The Despair of Strangers Read online

  Yet, a part of me was feeling something else. Like I should meet him because we had this amazing chemistry over the phone. And maybe it would still be there when we met. He was asking to get together as friends, but the problem was, at some point, I had started liking him in a non-friend way. He was sweet and funny and the polar opposite of Jake. After a few more phone calls, I’d probably be ready to marry him sight unseen.

  “It doesn’t have to be a big deal. We’ll go for a drink and trash your ex. It will be fun.” The suggestion was deliciously tempting. Instead of getting drunk alone in my apartment, I could finally meet the man who occupied my thoughts more often than not.

  “That does sound fun, but I like you don’t know who I am or what I look like. I can tell you anything and it doesn’t feel awkward.”

  “You can still tell me anything even after we meet.” His persistence was endearing and breaking my resolve. But what if taking the next step ruined what we had? Although we only talked for a few weeks, I looked forward to talking to him, reading his texts. I valued his opinion because I could tell any advice he gave me came from a pure place.

  “Why do you want us to meet?”

  “Honestly, you intrigue me.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “You’re smart and sweet, but you have a very low opinion of yourself for some unknown reason. You restarted your life, but you haven’t exactly told me why you had to walk away completely. I’ve always had a thing for mysteries and I can’t figure you out. Plus, your voice is…sexy as hell.”

  My body came to life at his words. Sexy as hell? Sure, he was only talking about my voice, but sexy wasn’t an adjective anyone used to describe me. Plus, the way he said the words with a little growl in his voice made me want to tell him to come over right that second.

  Instead of embracing the lust, I panicked. “I better go.”

  “Don’t freak out,” he said in the bossy way he sometimes had. I desperately needed off the call because I was getting completely turned on. “You don’t want to meet for some reason and I respect that, but think about it. I’d like to get to know you better without your rules.”

  Quickly, I said goodbye and hung up, staring at the phone in confusion and horror. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested he sober up because D had become downright charming. Charming in a way that made me feel like he wanted to meet up for more than just a friendly time together. But he wasn’t ready to date and neither was I. Maybe he was ready for sex and by the end of the conversation I felt ready for sex with him, but that would be a mistake. D was not one-night stand material for me. I had too much of an attachment already. The sensation was strong enough that I was a hundred percent positive I’d want more from him. And what I wanted was more than he’d likely ever be able to give again.

  ***

  Over the summer, I had kept putting a date with Zeke off. Truthfully, after talking with D, Zeke became almost non-existent in my brain. I had to remind myself of the night at Molly’s Bar, convince myself I had felt an attraction for him. He was nice with a good smile and not someone who would end up breaking my heart. With my wedding date less than a week away, I decided to text Zeke about going to dinner. Zeke was the safe choice, the smart choice.

  The problem was I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about D and his suggestion we meet. Part of me was drawn to him in a primal way, like we were connected and I should accept we were meant to come together. But when I had those thoughts, I told myself I was insane. We were both lost and trying to hold onto the nearest person like a life raft. His messages the day after we last spoke left me even more confused.

  He wrote: I decided I’m not doing the online dating thing.

  Why? I replied back quickly after receiving the text.

  Because I think we were vibing last night. That’s what I believe the kids call it these days.

  Although I was freaked out, I couldn’t help but laugh. I can’t with you, you’re so corny.

  You know I’m right. You want to meet me too, but you focus on what’s wrong a little too much, talk yourself out of taking risks.

  His words surprised me. How could someone I only spoke with on the phone understand me better than people who knew me for years? Instead of agreeing with him, I messaged: You’re a little much.

  D and I had texted further over the week, but I claimed a busy schedule that left me unable to talk. Our last conversation bothered me more than I wanted to admit. Telling Jenny about my issues with sex was hard enough, but confessing the same to D felt different. I had given him too much the last time we talked.

