by Megan Hart
I’d asked him if he wanted to invite any friends along, but he hadn’t, so it was the two of us stuffing our faces with funnel cakes and curly fries. I bought him an all-day ride bracelet, but I refused to go on the creaking, twirling monstrosity that looked like it was held together with an old carny’s beard hairs and some spit.
“I’ll go in the haunted house, if you want. Or that Crazy Maze. But that vomitron? Nope. Text me when you’re done. I’ll come get you.”
It didn’t take him much more convincing than that before he was off and waiting in line. I fended off the game operators trying to get me to try my hand at popping balloons or squirting streams of water into scary clown mouths for a chance to win shoddy stuffed animals or square mirrors painted with skewed designs of bands kids at the carnival probably didn’t even know. As much as I might’ve had a hankering for a red-and-white AC/DC mirror, though, I shook my head and kept walking. After an oversize limeade, I needed the bathroom in the worst way. Thanking the goddesses of tiny bladders, I found the restroom in the back of the fairground’s main building, not far from where I’d left William.
The line for the women’s room was long but moved fast, and I came out a different door than I’d used to go in. Conveniently located near the milk shake stand, I noticed, and knew I should pass it up the same way I knew I was going to indulge in a chocolate treat because fuck calories. Chocolate.
The milk shake stand was near the kiddie ride area, set away from the bigger rides William had been going on. A tiny train on a bumpy track. A mini carousel. Lots of things that go around in a circle and make noise if you push the buttons in the elephant or car or airplane or whatever it is your kid decided to ride in. William had loved rides like that, and I had a nostalgic pang for the days when ten bucks had been enough to keep him occupied for as long as we could stand to stay at a carnival.
I didn’t notice Esteban right away. Why would I? Out of the context of our usual meetings, he didn’t look at all the same. He wore khaki shorts and a polo shirt and sandals, with a backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked every inch the suburban dad.
Because, I realized, that’s exactly what he was.
He had a little girl by one hand, and there was no doubting she belonged to him. Her curly black pigtails, her tiny round face, her chubby little feet in plastic sandals all killed me with the cuteness. He was bent to listen to something she was saying as she pointed toward one of the rides. He didn’t see me.
The woman next to him did, though. She wore a flowing maxi dress that couldn’t hide the softness of her belly or size of her boobs. The baby in her arms was the obvious reason for both as well as the tiredness around her eyes, but she was laughing at the baby trying to pull down her elastic top. She was beautiful. She caught me looking and smiled. She had no idea who I was, for which I was supremely grateful.
I didn’t want him to see me. I would lose my place in line if I ducked away now, but the milk shake no longer appealed to me. To get through the crowd I would have to push past him and his family, though. To go the other way meant elbowing my way through a pack of shoving preteens. And, as is the way with most things, while I hesitated, it became too late to do anything.
His gaze caught mine. We stood and stared, no more than an arm’s length apart. I froze, desperately trying to keep a neutral face. Give nothing away.
Esteban smiled at me. Tiny, secret, brief as a blink, but it was there. Then he was bending again, this time to pick up his daughter and carry her toward the carousel. He didn’t look back but that was all right. He’d shown me he still knew me, and that was enough.
CHAPTER 39
The brown paper bag hit my desk with a soft thump. I looked up. Alex held two oversize paper cups with steam curling from the holes in the lids.
“I added Baileys Mint,” he said.
I sat back in my chair. “It’s ten in the morning.”
“And?” Alex took the chair across from my desk and thumped my coffee down in front of me. “You look like you could use it.”
“I have work to do, Alex.”
He grinned. “I could fire you. Then you’d have no work to do, and you could sit here and drink boozed-up coffee with me and eat those pastries and tell me all about what the hell crawled up your ass and died.”
“You can’t fire me,” I said as I opened the paper bag and peeked inside, “and fuck you.”
“So hostile.” He pretended to look upset, but then propped his feet on the desk and rocked back. He lifted the coffee. “Here’s to you and me, may we never disagree. And if we do, fuck you, here’s to me.”
I laughed.
It had been days since I’d done so much as crack a smile, so the laughter croaked out of me like a rusty robot grinding its gears. It sounded quite a bit like sobbing. It sounded a little like screaming, too.
Alex watched me in silence for a moment before putting his feet down and coming around the desk to put his arms around me. I didn’t want him to hug me. Yet I found myself with my face pressed to his warm, broad chest, the subtle scent of his cologne surrounding me, and the steady beat of his heart against my cheek soothing me despite my unwillingness to be comforted.
I didn’t cry, not with tears. I did silence myself, though, the sharp, ragged edges of my sobbing laughter easing into nothing. He let go of me after a minute or so and stepped back to look at me.
“Drink the coffee,” he said. “Eat a pastry. And tell me what’s going on.”
