I mumble a “sorry” and move out of his way like he suggested.
“This chick has you all jacked up,” I hear him say as I go over the inventory list. I want to ignore him. I want to tell him to mind his own business. I want to find her and wrap her up in the warmest hug I can give her.
“She’s not just some chick,” I say quietly, a growl underlining my tone of voice.
I may have been a fraternity brother in college, but I was far from the loud raucous sort. I kept to myself, mostly, and was quiet. Trouble maker, I was not, and it was that quiet, reserved demeanor that’s made me a decent businessman. When it comes to Stella, though, the protective side of me comes out. It always has.
“If she’s not just some chick you’re interested in, tell me about her,” Greg says as he puts another tray of muffins in the oven. “You lurk back here waiting to hear her voice, Brian. You think I haven’t seen you poke your head out every time another dark haired woman walks through that front door? I have. She’s all up in your head and I have never seen you react this way to a woman. Ever. I’ve known you for a decade. Never.”
He had a point. I dated in college but it was rare to want a second date from anyone. I was never excited over anyone back then, but I’m emotionally charged by the mere idea Stella might come in for coffee.
So I tell him finally. After the last few days of not having time to breathe, I start from the beginning, about how I’d been ripped away from my best friend, and while we tried to keep in touch, eventually being teenagers got in the way. It got more difficult to write letters or try to call when there was no end to the distance in sight. A family vacation to New York for me or to Tennessee for her could have kept that connection alive, but in the end we’d resolved ourselves to the Christmas cards our mothers sent one another each December. For a long time, those cards included the traditional family snapshot or school photos of me and Tommy, and Stella and Stephanie.
Eventually they were just the generic, “Hope all is well!” variety of Christmas greeting, and with that Stella and I had moved further from one another emotionally than we’d ever been.
It wasn’t until I decided to apply to Syracuse University that I thought about finding her again. At that point we hadn’t seen one another in ten years, and when I was actually accepted into the business program at SU, finding Stell was second and my education first. I couldn’t look for her and offer her the world before I had anything to give.
I worked my way through college, was asked to join the fraternity, met Greg and then after graduation moved back home to start working with my dad because I needed a job, needed to apply myself. Then one day it just wasn’t enough; things had gotten out of hand. There was no Stella in my life to ground me. It had been missing for so long, she’d been gone for so long and I just had to come back and find her.
“That’s when I called and asked you about moving to New York and starting a business. I know I should have told you sooner that this was really all about ‘some chick,’ but I couldn’t.” This was not a conversation for two grown men. I felt my uterus growing by the second, I swear, but when I looked at Greg he had some shit-eating grin on his face and I couldn’t even begin to predict what was about to come out of his mouth.
“You’ve been in love with this girl since you were nine? And you wait until now to tell me about her?” Did I say in love? I don’t remember. Still, he had that look on his face. “She’s really pretty, but she’s going through a rough time, you know? Caryn’s brought me up to speed.”
How do I keep forgetting about that — the reporter who wants to do a story on the coffeehouse works with Stella. She probably drops a sizeable portion of her paycheck here each week and I haven’t even called her.
“What do you mean she’s brought you up to speed? Stella told me the other day she’s going through a divorce, but I haven’t seen her come in since then,” I tell him. God, I wish she’d come in. I just want to know she’s okay.
Greg starts telling me about all the sordid details about this guy Stella married cheating on her, but then the clock hits opening time and personal conversation comes to a standstill as a steady stream of students and people on their way to work fill the shop. If business keeps up like this, we might have to consider hiring someone to help out.
I go back to figuring out what supplies we need to order during the lull between the morning rush and lunch, and then place the order when we have a break in the afternoon. Greg closes down the kitchen, I wipe down the tables, and the dishwasher starts running as we lock up and say goodnight shortly after 10 p.m.
It’s a Friday night and I’m about to go home to a house I bought and can’t fill because there was no gentle laughter in its rooms, no soft floral scent wafting down the hallways, no auburn haired beauty waiting for me to walk through the door.
For the first time since moving back to Brockport, I truly feel alone and the rain pelting my ball cap is just one more reminder of how that loneliness feels — stinging and cold.
Stella
Chapter Eight
“What are you doing out here?”
I turn my head to see Brian standing on the porch, guarded by the roof and the front light casting a halo around him. He looks like an angel. Who the fuck am I trying to kid? He is an angel. He’s my angel.
“I- I’m standing in the rain,” I drunkenly stammer.
"I see that. Why are you standing in the rain, though? And, more importantly, in the rain in front of my house when you could just come in where it's warm and dry. I've got coffee on," Brian says pointing toward the door.
I'm standing, frozen out of fear that this is a dream and I'll wake up alone still, because if this is real I can't explain to Brian how I ended up here. I didn't even know he lives on this street until he walked out of the house I'm staring at. Why am I just staring at his house, at him? I should say something. What do you say to someone you've missed from your life for more than 20 years, though? God, how I've missed him. And now he's a man; last time I saw him, smelled him, touched him he was still just a little boy. But that’s not right because I saw him the other day, but I didn’t look at him.
