Two Hearts Alone

by Harper Bliss

  Zoe chuckles, as though I’ve just asked her whether she wants another drink instead of a probing question into her personal life.

  “Is she the reason you moved out here?”

  Zoe shakes her head. “No, Eve moved away from New York herself. She’s in Shanghai now. Literally the other side of the world to where her daughter is.” She knocks back a large gulp of wine, leaving me to conclude this is a sore subject still. “She was only supposed to leave in the summer, so Brooklyn could stay with her while I set up everything here. So Brooklyn wouldn’t have to change schools in the middle of the school year. But then Eve suddenly decided she didn’t care about any of that anymore and fucked off to her new life in Asia early.” Zoe finds my gaze for an instant, but I can’t hold it. “But Eve and I were over long before all of that. Let’s just say it didn’t take her long after we broke up to find herself a younger and no doubt better model.”

  “No way.” It’s so cliché, I don’t really know how to respond. Also, if you’re married to someone like Zoe, how can you possibly find yourself someone better-looking? She’s certainly the hottest inhabitant this town has seen in a very long time. Oh shit. I should be saying something comforting, not getting lost in my head, concluding how hot Zoe is.

  “Oh, yes. Eve’s ten years younger than me and I guess I was getting too old for her.” She throws in a small chuckle, for which I’m grateful. It’s hard for me to know whether Zoe’s being serious or not.

  “That must have been hard.”

  “Breaking up is always hard, especially when there’s a child involved.”

  I hold up my glass. “Well, fuck Eve,” I say. “She clearly had no clue what she was doing when she left you.”

  Zoe holds up her glass as well. “I’m not completely blameless, of course.”

  “None of us are,” I say, and clink the rim of my glass against hers, suddenly feeling as if I’m sharing something intimate with someone else—a sensation I haven’t experienced in a very long time.

  “Thanks, Anna,” Zoe says. “With the way you changed the topic of conversation from yourself to me, I guess I shouldn’t ask why you and Cynthia broke up.”

  “That would be very nice of you.” I manage to hold Zoe’s dark-brown gaze now. I haven’t come across someone so easy to talk to in a very long time. I know it’s all down to her, because I’m well aware—too aware, most times—of my own clunky abilities to keep a conversation going. But I do have to give her something. “I lived in New York for a few months,” I say. “And I hated every single second of it.”

  For some reason, Zoe bursts out laughing. “I can sort of see how the Big Apple wouldn’t agree with you.”

  I have no idea what that means. Is it an insult? The smile on her face says otherwise. “I got into Columbia. The arts program. I was going to do an MFA in Visual Arts, but that didn’t really work out as planned.”

  “Really?”

  “Neither the college experience, nor life in Manhattan, held any appeal for me. So I just came home without a degree.” And without any of the confidence I’d mustered up from some unknown source before I left, I think.

  “Why was it so hard for you?” Zoe looks genuinely interested—concerned even.

  “I have… a hard time being away from home. Always have. But I went, because going to college is what you’re supposed to do. And because I’m a lesbian and I’ve always believed that lesbians were supposed to move to the city. How else could we ever find love?” I shake my head. “I had a lot of misconceptions in my head about how life was supposed to be. Maybe it’s supposed to be like that for most people, but I’m not most people, so… it wasn’t like that for me.”

  “So you came back and started your own business?”

  “Did my mother tell you my entire life story?”

  “No.” That smile again. It could instantly melt all the snow that has fallen over the past four weeks. “Sean came into the store the other day. He told me about your joint venture.”

  “You seem to know much more about me than I know about you.” It’s a bit of a disconcerting feeling. I make a mental note to quiz Sean some more first thing tomorrow.

  “People in this town really like to divulge personal information.” Zoe leans over the table a little. “And I don’t even know half of what I’d like to know about you.”

  Instinctively, I shift back a little, so that the distance between us remains the same as before. I take a breath. This is fine, I tell myself. Whatever vibe I think I’m getting, it’s all in my head—as usual. “Well,” I say. “I came back to Donovan Grove. Moved back into my old room in my parents’ house for a bit. That was fun.” I attempt a smile myself. The wattage is nowhere near what Zoe can produce when she curls up her lips, but I have to work with what I’ve got.

