Chapter 19
Anne
A hangover lurked behind my eyeballs, waiting to pounce. But lying still in the warm, rumpled bed, flat on my stomach, face glued to the pillow, I was bonelessly relaxed. At peace. After months of no contact, it had felt so good to be held again, even in a nonsexual way, by someone who…
Who was not Chris. Oh. Oh.
My stomach roiled. My brain woke up. Joe.
The night rushed back to me in shards. The hangover came roaring out of its cave. I pried one matted eyelid open. No Joe. I reached out one hand, fumbling across the mattress. The bed was empty. I could still smell him on the sheets, musk and salt. My insides clenched.
I raised my head. “Hello?”
No answer. No movement in the kitchen. No sound from the bathroom.
I rooted around for my phone. A string of text balloons from Hailey, a voicemail from an unknown number.
Nothing I could deal with before coffee.
Nothing from Chris. Or Joe. The battery was down to thirty percent.
I swung my feet to the floor and shuffled to the toilet.
Gripping the sink with both hands, I took stock of my reflection.
Mascara smudged beneath my swollen eyes.
My face had a pillow crease. A strand of hair stuck to the dried drool on my cheek.
I flushed all over. Nothing had happened last night. Obviously. I was drunk, but not so drunk I wouldn’t remember that. But something had changed.
Joe Miller was not a jerk. Maybe he had never been a jerk.
He hadn’t just come to my rescue. He’d been nice about it. He could have made me feel like a pathetic reject. A pest. Instead, he’d made me tea and listened to me talk and shared his bed without making an awkward situation even more uncomfortable.
A memory flashed. Me, snuggling into his warm side, my arm across his chest, my leg drawn up over his thigh. His big feet. His hard, hairy calves. My sleepy protest when he tried to move.
I cringed. At least I hadn’t puked on him before passing out.
My head pounded. I washed my face and then, with a silent apology to my unknown, absent host, squeezed some of her toothpaste onto my finger and rubbed it around in my mouth.
Joe had work this morning. An early start, he’d said.
So at least I didn’t have to face him until I had clothes on and coffee in my system.
I padded through the living room and into the kitchen, tripping over his duffel, neatly packed at the foot of the bed. A note was propped against a tea mug on the counter. Back by 5. Key by the door if you want to go out.
A warm feeling curled around my heart. He’d been thinking of me.
Me, and the handful of other women he took care of. His mother. My mother. His sister. His ex-wife? I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes, holding the headache at bay. Tea was not going to cut it this morning. I needed caffeine. Fresh air. Distraction.
So I went out.
—
I wandered Devon Avenue in search of coffee, past an Indian clothing store, a Middle Eastern market, a gated synagogue, and a Nepalese restaurant.
When I first moved into the West Ridge neighborhood, at the height of the pandemic, the foot traffic was almost nonexistent.
Plastic had covered the restaurant tables like shrouds, and all the market workers were masked.
Some businesses never recovered. But my favorite bakery still occupied the corner, its long glass pastry case full of cakes, bagels, babkas, and cookies.
I smiled at the owner and ordered a sweet roll studded with almonds and the biggest coffee they had.
“Here you go, miss. Have a nice morning.”
Another flashback. Joe, looming over me in the dark, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim light, handing me a glass of water and two pills. “Here. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
Had he actually called me baby? Another full-body flush.
I summoned a smile and dropped a tip in the jar. “Thanks. You, too.”
I carried my breakfast outside, where seating had sprung up on the sidewalks like mushrooms after a rain.
I found an empty table and checked my phone again.
No message from Chris, no last-minute invitation to lunch.
I’d been officially ghosted. Or worse, forgotten, reduced to stalking him on social media for pics from his graduation. (There weren’t any.)
Usually, after a breakup, there was some kind of closure.
A ritual purge of an apartment. A cry-and-wine session with friends.
But a stranger currently occupied my apartment, and my best friend was back on Mackinac.
I was tempted to call Joe, to thank him for taking care of me, but the last thing he needed in the middle of a job was me pestering him.
I crumpled my bakery bag and stood. So, here I was, directionless. On my own. I winced. Not exactly the way I’d planned to spend the day. Or my life.
