Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Ceci
Wish’s warm chuckle warms me to my toes. “Hey yourself.”
“You’re on early today.”
“I could say the same to you. Not working?”
“Had a working lunch with a colleague,” I reply as I stretch my legs out on my couch.
I’ve been sitting criss-cross applesauce for so long, my legs have gone numb, but as soon as I stretch, I immediately cross them again.
It’s the most comfortable sitting position for me, even if I can’t do it for long. “He’s helping me with some code.”
“Oh?”
“I needed to talk it out with someone.”
His soft grunt of frustration makes me smile. “You can talk it out with me. You know I’m here for you.”
“You know a lot about computer code?”
He pauses. “Well, no.”
“I didn’t think so.” I bite my lip, trying to decide whether I want to open this can of worms. “What is it you do, anyway? I don’t think you’ve ever said.”
Wish falls quiet. If it weren’t for the steady sound of his breathing in my ear, I’d half think he disconnected on purpose.
“You don’t have to tell me. I know we aren’t friends like that. I just… I don’t even know your name. Or where you live. Or how old you are. Or what you do.”
“I live in Boston,” he finally says. “And I’m thirty-one.”
My heart stops. “I live in Boston,” I whisper.
His sharp inhalation makes my heart race. “No shit?”
“I moved here for MIT and never left. I’ve been here twenty… twenty-five years.”
“Shit, Annie,” Wish says. “What if we’ve met?”
“We haven’t met. There’s no way. We’d know it.”
“I don’t really do anything aside from work, either.” He huffs out a soft breath of laughter. “I don’t have any friends outside of my teammates or my sister, and the only time I do anything with anyone else is these stupid blind dates she keeps setting me up on. I had another one today, actually.”
I grasp on to the subject change like a lifeline.
“You had a date? I didn’t think you did that.” I’ve always gotten the impression that he’s a bit of a hermit. As social as I am, I get drained easily, but he never talks about going out with people aside from his sister and coworkers.
“A blind date,” he stresses.
“How did it go?”
I hold my breath, unsure what answer I’m searching for.
“It went.” The utter lack of inflection in his voice is telling enough. “There was no spark. She was pretty enough, I guess, but pretty isn’t everything. I’m looking for… more.”
“But you are looking?”
“I don’t really know.”
“You’re going on these dates, though.”
“Only because my sister thinks I need to start dating again.” He falls silent for a moment. “I don’t enjoy dating. I like being in a relationship. But after… well, it’s hard for me to trust anyone.”
“After what?”
His dark chuckle makes my stomach sink. “My ex tried to baby trap me.”
I choke. “What the fuck?”
“It was a few years before I met you. She slept with someone else before we got together, then tried to say the baby was mine.”
“Wish…”
“Yeah, it was a mess. I’ve tried to date a few times since then, but it… well, it never worked out. So I haven’t really dated in the last…” He mutters under his breath. “Eight, nine years.”
“The dating world is tough. I’ve got plenty of baggage after my divorce, and—”
“You were married?”
His words are sharp with shock, a hint of steel in his tone.
We’ve never talked about dating or relationships, only enough to know we’re both single. How could we be in successful romantic relationships when we spend so many nights together?
“We dated all throughout undergrad and got married before I started my master’s, then divorced three years later. He wanted a good little wife and babies, and I was too busy getting my company set up and funded.”
“Do you want kids?” His question is so innocent that I know he doesn’t mean anything by it. But after so many years of people prying into my reproductive choices, it sets my teeth on edge regardless.
“I’m forty-three.”
“So?”
“So even if I wanted them, which I don’t, I can’t have them.”
If I were to get pregnant today, I’d be forty-four when the baby was born, and in my early sixties when the kid turns eighteen. I wouldn’t be able to keep up with them as they run and learn and play. Hell, I’m old enough to be a grandmother at this point.
I gave up my chance to have kids so I could build my company. I don’t regret that, not one bit. But I do resent the twenty years I’ve spent fielding questions about my decision, whether well-intentioned or not.
“You could adopt. Or foster. My sister’s fiancé was adopted at birth, but you can adopt an older kid.”
I shrug, even though he can’t see it. “I’m selfish. I like my life the way it is. Well, mostly, that is. I’d like a partner to come home to. But that’s not going to happen anytime soon.”
“Why not?” He sounds so offended.
“Because nobody wants to actually spend time with me. It’s all about what I can do for them.”
His grunt of frustration warms me. “It shouldn’t be like that.”
“Yeah, but it is.”
Wish falls silent for a few moments. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Or me you.”
“It really sucks that we’ve both had to deal with this,” he whispers.
Tears prick at my eyelids, and I lift my hands from the controller to wipe them away.
“It really does.”
Silence stretches between us, the only sound the rapid-fire thud of my heart and his steady breaths.
“Hey, Wish?” I finally venture.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad I have you in my life.”
His gusty exhale echoes in my ear. “Me too, Annie.”
Annie. Not Ceci.
There’s still a barrier between us, and it has nothing to do with our physical distance. Knowing he lives in Boston should change things. What if we were to run into each other? Would I recognize his voice? Would my stretch marks and surgical scars repulse him?
I clear my throat. “Are we going to play or what?”
His warm chuckle is so fucking comforting. Familiar. Our trust built from years upon years of playing together like this.
“Yeah, let’s play.”
We game for about three hours, until my muscles ache from sitting still for so long and my stomach rumbles, protesting the lack of food.
“I think I need to call it quits,” I finally say. “I need dinner.” And maybe an orgasm.
“Me too. I have meal prep waiting for me. What are you ordering?”
Because he knows I’m damn sure not cooking.
“I was thinking maybe the fall harvest bowl from this bistro near me. Sweet potato, brussels sprouts, and apples and cranberries. It’s so good. I had it for lunch, but I already want it again. It’s my current hyperfixation meal.”
Wish groans. “That sounds good.”
“Maybe one day we can go together,” I suggest carefully.
“Yeah, maybe.” He sounds wholly disinterested, and everything inside me deflates. “Listen, Annie, I’ve got to go. There’s someone at my door.”
“Sure. I get it.”
“Have a good night,” he says, before the line abruptly disconnects.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that he was still cagey with his details. Now I know he lives in my city—and what a mindfuck that is—and that he’s a bit younger than me, but nothing of substance. Nothing real. And can I blame him? I didn’t exactly pour out my heart to him either.
Darkness hovers at the edges of my mind. I need to get out of my skin—stat. It’s raining cats and dogs, so I’m not interested in going out to my favorite dive bar. Instead, I place the order for my harvest bowl to be delivered, then dash up to my bedroom.
With my favorite vibrating dildo, it takes less than fifteen minutes to get off, and by the time I’m dressed again, I’m in a much better mood. When my food arrives, I sit on the couch with my fork in one hand, my Kindle in the other.
It almost makes me feel better.