Missed Connections

by Tamara Mataya

  Me: I want you to come over tonight. Online isn’t enough anymore. I want us to be a real couple, live and in person. Come over for dinner. I want to see you in 3-D.

  God, why do I feel so nervous? We’ve talked so much, and I’m making the right decision. But what will it be like in person? Will the conversations flow as smoothly, the truth come out as freely when the screens and anonymity are taken away? My nerves are like honeybees, buzzing beneath my skin. I push away from the computer and pace around, wondering, savoring the sharp, sweet sensation. What if our sexual chemistry pales compared to Jack and me? It doesn’t matter. Some relationships are a slow burn. What we have is so satisfying that we’ll make it work.

  My computer chimes with a reply.

  Him: What time?

  Seven? That gives me just over two hours. I send my address.

  Him: I’ll be there.

  Shit. Is that enough time to get ready? My gaze ping-pongs around the apartment. It’s okay, but not perfect. See you then.

  I log off and run around tidying things that are out of place or embarrassing. He wouldn’t judge me for all the chick flicks in my DVD stand, but I move some of the cooler movies and classics to the top to display them more prominently. Half an hour later, after dusting and sweeping and vacuuming, I catch sight of my reflection while scouring the bathroom.

  Shit! I forgot all about myself. Flat hair, pale skin from lack of sleep. Dark circles beneath my eyes. I have a situation here and might need more than an hour to fix it. My chest rises and falls as I breathe way too heavily—and suddenly I start laughing.

  I don’t have to do a damn thing.

  Because it’s Blake, and he loves me. He doesn’t give a shit what I look like. He loves me for who I am, not my looks, and I feel the same way about him. With us, what’s on the inside has always driven our feelings. It’s substantial, and no matter what, we have an amazing foundation to build upon.

  So I head to the kitchen and take my time preparing supper, putting the chicken in the oven. Then I head to the bathroom and step into the shower. He loves me for who I am, but I still want to look nice. I’m just not going to drive myself up the wall aiming for perfection.

  Not liking damp hair, I blow-dry and rub some shine serum into my hair, leaving it at that. Wanting to skip decisions about coordination, I choose a simple but cute blue jersey dress and apply some light, clean makeup—undoing the evidence of the hippie weekend. Clear lip gloss, an extra coat of mascara. It’s the most relaxing date preparation I’ve ever had, and it makes me even happier.

  By the time I’m done, it’s almost seven and the doorbell rings. Right on time. I throw open the door and smile at…Jack? No, he can’t be here right now. Blake will arrive any second. “What are you doing here? You can’t be here right now.”

  “You look beautiful.” He looks me over head to toe and pushes past me into my apartment. “Expecting company?”

  “I am, actually.” He’s being uncharacteristically rude, but I did just break up with him after having him drive to a retreat center in far Jersey to get me. I owe him a few minutes and want to give him time—but not right now, with Blake on his way.

  Jack paces in the same pattern on the same place in my living room that I walk when I’m burning off excess energy or trying to work something out, and it slams me in the heart. He’s so right for me. He’s conflicted and walking exactly where I do when I’m tangled up in knots.

  “There are some things I have to tell you, and you might be mad, but you need to keep an open mind.”

  “Another chance” twirls around my legs and slithers beneath my feet, unbalancing me because I do want to give him another chance. Jack’s an amazing man, and I was an idiot to think he’d cheat. He’s no closer to being my mother than I am. He deserves someone who appreciates and loves him on every level. I can do that. I see him for who he is, and I know I could trust this man with my life—with my heart. “Jack.”

  The timer goes off on the oven, shattering the moment. Shit! The chicken. “Hang on.” The oven clock tells me Blake is now six minutes late, but I know he’ll be here soon, so I turn the oven off but leave the chicken inside so it stays warm. My emotional connection with Blake is the smarter choice. I can’t forget that, but I owe it to Jack to hear him out.

