I stared at the phone, imagining what the text might say – all the caring, even loving things he might say that would make my heart feel better.
Wait, what? Faye, you rejected him.
Rather than acknowledge this thought, I picked up my phone, scanned the inbox, ignoring all other texts and opened Stellan’s.
I need the last of the sketches you were working on, if you have them. Thanks.
Natural reaction? I cried. Clearly that wasn’t the heartwarming message I’d been hoping for.
But it’s such a simple message, what’s the problem you basket case?
He said, ‘Thanks.’
Thanks. Not “Thank you,” not “You’re a Doll,” not… well whatever, he said Thanks! It may seem the simplest thing, but I knew him well. He had the manners of some juggernaut of chivalric purpose. He held the door open for everyone, he called men ‘sir’ and women ‘dear,’ and he himself was the person who’d solidified my stance on the words used to express gratitude.
If you mean it, you say Thank YOU. If you don’t – well, you’re a dick so hopefully nobody does anything for you, but that’s not the point! Damn it, I clearly wasn’t thinking straight.
I texted back.
Cavalier ‘I’m-not-sobbing-right-now’ Me - I might have a few strays. Nothing major. When do you need them?
I scanned through my other texts, responding to Cole’s many random notes that had culminated in a somewhat brisk declaration of my silence being rude and undeserved. I told him I’d had a few bad days and wasn’t in the greatest mood – and that my phone had died – but as I was typing, I started spewing my thoughts of how, given his previous behavior, I could stab a fork in his eye, and he’d still have no right to call me rude.
I gave Jackie and Meghan blanket statements, and ignored Evans’ text completely. They all wanted to know how I was, or in Meghan’s case, whether she should try going redhead as well. By the time I breached the downstairs for the first time in 72 hours, Stellan’s ringtone sang from my phone, firing off a strange pressure in my stomach - like someone bracing themselves for bad news.
ASAP, he said.
I know what you’re thinking. That I broke out in a rendition of “Sobbing on the Kitchen Floor,” but I didn’t. The sense of indignation I felt at Cole’s texts was still with me. I quickly responded that I’d collect what I could find and be right there, then proceeded to stomp and fume around the downstairs for twenty minutes building up enough fire to melt steel. I searched my office for any signs of work, anything that had survived the great purge, but there wasn’t anything. I did have a little flash drive with some of the base work I’d done when we first started – scenery, backdrop, tree lined walkways and various nervous animals peeking over walls. I moved everything over to the drive and then deleted it all from my computer with a spitefully aggressive click. Then without falter, I grabbed my wool trench out of the closet, wrapped a scarf around my neck, grateful to have my bed head at least somewhat contained, and stormed outside.
The weather had shifted with purpose. I grumbled in the cold, not because the insides of my nostrils were freezing – though they were - but because I was determined to be as put out as humanly possible. How dare he ask me to just drop everything in my busy life and cater to his basement programmer hobbies? Yes, I could have driven, and yes if I’d stayed home I would probably be perfecting my rendition of “Sobbing on the Kitchen Floor,” but that isn’t the point. The point is – whatever.
I caught sight of Stellan’s house and the tail end of a rather slick looking black sedan in the driveway. I stomped up the steps onto the porch, and unlike any other visit in my life, rang the damn doorbell.
With derision!
Linda let me in with a surprised smile, commenting on the bell, but only in passing as she offered to take my coat. I managed to refuse, politely and sneak out of her company as quickly as I could.
“What up, Jensen?”
I was greeted at the bottom of the basement stairs by Evan’s distracted How-Do-You-Do? He was splayed out on Stellan’s disheveled bed and Stellan was sitting at his ‘wall of screens.’ I stood at the edge of the Persian rug and kicked at the tassels.
Why did Evan have to be there? I’d deflated completely!
Stellan’s room was a basement, ladies and gentlemen. No one ever claimed differently, but it was nice. The walls were still cinderblock on two sides, but the floor was finished. The door to the bathroom was at the foot of the bed. There was a separate, unseen section of the basement for storage and robotics circuitry when Stellan felt inclined.
I mentioned he was a genius, yes?
Stellan had done much of the finish work down here himself, teaching himself carpentry and plumbing from books and YouTube videos, but he was content to leave the final two walls unfinished. Instead he focused on making it home – art on the walls, a fleet of technological wizardry in the form of three separate monitors on his work desk. There was a flat screen the size of an industrial fridge on the wall with bookshelves and an entertainment center he built himself. He had every video game console known to man, every movie he’d ever liked, but those were all stored away behind the wooden cabinet doors.
Stellan was no slob. There wasn’t an item of garbage in sight, and there were plenty of comfy seats available, had I chosen to take one. I had no intentions of getting comfy.
I waited for Stellan to acknowledge me. Instead he sat typing away, his eyes fixed forward on the screen. Evan was content to play with his iPhone, his long black coat tussled under him. Though Stellan’s wall of screens grew, and Evan dressed like some GQ model, I’d say this scene looked very similar to high school. I wasn’t curled up on the floor with a sketch pad though.
I stood a few moments, feeling like a complete asshole. I was close to turning and walking out the door when Evan suddenly exploded.
