I told him briefly about the guy, who, fortunately, I hadn’t run into again.
“Sounds like a real winner,” Elliott said. “Though I don’t think he’s the guy who’s going after people.”
“He seemed more like a big talker, not someone who would actually do something,” I said. “But at the time, it seemed totally plausible that he might just reach over and pull a loaded handgun out of the glove box.”
“I’m glad you actually took me seriously for once,” Elliott said. “It’s nice to know that I can still offer you advice and you’ll take it.”
“You’ve given me plenty of good advice,” I said.
“I know. It’s just nice when that advice is finally taken. Hey, listen. Are you free this Friday? I was thinking that it might be cool if the two of us went out and got something to eat. I’ve got some design ideas that I wanted to talk to you about.”
I hesitated. I didn’t have anything going on this Friday night—did I ever?—but I wasn’t sure if making a plan to go out with Elliott was such a good idea. We’d tried to hang out, post-breakup, and while it had always started out fairly good, something would usually happen that would have one of us ending the night early. The last time, I had been the one who had left the art opening we’d gone to, yet he had also walked out on me at a restaurant, left me standing there once at a bar. I understood the concept of remaining friends after a breakup, but it really seemed like we were better as phone friends. Once we got around each other in person, things usually devolved rapidly.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Why? Do you have plans? Come on, Tea. I know you don’t have plans.”
“I do, actually,” I lied. “I’m working on a little project and I’m planning on doing that Friday night.” I hated myself a little bit as the words slipped out of my mouth—why couldn’t I just be honest with him? Because I didn’t want to get into some argument. Sometimes, not being totally forthright seemed worth it, if it meant that you could avoid some unnecessary conflict.
“I just feel like I haven’t seen you lately. It would be nice. I mean, that’s what friends do—right? They see each other every now and then?”
“No, you’re right,” I said.
“And if you think this has anything to do with me wanting to get back together with you or anything... it doesn’t. Sometimes it seems like you think that, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
I bristled as he said this, because I knew he was implying that he thought I still wanted to be with him. Which wouldn’t make any sense at all, because I was the one who had broken up with him in the first place.
“Well... I’m glad to hear that,” I said. “That you’re okay with the way things are.”
“Of course I am. And the only reason that I bring it up now is because I just want to be clear that we’re on the same page here. Because sometimes I think that you’re not really being forthright with me about how you’re actually feeling.”
Sometimes, I wondered if there was any point to continuing a friendship with Elliott. I didn’t know many people who remained on good terms with a person they’d broken up with. Or remained friends. I knew such cases existed, but I had never encountered one. Yet there would be a part of me that didn’t want to give up the friendship that Elliott and I had, that we would have continued to have if we hadn’t bothered to go out in the first place.
“Well,” Elliott said, “what about in a little bit? Like an hour or so? We could meet up for lunch. I need to take a break soon.”
I didn’t have anything that I had to do today, no pressing deadlines, no appointments, not even really a to-do list. I was planning on going down to the farmers’ market, and I was trying to work up the nerve to text Ben and see if he would go with me. I could, I realized, just as easily ask Elliott if he wanted to accompany me, and he’d probably jump at the chance, but I didn’t think that would be a smart idea.
“I’ve got a bunch of errands that I need to do right now,” I said. “And I just had a snack, so I’m not that hungry. But maybe—”
“Okay, okay,” he said, “I get it. I can take the hint. But a friendship is a two-way street, Teagan. It shouldn’t always be me reaching out to you. If you don’t want to continue our friendship, then fine. I can’t tell you how to feel, but the very least you could do is be upfront with me about it.”
Was I really being that awful? The way he was making it sound, it was like all I was interested in was using him and keeping everything very one-sided, which wasn’t how I felt at all.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” I said. “You know how much I value our friendship.”
“Oh, yeah? You sure have a funny way of showing it.”
“Let me look at my calendar and I’ll figure something out—”
“I have to go. Call me later, if you want.”
He hung up the phone before I could say anything. Getting hung up on was never fun, but I felt more relieved than anything else to be off the phone.
My stress with the phone wasn’t over yet, though, because I was supposed to get in touch with Ben. Was I supposed to call? Or send a text? We hadn’t really gone over that part, and for several minutes I stood there in the kitchen, vacillating between my two choices, trying to figure out which one made more sense. I got indecisive like this when trying to make a decision that I didn’t want to have to make.
You’re paying him to do this, I told myself. There’s no reason that you should feel weird about it.
But I did. I felt so weird about it that I almost didn’t do it. But I knew if I didn’t do it now, I’d never work up the nerve to. Finally, I decided to send a text, because that would at least avoid any awkward conversation.
Hi, it’s Teagan. Are you going to be around in about an hour?
The phone rang less than a minute after I sent it.
“Hello?” I said when I picked up, even though I knew it was going to be him.
