Cut Short

by Julia Wolf

  Frannie and I made subtle eye contact, communicating a thousand words between us. We were not fans of the way Edward treated Eliza, not at all.

  “E—” I started, but she shook her head.

  “Let’s talk about something else. Frannie, any shenanigans to share?”

  “Always. You know that bartender at Bar Royal, by my place? The one with the most lustrous ginger beard? Well, let’s just say it was not as good for me as it was for him. He jackhammered me, and not in any kind of good way. I stopped him right in the middle and told him I wasn’t into it.” Frannie took a sip of her drink, looking completely blasé.

  “I guess we can’t go to Bar Royal anymore,” Eliza said.

  Frannie scoffed. “Why? Are you kidding me? Beardo should be embarrassed, not me! I will drink where I please and not fuck who doesn’t please me.” Frannie was nothing if not blunt.

  I glanced at Eliza. “There is no shame in ending something that isn’t working.”

  “It was such a disappointment too.” Frannie sighed. “We gave each other flirty eyes every time I went in there, which is more often than I should say. I thought he was completely adorable. And let me tell you, Beardo was packing. He just had no clue what to do with that thing.”

  I raised my hand. “I’m proud to say I haven’t experienced the jackhammer.”

  Since my divorce, I’d had my fair share of Tinder hook-ups that were fun, but most were nothing to write home about. My marriage sucked, but David knew my body, so the sex had been good until the very end. Damn, did I miss really good sex.

  “Lucky!” Frannie said.

  I laughed. “I don’t think I ever told you guys about the only slightly weird thing that happened. The guy was really cute, we were vibing, but he kept blowing raspberries on my belly. He made me laugh, though, so it ended up being a good time.”

  Frannie snorted. “That guy sounds like a winner! What’s worse, jackhammer or raspberries? It’s a true toss-up!”

  Eliza laughed, but didn’t offer up her own awkward experience. She usually kept quiet about her sex life—not that Frannie or I wanted to hear about Edward in bed.

  After finishing her wine, Eliza unhooked her bag from under the bar. “Well, ladies, it’s been a long day.” She slipped off her stool to hug us. “See you tomorrow.”

  Once Frannie and I had called it a night, I went home and changed out of my work clothes, in total relaxation mode. As I was laying on my tufted magenta velvet couch watching Netflix, my phone buzzed. I didn’t recognize the number, but my stomach flip-flopped when I read the words.

  How do you still smell like cinnamon?

  I jumped up, did a little Running Man, screamed into a pillow, then calmly texted my reply.

  Me: Whoever could this be?

  Him: Oh, hey, it’s Joe Silver. I can’t believe I thought you would remember that.

  Me: I’m just kidding! I haven’t forgotten your smooth moves.

  Him: Thank god. I was feeling kind of stupid. You’re probably wondering how I got your number.

  Me: How did you get my number, Joe Silver?

  Him: I googled you.

  Me: Wow, I would make a terrible secret agent.

  Him: Lucky for me.

  My phone started ringing, and I was so startled, I threw it across the couch.

  I took a deep breath and answered. “Well, hello,” I said, trying to put out a laid-back, “I talk to Joe Silver on the phone every day” vibe.

  “Hi, Rachel. Am I freaking you out?”

  “What? No, it’s just kind of crazy to be talking to you. I don’t think we’ve ever talked on the phone.”

  “Ha! Yeah, we were strictly online friends.”

  “Hey, I thought we were IRL friends too.”

  “You were definitely my ‘in real life’ friend. Until you ghosted, not once, but twice,” he said, the edge in his voice betraying his lighthearted words.

  I tried to laugh it off. “I kept telling you I was an awful pen pal.”

  After a pause, he asked, “So, Rachel, can we get coffee? Meet up and actually speak to each other this time?”

  I flopped back into the soft throw pillows on my couch and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Rach?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Oh, well, if you don’t want to…”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m just really surprised to be talking to you. But yes, I want to have coffee with you.”

