Slow Dancing on Price's Pier

by Lisa Dale

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ever since you gave me that double shot of espresso, I can’t go back to the old stuff. I stopped in for another round.”

  “So I ruined you for other baristas.”

  “Don’t be so modest,” he said.

  She laughed, and then they both were laughing, more than the joke deserved.

  “You like running the coffee shop?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Jonathan said you’re there all the time.”

  “I like to work.”

  “Do you?” he asked. “Because I could never tell if running the coffee shop was something you really loved doing, or whether you just sort of fell into it.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  He looked at her for a long moment over the rim of his wineglass. Thea held herself perfectly still. She supposed she knew what was coming.

  “Why did you marry him?”

  She turned away on the pretense of loading a few dishes into the dishwasher. “It wasn’t revenge, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Telling me why you didn’t marry him doesn’t answer the question.”

  She rolled her eyes. Talking with Garret had always been interesting when they were kids; now that he was trained in the art, it was nothing shy of thrilling. She liked that he pushed her, that she didn’t know what he was going to say next. “I love him,” she said. “He asked me to marry him, and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my life.”

  “You mean a safer way.”

  She said nothing.

  “Everyone knew you weren’t right for each other,” he said. She bristled at the confident tone of his voice. “You had no chemistry.”

  “What was I supposed to do?” she asked, angry now. “Wait around for you?”

  His pretty smile fell clear off his face, and she felt instantly gratified.

  “You’re a lot different now than I thought you’d be,” she said. She finished loading a few of Irina’s plastic cups into the dishwasher. She wished there were more. She dried her hands and picked up her wine.

  “How so?”

  “I figured you would have gotten married. Started a family. You’d always talked about it.”

  “Momentary insanity.” He flashed his blockbuster smile. “We were kids. Neither one of us knew what we wanted.”

  Yes we did, she thought.

  “You, on the other hand, are living exactly the life I thought you’d live. Settled down. Married. In your parents’ house. Running the shop. Having a kid … Thea, your life could have been a paint by numbers from those days to this.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said.

  “How do you figure?”

  She held his eye. “I’ve been trying new things. Taking risks. Meeting people.”

  “Oh really.”

  “And anyway, I’m not settled down. I’m divorced.”

  “Right. From my brother,” he said.

  For a moment, the seconds stretched long between them. The window to the street had darkened, so only the faintest glow from the streetlight came in. The clock above the table ticked loudly. The blue of Garret’s eyes was flecked with nickel and a question Thea didn’t quite know how to read.

  For years she had been telling herself that there was nothing left of him inside her—that he’d become irrelevant to her present life. But she saw now that she was wrong, that there was still some part of him that was important to her. Some part of what had passed between them had shaped her, continued to shape her, even while she was married to Jonathan, and even now.

  “I should go,” he said.

  She put down her wine. He did the same. “You were great today. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  He crossed the room, silent, and she summoned up all her cordiality, her good feelings toward him. She wanted to treat him like she would treat any old friend.

  “Thanks again for everything,” she said. “Get home safe.”

  He frowned at her from where he stood near the door. “You should know something.”

  She waited.

  “We may have found some sort of … I don’t know … balance, or whatever you want to call it. But what you did to me … I don’t think we can be friends.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said as lightly as she could. And she opened the door.

  Beneath the last of the light fading in the sky, Garret walked to his car. And then he walked past it, the sidewalk leading him on. Her street had changed little in the last fifteen years, owners wishing to preserve the historic character of the city—shutters and sash windows, steep gables and wrought-iron lamps. It was as if the neighborhood was a time capsule, a place that had been preserved until his return.

  He’d learned something today—a thing that made him want to leap for joy and cry into his hands all at the same time. He still knew her. All this time, and he still knew her. She hadn’t changed so much that he could no longer recognize that which was fundamentally her.

  At the hospital today, he’d seen that she was still generous, still caring. Everyone near her was drawn in by her, children especially. In the waiting room she’d temporarily adopted a scrawny five-year-old with a stick-on tattoo, but she didn’t skimp on paying attention to her own child. Her calm and assurance when the doctors shined a bright light into Irina’s eyes made her daughter—and even him—feel like she had everything under control.

  It dazzled him that so much of her was still in place. Little things had changed, like the way she did her hair or the way she took her coffee or what she liked on her pizza—but he knew her, still. And somehow, the thought made him feel like he could still mean something to her, which in turn made him feel gratified and hopeful and happy—and just plain terrible too.

  For years he’d built Thea into something she wasn’t. He’d determined that everything good he saw in her must have been the result of self-delusion, and everything bad about her was fact. He’d begun to wonder if he’d imagined her.

  But tonight he knew he had not. Though friendship was probably impossible between them, she was real flesh and blood. Real enough, he knew, to be missed.

  From “The Coffee Diaries” by Thea Celik

  The Newport Examiner

  If you’ve ever given a little kid a sip of coffee, you probably had a chuckle at the child’s reaction to the brew.

  Coffee, some people say, is an acquired taste. Most of us aren’t born loving that bitter tang coffee leaves in our mouths. Other common foods that don’t immediately please our palates are beer, olives, and wine.

