“Don’t you want to be surprised?” Maren asked.
Emme looked at her like she was nuts. “Hell no. My life has had enough surprises. Now and then I’ll take a little advance notice, thank you.”
Eventually talk turned to me. “So what’s new with you, Stell?” Maren asked. “Anything exciting coming up?”
“Not really,” I said, twirling the stem of my wine glass. “I am trying to start a new therapy group at the clinic for combat veterans. But I’m still doing the research.”
“That’s interesting.” My sisters exchanged a glance. “Have you heard anything from that guy who lives next door to Grams?”
I shook my head as a lump jumped into my throat. “No.”
“Want to talk about it?” Emme asked gently. “You never mention him.”
“What’s to talk about? He dumped me. Just like Walter did.” The pain of it hadn’t dulled one bit.
“No.” Emme put up a hand. “I’m sorry. I met them both, and Ryan is nothing like Walter.”
“I agree,” I said. “But they had something in common—neither one of them was into me.”
“Stella, be honest. You weren’t into Walter, either.” Maren forked another piece of calamari and stuck it in her mouth.
“Maybe not. Not like I was into Ryan, anyway.”
“So what happened?” Maren asked, looking back and forth from me to Emme. “I never really heard.”
Taking a deep breath, I filled my youngest sister in on the last few days Ryan and I spent together, our final goodbye, and the letter I’d left. Then I ordered more wine.
“Jesus. That’s tough.” Maren chewed on her bottom lip. “No response? Do you think he got the letter?”
I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t he have?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t want him to be that big of an asshole.”
“He’s not an asshole,” I said, sighing deeply. “He’s just … complicated. And conflicted. And really, really good in bed.” Every night, I tortured myself with memories of his body on mine.
“How good?” Maren asked.
“He made her come with his thingy,” Emme stage whispered, waving her index finger around in the air. “And that was a first for her.”
“Can we please not call it a thingy? It’s a dick,” I said right as the male server dropped off my glass of wine.
All of us froze until he left, quickly and red-faced, then we burst out laughing.
“Thingy makes it sound small,” I said after a generous sip of pinot noir. “And it’s not.”
“Well, good. I’m happy for you.” Maren clinked her glass to mine.
“I was happy for me too. While it lasted. But … maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Don’t give up yet,” Emme said. “It’s only been a couple weeks. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who needs to contemplate life without you before he realizes he’s being an idiot. Nate did.”
“I don’t know, Em. That situation was different. You guys had known each other a while, and you were right there across the hall. Ryan and I are hundreds of miles apart. Out of sight, out of mind. He’s probably already forgotten me.”
“I highly doubt that,” said Maren. “And you know Grams is not going to let this go.”
I cringed. “God. She means well, but I really hope she doesn’t embarrass me further. I’m dreading showing up to the wedding by myself. I can already see her trying to set me up with any unattached males in attendance, whether they’re twenty-five or eighty-five.”
“Maybe you should bring a date,” Maren suggested. “Even if it’s only a friend, or maybe someone you’d like to get to know better.”
“Sure! Any new prospects?” Emme asked.
I shook my head. “I’d have told you. It’s hard out there. I don’t know how you guys did it.”
“It is hard.” Emme poked a steak tip into her mouth.
“It’s so hard I had to go back to my very first boyfriend,” said Maren. “A repeat.”
“I definitely don’t have anything in my past I’d like to repeat.” I took another sip of wine. “And I don’t want to settle. Ryan might not have been the one, but that’s how I want to feel about someone. Head over heels. I want to get flustered and dizzy and feel like I can’t get close enough to him, no matter how hard I try. I want that undefinable thing that happens when you look at the person you desire. And I want good sex.”
My sisters stared.
“Well, this is a different Stella,” Maren said. “What happened to ‘Sex isn’t everything. It’s not love or intimacy or even going to last?’”
“That Stella went the way of the pterodactyl after she banged a sexy Marine,” Emme pointed out with a giggle. “And frankly—sorry, Stellsy—I don’t miss her.”
