One Click

by Andrea Mara

  When Cleo arrived at O’Shea’s, Erica and Ruth were already perched at the bar, sucking froth off the tops of their beers. Immediately, they wanted to know the latest developments with Marcus, and if it was getting serious. That made Cleo laugh. No chance, she told them, she still never knew for sure if he’d even show up at the bar.

  “So will he be there tonight, or does he know your shift was cancelled?” Ruth asked.

  “Oh crap. He doesn’t know.”

  “So just call him and tell him,” Erica said, waving at the bartender to order Cleo a beer.

  “Yeah, um, slight problem there. We haven’t actually swapped numbers yet.”

  Two jaws dropped at that little nugget, and Cleo could see it sounded insane.

  “You can’t be serious?” Erica said. “You’ve been dating for, like, two months now?”

  “Well, that’s just it,” she explained. “I mean, he comes back to my place at night but never stays over – it’s not like we’re really dating.”

  “Oh, come on, Cleo!” Erica said. “Even you can see that’s not normal.”

  And of course she was right; it wasn’t normal. But it wasn’t simple either. Cleo had asked for his number once, just to call his cell-phone when he couldn’t find it in her apartment, but he’d said no, not necessary. And something about the casual refusal to give her his number even for the most functional of reasons held her back from asking again.

  “Well, it’s just a different kind of relationship, and that’s okay,” Ruth said, though Cleo could tell even she thought it was odd.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” she replied. “He’s a different kind of guy. He’s doesn’t say much, and he’s obviously not big on commitment, but oh my God, I’m borderline obsessed with him. And if that means not swapping numbers, so be it.” She took a deep swallow from her beer.

  “But what are you going to do about tonight – will he be in The Cornerstone waiting for you?” Erica asked.

  “I guess. Maybe no harm if I don’t turn up, right?” But even as she said it, she knew she didn’t mean it.

  Ruth rescued her again. “Well, we could grab a drink at The Cornerstone? They do good cocktails?”

  Cleo nodded. “They do. And Gina will probably give us a few drinks on the house . . .”

  Erica wasn’t convinced. “Isn’t that chasing him though? How about playing hard to get?”

  And Cleo knew she was right, but she couldn’t not go. And, afterwards, she wondered how things might have gone if she had listened to Erica that night – or if perhaps it was a shortcut to an outcome already ordained.

  Chapter 10

  As they weaved their way between the crowded tables, Cleo’s breath quickened and her eyes scanned the bar ahead. There he was, in his usual spot. She searched for some sign that he was disappointed by her absence, but saw none. He was deep in his paperback, one hand around his glass of beer. Marcus only ever drank craft beers – one of the few things she knew about him.

  As they drew near, Cleo slowed, and started to wonder if it was a mistake, but before she could change her mind those grey eyes looked up at her, and she was hooked.

  “Hey,” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I’m off tonight but my girlfriends wanted to come here –” she gestured behind her. “So here we are. Erica, Ruth, this is Marcus. Marcus, these are two of my best friends from when I was growing up in Norwood.”

  Marcus leaned back on his stool and looked at them, assessing them – for what? Then, with a half-mocking smile, he stretched over to shake hands.

  “Marcus, nice to meet you – the first guy who ever managed to hold on to Cleo for more than a month,” Erica said and, although Cleo knew she meant it as a compliment, she was suffocated with self-consciousness. Did it sound like she’d said they were in a relationship?

  Marcus didn’t react. Instead he pointed to a small table in the far corner, and suggested they move there. Maybe everything would be okay.

  And it was okay. Not amazing, but okay. Marcus answered questions when asked, but mostly he sat back and watched. Erica was beside him and made a big effort to include him in every conversation. Ruth was beside Cleo, and was much quieter than usual. At the time, Cleo thought it was because of work – she’d been having some trouble with her boss. After, she wished it had been that simple.

  At last call, Erica suggested they go on to a cocktail bar on Union Avenue and Cleo realised she had a dilemma. She and Marcus had never gone anywhere other than her apartment together – this would be new territory. Looking over, she caught him staring at her, and started to get that familiar fluttery feeling. There was no question about another bar, they were going home. When she told the girls, Erica winked and Ruth smiled, though there was something not quite real about it. Cleo promised they’d catch a movie Sunday night to make up for leaving early, and they said goodbye.

  On the way home, she asked Marcus what he thought of her friends.

  “They’re fine,” he said, his voice neutral. “Very normal women with very normal lives.”

  Somehow he made the word normal sound like an insult and Cleo was hurt on their behalf.

  “Not like you, Cleo,” he added. “You’re quite different. I’m becoming very distracted by you.” And as he took her hand, she forgot all about being hurt and wondered if tonight perhaps he’d stay over.

  He didn’t stay over. But he did pick up her phone and type something in. His number, he said, in case she had a cancelled shift again. Then, as cool as always, he got dressed and smoked his cigarette on the balcony. But, before letting himself out, he leaned across the bed and kissed her cheek.

  “Distracted,” he whispered, then left.

