* * *
Sophie: I love you.
* * *
What more was there to say, really? I’d tried cajoling him, sympathy, even a bit of yelling. The man was stubborn and deeply withdrawn. I had a feeling what I really should do was get on a plane and show up on his doorstep. Maybe in the fall, though now that I was set on becoming a small business owner I couldn’t exactly jet around. Maybe over the holidays, then. Right when he’d be drinking himself into a deep, dark stupor I’d show up and force him to give me a hug and show me around town. That sounded about right.
The thing about life was it was long. I brimmed with restless impatience, wanting resolution to everything in an instant, but that wasn’t how things worked. Life required a crazy balancing act, enjoying what the present could bring but also recognizing that only time would reveal the true nature of what was happening around us. I wasn’t claiming I was any good at achieving that balance. But at 25 I did at least have more awareness and appreciation of complexity.
At 18 I’d been certain and resolute, seeing everything in black and white. I’d left Naugatuck thinking I’d never see Liam again. And now here he was, back in my life and giving me the best orgasms I’d ever experienced. Other men I’d been with had treated me like a fine piece of porcelain, tentative as if I might break. Liam did the opposite, and it broke me apart in other ways that felt so good. How long had I been holding on, trying to make everything perfect? Life wasn’t perfect, and it felt good to admit that.
Then, around 10 p.m., I got a text from Liam.
* * *
Liam: Sorry, busy night. Will stop by tomorrow morning and look at the flooring.
* * *
Whoo. And just like that, my heart sank. My stomach ached. So now our relationship centered around flooring? Great. I forced myself to watch some shows on Netflix to keep my mind occupied. It didn’t work at all, but I finally fell asleep around two.
In the morning, feeling better with the start of a new day, I headed to Cuppa Joe for a cup of joe. At some point I’d buy a coffeemaker, but I was enjoying my ritual of heading a few yards down to the local shop. Plus, I was hoping Regina might be starting to become a friend.
“S’up, neighbor?” she bellowed as I entered the shop. It was crowded that morning, but she always managed to greet the locals as they entered. I smiled, waved and took my place in line. Maybe someday I’d have some of the same hustle and bustle as she had in her shop going on in my dance studio. Maybe next summer I’d be up and running and we could do an end-of-season show. Enough families spent the whole summer on Naugatuck. We could do something mid-August before they packed up to return for the school year. And then maybe we could do some sort of a holiday performance, too, taking a couple scenes from the Nutcracker.
“What’s on your mind this morning?” Regina asked when I finally got to the counter.
“Making plans for the dance studio.”
“I am so excited. You’re going to offer classes for adults, too, right?”
“Absolutely. Do you dance?”
“I have been known to bust a move.” She swayed her hips from side to side as she filled me a cup of coffee. “Are we talking ballet only, or—”
“Oh no! I want to do it all, jazz, tap, hip hop.”
“OK.” Regina set down my coffee, holding her hands up for emphasis. “You offer hip hop, I’m there.”
“Sweet!” I had my first student!
“No, I mean it.” She looked at me in all seriousness. “Can we be like the women in Bieber’s “Sorry” video? Can we start with that dance? They are so hot.”
“They are so hot,” I agreed, laughing. I could almost picture some of my former ballet instructors cringing as I promised to teach how to twerk. I left Regina to greet her next customer, but she called after me.
“When’s a good time to stop by this afternoon? I’ve got something for you.”
“Anytime,” I answered, pleased at the start of this new friendship.
“OK, see you around two!”
I headed back to the shop, humming and sipping. Coffee truly was a miracle drug. I buzzed around, making a couple of calls, confirming a morning appointment with an electrician, and lunch with a member of the historical society and her colorist. Plus Liam said he’d come by that morning to look at the flooring. I couldn’t wait to see him.
Until it wasn’t him that showed up. A young guy, probably fresh out of high school, knocked timidly on my front door.
“Hey, sorry to bother you.” He didn’t meet my eye, the brim of his cap pulled low, the collar of his shirt up high. The kid had bad acne. I wanted to reassure him that that, too, would pass, but it didn’t seem the type of thing I could mention without adding to his awkwardness. “Liam sent me to take a look at the flooring,” he explained.