  “I bet.” Zoe finishes her wine. “Shall we get another?”

  “Sure.” I signal Lisa behind the bar to bring us the same again. She nods at me and I find some much-needed comfort in her gesture. It anchors me as I try to tell Zoe about my life. “I lived with my parents for a few years while I took a bunch of online courses, during which I started to pick up some graphic design work here and there. Then Sean graduated from college and started his web design business. He needed someone with an eye for graphics and we’ve worked together ever since.”

  “And you no longer live with your parents?” Zoe asks, a grin on her lips.

  I chuckle. “Thank goodness, no. I rented for a while, but then the economy tanked, and I was able to buy a house way below market price.” Ah, my house. No matter how physically attractive and easy to talk to Zoe is, a part of me always just wants to return to my house. “I have a good life here. A life I like.” Talking about myself always exhausts me, so I need to be quick to ask the next question. But being smart in conversation is not my forte. It’s no wonder Zoe’s much better at it than me.

  “What sort of things do you design?” she asks, before I’m able to come up with a question of my own.

  “I used to mock up a lot of the websites Sean made, but his work has changed a lot over the years. There are so many free website packages on the internet now, he has taken the last couple of years to really specialize in jobs that need a lot of bespoke coding.”

  “Ahem.” Zoe clears her throat.

  I look at her.

  “I was asking about your work, Anna,” she says in a way that makes me feel quite inadequate. My cheeks flush a hot pink.

  “I—I do a lot of cover design for books, actually.” Thankfully, Lisa brings over our drinks. I can’t even begin to explain to Zoe why this is so hard for me. I hope she doesn’t interpret my blush the wrong way.

  We thank Lisa and as soon as she’s gone, Zoe says, “That’s why you missed having a bookstore in town.”

  “It’s one of the reasons.” I quickly take a few sips from my beer. It does calm me down a little, even though I’ve learned not to rely on alcohol to enhance my conversation skills.

  “Have you designed anything that would be for sale at Bookends right now?”

  “I used to work a lot for traditional publishers, but most of my work has shifted to indie publishers in the past few years, and you don’t find a lot of those books in brick-and-mortar stores.”

  “Are you happy with that shift?” Zoe asks.

  “Oh, yes. Indies are far less demanding than trads. When I was designing for a big publisher, it wasn’t unusual to go through at least ten rounds of back-and-forth, if I was lucky. And I understand that, because a lot more money was at stake for them. With my indie clients, especially when I’ve worked with them a while, I only have to do the back-and-forth a few times. It’s much more time-efficient.”

  “Well, there you go. One thing to thank Amazon for.”

  “Oh yes, your previous employer.” I tilt my head— buoyed by the drink, I realize. “Thank you, Amazon, for making my life easier. That must have been a big leap for you, from a corporate behemoth to being self-employed.”

  “It�
�s a bit scary, I must admit.”

  “Do you have plans for an online store?”

  “Plans, maybe… but very long-term plans. I strongly believe that a store like Bookends can thrive in a town like this. I did my research. I didn’t just come here with a suitcase full of vain hope that if I tried, I could perhaps make it work. I believe in Bookends.”

  “I believe in it too. I was just saying that if you needed an online store done, I could help you with that.”

  “Are you about to launch into a sales pitch?” The skin around Zoe’s eyes crinkles as she smiles.

  “No. God, no. Please don’t think that.” My cheeks must be the color of very ripe cherries now. “I was just offering my help. For free. Really. I—I didn’t mean to imply anything else.”

  “Anna.” Zoe brings her hand forward and, before I can pull back, puts it on mine. “It’s fine. I was only teasing you.”

  Her inadvertent touch makes me want to flee the bar there and then. But all I do is clumsily pull my hand out of her grasp.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m such a touchy-feely person. I forget not everyone is.” She sends me an apologetic smile.