“Hey,” he said, and his voice coming through the phone was immediately soothing to me, in a way that I had never experienced with anyone else before. Was it just that I’d never really talked with someone who had a nice voice like this? No, because I’d had a boyfriend the summer of my senior year and he’d had one of those voices that people were swooning over—girls would come up whenever we were out somewhere and tell him that he should do commercials and voice-overs—and though I had certainly appreciated the sexiness of his voice, it hadn’t soothed me the way hearing Ben’s voice did.
Not that I would ever admit that to him.
“Oh, hey,” I said. “Um... did you get my text?” I bit my lip after I said it, wishing that I could take it back. Of course he got my text! Why would he be calling if he didn’t?
“I did,” he said. “And it sounds like you’re planning to go somewhere in an hour?”
“Yeah. So... should I meet you somewhere?”
“You at your place?”
“I am.”
“Cool. I’ll be there in about fifty-five.”
Just like that. It sounded so simple. The silence stretched for a second, then another. I didn’t know what to say; I’d been expecting him to have more than seven words to say about it, but apparently it could really be this straightforward.
“Well... okay. Great. That sounds great. I’ll see you in fifty-five minutes.”
I hung up the phone right as he was saying something. I tried to pull my thumb back before it disconnected the call, but I was too late by half a second, and therefore didn’t get to hear exactly what it was he’d said. It sounded like Bye, but it also could’ve been the start of a new sentence, a question, maybe, and he would think that I had just hung up on him. Ugh. I tried to push the thought from my mind, but it was the sort of thing that you could completely let yourself obsess over, if you wanted to. Which I didn’t.
This whole thing felt like such a bad idea.
I tried to take a deep breath, tried to get my shoulders to relax, tried to ignore the little voice
in my head that was telling me that having a bodyguard accompany me while I went out was for people who actually mattered, people who were important. Really, the only thing I wanted to do now was stay in and maybe eat a pint or two of ice cream, but that would mean I’d have to get back in touch with Ben and tell him to just forget it. He’d probably ask me why, and that would require some sort of response, some sort of excuse, something not as flimsy as My self-esteem is in the toilet today.
So. I would just have to go through with it.
***
Fifty-five minutes seemed to go by excruciatingly slowly, and then I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to go out and meet him or if he was going to come inside. I finally decided that I would go out, because I couldn’t pace the hallway any longer. My palms were sweating and my heart was beating so fast you would’ve thought I’d just finished running a 5k or something.
You need to relax, I chided myself, which really only made me feel more anxious. Only as I pulled the front door open and walked out onto the top step did I stop to consider what I would do if Ben wasn’t out here yet. Was I just supposed to hang out in front of my own building? That would be foolish, though. I’d be a sitting duck if there was in fact someone after me, which was the whole reason why I’d hired Ben in the first place—
“Hey.”
I jumped at the sound of his voice. He was walking from the opposite direction I had been looking, but I did feel myself start to relax at the mere sight of him. He had on jeans and a short-sleeve gray polo shirt that had the letters PSS embroidered on it in blue thread. For some reason, this surprised me; I guess I had been expecting him to show up in a black suit, black sunglasses—something like Men in Black. But this was better, of course—no one would know that he was actually my security guard, and that would draw less attention. Which is what I wanted. I knew people probably assumed that I enjoyed being in the spotlight, the center of attention, but the truth was, I really didn’t. I liked to be able to go out and do my own thing and not have people come up to me and try to start a conversation. Not because I didn’t want to talk to people, but because I often felt so socially awkward, and also like I wasn’t living up to expectations. It had been a little while since someone had last recognized me on the street, but in almost every encounter I’d had, I always felt as though the person was going away feeling like I had somehow let them down, that the me in real life wasn’t nearly as cool as the me they followed on Instagram.
At the farmers’ market, Ben stood close to me, and though we were having a conversation, I could tell that he was also on alert, observing the people, the surroundings. I felt a little embarrassed by it all, really, even though I knew no one else would really know he was a security guard and not just a friend whom I had gone to the farmers’ market with.
I bought some dried bunches of lavender and several flowering branches.
“Do you have a plan for those?” Ben asked. “Or is it just for decoration?”
“Kind of both,” I said. The dried bunches of lavender were going to go into the bathroom—I would string them from twine and hang them off two antique brass hooks; while the flowering branches I would use in the living room and maybe the kitchen. I hadn’t planned on buying them, but knew when I saw them that that was what I had come down here for.
“It must give you a slightly different perspective on life, when you’re also thinking about what sort of photo to post,” he said. We had stopped in front of a stand selling peaches, crates full of the fuzzy orange-and-yellow fruit. Peach pie would be good. I filled my netted bag with as many peaches as it could hold, but kept two out, one for Ben, one for me.
“It does,” I said, “though I do try to not let it take over my life. Meaning, I don’t want to overlook or miss something just because I was trying to get a good shot. I don’t want to be the cautionary tale, the person who falls off the side of the bridge or something because they were trying to get a good picture.”
He winced. “Jesus. That would be awful.”