  It’s still something of a mystery to scientists that the sip of coffee that made your nose curl in agony as a child can make you salivate in agony as an adult. Repeated exposure to unwelcome tastes is thought to encourage appreciation, changing flavors that must be acquired into flavors that are enjoyed.

  But there’s a danger in purposely trying to acquire an acquired taste. If you don’t like coffee, it is entirely possible to make yourself believe that you like it—to the point that you actually do start thinking you like it, even if you don’t.

  The trick is knowing yourself well enough to grasp the subtle difference between embracing an acquired taste and conforming to expectations—whether society’s or your own.

  THIRTEEN

  Thea was sitting at her desk paying bills when her computer made the noise that meant she had a new e-mail.

  Dear Thea,

  I’m writing to you about your daughter Irina. I’m concerned about her behavior. Would you be willing to come in and speak with me one day next week?

  Lori Caisse

  A knot formed in Thea’s stomach. Lori Caisse was Irina’s homeroom teacher. Not good.

  Dear Lori,

  Of course. Just name the time and place.

  Thea

  P.S. I hope everything’s okay.

  In the lunchroom and the library, speculation was only natural: Thea had expected her friends to ask: Are you sleeping with
Garret? And though it wasn’t their business, she’d never been one to withhold facts. She’d told them: No.

  But every few days, they asked again. And again. How long, they said, can you hold out? She became so used to answering their endless questions that she very nearly became comfortable doing it. Until one day in the morning before school as they lounged outside near the flagpole, she affirmed for the hundredth time that she was not sleeping with Garret, but she didn’t get the usual response.

  “Really? That’s not what he says.”

  The blow had landed like a punch in the gut. She could picture the scene perfectly—Garret talking to his buddies. Making her the same as all the other girls he dated. Kissing and telling. The thought made her sick.

  “Well, we’re not,” Thea had said.

  All day she carried the shame of revelation with her. All those hundreds of invisible eyes that were turned on her in friendly speculation now seemed to be turned on her in malice, and as she walked down the hall, her books clutched to her chest, she saw herself as they saw her: She was telling them that she was not sleeping with Garret and he was telling them she was. She didn’t know how she would make it to the end of the day.

  And yet, she did make it. At first she didn’t say anything to Garret about what she’d heard. He came to her in her bedroom at midnight, kissed her, panted against her neck, until all their bittersweet and tenacious want had finally burned itself out without having been satiated. He lay with her, his breath light as clouds, his body hot beneath her hand, his eyes closed in exhaustion.

  She asked him, “Did you tell the soccer team that we’re sleeping together?”

  He was quiet a moment before he answered. “Yes.”

  “Why did you?”

  He propped himself up on one hand. “To get them off my back.”

  “But you bragged to them. You brought everyone in. This was supposed to be ours …”

  “You don’t understand what it’s like,” he said.

  He kissed her forehead. She turned away slightly, the floor hard beneath her head, and in the darkness she could just make out the shape of boxes and blankets beneath her bed. She didn’t know what to make of this—of everything surrounding sex. Girls much younger than her had been doing it for years, with hardly a thought, it seemed. For them, there was no gravity, no deep-seated fear, no desperation. They liked sex the way they liked a good meal or a trip to the amusement park—things to anticipate joyfully and easily, and afterward, things that could be let go.

  But with Garret, Thea did not have that uncomplicated, breezy feeling. She worried about what Jonathan had said—that Garret was only after one thing. And that once he got it, he would go.

  “I wish you hadn’t told them one way or the other,” she said. “But I guess there’s worse things.”

  She felt his hand along her spine, his fingers tracing the ridges where her hair trailed down. She tried to hold herself away from his touch—so much want collecting within her like rainwater, near to overflowing.

  She leaned down, kissed the contours of his mouth that she was getting to know so well. “Next month we graduate,” she said. She kissed his cheekbones, the ridge of his eyebrows, the bump of his chin. “Can you wait that long?”

  When he looked at her his eyes were steely and clear. “No,” he said. “But I will.”

  Thea stood at the kitchen counter, folding slices of Swiss onto turkey sandwiches for her and Sue. Irina’s swollen ankle had apparently translated into a great excuse for Sue to shower her granddaughter with presents: a remote-controlled car, a bag full of new books and DVDs, and the promise of a trip to the Providence Children’s Museum once Irina was “back on her foot.”

  Sue came into the kitchen and sat down at the table. The day was unusually hot for September, and she was fanning herself with a women’s magazine.

  “Do you like avocado for your side salad?” Thea asked.

  “I can stand it if it’s in something,” she said, a slight lilt to her voice. “But otherwise, no thanks.”

  Thea finished preparing their plates, then took one into the living room, where Irina was lounging in her pajamas. She set the plate down on her daughter’s lap.

  “No, Maaaaa,” Irina whined. “I don’t like avocado.”

  “Try it anyway.”

  “I have tried it; I don’t like it.”

  “Try it again,” she said, laughing to herself. She hadn’t liked avocados as a girl either, but she loved them now.

