhere. It was apparent by the glaze in her eyes, by the faraway expression. I wondered what demons tormented her. I wondered what went on in her mind. As I watched her, it became even clearer how different flesh and bone Lennie was from imaginary Lennie. It made me sad. If only I could bring out that other side of her. The one she’d obviously abandoned along the way.
“Colin!” I jerked when my name was called.
“Thank you,” I said, as I picked up the coffee. When I reached my table, I handed the latte to Lennie. “Here you are, my lady.” It was corny. The kind of thing a dork would say. But that’s what I was. A book nerd. No sense denying it. And actually I was glad I said it since it elicited a tiny smile from Lennie.
“Thanks,” she practically whispered before taking a sip of her coffee. A ring of lipgloss stained the lid when she pulled it back from her mouth.
“What kind of job are you interviewing for?” I asked after sitting down again.
“Oh, nothing special.” She shrugged, her lips tugging downward.
“A job’s a job, right?”
“You’re the lucky one. You get to do what you love.” Shame washed over me. I never should’ve given her the impression that I had made a career out of writing. I was nothing more than a wannabee. Opening my mouth, I was about to tell her the truth, but she spoke first. “So does this book of yours have a happy ending?”
Wrinkling my nose, I pondered her words. “I’m not sure. I haven’t really thought through the ending yet.” I paused for a moment. “What do you prefer in books you read?”
“Happy endings for sure.” Her head bobbed up and down. “Real life is so full of disappointments already. So why read something sad?”
Mulling over her words, I rubbed my chin with my thumb and forefinger.
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t agree, do you?”
“Honestly, I don’t agree or disagree. I see your side, but as a reader, I don’t always like when a book wraps up neatly at the end. It’s not realistic.”
“Do books have to be realistic?” Her free hand flitted up to her neck, playing with the edges of her scarf. “I mean, they are fiction. They’re not supposed to be real.”
“True, but I think the more realistic the book is, the more believable it is to the reader.”
“I guess I’m not looking for believability necessarily when I read. I’m looking for an escape.” She pinned me with a stare. “Because let’s face it, how believable is any romance you’ve ever read? I mean, come on, no guy is that sweet or that head over heels in love with some girl. Guys aren’t over-the-top romantic, they don’t always say or do the right thing. None of it is real. It’s all a fantasy.”
Her words made my heart sink. It’s not that they weren’t true. She was right. The guys in romance novels were practically perfect, and as a species, we definitely were not. But the fact that she was so jaded about love saddened me. When we were younger, I’d foolishly assumed I knew her. I thought she lived a charmed life and would most likely have a charmed future. But I guess looks can be deceiving. We never really know what another person is going through.
“I’ll prove you wrong,” I said, and her gaze snapped to mine. “With my book. I’ll show you that a romance novel can be realistic.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” A light chuckle escaped through her lips.
“Why not?”
“Do you think any woman will want to read a realistic romance?”
“I don’t know.” My shoulders lifted and fell. “I guess we’ll see.”
“You’re a brave man, Colin.”
I smiled, thinking of my last name and my failed attempt to live up to it. “I don’t know if I’d call it bravery. Maybe it’s stupidity.”
“Or maybe it’s genius,” she said. “Sometimes thinking outside of the box works out really well for people.” After taking another sip of her coffee, she shifted in her chair. “Did you ever read those books where you choose your own ending?”
“Oh, yeah.” My lips curled upward, the memory surfacing. “I think I read those in middle school.”
“That’s about the age I was too, I think.” A wistful expression passed over her face. “Did you stick to picking one ending or did you read them all?”
“I stuck with the first one I picked.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows jumped up. “Not me. I read them all. I was too curious to only read one.”
“I guess I felt like reading all of them would defeat the purpose.”
“I liked those books. I liked the idea of having lots of different options. Knowing the ending could go so many different ways.” Lennie bit her lip, gloss coating the edges of her white teeth. “If only life were that way, huh?”
“I think that’s exactly how life is, actually. We have so many different paths we can choose.”
“Sometimes,” she said, darkness tainting her tone. “But sometimes the path has already been chosen for you.”
4
Lennie’s words plagued me day and night.
“Sometimes the path has already been chosen for you.”
I wanted to know what that meant. Immediately after the haunting statement had been spoken, I pressed her about it. But she’d clammed up the exact same way she had in our first conversation, and before I knew it, she’d vanished again. Slipped out of my life a third time. A part of me felt that she’d be back. Our conversation had been easy, comfortable. And she appeared to enjoy it.
I know for a fact that it was the most riveting conversation I’d had with a woman in years. Most of the women I interacted with didn’t enjoy talking about reading and books, and when they did, it wasn’t deep or insightful. Not like it had been with Lennie.
It’s funny, but I never pegged Lennie Samson as a girl who had much substance when we were younger. She hung with the jocks and cheerleaders, and I assumed her biggest quandary was what to wear or how to apply her makeup. And maybe that was true of the younger Lennie. But this Lennie had much larger problems. Even if she didn’t voice them, it was evident. They hung in the air around her, invisible and unspoken, but there nonetheless.
I wanted to help her, but I didn’t know how.
She still hadn’t offered up her phone number or any information that would help me track her down. My only hope was that she’d show up at the coffee shop again. Just in case, I went there every morning and stayed until late afternoon. Some days I wrote. Other days I sat there, waiting. Hoping. Praying.
I knew it made me seem like a stalker, but I didn’t care. I had to see her again.
When days turned into a week and she still hadn’t shown up, I realized there were other ways to find her. It was the age
of technology, after all. Surely, she’d left a footprint on the web. I’d never been big on social media. Probably because I didn’t think people cared what I did. I couldn’t see myself posting hourly or even daily updates. The few times I’d tried to join Facebook or Instagram, I was annoyed with people’s posts and pictures.
Having my morning coffee.
Out to lunch with my bestie.
I mean, who the hell cared? When did our daily activities become breaking news? But honestly, the worst was all the bragging. It seemed that everyone on social media lived perfect lives. Of course there were the few exceptions. Those who used social media as a platform to air all their dirty laundry or pitch their political agendas. All in all, I didn’t have the patience or stomach for it.
But today I found myself logging onto Facebook for the first time in years. It took several tries to remember my username and password, but finally I got it. Once I was in, I went to the search bar and typed in Lennie Samson. When she didn’t come up, I tried her full name. Lennox Samson. And there she was, staring back at me, wearing a broad smile.
My heart skipped a beat. With slick fingertips, I clicked on her name. Her page came up, revealing colorful pictures, an array of memes and posts. However, the last time she posted was a little over a year ago, and there’d been no activity since. Scanning down the page, I perused her pictures. In all of them she was smiling and happy, the Lennie I remembered from high school. The one who hadn’t a care in the world. Many of the pictures featured a guy. The one I assumed was her fiancée. Jealousy snaked around my heart and squeezed hard as I took in all of the intimate photos. Pictures of them hugging, kissing, his arm slung over her shoulder in an easy way, as if it belonged there. Which I suppose it did.
The sad look on her face when Lennie mentioned the break-up of her engagement filled my mind, and my jealousy seemed petty. She wasn’t even with him anymore. Besides, it’s not like I had any claim to her. I never had. A few conversations didn’t make her mine.
