by Jean Oram
I shook my head, unable to summon the courage to say what was on my mind. “Nothing.”
“What?”
“It’ll sound bad,” I admitted.
“I don’t mind bad.”
“I know.” It was one of the reasons I liked him. “I just wanted to say thanks.”
“For what?” He turned to look over his shoulder again.
“For letting me knock you around with my words.”
He stopped so suddenly I almost walked into him. I halted in turn, standing too close, and stumbled back a step. Steve’s brow was deeply furrowed, as if I’d just told him the world was in danger of being hit by a meteor.
“You don’t knock me around.”
“I know. You’re tough. But sometimes I come close, and I hope you know it’s not personal—not really. It never has been.”
“Okay.”
“It’s just that when I’m with you I...” I floundered, unable to explain what I called the Steve Effect. Somehow, I became someone else when we bantered. I was free to be bold, fully honest, with nothing held back. Free to explore my thoughts and feelings without worrying about reining myself in.
“When you’re with me... You’re you,” he said simply, breaking into a wide, warm smile.
I nodded, wishing he’d hug me again.
“Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you want to be my friend?”
Steve had given me a small smile as he’d nodded, accepting my invitation.
He was my friend.
The word felt foreign and novel in this context.
We were home now, shifting shyly on the sidewalk in front of my house, unsure what to say. I released Obi, who shot off into the backyard.
“Thanks for preventing the bears from eating me out there,” Steve said, filling the silence that was stretching between us.
“They’re all hibernating.” I hesitated. “Is your mom…” The words trailed off. I was suddenly greedy to learn about Steve and his family life, but felt it was too soon to dig in. I wanted to know everything, from how he was spending Christmas to what he’d bought as gifts for his relatives. Even what holiday traditions he liked and looked forward to. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”
“I thought we were friends,” he said, his voice that lovely, gravelly baritone.
“I know, but...” I was smiling now, unable to stop, but I felt bashful. Almost like a teenager with a crush.
“Is she still alive, you mean?” Steve’s words were carefully chosen, and I knew she hadn’t won her fight with the sickness he’d mentioned the other day. “Unfortunately, she passed away.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He reached out, tapped the back of my hand. “My life can be your business, Joy.”
“Sorry, I just...”
“What?”
“It feels like this could be a no-go area.”
He stepped a little closer, peering at me. “It’s not. I’m an open book.”
I didn’t reply, and he said, “Ask me anything.”
I narrowed my eyes as though about to analyze the truth of his upcoming response. “Do you really know how to tune a piano?”
Steve tipped his head back with a joyful chuckle, then focused on me with a smile that made my chest feel tight with emotion. We were connecting. Friends.
“I’ve had the best online video teacher there is,” he announced.
“I like your confidence. I hope Max grows up to be...”
Steve considered me. “Would it be so bad if he turned out like me?”
“I don’t particularly want to fight with him all the time.”
“So? Then don’t fight with me.” Steve angled closer, his feet bracketing my own. My breathing slowed as I attempted to anticipate his next move. It felt like it might be a kiss.
He brushed back a strand of hair that wasn’t tucked under my hat.
“But that’s what we do,” I said, my voice embarrassingly breathy. “We fight.”
“It’s not a rule.”
“It isn’t?”
“No, it’s not.” His voice was low, confiding. His lips were close to my own, the warmth from our breath battling the cold air that surrounded us. “And we don’t fight. We challenge each other.”
My heart was thrumming loudly in my ears as I dared to look up, to meet his steady gaze while still firmly planted in his personal space. It felt like I was facing down something huge, taking a massive step into the unknown just by looking at him this way.
“I think we’re going to make great friends,” he said. His hands brushed the sides of my arms, his mouth still angled like it might land on mine sometime soon.
My nerves got the best of me and I laughed.
“You don’t want to be my friend?” He was still close, but leaning away now.
“No,” I said quickly.
His smile fell.
I realized with terror that I might want more than that. More than friendship.
“What?”
“I want to be friends, but we... we had a love-hate relationship in high school,” I said quickly. “But without the love part. Can we actually not kill each other?” My laugh was fake, awful. “Because this—” I pointed to the narrow space between us “—is feeling like we’re missing a pretty big step, and you should know that I’m done with love and relationships and everything else.” I swallowed the large lump forming in my throat, hating the hollow feeling that had developed inside me. I couldn’t even look at Steve, because I felt foolish. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to get swept up in the moment even though I knew he would become bored with me, leave me, break my heart.
And possibly Max’s, too.
Steve’s hands cupped my face and I jolted, but when he didn’t advance, didn’t move or speak, I looked up.
“Take a breath.”
“I am!” I wasn’t. I was freaking out.
“Learn this, okay? Love alone isn’t enough to bring happiness,” he said. “You need more than that. We all do.” His gaze lowered as he licked his lips. “I think you’re awesome. And yes, I would have loved to kiss you a moment ago.”