“Aw fuck! Are you serious?”
“What’s up?” Stellan asked.
“They just threw shit at me! Shit?! Jensen, you drew this? Those dirty, shit throwing bastards.”
Stellan smiled and spotted me. I mistook his oblivion for rudeness; he hadn’t even known I was there. I didn’t forget how lost in work he could get, I’d chosen to ignore it and silently judge him. He gestured toward a chair, but I shook my head and handed him the flash drive.
“There’s not much on it, just some backdrop stuff.”
“Anything you have is good -”
Evan burst into laughter. “Jensen, you’re a fucking genius!”
Stellan and I turned to him. I raised an eyebrow.
Evan wiggled his iPhone at me and the image of the chimps gathered around a chalkboard with bulging eyes and expressions of manic glee flashed on the screen. “Beta testing, bitches!”
“Really? It’s that far along?” I directed my question to Stellan, but he didn’t have a chance to answer.
Evan sat up, staring intently at his phone. “This is fucking hilarious.”
“Lemme see!”
Evan shifted to make room on the bed. “Oh my fuck! I’m addicted.”
Stellan slid his chair between myself and Evan. “No, she can’t see it yet.”
I stopped, but Evan asked on my behalf. “Why not? Let the woman see her baby!”
Stellan shook his head. “It’s not done.”
I sat on the bed. “Oh, I don’t care.”
He pointed at Evan and glared. “I said no.”
Evan shrugged at me and went back to playing.
I searched Stellan’s face. He just turned back to his screens, and the room fell back to silence.
I stood up and hovered there a moment between the two men, staring at the patterns in the carpet beneath my feet. “Alright, well I’m going to head out.”
Stellan didn’t turn around. “Alright.”
I waited a moment, as though some great epiphany might come to me, that maybe Stellan would do something to set me at ease. Yet again, I remi
nded myself that this ache wasn’t his fault. Not this time. This was mine, and I needed to own it.
I finally turned for the door, glad neither man could see the pained look on my face, were they to look.
“Hold up! Did you walk?”
I tossed my answer over my shoulder to Evan. “Yep.”
“Alright, I’ll walk you home.”
Fuck you, Evan! Now I can’t break into “Sobbing in the Streets” on my way home.
“If you value your life, you will not show her the game,” Stellan said, his tone rumbling in his chest.
Evan grabbed his red scarf from the bed. “I know, dick. God, you’re such a diva.”
I couldn’t tell whether I was happy to have the company or not.
Once we hit the sidewalk, he wrapped his scarf around his neck and glanced back at the Ødegård front door. “So, what the fuck was that?”
I turned and stormed off down the sidewalk. This bastard was not going to see me upset again, damn it.
He caught up and matched my pace. “Babe, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but – are you doin okay?”
I managed to shake my head. He hooked his arm in mine and walked me across the street. The closeness - and the silence – was appreciated.
We made it as far as the town hall before he spoke again. “I’ve never understood the two of you.”
I glanced up at him, too startled to care how red my eyes were. He stopped walking when he saw my face and grabbed me, squeezing me against him, the thick fabric of our coats and scarves leaving the embrace to feel like that of a sleeping bag more than a man. God fucking damn it Evan, you give good hugs.
He shook his head as he squeezed me. “I swear to god, the two of you are on the same cycle or something.”
I punched him from the confines of his long arms.
“What? I’m serious! Stell’s been intolerable all morning. Fucking mopey bastards, the both of you.”
I attempted to pull free and walk away, but he caught me by the coat and pulled me back in with a soft shooshing sound. “I’m just kidding, you know I am.”
I let him hug me for a few more moments. I was teary-eyed, but I wouldn’t let him see. My mind was too busy; I was mulling over too many things – why was I so distraught? What would I change if I could? What would make it better? Did the idea of Stellan being upset too make it easier? And beneath everything, the thought of Cole - could I see him and not betray what I was feeling - betray that I’d let a man touch me after cursing his name for doing the same?
Sure, I didn’t shag Stellan and take pictures of his junk.
That thought made me frown. I’d love to have a picture of Stellan’s junk on my phone. How fucked up was that?
I’d had hopes at the beginning of that year - so many hopes, and it felt as though every single one of them had been torn away, one by one, until I didn’t have any hopes left.
I didn’t share any of this with Evan, of course.
When he finally released me, I wiped my eyes and forced a smile before attempting to wipe away the snot gathering beneath my nose.
We turned and started walking back toward my house when Evan said, “I have to ask. Do you know what’s up with Stellan?”
I opened my mouth, but no words came. I shrugged.
“Do you think it’s because you two had sex?”
I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at him wild eyed. “What! We did not! We just made out!”
“Boom!” He punched the air and started pacing, muttering ‘I knew it! I fucking knew it!’
I punched his arm with all the fury I had. “You fuck bag!”
“What!? It’s about fucking time! God, I’m good! ”
I gaped at him.
He furrowed his brow like I’d asked what color the sky was. “The two of you should have been making out in high school as far as I’m concerned. God, that fucking explains it! I always wondered why he kept dating the most vapid, boring girls -”
“You don’t date much better!”