Confused and instantly flooded with out-of-proportion feelings of betrayal and abandonment, I led him to the back. He kneeled and examined the planks, then asked if it was all right if he did a couple of hours of work. He’d done this kind of thing with Liam before and knew what he was doing. I checked my phone and, sure enough, there was a text from Liam explaining he’d had to take care of something but he’d sent Rob instead and Rob knew what he was doing.
Sure, I told him to have at it as I met with the electrician. Then I hopped upstairs, feeling angrier by the second, to change for lunch. We were meeting at the country club my family belonged to, which of course was the most exclusive and expensive of a whole host of country clubs on the island. That meant dressing up for lunch was like putting on armor for a battle. I was sure I’d run into a whole host of people I knew, people with inquiring minds, finding it so, so cute I’d decided to buy myself a little shop! Then they’d turn away and pull faces at each other, commiserating over the fact I’d lost my marbles.
“Is she having a breakdown?” one would whisper.
“Drugs, like her sister?” the other would guess.
“That family.” They’d both shake their heads in dismay, then head to the bathroom to slip a few Xanax and get drunk on white wine over a lunch with no food.
Lunch at the club was worse than I’d expected. Plastic masks of faces surrounded me, people pretending they knew and cared about me, were even supportive of my little adventure. I hated it, all the fakeness, all the gossip.
Whitney was there, flying over to hug me like we were best friends. Only she had yet to make it over to the studio to check it out, even when I’d invited her. Twice.
“I never see you!” she pouted.
“I’m trying to get a dance studio up and running.”
“You and your studio.” She gave me a patronizing smile, like I was a child with an adorable attachment to a new toy. “Anyway, tonight, you have to come. Huge party. Black tie. I’ll loan you something to wear if you need it.” She gave me the once-over, clearly implying I needed some help in the clothing department. A lot of help.
“I don’t know—”
“Do you have other plans?” Her piercing gaze nearly fastened me to the wall like a bug trapped under glass. I did not and, frankly, did not want another date with Netflix trying unsuccessfully to stop thinking about Liam.
“Um, no.”
“Perfect. I’ll tell Theo you’ll be there.”
Ah, I got the connection. She wanted to see Theo. She knew he’d go to the party if he knew I’d be there. Hence, she wanted me there so she could be by my side and, then, his side. Brilliant.
“Maybe,” I hesitated, but she was already off air-kissing another young and fabulous friend.
The two ladies I met for lunch spent an hour and forty-five minutes discussing different shades of beige. Apparently there were warm beiges, cool beiges, welcoming beiges, and strong beiges. The colorist had a wheel the size of a large grapefruit that she plunked down in the middle of the table like a centerpiece. I nodded and murmured appropriate sounds—oh, who could choose that! Yes, that’s a beauty—though they honestly all looked the same to me.
It would have kept right on going only, thank God, I had Regina meeting me at my place at two.
“Sorry, ladies.” I excused myself. They barely skipped a beat, going right back into it with the subtleties and historical context for certain hues.
Regina was walking toward my door as I got there, myself.
“So good to see you.” I meant every word.
“I bring gifts!” She extended her hand, offering me a brown paper bag. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Sorry they’re not wrapped.”
“I’m glad you didn’t go to the trouble,” I told her honestly. “Want to come up for a second and see my place?”
“Sure.” She followed me up the back stairs.
“Just promise you won’t talk to me about beige.” I filled her in on the last couple hours of my life that I’d lost.
“People can suck,” she commiserated.
“They sometimes do,” I agreed, adding Liam to my mental list. He sucked. I showed her around the apartment, which took all of sixty seconds, but I felt proud. I owned it and it was mine.
“Open your gift,” she suggested as we stood in the tiny kitchen. I reached into the bag and took out two coffee mugs, both bearing the Cuppa Joe icon and big whales on the other side since this was, after all, Naugatuck.
“I love them!”
“Not too original.” She shrugged. “But I hope you’ll use them. And keep coming to my store.”
“Of course.”
“Well, I have to get back,” she sighed. “I can’t ever get away for long. But we should get a drink some night.”
“I’d love to.” I walked her to the front door.
She paused before she left to ask, “How’s Liam?”