  Dating Zeke would be uncomplicated. We could spend time together without there being so much meaning to the date. I hadn’t kissed anyone besides Jake in seven years, which made me reason how nice Zeke’s lips would feel against mine. Maybe his mouth could erase the harsh memory of the last time I was with Jake.

  Zeke took me bowling, which I supposed was a typical date night activity in Cookstown. When he suggested the date, I didn’t speak up, still used to the role as being the accommodating one, the go with the flow person. The fact was I never bowled in my entire life. My father was never around to take me and my mother would probably die first than be seen touching oily bowling bowls and slipping on shared shoes.

  I was too embarrassed to ask Zeke for bumpers on the bowling lane, but he was clued into my inexperience after each gutter ball. When I turned back around after each frame, looking helpless, I could tell he was trying not to laugh.

  “I didn’t know it was possible for one person to be so bad at bowling,” he said as I sat down next to him with a huff.

  “I’ve never been,” I admitted, shrugging. Zeke hadn’t asked me much about my past and I hadn’t volunteered. Uncomplicated dates involved the lack of sharing personal histories, I reasoned. “As a kid, I spent most of my time reading. I went on a kick for years reading books about random facts. I was shy, so I figured it would help me start conversations.”

  “What’s your favorite random fact then?”

  I smiled. “Do you know what the dot over the lowercase j and i is called?”

  “No idea. I was into sports, never really into school stuff,” he said with a shrug. He let the conversation drop, evidently no longer interested in learning more about me. “Want to head out? Are you hungry? Or we could go grab a drink?” We had ordered onion rings and burgers when arriving, but I had barely eaten a bite from my nerves. My stomach was in knots as I tried to psych myself up for kissing him. He looked cute enough for our date with jeans that hugged his body perfectly and a blue polo top. I had yet to see him without a baseball cap, making me guess his curly hair was difficult to tame.

  “Maybe ice cream?” I suggested.

  Zeke knew the area better than me, including the best ice cream stand in town. I hadn’t been hungry at the bowling alley, but ice cream was harder to resist. After buying us two cones, he joined me on a quiet park bench across the street from the parlor. We were both quiet as we ate. We didn’t seem to have a lot to talk about, which unnerved me. I never had awkward silences with D.

  I felt Zeke’s eyes on me as we sat in silence. I didn’t look at him, instead staring up at the full moon. I became introspective, wondering about all the people who were not there next to me. I didn’t miss my parents, but I still wanted them to miss me—especially my mother. But I couldn’t quite picture her longing for me. I couldn’t conjure her staring out her bedroom window right that instant, wondering what had become of me.

  And what of Jake? Had any feelings for me faded if they even ever existed at all? Was he kicking himself for never appreciating me, never being faithful to a woman who would’ve done anything for him? Months had gone by; did he take the appropriate time to publicly mourn our broken engagement or had he moved on within an instant?

  Finally, I thought of D. D with his darkness and his desires. What happened when he eventually decided to let Emily go? Would he find love again despite his promise of not being able to live w
ithout her? I had felt different during out last conversation, more invested than I had anticipated. A line had been crossed. Had he felt the dynamic shift too? Maybe he did only want to meet as friends and would look elsewhere for sex. Despite his text, he could’ve finished his Tinder profile and was already meeting up with women.

  Although I was envious of D’s future dates, I wasn’t ready to break the fourth wall. My reasons had nothing to do with a fear of not being attracted to him. I was actually concerned that I wasn’t more nervous about the way D looked. We never described ourselves physically, so I had no clue what to expect about his appearance. Strangely, I desired him anyway. I never thought you could actually develop romantic feelings for someone without seeing them, but there I was, wishing D were next to me instead of Zeke.

  Before I could finish the thought, Zeke’s palm was on my cheek, tilting my head to face him. He used his thumb to wipe away ice cream at the corner of my mouth, leaving his fingers on my cheek as he moved forward. Before I could react, he was kissing me.