  I drink from my beer until it’s half-empty, then get up. “Sorry, uh, I just forgot. I need to go. I was supposed to meet my dad for something.”

  Zoe leans back in her seat. “You’re leaving?” She narrows her eyes. “Why? What did I do? Or say? I genuinely don’t know what I did wrong, Anna.” There’s no longer a smile on her face.

  It’s not you, I want to assure her, but the words don’t come. “Nothing. It’s my dad. He’s expecting me. I promised I’d help him with something. I—” I what? I didn’t expect us to be here this long? I didn’t expect you to put your hand on mine? I didn’t expect to enjoy your company so much? I may as well nip any kind of expectation, no matter how flimsy, in the bud right now, and save both of us any possible disappointment along the way. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you around.” I quickly stop at the counter and tell Lisa I’ll pay for the drinks on Friday. Then, face burning, head pounding, heart in tatters, I get out of there.

  12

  Zoe

  “How was your date?” Brooklyn asks as soon as I arrive home.

  “Trust me when I tell you that was not a date.” I sink into the nearest chair. I’m not sure why I feel so deflated. I’m puzzled more than anything. While I finished my glass of wine, Anna’s half-empty beer glass standing in front me as a glaring reminder of her abrupt departure, I tried to figure out what made Anna up and leave like that. One minute, we were having a pleasant conversation; the next, she just left.

  It can only have been my tactile nature. I’m a hugger. I’m always touching other people, putting a hand on someone’s arm, literally patting them on the back. Clearly, Anna is the opposite. But still. We’re both adults. She could have just said something. Or just pulled her hand away, as she did, and make it clear she didn’t like that, and moved on.

  Anna moved on all right, but in a way that I find hard to stomach. She just ran away from me as if, instead of putting a reassuring hand on hers, I’d tried to kiss her against her will.

  “Oh,” Brooklyn says. My statement that it was most certainly not a date seems to quell her enthusiasm about it. “Well, there’s still the other one.” She keeps her face turned to the TV.

  “What other one?” I get up from the chair and sit next to her in the couch.

  She pauses whatever she’s watching. “We ran into two lesbians the other day, didn’t we? You tried one. Clearly, things didn’t go your way. On to the next one.”

  “Jesus, Brook. Sometimes I wonder if you are truly my flesh and blood.”

  “Why?”

  “The things you say.” I kick off my shoes and draw my legs under me. At least I have my daughter to come home to, no matter how blunt she can be.

  “What about them?”

  “On to the next one? What are you trying to imply?”

  “I just… want you to find someone, Mom. I want you to be happy.”

  “Aren’t we happy, just the two of us? In our cozy little apartment above our awesome bookstore in Donovan Grove?” I nudge her thigh with my toe.

  “Sure, Mom,” she says in the way only a teenage girl can—voice dripping with sarcasm, eyes nearly rolling out of her head.

  “Tell me about school today. How was it?”

  “I already told you. I’m also not six years old. You don’t have to ask me multiple times every single day.”

  “Of course I do. It’s your first week at DG High.”

  “I was actually watching this. I wasn’t expecting you home so early.”

  “Excuse me for wanting to spend some quality time with my only child.”

  “All we do is spend quality time together, Mom.”

  “Turn your show back on. We’ll watch it together.”

  She looks at me, her face pulled into an ‘as-if’ expression. “I’m watching Riverdale.”

  “That’s fine with me, baby.” I watch my daughter as she presses play on the remote and focuses her attention back on the TV. I don’t care what we’re watching. Brooklyn loves Riverdale with a passion I’ve rarely seen in her. A passion that, apparently, makes her prefer watching it on her own—maybe she can better focus on whatever dramatic plot the teens on screen are going through. I might have also made fun of it a few times too many for her to let me watch it with her. But tonight, she indulges me. Maybe she senses that I need the comfort of sitting next to her in the couch.

  I wonder what Anna’s doing right now. Clearly the thing she supposedly had to do with her dad was made up. Or maybe she did go and see him. I don’t even know if he and Sherry are still together. I know from experience that you can’t just assume.