I tossed my trash away. Two bearded men were sitting by the curb, chatting over coffee. Across the street, a woman in a babushka wheeled her shopping cart under a mural of a dancer glowing red and green and lilac. A group of teens peered in the windows of the sari palace.
After a cataclysmic event, you mostly wanted things to go back to the way they were. As if life had not forever, irrevocably changed. But all around me, people were going about their business, completely unaware of my personal problems. Getting on with their lives, making a fresh start. Moving on.
I could, too.
I started walking. One step at a time.
The smells of summer in the city gusted in the air.
I took a deep breath, car exhaust and curry, baking bread and sweat, cigarettes and a whiff of sewer.
I turned on Western Avenue, where the glass and concrete facade of the library rose like a squared-off spaceship, and went in.
I had all day and my library card. I browsed the shelves, my fingers skimming the candy-colored spines.
An hour later, I left with a book in my bag (Sophie Kinsella’s Love Your Life, because wasn’t that what I wanted to do?) and strolled past laundromats and auto repair shops to the park.
Green and yellow leaves danced in the wind. There was color and movement everywhere, ducks on the pond and joggers on the paths. Orthodox moms in scarves and long skirts pushed their toddlers on swings. Children shrieked in the sprinkler pool and thundered across the bridges of the play fort.
I found an empty bench dappled in sunshine and lost myself in the story.
Until…Fwap!
“Ow.”
A star-spangled soccer ball rolled in the grass at my feet. A child hovered a few feet away, watching me with wide, wary eyes.
I held out the ball. Smiled. “This must be yours.”
He grinned and grabbed it.
The light had shifted, I realized as he ran away. It must be getting late. My butt was numb. Also, I was starving.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Joe. Done. Going for pizza. Pick u up?
My breathing tripped. I was smiling as I typed back. Where? I’ll meet you.
—
“Thanks for letting me crash at your place last night,” I said to Kelsey.
I’d found the restaurant without any problem, in spite of my useless phone navigation—a Greek pizzeria with a giant neon cocktail sign out front and sports jerseys on the wall.
Five of us crowded around a table intended for four, legs and work boots jostling for space.
The noise from the flat-screens over the bar, the smells of garlic and beer, wafted over the dining room.
Joe’s shoulder brushed mine, sending tingles down my arm.
I tucked my feet under my chair, trying not to intrude more than I had to.
Resisting the temptation to lean into him.
We were not a couple. Not like James and Elena, Kelsey’s crew across the table.
They looked like a Disney couple, him so big and fair, her tiny and dark, the red bandanna in her hair matching the one around his neck. So cute.
Kelsey smiled from her position at the head of the table. “Anytime. Besides, I owe you.”
“Sorry?”
“For Joe being here.”
I blinked. “I don’t…”
“Glad it worked out,” Joe said.
I turned my gaze on him. “You said you had a job down here.”
He looked steadily back. “I did.”
“Which he committed to only after you agreed to come,” Kelsey said.
Wait. What? The server arrived with our order. Joe hooked an arm across the back of my chair, making space for the server to set down the pizzas, creating a sort of triangular shelter. His body was so warm. I could smell him, musky male and sawdust.
I grabbed a slice of bacon-mushroom-garlic and stuffed it in my mouth.
“So, how long have you guys been together?” Elena asked brightly.
I choked. Joe had showed up when I really needed him. He was a genuinely good guy. But I was not making the mistake of misinterpreting another man’s signals. Of misreading his intentions. Bad enough that I jumped into things. I was not dragging him with me into the deep end.
“Oh, we’re not…That is…I mean, I’ve known Joe all my life. But…”
“We’re friends,” Joe said, coming to my rescue.
I smiled at him gratefully and took a slug of beer. Friends was good. Friends was smart. Friends was safe.
Kelsey’s gaze went from Joe’s impassive face to my hot one. “So, this weekend is just a one-off.”
I managed not to sputter. “Yeah, no. Not really. See, the thing is…” I threw another look at Joe.
His cheek indented, the way it did when he was amused. He held up both hands, palms out. “I’m not telling them about the thing.”
Protecting my privacy. Which was lovely, but I’d never been good at keeping my mouth shut. “My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—had a thing this weekend.”
“A different thing,” Joe murmured.