My mouth dropped open as I started to retort. Before I could he placed a gloved finger over my lips. “But more than that, I would love to be your friend.”
The fight in me waned, and as something within me softened, Steve pulled me into his arms.
“I’m sorry that your love for Calvin wasn’t returned in the way you wanted.” His voice was tender, making tears pool beneath my closed lashes. “Everyone deserves to be loved back, with just as much oomph as they feel.”
The tears broke free as well as a hiccupy sound. I was still wearing that poor excuse for mascara and I raised my hands to wipe my eyes, causing him to release me before I was truly ready. How was it that two little conversations with Steve did more damage to my makeup than saying goodbye to Max?
Steve pulled a clean tissue from his coat pocket, drying my cheeks.
“Where was that tissue when Max had his nosebleed?” I muttered, trying to regain control of my emotions.
Steve chuckled, then shrugged. “I decided it would be smart to keep a couple stashed in my pocket. I do have a rather active seven-year-old living next door. And his mom, as you may have heard, could use a little help when he gets nosebleeds.”
He gently wiped away the last tear, and in his open expression I saw so much honesty and caring that it was all I could do not to launch myself into his arms again.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He wadded the damp tissue into a ball, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. “What are you up to next?”
“It’s movie night tonight,” I said, the quaver in my voice betraying me.
“Already, huh?”
When I nodded, he caught my head in his hands, tipping it down so he could place a kiss on top of my hat. He took a few steps backward and I longed to follow him.
“Thanks for the walk,” he said,
giving me a small wave.
I watched him stride away, feeling more let down than I knew I should.
I stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, watching Steve head into his house, before I went into mine, feeling oddly rejected. Somehow he had broken me down, making me feel both vulnerable and connected, and then had just turned and left.
Why would I ever think Steve Jorgensen could be the man I needed? He wasn’t equipped to handle weepy women or lonely moms, and I was currently both.
I threw my winter wear across the room in frustration. Obi chased down my striped hat, retrieving it with enthusiasm. Rubbing his ears, I sighed and told him he was a good dog, then took my slobbery hat and tossed it into the wicker basket under the bench at the door.
Why had I exposed myself to Steve? And why had I taken the almost-kiss and made it into a big deal, followed by a grand shutdown? Maybe he hadn’t actually planned on kissing me. Although he’d said he wanted to.
I leaned against the door and touched my lips, curious how it would feel. Would he be tender? Or would kissing him bring some crazy sparks to life, like in a romance?
He’d said he was an open book, but I had become one. I’d laid it all out there like I was desperate for his validation or something.
I grumbled in frustration and faced the empty house. Now what? I couldn’t start watching movies at noon. Not that I really wanted to. Maybe I could pretend it wasn’t Saturday—that movie nights didn’t exist when Max was away. Even though Calvin and I shared our son, with a week on and a week off, Calvin always got him for man night and I always got him for movie night.
I didn’t have any piano lessons to prep or teach again until January, but I had presents that I could wrap as a distraction. I could also get lost in the memoir from Carol for a few hours. But instead of heading to my bookcase or digging out my wrapping paper, I sat down at my old laptop, waiting while it whirled and hummed, struggling to get me online.
If I was going to go back to school I would need to upgrade my computer. Plus teachers were expected to do some work from home, and so much of it was computer-based these days.
I pushed my chair away from the table. What was I thinking? Was I serious about becoming a teacher?
Spinning in my seat, I faced the pale yellow room.
What if Calvin said yes to the job in France? How could I work on getting a degree if I followed him to keep our family close? Instead of going to the college website like I’d planned, I closed the laptop and leaned back in my chair, feeling deflated.
I flipped over my phone, seeing a text from Carol. Her friend in admissions had said that if I applied before his holidays started on Tuesday, I’d know before January if I’d been accepted and whether they could fit me into the program. As well, he’d mentioned that the first four classes toward my degree could be taken online, and that I might qualify for some scholarships.
It seemed so possible to go back to school, and yet not quite possible, either. I set my phone down and moved to the piano, breathing in the familiar smell of freshly applied polish. I lifted the lid and ran my fingers lightly over the keys. This old friend could get me through any funk, and I was certain that once I finished playing I’d have the answer on what to do about my future.
As my fingers struck the first chords of “O Come All Ye Faithful” my mind snapped out of thinking mode. I became one with the music, the energy and peacefulness of the carol flowing through me.
I felt a smile tug at my lips as I swayed, becoming my own metronome to keep the beat.
Song after song, I played through the afternoon, until the early dusk of the mountain town settled in around me. The muscles between my shoulders had grown tight and I rounded my back, stretching them out. I was ravenous, but my mind was blessedly blank. Everything that wasn’t about this moment could wait for another day.
I ran my fingers noiselessly over the keys in a silent thank-you before closing the lid, staying there for several more moments.