I gave her a dirty look. “Hey. I still don’t think sex is the most important factor in a relationship, but I do think good chemistry is more important than I did before.”
“I agree,” said Maren. “And I wish this guy would come to his senses, but even if he doesn’t, he’s not the only complicated man with a big dick out there.”
“Thanks,” I said wryly.
“What if you were to reach out to him?” asked Emme. “Is that out of the question? I mean, what if you got in touch just to say ‘hey, how are you?’”
I shook my head. “Too obvious. And he’s not the kind of person who chats on the phone. Believe me, you guys. My letter left the door open for him, and it was hard enough for me to do even that.”
“That was really brave of you,” said Maren. “I don’t know that I would have been so forgiving so quickly.”
“I understand him,” I said helplessly, fighting tears. “I almost wish I didn’t.”
That night in bed, I tried to think positive.
Maybe I’d meet someone else, a nice man with a name like Harold. A scientist who spends long hours in the lab, which accounts for his thin physique and pale skin. Maybe I’d even be a little attracted to Harold’s intellect, and maybe we’d have some things in common and want the same things for our future. Maybe I’d figure I might as well settle for nice, since I can’t have perfect. A nice man, a nice house with a nice picket fence, nice kids, nice sex, nice life. We’d never fight because we’d communicate so well, and arguing really isn’t Harold’s style. We’d hire people to do things like paint the fence and mow the lawn, because Harold isn’t too handy outside the lab. We’d have sex every other Saturday night in our bedroom only, lights out, missionary style, over in precisely ten minutes. Maybe I wouldn’t even take my nightgown all the way off. Harold would kiss me goodnight, and I’d roll over and try to have nice dreams.
But I wouldn’t. Instead I’d dream of Ryan—hot, dirty, passionate dreams that would leave me breathing heavy and drenched with sweat, and I’d wake up every morning longing for the one man who’d claimed my heart and never let it go.
Thirty-Three
Ryan
November arrived and things slowed down at work, which sucked for me, because I needed things to keep me distracted. My feelings for Stella were like fucking chains on my heart, and they refused to break, no matter how hard I tried.
A thousand times I wanted to call her and beg her forgiveness, but I never did. Why should she forgive me? She’d been right—I’d lied to her. I’d broken her trust. I’d known she was scared of what she felt, and I’d told her she was safe. I’d told her I’d try.
But I did try, said a stubborn voice in my head. I tried and I failed. I fucked it up, and I don’t deserve a second chance. I’d only screw up again, because I don’t know what I’m doing. I never have. She deserves better.
But I missed her fiercely, not just her physical presence but the hope for change she’d brought to my life.
I spent more time on the house—patching and painting bedroom walls, refinishing the floors, repairing cracks in the ceiling. After checking with the real estate agent, who secured permission and funds from the owner, I decided to try tackling the kitchen. It was so horribly outdated, I knew the house wouldn’t have a prayer of selling without some refurbishment in there.
Emme looked at her like she was nuts. “Hell no. My life has had enough surprises. Now and then I’ll take a little advance notice, thank you.”
Eventually talk turned to me. “So what’s new with you, Stell?” Maren asked. “Anything exciting coming up?”
“Not really,” I said, twirling the stem of my wine glass. “I am trying to start a new therapy group at the clinic for combat veterans. But I’m still doing the research.”
“That’s interesting.” My sisters exchanged a glance. “Have you heard anything from that guy who lives next door to Grams?”
I shook my head as a lump jumped into my throat. “No.”
“Want to talk about it?” Emme asked gently. “You never mention him.”
“What’s to talk about? He dumped me. Just like Walter did.” The pain of it hadn’t dulled one bit.
“No.” Emme put up a hand. “I’m sorry. I met them both, and Ryan is nothing like Walter.”
“I agree,” I said. “But they had something in common—neither one of them was into me.”
“Stella, be honest. You weren’t into Walter, either.” Maren forked another piece of calamari and stuck it in her mouth.
“Maybe not. Not like I was into Ryan, anyway.”
“So what happened?” Maren asked, looking back and forth from me to Emme. “I never really heard.”