He’s beautiful. I say the only thing I can think of that doesn't sound absolutely creepy.
"I could use some coffee," and I follow him and his gloriously broad shoulders across the porch and into his home.
The scent of fresh ground beans permeates the layer of cold I'm trapped under, and as I shed my soaked sweater I welcome the warmth of Brian's home and his company. This house seems so familiar though I know I've never been here before. Its familiarity comes from the pictures on the walls and mantel, pictures I remember from our youth — the one of his parents at the neighborhood barbecue the summer before they moved; Brian and his brother, Tommy, standing arm-in-arm next to a car I assume the then teenage boys shared; a portrait of all four of them I remember seeing hang in his childhood home on the wall behind the couch.
They're all calling me back to a different time, a time when life was simple, when he was my best friend and my first love. And then one catches my eye and steals my breath.
Brian and I seated next to each other at the pool, our arms wrapped around the other's shoulders and a pair of "the world won't ever be able to separate us" grins on our faces. I remember the picture being taken but had never seen it. He moved a week later and his mom hadn't had the film developed before they left.
The tears silently make their way down my cheeks, leaving fresh drops on my already wet shirt, before I even realize they've escaped the confines of my eyes. Sighing deeply, I try to calm the panic in my brain and reach up touching the frame gently. It's the perfect snapshot of our youth.
"Sometimes I wish really hard that I could go back and be nine again." I hear the sorrow in his voice and know we're remembering the same time in our lives. "I was just a kid, but I would have begged them not to make me go to Tennessee if I'd known how far away it was from you. And when I was forced to go anyway, I would have never
stopped writing to you. I'm so sorry I stopped sending you letters, Stella." This has been eating away at him for years. It's evident by the pain in his eyes, but we can't change the past; we can only take steps toward the future.
"We were babies. We thought Tennessee was the next town over," I laugh nervously, drunkenly, trying to keep conversation light. I don’t want him to know how devastated I really am by everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours, give or take twenty-three years. We really did think it was a short drive away. At least I did until my dad pulled out the atlas one night after dinner.
"Daddy, will you take me to see Brian tomorrow after you get home from work? I swear I'll get home from school and get all my homework done before we go." I'm so excited to see my best friend again soon and I just know if I use my manners like a lady I’ll get to go. I want to see him. I miss him so much.
"Sweetie, going to see Brian would take a lot more planning than just getting in the car and going. Nashville is far away," my dad says.
I stare at him blankly until he takes a deep breath and gets up from his seat at the kitchen table, returning a few minutes later with a large book. He flips it open and thumbs through several pages until he finds what he's looking for.
"Stellie, this is a map of the United States," he says as if I'm completely unaware what a map of the continental U.S. looks like. "This is us up here in New York. And down here is Tennessee, where Brian and his folks moved to."
Instead of telling me I couldn't go see them, my dad gives me a lesson in how to read a map and use the legend and figure distance using a ruler. The lesson isn't pointless, I guess, but the end result is the same — I wouldn't be seeing Brian.
And my kid sized heart breaks a little more.
Brian hands me a mug of coffee. There’s nothing in the cup but coffee. He didn’t ask me how I take it, so I can only assume.
“You’ve been paying attention to how I take my coffee?” I ask tentatively, thankful my walk in the frigid rain sobered me up enough so I’m not slurring my speech.
“I didn’t want to add the espresso in case you planned to sleep at all this weekend,” he says, moving to a couch nestled in front of a crackling fireplace I hadn’t noticed. “So. Are you stalking me?”
The question is riddled with humor and playfulness — I can’t help but notice his personality hasn’t changed much since we were kids and it’s so easy to fall right back into that. It’s almost like I’m nine again — I’m not the shy kid I was after Brian moved away. I’m the kid I was before he left.
“Why would you think that?” I laugh as I let the question leave my lips.
He lifts the mug to his mouth and takes a hesitant sip, and I wish for a moment I could be that cup. “You show up in my coffee shop and now you’re at my house ... in the rain, Stella. You’re soaked,” he says taking in the T-shirt and jeans clinging to me thanks to Mother Nature’s flawless timing. “Next thing you know, I’m going to find you hiding in the bushes outside the post office when I mail stuff to my brother.”
“You forgot about the grocery store,” I say, lifting the warm ceramic to my lips and breathing deeply before taking a sip, letting the steam warm my face and the scent calm my nerves. “I do my best stalking in the produce section, sometimes the meat department.”
Silence settles on the conversation and when I glance at my hands wrapped around the warm ceramic, I realize just how soaked I am from the rain.
“My clothes are dripping on your hardwoods, Brian. I’m going to ruin your floor,” I say, making a move toward the door. “I should go. I didn’t mean to barge in on your evening.”
Standing up from the couch, Brian makes his way over to me, a glint of fear in his eyes.
“Don’t go. I’ve been waiting to see you for a long time. Come on, I’ve got a nice collection of hoodies and sweats from my Syracuse days,” he says walking toward the back of the house where I assume a bedroom or laundry room must be.