“It’s happened. Hopefully it won’t happen to me.”
“I wouldn’t allow it.”
He had a smile on his face when he said it, and I felt a flare of giddiness, even though I highly doubted that he was flirting. But there was a part of me that felt like he was, felt like we were both kind of venturing into that territory. Which was crazy, I knew, because he was professional; he wouldn’t wade into that territory, especially not the first time we went out together. There was something that was so easy, so laid-back about it, though—it just felt like the right thing to be doing.
“Are you hungry?” I asked. “Do you want to get something to eat?”
“It would be a shame to come down here and not eat something,” he said, looking around. “We’re surrounded by amazing food. What do you feel like?”
“Um... I’m not quite sure. There’s so many choices.”
“You want to just walk around until you see something that strikes your fancy?”
We ended up doing just that, and finally settled on salads with heirloom tomatoes, fresh corn, zucchini, baby greens, and goat cheese. We sat at one of the outdoor tables and watched the other people mill about around us.
“I have to tell you,” I said, “I feel a little silly.”
“Why is that? You’re eating salad at a farmers’ market; you’re probably doing exactly what you should be.” He smiled. “For real, though—what’s up? Are you thinking that everything seems like it’s going perfectly fine and that you didn’t really need to have a security guard accompany you down here in the first place?”
I stared at him. It was like he had just read my thoughts, perfectly. “How did you know?”
“Just a guess. But you shouldn’t feel that way. You have a legitimate reason to need a security guard, and even if you didn’t, it’s still okay. Trust me—people have hired security guards for much sillier reasons.”
“I know. It’s just... I almost feel like you’re my babysitter. Or chaperone or something.”
“Maybe chaperone. Definitely not babysitter. I don’t want you to feel bad about any of this. You just go about doing whatever it is you need to do, and don’t for a second stop and think that this is ridiculous. Because it’s not.” He put his fork down and let his gaze travel around before his eyes finally settled on me. “I did look into the shootings. It sounds like they’ve had plenty of leads, all of which have gone nowhere. I’m certainly not trying to be alarmist, but I think you did make the right choice. It might not even be a bad idea to have people around the clock.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said. I couldn’t imagine that. Someone standing guard out front of my building? Or right outside my door? Unless someone directly threatened me, there was no way that I would ever do something like that. “But I do feel safer, just being out here with you.” I shook my head. “I just wish that Cecily would’ve had the chance to do the same. But maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference.”
“I came across a couple of articles about her when I was looking into all this,” Ben said. “She sounded like a nice person.”
“She was. I feel really guilty about it,” I said. “I still haven’t posted a message on her account or anything like that. Now I feel like too much time has gone by.”
“Posted a message to her account?” Ben asked. “But isn’t she...?”
It took me a second to realize what he was insinuating. “Well, yeah,” I said, “she is dead, so she’s not going to be using the account anymore. But I’m sure her husband has looked at it. A lot of times, when people die, their accounts become a memorial of sorts.”
“I get it,” he said. “It sounds like there isn’t a time limit on when you post something, then. You could post something now.”
“I know. It’s just... at this point, I feel like I’ve waited too long.”
“You could do it the old-fashioned way, you know. Send an actual note. It’d be way more personal that way. I know if I had to scroll through thousands of mes
sages on a screen, I’d really appreciate receiving something that I could actually hold in my hand.”
Just hearing him say it like that made it sound like the most logical thing ever—why hadn’t I thought of it? And in a world of digital correspondence, writing an actual letter really would mean something.
“That’s a perfect idea,” I said.
After we finished eating, we went downtown, to a stationery store. Ben was easy to talk to, and it felt more like I was just hanging out with a friend than going somewhere with a security guard. He was wearing regular clothes and walking maybe half a step behind me, but not trailing me the way you saw in some celebrity pictures. Yet I definitely felt safer, just having him there.
There was an almost overwhelming amount of choices, but I actually found it to be relaxing as I looked at all the note cards, the stationery, the fancy pens. It was too bad that people didn’t write letters the way they used to—getting a letter was so much better than reading some comment online or getting an email. The paper I finally decided on was thick, plain white except where a watercolor painting of a tree branch ran the length of the bottom, and three colorful birds sat together, as though deep in conversation. The envelopes that came with it were the same rich green as the tree’s leaves, and I also decided to get a nice pen, too.
“Would you and your boyfriend like to sign up to be on our mailing list?” the woman behind the counter asked. “We have some great promotions that are available only to our list subscribers. Especially around the special holidays, like Valentine’s Day.”
I felt myself blushing. I could see Ben out of the corner of my eye, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was trying to hold back his smile.
“Oh, um, he’s not my boyfriend,” I said.
“My apologies!” the woman exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. I just... the two of you came in here and had such chemistry...” She let her voice trail off while I stood there, fiddling with my wallet because I didn’t know what else to do. How were you supposed to respond to that sort of thing? But, more importantly, did we have some sort of chemistry?
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