  Progress, she thought, then slept.

  In the morning, Cleo spotted a text Ruth had sent the night before.

  Can you call me before work tomorrow?

  Almost nine – Ruth would be waiting in line for coffee at the cart outside her office. She sounded anxious when she picked up Cleo’s call, tripping over her words, but one thing was clear – it was about Marcus.

  “You’re worried about the lack of commitment, I get that,” Cleo said. “But I’m a big girl. And hey, I’m pretty sure we’re heading towards settling down.”

  “Oh, Cleo,” Ruth said, and went quiet.

  “I’m kidding, I’m not settling down – I just mean I like him. Is that so bad?”

  Silence again.

  “I recognised him.”

  Oh. That didn’t sound good. She continued when Cleo said nothing.

  “From a profile picture on Facebook.”

  Cleo swung her legs out of bed and padded through to the kitchen. “Well, he’s allowed to be on Facebook. Though – confession time – I’ve totally searched and never found him, so maybe it’s not him?”

  “It is. It’s not his account – he’s in the photo with a friend of a friend of mine. Shannon. It’s her account. He’s in her profile photo.”

  Cleo was aware of a slightly sick feeling in her stomach as she answered Ruth. “Well, that doesn’t mean anything.”

  But even then, in that first moment, she knew that of course it meant something. She sank down on the couch.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ruth was saying. “But I had to tell you. I don’t really know Shannon but I looked at her account and it’s pretty clear she has a boyfriend and his name is Marcus.”

  “Can you send me a screenshot?”

  “Sure. I’m about to step into the elevator now but call me later, okay?”

  Cleo didn’t answer. She disconnected the call and sat in her apartment, staring at the wall. Her phone buzzed, with a new message – the photo of Shannon and Marcus. There was no doubt – it was him. And suddenly it was all so painfully clear. Of course he didn’t ever bring her back to his apartment – he was living with his girlfriend. How on earth had she not seen this? All along, she thought he was so mysterious, so unattainable, the ultimate commitment-phobe, and really it was the oldest story in the book. Well, screw him. B
efore she could stop to think about it, she searched for his number and sent on the photo, with a short but clear message.

  I don’t know who you think I am, and I certainly don’t know who you are, but this is not how I do things. Don’t come into the bar again.

  She pressed send, and slumped back in the sofa. And then she called her mom.

  Chapter 11

  Cleo checked the clock above the fireplace, squinting to see the time. Just before ten. Her mom had picked up the clock at a thrift store and insisted it would look perfect on the exposed brick wall above the fireplace, but the face was too small and Cleo could never read it without scrunching up her eyes. It was pretty though, with a birdcage and pink flowers filling the centre of the face, so she kept it. Delphine had visited earlier, making the journey from Garden City to bring flowers and a shoulder to cry on. Cleo didn’t cry, she was too pissed at him to cry. And Delphine didn’t tell her she should have spotted what was going on. She said bad things happen to good people and that you have to be able to trust those around you – to live your life by the many who don’t let you down, not the few who do. There was something raw in her voice when she said it and Cleo wondered for a moment if Delphine was still talking about Marcus, or something else entirely. And after she left, Cleo stayed right there on the lime-green sofa her mother always said hurt her eyes, and for a whole hour she didn’t move. When she did get up, it was to fix herself a vodka, then she flopped back down to do some more seething and self-pitying. In all that time, Marcus never replied to her message.

  And she was still there at ten o’clock, vowing she’d never let something like this happen again. That’s when he banged on the door. Not a knock – a loud bang that made her jump. As soon as she opened the door, the familiar flutter was back, but she made herself turn and walk to the couch without looking at him. Following close behind, he sat beside her. She shook her head – there was no way she was going to be the first to speak.

  “Cleo, I’m sorry.”

  He sounded different. Not so aloof. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing back the bit that always hung down across his eyes.

  She shrugged and waited.

  “I should have told you about Shannon. We’re together since I was sixteen, and I realise it’s been coming to an end for a long time, but when you’re with someone almost half your life, it’s hard to break away.” He ran his fingers through his hair again, and looked down. “I was afraid of hurting her, and it’s complicated – my parents and hers are long-time friends, and they can’t wait for us to get married. Wrecking this wrecks everything.”

  This was truly the longest speech she’d ever heard Marcus make, and he was barely recognisable without the air of detachment. Part of her wanted to laugh, then she remembered that she’d spent two months sleeping with a liar.

  “But I’ve done it now,” he said quietly. “I’ve told her it’s over. She can have the money we’ve been saving for a house, I don’t want any of it.” He looked up. “I just want you.”

  That gave Cleo a jolt.

  “Are you serious? You left your girlfriend of fourteen years? Just like that?”

  He nodded, still holding her gaze, and oh, those eyes.

  “Yep, and I felt like a complete asshole doing it, but part of me thinks she was waiting for one of us to say something.”

  Cleo’s head was spinning. “But don’t you live together?”

  “No. Her parents are strict Catholics and don’t believe in what they call living in sin. So we’ve been saving for a house.”