  “That’s just...okay. Let’s do this, when and where?”

  We agreed on meeting up in three days, then I got off the phone as quickly as I could so I didn’t say anything I’d regret. Once we hung up, I did a lot more pillow-screaming and some more awesome nineties dance moves. I had to get all my awkward out before I saw Joe again.

  Five

  Hair in a messy bun and wearing flip flops, cut-off shorts, and my favorite ladybug T-shirt, I walked down to my coffee shop to meet Joe. I was still playing it cool, so I went for the “I just threw on the first thing I saw” look. In reality, my outfit had been carefully planned. I had texted Frannie with pictures of several choices, and then promptly ignored all her suggestions.

  I got to the coffee shop a few minutes early, ordered a honey lavender iced coffee, and sat at my favorite table in the back.

  Joe was late. Like, really late. I drank my whole coffee and crunched on most of the ice. I looked at my phone to see if he had replied to my text asking if he was coming, but he hadn’t. My eyes became watery with disappointment. I put on my sunglasses and left.

  As I walked up the street, I heard my name. I turned around to see Joe running toward me.

  “Rachel! I’m here, don’t leave!” He leaned over, breathing hard.

  “I’m really sorry, there was traffic, then my phone died. I had to park really far away.”

  I was beyond relieved he hadn’t stood me up, but nerves and coffee had made me jittery, and I needed to move.

  “I’m glad you made it, Joe. I was going to take a walk. Do you want to walk with me?”

  “Of course. Anything you want to do.” He looked as nervous as I felt, which surprised me.

  We cut down a narrow side street that led to my favorite trail by the same river my apartment balcony overlooked.

  “So, you live down here? I’m really digging Tiber City. I love all the old buildings.” He laughed. “Though, the cobblestone streets are probably more charming when you’re not running really late.”

  “I do live here, right on Main Street. I actually co-own the salon where you got your hair cut. I try not to leave. It’s my own little happy bubble.”

  “Congrats, Rachel, that’s awesome. It’s a really nice place. I had no idea that’s what you wanted to do. What’s that like?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah, I kind of knew I didn’t want to go to college. I didn’t tell many people because everyone had these huge ambitions, taking AP classes, doing internships, and applying to ‘only the best schools.’ And just, you know, that so wasn’t me. I wanted to be creative, be around other people, not stuck at a desk. I really love my job. I have clients who respect me and let me take chances with their hair, and I like that I can help women feel confident and sexy. Don’t get me wrong, the first few years were tough. I worked a lot to build up a clientele. Any time I wasn’t working, I was going to extra classes, hair shows, trying to better my craft. But now I’m working with friends and I teach technique classes to other hairstylists on my days off,” I told him, quickly realizing I was rambling.

  I tended to get a little passionate about my career. But Joe looked interested in what I had to say, and we both had stopped walking.

  “That sounds amazing, Rachel. I don’t know a lot of people so enthusiastic about their job. You look really happy,” Joe said, directing his infectious smile down at me. I felt myself blushing, so I studied my feet.

  “What about you, Mr. Silver? Do your students love you?”

  “Ha, I don’t know if they love me. Middle schoolers think they a
re literally too cool for school sometimes. I have some good kids, though.”

  “Oh noooo, you teach middle schoolers?” I asked. “All those raging hormones?”

  “I do. Mr. Silver, music teacher and band director extraordinaire,” Joe said proudly, and we started slowly walking again.

  “I can’t believe we haven’t run into each other in all these years. Where do you live?” I asked.

  “Um, so, I still live in New York.” His eyes darted around the trees, not meeting mine.

  “Oh, are you down for the weekend visiting, or…?” I trailed off when he shook his head and finally looked directly at me.

  Feeling utterly bewildered, I asked, “Joe, did you drive down from New York today? Is that why you were late?”

  He ran his hands through his thick dark hair, pulling at it a little, and nodded.

  “Why?” I asked softly.