I hadn’t laughed in a few days; I hadn’t eaten more than a few saltines or pretzels in a bit longer than that. After leaving the carnival I’d told myself it was bad carnival food, but I knew it was really just my heart twisting up my stomach. My stomach churned at the thought of food, but as soon as I caught a whiff of the sweet, caramel-topped pastry, my mouth watered. Just like my head and heart, my body was at war with itself. I pulled out the pastries and set them out on the paper napkins also in the bag. I pushed one toward Alex, who’d taken his seat again. I felt him staring at me, but didn’t look at him until I’d pulled my pastry apart into small pieces and taken a sip of the minty, boozy coffee.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
“Too bad.”
I frowned and nibbled on sugary goodness. Flavor exploded in my mouth, and my stomach settled at once. I tried not to gobble the rest of it. Discipline. Self-control. My old friends.
“It’s personal,” I said.
Alex snorted. “Yeah? And?”
“And this is where I work. You’re my partner.” I sipped more coffee, letting the warmth roll through me.
“I thought I was also your friend.” He tipped his cup in my direction. He waited. Alex could be very patient when he wanted to be.
“I broke up with my… He was… Well… Whatever he was, we broke up.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” I said sourly.
Alex laughed. I should’ve been pissed off that he was making fun of me, but I couldn’t really blame him. It was stupid. Everything about my relationship with Niall had been stupid.
“Your lovah?”
“I broke up with him, too.”
Alex’s laughter faded. “Shit.”
I shrugged. “It happens.”
“No wonder you’ve been looking like that.” He shook his head. “Shit, Elise. I’m sorry.”
“It happens,” I repeated. The booze had started to make me a little swimmy. So had the sugar.
Alex reached for his pastry and took a big bite. He chewed solemnly and swallowed, then drank some coffee. “It was the guy who came to see the acrobats with us, right? The one who works with your brother. The guy who took you to Baltimore.”
I paused to give him a look. “Stalker?”
“You talk on the phone in a very loud voice,” Alex told me. “Wha
t, can I help overhearing?”
I toyed with the crumbs of my pastry then licked a finger. “Yeah. That guy. He wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want a boyfriend? He didn’t want a girlfriend? Why is anyone anything to anyone these days?” I curled my lip.
Alex frowned, his brow furrowed. “Yeah. Well. I know what you mean.”
“Says the happily married man.”
He laughed shortly. “Who was an asshole bachelor forever before that.”
I’d met Alex through his wife, so I’d never known either of them before they were married. In truth, I had no idea how long they’d been together, only that they were one of the best-matched couples I’d ever met. Not because they were “perfect”—but somehow, they were perfect for each other.
“He was a mistake. I knew better.”
“Don’t we always?” Alex asked.
“And we still do it. Always. Why?” I took another slow swig of my cooling coffee. “Why are people so stupid when it comes to this stuff?”
“Because the heart wants what the heart wants. Sometimes, so do other parts. I read that in a book once.” Alex grinned, but only a little, and without a whole lot of humor.
I groaned and let myself rock back in the chair. I closed my eyes, not wanting to think of Niall, but his face flashed into my head anyway. I thought of Esteban, too, though I had an easier time pushing away his face. And finally, predictably, another man’s face forced its way out of memory. I opened my eyes to look at Alex.
“I should have known it wouldn’t work out, long-term.”
“How could you know that in advance? That’s what people say when they’re too afraid to try it.”
“That’s a hell of a thing to say to me, when you’ve plied me with pastry and boozy coffee,” I snapped. “Either you’re understanding and sympathetic or you’re not. Quit trying to swing both ways.”
At that, he burst into guffaws. Loud, genuine laughter. Taken aback, I narrowed my eyes. Alex rocked back in his chair, actually slapping his knee.
“What?”
He swallowed his chortles and propped his feet back on the desk. “You have no idea.”
I put my cup on the desk and turned it around and around in my hands. “So, tell me.”
“It’s not my day for telling stories. It’s yours. Okay, so, you met this guy. You knew right away it wasn’t going to work out, but you fucked him anyway. And then you broke up. Am I getting it right so far?”
“Yes.”
Alex gave me a sympathetic look that was as sincere as his laughter had been a moment ago. “So…why the broken heart?”
“It’s not… I’m not…” I stopped myself, appalled at the way my throat closed. At how bitter the words tasted. At how close to tears I was. Again.
“Elise,” Alex said gently, “I didn’t have to overhear you talking to him on the phone to figure out that you’ve been head over heels for this guy for the past couple months. It was in everything you said or did. You kind of had it all over you.”
“Like a rash,” I said bitterly.
“I’d have called it a glow. But sure. A rash. A glow. Whatever it was, you walked like you were floating.” Alex took another long sip of coffee, watching me over the top of his cup. “You were happy.”
Tears threatened to throttle me, but I forced them back. I would not cry over this. I would not cry in this office. Not in front of Alex. I would not let myself lose control.
I. Would. Not.
I shook my head. “He knew me before I knew him. I mean, about…”
I hesitated. I liked Alex a lot. We worked great together. He’d seen my pictures.
“He didn’t like what I like,” I finished. “And he made it into a really big deal.”
“Dumbass,” Alex said promptly.
It urged a small laugh from me that helped to quash the threatening tears. “Like I said, it happens.”
“Tell me what happened.” Alex shifted in his chair. “I know I’m not your best girlfriend but trust me, I can pretend.”