  Foolishly, I had thought I could kiss him with abandon, not skimming below the surface. I wanted to be a girl who could kiss and not think about all of her yesterdays, all the moments leading to the kiss. And then dissect the kiss until it was no longer palpable, until it felt like another mistake in a history of poor choices.

  I pulled away without kissing him back. I didn’t say anything, only repositioned my body away from him and refused to meet his eyes. For once, I didn’t want to explain my brokenness. I could give him a dozen explanations, promise I actually wanted to kiss him, but I was a little fucked up at the moment. I could tell him about Jake, about being cheated on and forced to cancel my wedding. But the problem was I didn’t pull away because of Jake—I stopped the kiss because of D.

  Zeke didn’t call me out on my rebuff, which made me feel even guiltier. He seemed like a good choice for a first date on paper, but in reality, I couldn’t kiss him when I felt absolutely nothing for him. I’d never done anything on the basis of physical desires and I guess that I couldn’t change that part of me just yet. Sometimes, I wished I had an invisible shovel to dig out all of the qualities about myself I didn’t like.

  Zeke drove me back to my apartment in silence. The quiet made it clear he wouldn’t try to kiss me again. He was young and handsome; he didn’t strike me as someone who wasted his time chasing girls. If I wasn’t into him, he would simply go out to the bar and find someone else to take home. I wasn’t offended over the idea—more relieved I didn’t have to make up a lame excuse over why I wasn’t into him. The reality was too alarming to admit—I was falling for a stranger.

  Zeke made a vague promise to text me, although we both knew that wasn’t likely to happen. I stopped myself from apologizing because I knew I had done nothing wrong. I wouldn’t say sorry for being honest, for refusing to pretend his kisses were what I wanted.

  Back in my apartment, I almost texted D instead, but decided against the idea. What if he was out having a date? Maybe he was already in bed with a woman, deciding to have dessert back at his place. As a friend, I should be happy for him. I should want him to move on. But the dynamic was changing because I was almost certain that if D had been the one to kiss me tonight, I would’ve let him without a second’s hesitation.

  Chapter Eight

  I had requested the day off from the diner for my wedding date. I had no real plans, especially after my disastrous night with Zeke, but I figured I could do some proper wallowing alone. Jenny was covering my shift, but she said to call her later if I wanted her to come by after work. I knew I wouldn’t call. I was never one to ask for help, even when I desperately needed it.

  D hadn’t texted all day and I was hurt by the slight. He texted me all the time and the day I needed him was when he went off the grid. I shouldn’t care, we were just phone buddies after all. Like he said, I made the rules to keep him at a distance. He wanted to get to know me better, but I refused to let him in. Since acknowledging my attraction to him, I constructed a wall around my heart. I friend-zoned him by pretending the conversation from the other night never happened. I texted him jokes, when I really wanted to tell him not to go on Tinder, but to go on a date with me instead.

  I was on my second bottle of wine when I made the horrible decision to stalk Jake on social media. I hadn’t checked his profiles in two months, but the broken Alyssa was drunk and scrolling through his posts. Jake was too much of a narcissist to keep anything private, so I was able to view every party he had been to since I left. He wasn’t sad about my leaving, he was celebrating. But then, two weeks ago he had posted a lawn party photo taken at my parents’ mansion. Not only was he there, but he was there with her.

  I curbed the urge to smash my phone into a million pieces. I’d been right—my worst fear of never mattering to anyone was confirmed. By the pictures, it was like I hadn’t even existed. My parents had welcomed Jake back into the fold. Their oldest daughter was gone, left without so much as a phone call since, and they didn’t care.

  The second bottle of wine was almost polished off as I seethed and thought about calling my mom’s cell. I wanted to tell her how much I hated her—I hated them all. They had destroyed me in an irreversible way and would never try to fix the damage they inflicted. For years, I tried to be the best girl, the good girl, and did everything they asked. All the time dedicated to proving my worth was for nothing.