  “I know I am going to sound ridiculous, but when you agreed to meet up, I didn’t want to wait. And I thought you’d back out if I told you I was coming down from New York.”

  I nudged him with my shoulder and smiled. He nudged me back.

  “So, you’re teaching music and living in New York. Any other surprises?”

  “I think that about covers the last fourteen years. What about you, Rachel? Is your husband going to be mad that some dude drove from New York to see you?”

  “Where’d you get the idea I was married, buster?”

  “I may have done a little internet sleuthing over the years. Maybe seven or eight years ago, I came across your wedding website.” He looked embarrassed. “So, you married the guy, huh?”

  I laughed, because I had indeed married the guy. “Your sleuthing is a little out of date. The guy, whose name is David, and I haven’t been together for two years. Our divorce was finalized a year ago. There’s no guy to get mad about a crazy dude driving down from New York to see me.”

  If I wasn’t mistaken, Joe blew out a sigh of relief. But I wasn’t going to read into his reactions. Doing that had left me heartbroken way back when.

  “I’m sorry I’m such a creep,” he said. “And I told you that guy was a dick.”

  I swatted at him playfully and he jumped away from me.

  I invited Joe to come up to my apartment. He looked taken aback when he saw the mannequin heads lining my shelves in the living room.

  “What the hell, Rachel? I was not expecting heads to be staring at me when I sat on your couch! That is an interesting decorating choice.” He clutched his chest dramatically.

  “You be quiet! You’re going to hurt the ladies’ feelings.” I covered one of the mannequin’s ears.

  “Are you going to explain?” Joe laughed at me. I sat down next to him on the couch, grinning at my own silliness.

  “They’re my hair models, goofy! I thought they were pretty. This is the first time I’ve had my own place, and I decided if I wanted to have heads lining my shelves, I would. Those ladies were not allowed at my old fancy-schmancy condo. Everything had to be either the finest of mid-century modern antiques or Restoration Hardware. David did not appreciate kitsch.”

  Joe pointed to the colorful glass menorah on my mantel. “That’s beautiful.”

  I smiled. “Thanks. My mom made it in her glass-blowing phase. She’s currently in a knitting phase, so I have more scarves than I know what to do with.”

  He laughed. “That’s awesome. I remember you telling me how artistic your mom was. If she has another glass-blowing phase, I’d love a menorah.”

  “Nothing would thrill her more than to make you a menorah, Joe.” We exchanged smiles for a long moment before we both looked away.

  “I admit the heads startled me, but everything else I like. It feels like Rachel in here.” Joe looked around my colorful, comfortable, mismatched apartment.

  “Thanks. It makes me happy. When I picked out paint colors for the first time, I was incredibly insecure about my choices. Going to a store and having no one say in my ear, ‘Are you suuuure?’ was harder than I thought it would be. But now I have aqua walls that are cheerful and bright, and I picked it all by myself!”

  I turned toward Joe, my feet tucked under me. His arm was draped over the back of my couch, and without thinking, I brushed the tips of my fingers over his. Just that brief touch sent a shock straight down to my core.

  “What does your apartment in New York look like?” I asked.

  “Nothing like this. White walls, carpet on the floors, some concert posters hanging up, in a high rise.”

  He looked around, taking in my place. “I like this better,” he said definitively.

  “Do you like living in New York?”

  “I loved it for a long time. I never saw myself leaving. Things are changing, though.”

  “What kind of things?” I asked.

  Joe captured my gaze with his. “Pretty much everything. My old music teacher, Mr. Parker, has been my mentor over the years, and he’s been trying to get me to come work for him for a long time. A couple months ago, he offered me a job rewriting the entire music curriculum for Baltimore County. It’s pretty much my dream job, so I couldn’t turn it down. So, I’m moving back to Maryland and I just bought a house.”

  I was startled. I’d just gotten used to the idea of him living in New York, and now he was going to be back in the same state as me?

  “That’s a huge change, Joe. The job sounds amazing. I’m really happy for you. When are you moving?” I asked, my thoughts rambling out one after another.