  Jack’s still pacing when I return to the living room. I sit on the couch and wait for him to speak.

  “Sometimes we do things…when we truly love someone…”

  “Jack, please don’t think this was an easy decision for me. It was about what he gave me emotionally.”

  “Fuck it.” He pulls out his phone and fiddles with it. Impatience itches my skin, but I try to give him time to collect his thoughts. My phone buzzes, and a chime sounds from my computer that I left on when I started cleaning.

  My hand twitches, but I can’t get it while Jack’s here and so upset. That’s beyond rude. My phone buzzes again—probably Blake telling me why he’s late.

  “Aren’t you going to get that?” Jack asks.

  “I didn’t want to be rude and talk on my phone in front of you,” I say pointedly, hoping he’ll take the verbal nudge to start talking, but he misses the irony of the situation and continues screwing around with his phone. With an eye roll, I move to my desk and grab my phone. If Jack’s not going to talk to me, I can at least see what’s happening with Blake. Maybe it will give me an idea of how much time I have to give to Jack before Blake shows up.

  The missed message is from Blake. I’m right here.

  The door steals my focus like a flower turns to the hot sun. Blake’s outside that door right now. I swallow hard, suddenly nervous, and not just because Jack is still here. Why hasn’t Blake knocked? I walk over and stare out the peephole, but the hall is empty. I open the door and look up and down the empty hall.

  My phone beeps with another message. I’m in your living room.

  He’s… What? Shaky legs carry me back to the doorway, and I stare at Jack who smiles weakly and presses a button on his phone while looking me in the eyes. My world trembles.

  My phone receives another message, and it’s a long moment before I can look at it. It’s Jack. “What?” My brain stalls.

  “I’m here for dinner, Sarah. I’m your Missed Connection.”

  Chapter 33

  Is this a trick? Is he doing this to sabotage Blake and me? But no, Jack’s not like that, and besides, how the hell would he have Blake’s Skype account? “What the hell is going on? What do you mean you’re my Missed Connection?” The impossibility of it pings through my mind. He can’t be. But he’s here and knows about the Missed Connection, and he’s walking toward me, swallowing my reasons with the intensity in his eyes. What about Blake? “You can’t be.”

  “Why not?” His voice is soft.

  Because I’d have known if it was you. “Because…it can’t be you.”

  “It wasn’t me when we ate Indian food and watched Dirty Dancing online? When I told you I took secret dancing lessons so I could be like Johnny? When you’d come home from work and talk to me online about your days and let me be there for you? It was me all along.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Are you disappointed?” Jack stops just inches away.

  “I don’t know how I feel.” I can barely breathe. I can’t believe it. “But I have your number. It’s not the same as my Missed Connection.”

  “You’re the only one with this phone number. I wanted you to get to know me for real with no preconceived notions.” He scrolls back, showing me the messages from “Blake” over the past couple of months.

  My hand clutches his phone—and the truth. He’s my Missed Connection, and I don’t know how to feel about this. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to but never found the right time.”

  “The right time would have been anytime in the past two months, Jack! We talked almost every day. You could have told me every day that it was you. Or, I don’t know, maybe when I was downstairs break
ing up with you to be with…you.”

  “So you could tell me how we could never be a couple because we were too different and the best I could be to you is casual sex? And I didn’t know if you were breaking up with me for the Missed Connection or someone else. Not for sure. Not until you messaged me after I left.”

  I can’t even deal with the thought of there being someone else besides Jack and Blake in the equation. The doorway is too crowded with Jack, me, and all my emotions crammed into it, so I push past Jack and walk into the living room. Jack is my Missed Connection? “Start from the beginning.”

  “It was the only way I could get you to open up to me. I knew I’d never be anything but a hookup to you. And maybe it was the only way I could open up to you as well. I’m not the best at expressing myself. God, I’m making it sound as though the whole thing was a sordid scheme. It wasn’t.” He runs his hands through his hair. “It just sort of happened, and then I was so, God, so happy you were letting your walls down with me that I couldn’t stop. Just getting to talk to you every day was like an addiction. Our conversations were the best part of my day.”