“Yeah, but I’ve learned my lesson. He hasn’t.”
He continued to pace and silently celebrate this great revelation. I grabbed him by the sleeve of his coat and made him look at me.
He threw his hands up. I realized the two of us were making quite a scene for downtown Concord, but I didn’t care. I was a basket case, and he was a billionaire. We could do what we damn well pleased.
“Well, he’s holding out for you, isn’t he?”
I openly scoffed at this notion, but he flailed his hands a few more times in celebration. “It’s true! And what, did you reject him? Jensen! You fucking didn’t?”
The corners were rounding out, and he was beginning to see the whole picture. Fucking geniuses make me sick.
“I didn’t mean to. I tried to instigate things with him at your house and -”
“WHAT?! Where was I?”
My face contorted in frustration. “It was your Halloween party. He didn’t -”
“Bull shit! Really?”
“Yes, and he didn’t exactly react -”
Evan lunged toward me, ready for juicy details. “What do you mean? How’d he react?”
I glared at him. Evan was impossible to communicate with when he was excited. He displayed his palms in apology, and I continued. “He pushed me away. Then on Thanksgiving -”
Evan punched the air again. “I KNEW it!!”
“Will you shut up?”
“Sorry, sorry! So, what? On Thanksgiving, you pushed him away? What, to get back at him?”
“NO!” It was my turn to lose my cool. The thought of Evan thinking I would ever deliberately hurt Stellan was an insult to my very being.
He could tell. He apologized again. “So what then?”
“Well, Cole and I -”
His eyes went wide. “Cole? Who the fuck is Cole? Oh! You mean Festering Asshole. Yeah, fuck that guy. In the ass, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
I started to speak, to defend or harangue, but instead I stood silent. What was it? Why had I pushed Stellan away? Because I couldn’t stoop to Cole’s level? Because I couldn’t hurt someone after they’d poured their heart out to me and convinced me to take them back? Because I really wanted to try to work on things with Cole? Or was it something else?
Evan waited a moment, his face softening.
I stared across Monument Square.
“It’s ok, hon. You don’t have to tell me.”
I stood there a moment, my mouth going dry. Evan put his hand on the top of my head, patting my hair down gently before grabbing me by the back of the neck and kissing my cheek. Then he held his arm out to me and walked me home in silence.
CHAPTER eighteen
I certainly left the house enough to be called a hermit by social standards. I didn’t have anything to do, nor did I have much to say to anyone. Being by myself was an opportunity to escape, maybe watch heinous romantic comedies and sob, maybe sleep the day away, take unreasonably long showers, or not shower at all. Somehow, conversation with normal, happy people was just asking for reminders that I was not in fact happy - or normal really.
During this mental vacation, I still heard from the world, and I did my best to attend to them, but by his texts, Cole was clearly feeling neglected. After a week, I finally forced myself into the shower and headed over.
Cole opened the door before I had a chance to knock. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I found it odd, but let him kiss me on the cheek as I walked in.
Cole’s apartment was a bachelor pad in every sense, given its masculine leather furniture, the browns and grays and the lack of bright colors, the massive TV, which seemed to be a staple of all the men I knew these days, and the constant supply of Corona and lime he kept in the fridge. He offered me one of said Corona’s, but I refused.
One might think after all this time that he’d remember I don’t drink Corona. He dropped down on the couch beside me, still without a
shirt. He’d grabbed himself a drink and sat with his body twisted toward me, the Corona resting on his knee as he took a few sips. I watched the television. The football game was on. The Patriots weren’t playing. I felt something wet and slippery graze the nape of my neck. I squealed and turned to find Cole running his now cold, wet fingers over my skin.
I swatted him away. “What are you doing?”
He tried to touch me again, a smirk on his face. This time he went for the skin at my throat and down. “Do you like it?”
I pushed his hand away again. “No.”
He made a pouty expression for a flash, then simply slid down the couch closer to me, slipping the back of his hand across my breast as he leaned in to kiss my shoulder, his knuckles deliberately grazing my nipple under my sweater. I shuddered.
Jesus, I just got here Cole!
I took his hand and held it in my lap, turning back to the TV. I hoped he’d get the message.
No such luck.
He took it as an invitation to move southward, pushing his hand between my legs. I physically lunged across the couch to get away from him. The movement startled even me.
He muttered his surprise, and when I looked over at him, shirtless and clearly agitated by the shape at the front of his pants, the look was one of clear offense.
“I’m sorry, I’m – I haven’t had the best few days. Do you mind if we just watch TV?”
He furrowed his brow at me, picked up his Corona off the coffee table and took a long swallow. Then he tightened his lips and looked at me, as though he was holding back bile.
I waited, almost excited to hear what he might say.
Give me one reason, Cole. Say something. I fucking dare you. What about all the times I turned to you, literally begged you to touch me, and you wouldn’t? Told me I was ‘obsessed with sex,’ that you weren’t an object, and now I’m not in the mood for the first time in my entire life, and you act affronted. Well, fuck you, Boyo! Put on a fucking shirt.
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