  When she got back to the kitchen Sue was already nibbling at her salad, and Thea joined her, glad for adult company. Irina was driving her crazy these days; her appointment with her daughter’s teacher could not come soon enough.

  “She seems to be doing well,” Sue said.

  “Pretty well.”

  “And how’s Mom?”

  “I’m okay,” Thea said.

  Sue sprinkled a bit of Italian dressing on the dark leaves of her salad. “Garret told me he went to the hospital with you.”

  “He was great with Irina the other day. I’m glad he was there to help.”

  “Help you or Irina?”

  “Both,” Thea said.

  Sue worked a bit of salad onto her fork. “That son of mine gives me more gray hairs than I know what to do with. I’ve been trying to set him up with Kate Cooper for three weeks now. They’d be perfect together. Did you know she’s a rock climber? Yes, along with being the VP at the hedge fund, she also climbs rocks—with no ropes. She’s perfect for him. But of course, you know Garret. He won’t even meet her.”

  Thea wiped her hands on her napkin. She could picture Garret turning on the charm for a woman as a favor to his mother, but she couldn’t imagine him dating unless he really wanted to. He didn’t like be told what to do.

  “Maybe he likes being single,” Thea suggested.

  “He doesn’t,” Sue said. “He’s never liked being single. He just likes to pretend. You must know that, Thea. Even as a kid, he was so serious about his relationship with you. And kids who are that serious when they’re that young don’t usually grow up to be dedicated bachelors.”

  Thea took a bite of her sandwich. She didn’t know why, but Sue’s voice seemed different. Tense. Thea couldn’t remember the last time Sue had mentioned her and Garret in the same sentence. To Sue, it was as if Thea’s brief relationship with Garret had never happened. Once Thea and Garret had split, Sue had never looked back. Until—Thea watched her friend pull a piece of turkey out of her sandwich and pop it in her mouth—now.

  “Maybe there’s something I can do to help,” Thea said. “Something that might speed the process along …”

  “That’s sweet. But once Garret digs his heels in, there’s nothing anyone can do. And anyway, whether he wants to meet her or not, he’ll have to meet her at the Gilded Age Society Ball next week. You are coming, right?”

  Thea glanced down at her fork. “I wasn’t sure if you’d wanted me to go this year …”

  “Of course I do! You’re family. And family must be there!”

  Thea smiled. Every year the Gilded Age Society held a major fete in one of the enormous mansions the society supported. The old homes were as glamorous and jaw-dropping as any European palaces—the fact that they were called “cottages” only added to their outrageousness. They were white elephants: treasured for their rareness and beauty but astoundingly expensive to keep up. The annual ball was meant to help offset costs. Sue and Ken always paid. “I’m glad you want me to go. I love going.”

  “Will you … will you be bringing a date?”

  Thea took a bite of her sandwich to stall. A date? She’d never needed a date before—to anything. Either Jonathan or Garret had always been on hand. “You guys are going to be there, right?”

  “Yes. And the boys.”

  “Then I don’t need a date,” Thea said. “Unless you think I do.”

  Sue touched her arm. “Thea. I know you and Jonathan are newly divorced. But if you want to date, you have my blessi
ng. You and Jonathan both deserve to fall in love—for keeps this time.”

  “Thank you,” Thea said, lacking a better answer. “But I don’t imagine I’ll be doing the dinner and roses thing any time soon.”

  From the other room they heard Irina ringing the little porcelain bell that Thea had given her a few days ago—a bell that Thea was beginning to hear clanging in her dreams. She pressed her hand against her forehead and stood. “Why I ever thought that was a good idea …”

  “Stop.” Sue rose and pushed aside her chair. “I’ll go.”

  “But …”

  “A grandmother doesn’t turn down the opportunity to spoil her only granddaughter.”

  Thea stopped her before she could leave the room. “Sue … thank you. For everything, I mean.”

  “What are friends for?” she said.

  Jonathan walked down the hallway of the elementary school, holding Irina’s small hand. The corridor was dark, the school mostly empty. As their footfalls echoed down the long, straight hall, copies of paintings of presidents stared solemnly from the shadows. Even as an adult, Jonathan felt intimidated enough by the menacing portraits to be on his best behavior. He could only imagine how well they worked on the kids.

  Irina stopped him when they reached her teacher’s room. “This is it.”

  “All right. You wait here,” Jonathan said, seating Irina in a wooden chair outside the door.

  She snarled at him like a tiger.

  “I mean it. Don’t get out of this chair until I get back. I shouldn’t be very long.” He waited until she nodded, then he walked into the classroom. It was empty except for Irina’s teacher, who was sitting behind a big desk at the front of the room. Behind her the white-board was marred with the blue smudges of half-erased lessons.

  “Hi, I’m Jonathan Sorensen,” he said, not certain she would remember him.

  She looked up, then put her hand to her heart and laughed. “Oh, you startled me. Sorry!” Her smile was pretty, just a little too wide for her face. Her hair was pulled back into a neat brown ponytail. Jonathan had met Lori Caisse before, at back-to-school night last month. Then, as now, she left him with the impression that she’d just wandered out of a storybook. “Nice to see you again. Have a seat.”