  Mine too. “Were you ever planning on telling me the truth? How long would you have continued the charade?”

  “It wasn’t a charade. You have to know that all of it was real, Sarah. I got so wrapped up in you, in the relationship we had online, that I justified it any way I could to keep talking to you. It was new for me too. I didn’t want you to know it was me for sure and freak out, push me away. But I know I let it go too far.”

  “Did you get off on it? Knowing that I had no idea it was you? Did you think about it when you were f-fucking me?” Outrage chokes my words. Like my thoughts, nothing is flowing easily, and I wrap my arms around myself, feeling way too exposed.

  He looks horrified and takes a step closer. “I’d never… I wanted to come right out and tell you so many times but I was afraid I’d lose you. Maybe it was delusion, or wishful thinking so strong it made me stupid, but I honestly thought you knew it was me—or at least suspected.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “I know that now, but I didn’t know for a while. I figured that out the night we…the night we were online and…voice chatted.”

  Oh God, he means the night we sent each other the pictures and…

  He gnaws at his bottom lip. “And I never intended to… I wanted our conversations online to be about everything but sex, but I couldn’t resist. Maybe I was subconsciously trying to show you it was me—to provoke you into confessing you knew it was me. You hadn’t responded to me in person or online for days. By then, I’d wanted to blow the whole thing apart and bring it into the open for so long, but I didn’t know how to tell you.

  “And we crossed the line that night, but it felt right. I was swept away by you. It was like a dream—our online emotional connection was enough for you to fall for me. You let me in, found out who I am inside, and it was enough for you. I wasn’t just a body, a rich catch like I am to everyone else.”

  Despite hauling in a deep breath to protest, I say nothing. He’s probably right. I had written him off as a sexy body. A bad boy. I’d fallen for the hype and couldn’t see past his looks and what I kept thinking of as his nonstop party lifestyle.

  “But then, when we…we connected in that way online as well, and you cried out another man’s name… I’d felt like you were finally seeing me in our conversations and I’d be able to reveal myself. I’d planned on telling you the truth. Then you…” His hand balls into a fist and he presses it to his forehead like he is trying to banish an awful memory. “That night I realized you’d been falling in love thinking I was someone else, and I lost it. I came over, needing to be with you, needing you to see me. Needing to be the one in your arms and in your thoughts. Needing my name to be the one you sighed. I was going to tell you that night, but you said it didn’t matter. I took the easy way out and didn’t confess. I should have.”

  I still remember that awful look in his eyes that night, but I had no idea it was because of me. I can imagine the pain that caused Jack. I’d have been devastated if our positions had been reversed. He had tried to tell me something, but I’d assumed he felt guilty about hooking up with someone else and shut him up with my body. “But how could you string me along like that for so long? Pretending to be two different people?”

  He shakes his head and steps closer. “I never pretended anything. I’ve been honest all along, other than not outright telling you it was me. I’ve never lied once.”

  I think back over our online talks and he’s right. He never pretended to be anyone other than himself, never gave a fake name or picture. Still. “Do you know what it’s been doing to me, thinking I was hurting two people by not choosing between you and…online you?”

  “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt. I just wanted you to give me a chance. The anonymity made it possible for me to be who I am. No preconceived notions, no club or bad-boy persona to get in the way. Still, I’m sorry. I never should have let it go on this long.”

  Mind racing, I step away from him and sit on the arm of the couch, holding up my hand for him to not talk for a moment. I can’t believe Jack would go to such lengths to win me over. Is he proud of himself for this? For fooling me? For getting his way? Because I had no idea, and now he’s won and the truth is out. He has to be ecstatic.

  But he’s standing here, larger than life…head down, arms crossed like he’s trying to hold in emotions that are trying to blow his body apart. He doesn’t look particularly proud of himself at all, nor very happy about any of this.