I was lonely. Not fully satisfied with where my life path had taken me. I had so much to be grateful for, but I had also led myself into a corner, my future not quite as open and full of opportunity as I’d once expected it to be. Calvin was treating Max to a trip to France, a day at Disneyland Paris, a week of eating out and staying in hotels, and I was at home counting my pennies. I had definitely gone wrong somewhere, but it wasn’t entirely too late to remedy that.
Before I changed my mind, I opened my laptop and began filling out an application to enroll in one of the larger state colleges—the one where Carol’s friend worked. Several minutes later I hit Submit and sat back, hands shaking.
I’d done it. I’d applied to go back to school.
I reminded myself that I didn’t have to say yes if they accepted me; I was simply opening doors for myself, to see what might come through them.
The doorbell rang, sending Obi into a flurry of barking, and making me jump. I shut the lid of my laptop and peered through the peephole before opening the front door.
“I ate the last gingerbread man,” Steve said, stepping past me, a shopping bag nestled in his arms.
“You already brought back my container.”
“Hey, pup.” He bent to ruffle the long fur on Obi’s back, making the dog grin. Then he tipped his shopping bag my way so I could peek inside. Popcorn. Candy. Drinks. “I thought maybe you could use some company for movie night.”
My heart soared and I threw my arms around Steve, giving him a giant hug and crinkling the bag.
“I think I’m going to like movie night,” he said, wrapping his free arm around my waist. “What else happens? Any kissing?” He waggled his eyebrows, and I burst out laughing despite how only hours earlier I’d called us out on the whole skip-a-step thing we seemed ready to perform with an unprecedented leap from enemies to almost-kissing. There was something about this crazy man that could make such chagrin-inducing moments laughable. It was as if, when I thought my whole world was about to fall apart or get complicated, he simply walked through the door and opened every window and shutter, letting in sunshine and making everything feel right once again.
“What?” he asked. “You have a funny look on your face.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re not thinking about kissing, though,” he mused. “Your expression isn’t dreamy enough.”
“I keep catching myself liking you.”
“Well, you should like your friends. And shouldn’t that be a dreamy look if you like me?”
“How’s this?” I clamped my hands together under my chin and batted my lashes.
“Remind me again why I agreed to be your friend?”
“You’re funny, Steve. Cocky, but funny. And you need someone to keep you in line. I’m that gal.”
“I prefer the term confident.”
He set down the bag of snacks and unlaced his boots. I took his coat, even though there was a hook for it right beside him. The coat was surprisingly thick and weighty unlike most of the newer designs. I bet it felt good, secure, all snug around his torso. Kind of like how his hugs made me feel.
He handed me the snack bag and I nosed through the contents. “What’s the tablet for?”
“I have some movies on it. You probably have something picked out already, though?”
“Are you trying to curb your bossiness?”
He smiled. “How am I doing?”
“Not bad. Even though you did invite yourself over.”
He paused, his boot halfway off his foot. He caught my smile and gave a small shake of his head, knocking the boot the rest of the way off.
We made popcorn in the microwave and opened the cans of iced tea, and since the couch was definitely the best seat in the house, we both sat on it, at opposite ends, neither of us even considering the love seat. Progress in the friend department?
“So? What are we watching?” he asked.
“Well,” I said slowly, “I usually choose a romantic comedy, and then Max and I have a discussion af
terward about respecting our partners and how communication is the key to any successful relationship.”
Steve tossed popcorn at me.
“Hey!” I protested.
“You are such a liar. I bet you watch animated kids’ movies every time.”
I smirked, and he chucked another piece of popcorn at me, so I opened my mouth and leaned to the side, catching it with a satisfying crunch. “Thank you.”
He opened a bag of chocolate-covered raisins and chucked one my way, but it bounced off my teeth. I scrambled after it. “Raisins are bad for dogs. So is chocolate.” I grabbed it just before Obi did, his efforts to beat me hampered by the slippery hardwood floor.
“Sorry. You got it?” Steve asked, leaning forward to snag his collar and hold him back.
“Yep.” I popped it in my mouth. “Did you have supper?”
“This is a bachelor supper.” Steve dug his hand into the bag of popcorn. “How about this one?” He turned the screen of his tablet so I could see the title of a romantic comedy.
“You sure you’re up for a discussion about the meaning of relationships and gender roles?” I teased.
“Maybe we could skip deciphering all that and just enjoy it. Or make out.”
He laughed at my expression.
“I’ve wanted to see that one for a long time,” I admitted, taking our escalating banter down a notch to let him know I appreciated his movie choice—one he’d no doubt never choose for himself.
“I hear there could be some scary parts, like a breakup,” he said. “If you need to move over this way, I’ll protect you.”
“You’re funny.”
“Not cocky?”
“Not always. Just ninety-nine percent of the time.”
My stomach rumbled again, and I mentally ran through my month’s budget. We could order in, but December’s heating bill was always one of the highest of the year, and I had already put quite a few Christmas gifts on my credit card despite trying to spread the cost out over the year.
Plus I’d just paid the unexpected cost of a post-secondary application fee.
I really did need to change my life, didn’t I?
“Pizza?” Steve asked.