  A text message came through, stopping my drunken need to lash out at my mother. D had sent a picture of a glass of champagne with the caption: Celebrating the day you didn’t make the worst mistake of your life.

  Why did he have to say the perfect thing? He was a mess just like me. Wanting him was a disaster waiting to happen. Yet, I couldn’t deny his message made me let go a little bit more of my past.

  I wrote: Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me. I’d call you, but I’m drunk and you know how that goes with us.

  The phone rang and I rolled my eyes. “Hey, I told you not to call me.”

  “You’re overruled tonight. How are you?”

  “Fucking terrible,” I said with a humorless laugh.

  “I’m sorry you’re feeling like shit, but I’m happy you’re not marrying him.” I couldn’t even articulate the reason I was sad. The union of Alyssa Carmichael and Jacob Albright would’ve been a sin against the institution of marriage.

  “Fuck, how can I feel heartbroken that I’m not marrying a serial cheater?” I moaned to him. “I should be dancing around in my underwear and singing girl power songs.”

  I heard an abrupt laugh. “I like the visual.”

  “Don’t be flirty, I’m drunk enough that I may say something flirty back,” I complained, falling back onto the carpet of my living room. My voice sounded disembodied to my ears, making me feel like I wasn’t in complete control over the words coming out of my mouth.

  “What would you say?” he asked.

  I grinned to myself. “I would say I think your voice is sexy as fuck too—”

  He cut me off. “I actually said sexy as hell.”

  “Really? Are you going to cut me off from saying something flirty because of semantics?”

  “No, please go on and tell me how fucking sexy you find my voice.”

  “Well, you went ahead and ruined it,” I grumbled. “Like you ruined my date last weekend.”

  “You had a date? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because, because, because…” I trailed off, my brain feeling fuzzy from the wine. “I don’t have a good reason. Maybe because I kind of like you and when I was talking to this guy, I was thinking things like he’s not funny like D. He’s not smart like him or kind. I barely know anything about you, but I’d rather stay here and talk to you than go on a date with someone who doesn’t find it interesting what the little dot above the lowercase j and i is called.”

  He sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “It’s called a tittle.”

  “Ugh, see, of course you know that!
” I protested. “You’re supposed to make me like you less, not more.”

  “I like you too. And that’s why I wanted to take you out tonight to forget about your wedding. But you’re not ready for that yet. I get it.” He was right, I was holding back.

  “What if you don’t find me sexy in person?” Drunk Alyssa wouldn’t shut the fuck up. I would really have to cage her up from now on. Because my admission made it clear I had more than friendship on my mind.

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” I could tell he was surprised, expecting the more sensible reasons for us not meeting. Honestly, my attractiveness should’ve been the least of my worries. My main concern should’ve been the tragic messages he had written his dead fiancée. However, I had crappy self-esteem and I wouldn’t pretend to D I was confident when I was anything but.

  “Maybe,” I admitted quietly.

  “I think that all these flaws you think you have are in your head.”

  I pouted at his response. How could he sound so certain we would find each other attractive? “You’re not worried I won’t find you sexy?”

  “God, you’re being fucking cute,” he groaned. After a second, he said quietly, almost indecipherable, “I shouldn’t say what I want to when you’re drunk.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you want us to be phone buddies and if I say something that pushes you outside your comfort zone, then you may freak out.”

  “Maybe I’m in the mood to be pushed out of my comfort zone.”

  “Really?” He sounded skeptical, a perfectly natural reaction. D had tried to get to know me more than once and I was always the one to pull away. “I’m not great with people, I already told you that, but I feel like I get you. And the last thing I want to make you feel is not safe with me. When we talked before, I said something that made you uncomfortable and you distanced yourself because of it.”

  “I distanced myself because I shouldn’t have felt jealous you’re going to sleep with other women, but I did anyway. Which is an incredibly reckless way to feel about you,” I whispered. “And despite acknowledging my insanity, I still want to ask you something.” I dropped my voice even lower. “Do you think about me in a non-friend way ever?”