Chapter Five #2
I nod, and he carefully tosses the parcel between our two houses.
It’s a quiet night. With the exception of all the noise we’re making.
He even thought to include a spoon. Talk about a full-service bedroom-to-bedroom ice cream delivery system.
I rest my butt on the windowsill, and we eat in silence for a minute or two.
Each of us with our respective pints. Sugar always helps. It’s just science.
“Your place is locked up tight, right?” he asks. “You’re safe?”
“Yes.”
“Good. And I know that you can look after yourself, but I worry.”
I don’t know what to say. Though his words loosen something inside of me. Like suddenly it’s easier to breathe and exist.
“Someone sent back the bacon and clam chowder tonight because there was bacon in it,” he says.
“You’d think the name would give it away.”
“You would.”
“It’s like me being mad because there’s pecan in this ice cream. What do you do when that sort of thing happens?” I ask, digging my spoon in deep.
“Just comp them something else. It isn’t worth the hassle of causing a scene or getting a bad review. Everyone makes mistakes now and then.”
I nod. “That’s a very adult way of looking at it.”
Noah is dressed in his work uniform. Black pants and a white tee.
The bedroom light shines behind him. Seeing the lines of his face and hearing the depth of his voice does make life better.
It’s strange how people have different vibes.
Way back when, I would get excited to see my ex.
But being with him didn’t soothe me in this way.
He watches me for a minute and then asks, “Do you want to talk about the trailer?”
Good question. The answer is both yes and no. Ugh. “There’ve been podcasts about what happened. But never an actual show before. I wonder if someone will write a book.”
“Did you get asked to go on any of the podcasts?”
“Yeah. And there have been interview requests from newspapers and magazines. Talk shows who wanted me to come on and trauma dump. I always say no.”
“You never wanted to tell your side of the story?”
“That’s the thing…there was so much said about me even from the start. Most of it complete bullshit from people I’d never met. The idea that anything I could say would affect that barrage one way or another always seemed so farfetched.”
He nods.
“These people turn me into content. They reduce my life and these horrible fucked-up experiences down to soundbites and clickbait. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that,” I say with no small amount of anger. “Do you think I should talk to them?”
“No. Not if you don’t want to. Fuck ’em. None of them actually care about you. At the end of the day, most of them are just trying to profit off your pain.”
I think it through for the thousandth time. And he’s right.
“I take it they don’t need your permission then to use photos or video of you or whatever?”
“No. It’s all a matter of public record now.”
This makes him scowl.
I like having Noah on my side. Both him and ice cream are top-tier things. He licks the chocolate ice cream off his spoon and whoa. What a hussy. I really need to start being a better friend and stop sexualizing this man.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
He nods.
“How did you know that you wanted to get married? That they were the one you thought you should be with for the rest of your life?”
This elicits a sigh from him. “We’d been together a few years when she asked me.”
“She asked you?”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “Beatriz knew what she wanted. I always liked that about her. She was going to make manager where she worked and put a down payment on an apartment and all sorts of things. She was going places, and I loved her, so I wanted to go with her.”
I wait.
“We were both working long hours and giving our jobs everything. Making head chef at a great restaurant was what I’d always wanted.
But I came home one night and realized I hadn’t seen her in almost a week.
We would text each other about paying bills and feeding the cat and not a hell of a lot else.
That’s not much of a marriage. Things had been falling apart for so long we didn’t even know where to start trying to put it back together. ”
“That must have hurt you both.”
“It wasn’t acrimonious as these things go, and it’s been a year now.” He shrugs. “Sitting here eating ice cream with you isn’t so bad. I kind of feel like I’ve landed on my feet.”
I raise my pint in toast to the man.
“People have this idea of love like if it’s real it’ll all just be okay. But that’s not how things go. You have to want it enough to put in the work,” he says. “Anyway…I’m in no rush to get serious with someone again. Dating casually is one thing. But going through a divorce was a lot.”
“Time to relax and enjoy your life.”
“That’s right,” he says with a nod. “Enough of my shit. Give me a rundown of your romantic history.”
“That won’t take long.” I smile. Then I stop smiling. “I thought I loved Ryan and that he was the one. But I didn’t even really know him…just who he was pretending to be. The mask he wore to blend in with the general public and pretend to be normal.”
“Has there been anyone since?”
“No.”
He watches me in silence.
“Today was trash,” I say. “But tomorrow will be better.”
“Not tonight?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Tonight is for wallowing and feeling shitty.”
He puts down his pint and pulls his cell out of his pants pocket. A few taps on the screen later, music starts playing. “You need the right ambience for that.”
“What is this?” I ask. “Adele?”
“Yeah.”
“Noah, you can’t just play something like this without warning people. It’s so sad. You can actually hear her heart breaking.”
“So fucking sad,” he agrees. “I play it in my car when I feel like crying.”
I laugh softly.
“You mock my pain.”
“Sorry. My bad.”
“How about this one,” he says, tapping another button on his screen. “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron plays next.
“Oof. This is a doozy.”
“I know, right?”
“It’s like musically having your heart gouged out with a fork.”
“That’s disturbingly graphic, but apt. I also occasionally like to stare into the abyss and despair of life to this one.” He plays another song. The version of “Hallelujah” by Jeff Buckley.
“Having an existential crisis to this song is honestly an appropriate response.”
“Glad you approve.”
I stab my spoon into the softened ice cream. Seems you can in fact eat too much sugar. “You’ve completely derailed my wallowing. Shame on you.”
“I’d hope you’re still feeling at least a little shitty. You seemed so set on tonight being the worst. I would hate to trash that for you.”
“Nope. You’ve completely wrecked my plans,” I say. “Thanks.”
He stares at me for a moment and smiles, and I have to remind myself again—just friends. He doesn’t want anything romantic and I can and will respect that. But each moment I spend with him, my heart seems to slip a little farther out of my reach.