  We’ve only been watching a few minutes when the episode ends and the countdown to the next one appears on the screen.

  “Have you eaten?” I ask, suddenly keenly aware of my own hunger.

  “Only Cheetos and string cheese,” Brooklyn says.

  I shake my head because it’s my job to do so as a mother. “I’ll make us something. TV dinner?”

  Brooklyn nods. I only let her eat in front of the TV on very rare occasions.

  “We can watch something else,” she says. “I’ve seen this before.”

  That’s the understatement of the year, I think, and smile at her. “Whatever you want, baby.”

  “What made it not be a date?” she asks as I get up, picking up my shoes in the process.

  I huff out some air. “It was never a date in the first place, although we did end up at the local bar instead of the coffee shop, for which, I think I was a touch overdressed.” I glance down at my dress. Before I make dinner, I need to get out of it. “We were actually having a nice time, until, very suddenly, we didn’t. She just… ran off. It was all a bit weird.”

  “I told you from the start she was weird.”

  “Did you?”

  Brooklyn just shrugs, then gets up. “I’ll help you.”

  “Thanks, sweetie.” Automatically, I curl an arm around her shoulders. “Have you been hanging out with Jaden?” I ask, as we head into the kitchen.

  “A bit,” she says, not looking me in the eye.

  “Tell me more.” I open the fridge to see what I can rustle up. I take out a carton of eggs and some lettuce.

  “There’s not much to tell.” For the past year, I’ve been amazed at how quickly Brooklyn can go from being the very open, talkative girl she’s always been to a secretive teenager. I have learned not to take it personally.

  “Tell me anyway,” I insist.

  “He’s a bit of a weird one as well. He’s cool, but also such a nerd at the same time.”

  “Must run in the family then.”

  “Or in this town.” Brooklyn chuckles.

  “Invite him over whenever you want.” I crack a few eggs into a bowl and start whisking. Without being prompted, Brooklyn puts the lettuce in a bowl and makes a dressing. “Not without supervision, of co
urse.”

  “When would I be unsupervised?” Brooklyn asks. “When you go on a non-date with the other one?” She grins at me.

  Fat chance of that, I think. The other one is no longer available.

  13

  Anna

  Even though I don’t much feel like returning to the scene of my latest crime against general social rules, I go to Lenny’s with Sean and Jamie after work on Friday anyway. More because it’s what I do every single Friday—and I need to get my weekly dose of social interaction—than because I want to hang out with my brother and my colleague slash friend.

  I try to discreetly settle last Wednesday’s bill with Lisa, but of course she asks me how Zoe is, and of course Sean hears her.

  “Did you come here with the foxy lady?” he asks.

  “What foxy lady?” Jamie asks.

  “Zoe, the new owner of Bookends,” Sean tells Jamie, then he fixes his gaze back on me. “Wait… is she one of yours?” He purses his lips into a very quizzical pout.

  Now I do wish I had gone home instead of coming here. I wish I was in my studio, working on the painting I started when I got home on Wednesday, after my faux pas with Zoe. I’m so ashamed about it, I even changed Hemingway’s walking route, much to my chagrin, so that I didn’t have to go past Bookends.

  “As a matter of fact,” I proclaim, as if it’s my proclamation to make, “she is.” Lisa saw us together. Word will be out soon enough.

  “I met her at Bookends’ opening.” Jamie whistles thought his teeth. “Zoe’s way out of Anna’s league.”

  “Guys, we just had a drink.” Speaking of, I eagerly sip from the beer Lisa just planted in front of me. “She’s looking to make friends in town. That’s all.”

  “And she chose to befriend you of all people?” Jamie’s my brother and has always gotten away with saying whatever he wants about me. He also knows me better than most—and likes to test my boundaries regardless. “Bad luck for Zoe.” He shoots me a playful wink. Because of the circumstance, us having an after-work drink on a Friday night, and the atmosphere of casual banter, which I do enjoy, I let his remark slide. “Actually,” Jamie says. “Jaden said something about the new girl at school being the daughter of the new bookstore owner. I think he might have taken a shine to the city girl.”