  “Not until June. I’m going to finish out the school year in New York. I can’t leave my kids. And my new job doesn’t start until September, so I’ll have the whole summer to work on my new house. Not that I have the first clue of what to do with an older house.”

  The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I dreaded to hear his answer to my next question. “Where’s your new house?”

  He smiled at me. “So, that’s what’s really crazy. It’s here, in Tiber City. I found it about a month ago and I had just settled on it when I saw you a few days ago.”

  My stomach dropped. “Is it the stone house with the wraparound porch?”

  He nodded. “That’s the one. It’s awesome, right?”

  I nodded absently. I didn’t want to talk about how awesome the stone house was. I knew it was awesome. It was my dream house. I didn’t know how to feel about Joe being the one to swoop that dream right out from under me.

  To change the subject, I asked, “Are you still playing music?”

  If Joe noticed the abrupt change in subject, he didn’t show it. “Of course. I don’t think I could go a day without picking up my guitar. I’m not in a band right now, but I do solo shows every couple months. I’m much more low-key than when you last saw me play. No more headbanging and crowd-surfing.”

  We talked the rest of the day away, but the topics of my failed marriage, my ghosting Joe, and his new house were studiously avoided by me. We ordered a pizza for dinner, and when it was delivered, we ate it on my balcony.

  “I see why you never want to leave your bubble. I’d be on this balcony with my guitar every night.” He looked out over the edge of the railing into the dark night sky.

  “It’s going to be your bubble soon too, Joe Silver,” I said softly.

  Having him in my home today felt way too good. It felt easier and more natural to be with him now than it had fourteen years ago. And I couldn’t stop staring at his mouth, which led to me thinking impure thoughts about someone who was supposed to be just my friend. The fact that he’d been the one who had bought my dream house just made everything more confusing.

  Joe had to drive back to New York, so I walked him to my door. I was nervous to say goodbye, not knowing when I would see him again. I was also a little afraid I would jump on him and just cling to his tall body, begging him to stay with me. Luckily, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his chest, just like outside the salon.

  Joe breathed in deeply, then sighed, “God, yo
u smell good. How can your smell not have changed after all this time?”

  I pushed back from him. If I hadn’t, I might have never let go.

  I patted his hard chest, feeling defined muscle under his T-shirt. “You better go, buster,” I said. “You have a long drive.”

  He looked down into my eyes and tilted my chin up with his finger. “Promise me you’re not going to ghost me this time. I know where you live, and now you know my internet sleuthing skills. I will track you down.”

  “I promise,” I assured him. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a much more responsible pen pal.”

  “I can’t believe I spent the day with Rachel Sachs,” Joe said, shaking his head as he opened the door.

  “Bye, Joe Silver.”

  “Bye, sweet girl. I’ll see you soon,” he said from the landing. I waved, then closed the door.

  Just like that, Joe was gone again, and soon, we would be states apart.

  Before going to bed that night, I texted Joe a picture of the mannequins and wrote, “The ladies say goodnight!”

  When I woke up the next morning, he had replied.

  “AHHHHH!!! Terrifying! And when I saw you sent me a pic, I was hoping it would be of you.”

  I didn’t know how seriously to take him, but I felt a bit saucy. After I flat-ironed my hair smooth, slicked on some shiny red lip gloss, and put on a pink off-the-shoulder top with skinny jeans, I went out on my balcony and took a few selfies. I sent one to Joe, but worried I was making a fool of myself. What if he didn’t actually want a picture of me?

  I looked down at the phone to see Joe had replied.

  I used to have dreams about your freckles.

  As a kid, I’d hated the freckles that covered me from head to toe. But as an adult, I came to grudgingly accept and even like them. Seeing Joe say he was a fan, though…that made me positively gleeful.

  Me: Good morning, I hope you got home safe. Thank you for visiting me.

  Him: The exhaustion I’m feeling today is worth it. I’m heading into a class now, talk soon.