“You went to Syracuse? It’s a great school. I considered their master’s program for journalism.” Normal conversation. I can do this.
“I had a couple friends go to Newhouse. They loved the program, but I’ve lost touch with a lot of them since graduation. They just sort of scattered,” he says handing me a pair of grey pants and a bright orange hooded sweatshirt. “Go ahead and change in the bathroom and just leave your wet clothes hanging over the shower to dry.”
I slip through the door Brian pointed to and wait to hear the soft click of the latch falling into place before I let out the breath I’m holding. I sigh, deeply, before setting the clothes on the counter and stripping down to my bra and panties. The girl in the mirror looks strong. I wish I felt that way on the inside, but Keith’s revelation at the courthouse may as well have crippled my heart. Part of me wishes I was still drunk and angry, but between cleaning my house in the middle of the night, the walk in the rain to clear my head while Steph slept, and now the coffee, I’m sober.
And sober is what I should be if I’m going to be here.
The sweats are loose and comfortable, the warmth enveloping my legs, and for the first time since walking through Brian’s front door I realize how cold I was. Holding the sweatshirt to my nose, burying it into the soft fabric, I choke back a sob. I’ve tried so hard to close myself off and not feel. I did really well for a few months, after the initial shock wore off, until a couple days before we finalized everything this morning.
Now here I am, standing in a strange bathroom, sniffing clothes that belong to a man who is essentially a stranger. I’m sniffing his clothes.
They smell like Old Spice and cinnamon.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.
I pull the hoodie down over my head, wipe my eyes and, taking one more deep breath, open the door and step out of the bathroom.
Wandering back the way he led me, I walk quietly through an archway that connects the spacious kitchen and living room and stop in my tracks to take in the sight. Brian’s sitting on the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him with his feet stacked one on top of the other on the coffee table that sits between him and the fireplace, his left arm propping his head up in his hand like a kickstand.
I glance at the clock on his stove and realize it’s going on midnight about the same time I hear him softly snoring, his breathing even and relaxed ... and it feels natural for me to be here after months of not knowing quite where I belong.
There’s something unfurling in my chest and I can’t put a finger on it, so I ignore it, and climb into the corner of the couch opposite him. Grabbing the mug I’d been drinking from before wallowing in Brian’s bathroom, I take a sip.
“Ouch!” He refilled my mug with hot coffee while I was changing and now my slight outburst has ruined any chance to creepily stare at him while he sleeps.
“How did it go today?” His voice is quiet as he comes back to the waking world and pushes his face into his hands in an attempt to wake up. He asks the question like we’ve been in one another’s presence for years, and it puts me at ease.
“It was ... the end. It’s nice to have the finality of signed papers and my maiden name back legally, even though I’ve used it for writing purposes for forever, but it was still hard.” I manage to sneak a peek at Brian while I fiddle with my coffee mug. “He stopped me on the courthouse steps and told me we’d basically just done what was expected — we grew up together, dated in junior high, high school, through college ...”
“So the natural progression of things trapped you?”
“That’s how he feels,” I shrug. “I can’t change it now, but I wish I’d known he felt that way. Maybe then he would have kept his dick in his pants before divorcing me and wouldn’t be starting a family in, oh, about three weeks,” I say, purposefully looking at my watch. “He didn’t even bother to mention it over the last six months of proceedings and lawyers.”
His expression makes me giggle. It’s the most adorable look despite the fact it’s a mixture of d
isgust and horror and pain. God, he just makes things better.
“You’re joking, right? He didn’t actually get this woman pregnant and keep it from you? That’s got to be the shadiest thing I’ve heard in a while,” he says covering a laugh. “Stella, I don’t mean to laugh, but ... wow.”
“I can say one thing for certain. The man who divorced me is nothing like the man I married. I didn’t even see how much he’d changed until he wasn’t living at the house anymore,” I divulge.
I attempt to stifle a yawn. Even with a crazy work schedule it was rare I wasn’t in bed before midnight if I could help it. I had to take some time for myself and that time came in the form of a handful of hours of sleep if I was lucky.
“Are you warm enough?”
I barely hear the question as my eyes drift closed and I softly hum an “mmhmm” as a blanket is pulled over my legs.
Brian
Chapter Nine
She fell asleep in the middle of a conversation.
I could tell when she walked in the house she was exhausted and a little buzzed. She appeared to be surviving on fumes. And, if her consumer habits were any indication, she was subsisting on espresso and scones a lot more in the last couple weeks.
I refuse to wake her, so standing up from the couch I grab the blanket neatly resting along the back of the sofa and pull it up over her legs.
I push the hair off her forehead and gently kiss the creamy skin beneath it.
“I’ve missed you so much, Stell,” I whisper into her hair.
My sweats make her look tiny, the dark circles under her eyes make her look frail. It’s going to take all my willpower not to pick her up and carry her to my bed just so I can hold her for the rest of the night. That isn’t what she needs. She doesn’t need to think someone is already trying to make a move on her — least of all me. After having been gone for so long, only to show up as a chapter was closing on her life, I don’t want to be someone she just falls into bed with.
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