  That didn’t sound credible. “If you don’t live with her, why didn’t you ever suggest going back to your place?”

  He looked down at his hands again. “I share an apartment with her brother Chris. We were both house-hunting at the same time, and it was cheaper to share. So obviously, I couldn’t take you there.”

  It had seemed so dark and mysterious, and all this time the broad daylight truth was oh so mundane.

  “Do you think I could stay here tonight?” he asked, looking up at her from under his eyelashes.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I don’t feel comfortable going home with Chris there – things are obviously a little raw – I imagine he wants to punch me and I suspect Shannon’s dad feels the same. I doubt her mom will ever speak to me again. We have dinner with her grandmother every single Sunday night and have done for years – I’m like a part of the family already. They’re going to be furious after what I did today. So can I stay?”

  Cleo threw up her hands. “I’m not going to toss you out on the street at this time of night.” Getting up, she nudged him off the sofa, and bent down to pull the lower part out to make a bed. “I’ll get some extra covers and a pillow for you.” She turned to look at him.

  His mouth was open and Cleo felt the first small hint of satisfaction.

  “Oh . . . I thought I’d be . . .” he nodded towards her bedroom.

  “Marcus, we’re not together, and you are not welcome in my bed. You can sleep on my sofa tonight and, tomorrow, you go.”

  She marched into her room, and for the first time since she met him, she felt like the old Cleo was back.

  Chapter 12

  Unfortunately the old Cleo didn’t stay long. Within weeks, Marcus slipped back into her life and into her bed. Before she knew what was happening, they’d fallen into a routine – he’d go to his office each morning while she worked on graphic-design projects at home and, in the evenings, if she was pulling a shift at The Cornerstone, he came by. On her nights off, they went out and did all the stuff normal people do when they first start dating – except they’d skipped the dating part and gone straight to living together.

  Cleo’s friends were entranced – they couldn’t believe she’d settled down. Cleo couldn’t believe it either. And, for a while, it was nice having someone around, but it took some of the mystery out of it too. Once she’d seen him in his pyjamas, flossing in her bathroom, a little bit of the magic evaporated. She messaged about it in Norwood Girls one morning, after a particularly uninspiring evening watching him do laundry.

  So I’m not sure how excited I am to have Marcus here as a permanent fixture. I mean, the whole thing has just lost some of the allure, you know?

  Sarah, who was hardly ever online, was the first to reply.

  Seriously, Cleo, you are never happy! You spent two months wishing things would move up a notch and you nearly fainted over him holding your hand. Now he’s interested and you’re not?

  Jude jumped in then.

  Hey, that’s totally normal. The honeymoon period absolutely wears off when you see them all the time. When our first argument was about the amount of toilet paper we were buying I really did question my relationship with Nate. But you get past that, and realise it’s normal.

  Erica agreed with Jude – the gloss comes off when you live together, and that’s okay. Ruth was quiet. Ruth was the only other single person in the group, and she was hoping to meet someone. Maybe Cleo’s message sounded entitled, or maybe it was because she knew the back-story. Nobody else did. Cleo had intended to tell them but then time went by, and it was easier to say nothing about Shannon. Marcus never mentioned her at all, not since the morning they’d gone to clear stuff out of his apartment. They’d gone at a time when Chris should have been at work, but he was home with stomach flu, and launched a torrent of abuse at them. They left with only half of Marcus’s clothes, and he told Cleo he wasn’t risking going back for the rest, that both Chris and Shannon had mean, unpredictable tempers. He didn’t talk about the relationship beyond that, and Cleo wondered if there was more to the break-up than just her.

  August turned into September, and they had become used to being around one another. It wasn’t like in the movies – it wasn’t amazing, but it wasn’t terrible either. It was completely fine. But Cleo did wonder if completely fine was what she was looking for. One bone of contention was that Marcus didn’t like meeting up with her friends. She didn’t mind a
t first – it suited her to see them separately – but then he started complaining that she was going out too often. When she mentioned it in Norwood Girls, Jude said she’d gone through something similar.

  Yeah, Nate was like that after a few months together, and that’s why I don’t meet up with you guys every time now. And I get it. He doesn’t go out with his buddies all that much either. We’re hitting 30, it’s OK if we don’t party every night!!

  True. But Cleo didn’t like the sense that she was being told what to do, that she was expected to cancel plans on his account.

  It was October when he started talking about moving to a bigger place. Cleo’s apartment was too small, he said. But she was not for turning – she loved her fourth-floor walk-up in the middle of Brooklyn. Why would they need a second bedroom anyway, she asked? It’s not like they had people stay over.

  “For kids,” he said, without missing a beat.

  Kids? This was going way too fast. Cleo didn’t even know if she wanted children. She still had plans to take a train around Europe, she told him, no babies for her yet. She expected to see hurt – she’d become used to his hurt expression when something didn’t go his way. But this time she saw an unmistakable flash of anger, then just as quickly it was gone. He smiled tightly, and said of course not yet, but no harm in having more space already. Then he kissed her and went out to get bagels.