  So there never was a Blake. Correction, there is a Blake, but he just gave me a chocolate bar, rubbed my shoulders once—which was probably more about getting me for a client, not a girlfriend—and told me about Fern and the float. He was concerned about me that day at Inner Space, but not because we were in a relationship. It was because he’s a decent guy. And he got me an amazing job—my escape from the hippies.

  He didn’t leave me a Missed Connections post.

  He hadn’t admired me from afar.

  He wasn’t the one who was there for me every day when I needed someone to talk to, when I got overwhelmed by Inner Space and Phucking Phyllis.

  But he saw the Missed Connections up on the computer at work that day. How did Jack find out about that? “How did you know about the Missed Connections? I hid that from everyone. It’s been my guilty pleasure for months.”

  “That time right after you moved, when I brought over the things you left at Pete’s?”

  That was the day Fern called me, making me go into work on a Sunday. “Right.”

  “You got a phone call and went into the bedroom to take it. Your computer was on, and I saw the Missed Connections section was open. That night, I went home and started reading through them, wondering what someone like you saw in them. At first, I’d thought it was some online dating site. I didn’t know if it was something you always read or if it was a one-time thing that you happened to be checking out, but I was intrigued by the whole thing. I posted for you, and you replied a couple of days later.”

  “Oh.”

  “But…can I ask you something?” He doesn’t look like he really wants to know the answer.

  “I guess.”

  “Who’s Blake?”

  “He’s a massage therapist at Inner Space, but he only works on the weekends.”

  “And you guys have a thing? Is it serious? I know it’s really none of my business by any means, but…never mind.” Jack’s face is pale and he doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

  “What? No! The timing is what made me think you were him online. I’ve only met Blake a few times. Seeing the ad is what made me think it was Blake.”

  “So you’re not together?”

  “No. We’ve never…we’ve never dated or kissed or anything.” Strange that it’s not harder to realize Blake was never a part of my life. He was never the guy I was talking to, and it’s telling how easy that is to take, h
ow easy it is to say good-bye to him, even though I thought I was in a deep, committed relationship with him for months. It was Jack all along. It’s always been Jack, even when I thought he was someone else.

  But what does that mean? It’s still Jack.

  I’ve been in a relationship with him for a while now. Hell, I’ve been in two relationships with him, and the only bad part was when I knew I had to say good-bye to one side of him. Deciding who was better for me was a nearly impossible decision to make. The scorching, panty-melting, sexy Jack or the sensitive, supportive, incredibly good listener, online “Blake.”

  But there’s only one Jack, and he’s everything I’ve wanted, everything I’ve had these past months, all in one tight package.

  One package with a heart that matches my own. His past is in the past, and I’m the only one who didn’t see that. I’ve been his present since we started talking. The thought of not having him in my future is worse than any traces of doubt I have about this working long-term. It’s worse than the lie of omission he’s so openly apologizing for.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah. I’m so, so sorry.”

  He’s done something wrong, that’s for damned sure. But he’s also done something right. “Jack?”

  “Yeah?” He meets my eyes.

  “You should probably go.”

  “Okay. God. Okay, if that’s what you want. I know I have it coming. I just hope someday I can be your friend again after all—”

  “You should probably go take the chicken out of the oven before it dries out,” I interrupt.

  He should never have hidden the truth from me. But if he hadn’t done that, would I have known how incredible he is on the inside? I don’t think so. I’d have missed out on the most incredible man I’ve ever known.

  His shoulders sag, and he shakes his head like he can’t believe it. I smile and nod when he reaches for me. He runs his hands up my forearms, up to my shoulders, and stands in my space with a fierce love shining in his eyes. Even when he thought I might be seeing another man, he didn’t confess the truth, waiting for me to make the choice instead. Even though it hurt him so deeply. It wasn’t just about what I needed or wanted; he wanted to be more to me than a casual lay. And he is.