I laughed again, giving him the eye. “Weirdo.”
“From one deviant to another,” he said, “lay it on me. Confession is good for the soul or something like that. And it’s eating you up inside, Elise. I can tell.”
“You’re awfully observant.” I bit the inside of my cheek lightly, rubbing at the sore spot already there with my tongue.
“I hate that he’s making you sad.” Alex frowned. “I’d like to punch him in the junk.”
This surprised me. “You would?”
“Fuck, yes.” He looked surprised, too. “Why wouldn’t I?”
This pricked tears into my eyes for a very different reason. “He’s not making me sad. It is what it is.”
Alex said nothing. He waited. And the longer he stayed quiet, the more compelled I felt to unburden myself.
“He made me laugh,” I said.
Alex nodded. “Heavy. He also made you cry.”
I shook my head again. “No. I just won’t anymore. It’s not worth it. I was that girl once, that one who let a man carve her up and toss her out to feed the sharks. I won’t do it again. Not for anyone.”
Alex shrugged. “We all go through it. Sometimes we’re the ones crying, sometimes we’re the ones who made someone else cry. Love hurts. That’s how it works, even when it does work.”
“I didn’t love him,” I lied aloud, trying to make myself believe it.
Alex said nothing.
“Fuck my life,” I whispered. We both said nothing until finally, I sighed and downed the last of my coffee. “When we were together, I thought that maybe it could work.”
“Sure,” he said as though that made sense.
I shrugged. “We had fun. And it got complicated, that’s all. The way things do. And I let myself be an idiot. I just didn’t think…”
Alex waited. I hadn’t wanted a hug. I refused to cry. I didn’t want to spill myself out to him this way, but I could not hold it back. My words ground out of me, rusty and raspy and harsh, tasting of the grief I was trying so hard not to let myself feel.
“I didn’t think I would care so much,” I said. “I didn’t think he would matter to me.”
“You can’t choose who you love.” Alex took his feet off the desk and put them flat on the floor. His cup on the desk. His elbows on his knees, he leaned forward with his hands linked in front of him. He didn’t look at me for a few seconds, and when he did, his gaze glittered.
“He didn’t love me. I thought he knew me, but he didn’t,” I added bitterly. “He had this idea of me, but it was a fantasy. Not real. But I was the one who let him in. I let him get close. I knew I shouldn’t, but I did, so in the end, who’s the dumbass? Me.”
Alex frowned, and I kept talking.
“There was no point in being with him, not when I knew that in the end, he was never going to let me be who I am. Oh, sure, he said he was fascinated. Intrigued. But when it came right down to it, he was never going to give me what I need and want and like.” I drew in a breath then swallowed hard. “Even if what I want and need and like doesn’t have to be the same thing all the time.”
“Sometimes I like peanut butter on a sandwich. Sometimes I like a grilled cheese.” Alex shrugged. “So long as when I’m hungry I get a fucking sandwich, I usually don’t care. Unless it’s liverwurst or some shit like that. Then forget it, I’ll starve.”
My mouth twisted into what might’ve passed for a smile, if you tried very hard to pretend. “Yes. That. Exactly that. But I’m the asshole who let it hurt so much.”
Alex sighed, linking his fingers tighter. “That’s rough.”
“It’s life,” I said coldly. “I’ll get over it. I did the first time.”
He looked at me, his mouth twisting. “Sounds like you didn’t.”
My mouth opened in protest, but I had none that wouldn’t be a lie. I gripped the desk, my fingernails scratching at the polished wood. A small, broken sound escaped me, no calling it back.
“You have a story,” Alex said. Before I knew it, I was telling it to him.
* * *
Sometimes love takes you by the hand and leads you to run through fields of flowers while butterflies weave you a dress out of rainbows. Other times, love takes you by the throat and chokes you until all you see is the bright, sharp trail of shooting stars right before everything turns to black. The problem is, you can never tell in advance which way the story ends, not until you’re too far into it, and you have no choice but to keep turning the pages.
Four years ago, I met him.
I didn’t think there was anything special about it at the time. I turned around in a dance club when he jostled me as he tried to get past me toward the bar. I made a smart-ass comment. He gave one back and offered to buy me a drink. We danced, fast at first, and then at the end of the night, slow.
He pulled me in closer than I’d have let anyone else. My face found the curve of his neck, and I breathed him in. His hands settled on my hips. The song ended, but we kept dancing even when the “fuck you, time to go home” lights came on.
He asked for my number.
I gave it to him.
He called while I was still in the cab on the way back to the house we’d rented, not beachfront but one block back. My friends, shouting with laughter, cried out obscenities when I tried to talk to him. They hooted and hollered. By the time we got to the house, I’d already decided I was going back out to meet him again.
We walked on the sand, his hand in mine, dodging the late-night beach patrol who’d have thrown us off if we hadn’t ducked into the shadows, standing still. Pressed against him, barely daring to breathe while we waited for the patrol to find us, I shivered in the chilly late-June sea air, and he warmed me. First with his hands. Later, his mouth, sweet and cautious when he kissed me. He could’ve done it harder. I wouldn’t have minded.