Taking a deep breath, I filled my youngest sister in on the last few days Ryan and I spent together, our final goodbye, and the letter I’d left. Then I ordered more wine.
“Jesus. That’s tough.” Maren chewed on her bottom lip. “No response? Do you think he got the letter?”
I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t he have?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t want him to be that big of an asshole.”
“He’s not an asshole,” I said, sighing deeply. “He’s just … complicated. And conflicted. And really, really good in bed.” Every night, I tortured myself with memories of his body on mine.
“How good?” Maren asked.
“He made her come with his thingy,” Emme stage whispered, waving her index finger around in the air. “And that was a first for her.”
“Can we please not call it a thingy? It’s a dick,” I said right as the male server dropped off my glass of wine.
All of us froze until he left, quickly and red-faced, then we burst out laughing.
“Thingy makes it sound small,” I said after a generous sip of pinot noir. “And it’s not.”
“Well, good. I’m happy for you.” Maren clinked her glass to mine.
“I was happy for me too. While it lasted. But … maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Don’t give up yet,” Emme said. “It’s only been a couple weeks. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who needs to contemplate life without you before he realizes he’s being an idiot. Nate did.”
“I don’t know, Em. That situation was different. You guys had known each other a while, and you were right there across the hall. Ryan and I are hundreds of miles apart. Out of sight, out of mind. He’s probably already forgotten me.”
“I highly doubt that,” said Maren. “And you know Grams is not going to let this go.”
I cringed. “God. She means well, but I really hope she doesn’t embarrass me further. I’m dreading showing up to the wedding by myself. I can already see her trying to set me up with any unattached males in attendance, whether they’re twenty-five or eighty-five.”
“Maybe you should bring a date,” Maren suggested. “Even if it’s only a friend, or maybe someone you’d like to get to know better.”
“Sure! Any new prospects?” Emme asked.
I shook my head. “I’d have told you. It’s hard out there. I don’t know how you guys did it.”
“It is hard.” Emme poked a steak tip into her mouth.
“It’s so hard I had to go back to my very first boyfriend,” said Maren. “A repeat.”
“I definitely don’t have anything in my past I’d like to repeat.” I took another sip of wine. “And I don’t want to settle. Ryan might not have been the one, but that’s how I want to feel about someone. Head over heels. I want to get flustered and dizzy and feel like I can’t get close enough to him, no matter how hard I try. I want that undefinable thing that happens when you look at the person you desire. And I want good sex.”
My sisters stared.
“Well, this is a different Stella,” Maren said. “What happened to ‘Sex isn’t everything. It’s not love or intimacy or even going to last?’”
“That Stella went the way of the pterodactyl after she banged a sexy Marine,” Emme pointed out with a giggle. “And frankly—sorry, Stellsy—I don’t miss her.”
I gave her a dirty look. “Hey. I still don’t think sex is the most important factor in a relationship, but I do think good chemistry is more important than I did before.”
“I agree,” said Maren. “And I wish this guy would come to his senses, but even if he doesn’t, he’s not the only complicated man with a big dick out there.”
“Thanks,” I said wryly.
“What if you were to reach out to him?” asked Emme. “Is that out of the question? I mean, what if you got in touch just to say ‘hey, how are you?’”
I shook my head. “Too obvious. And he’s not the kind of person who chats on the phone. Believe me, you guys. My letter left the door open for him, and it was hard enough for me to do even that.”
“That was really brave of you,” said Maren. “I don’t know that I would have been so forgiving so quickly.”
“I understand him,” I said helplessly, fighting tears. “I almost wish I didn’t.”
That night in bed, I tried to think positive.
Maybe I’d meet someone else, a nice man with a name like Harold. A scientist who spends long hours in the lab, which accounts for his thin physique and pale skin. Maybe I’d even be a little attracted to Harold’s intellect, and maybe we’d have some things in common and want the same things for our future. Maybe I’d figure I might as well settle for nice, since I can’t have perfect. A nice man, a nice house with a nice picket fence, nice kids, nice sex, nice life. We’d never fight because we’d communicate so well, and arguing really isn’t Harold’s style. We’d hire people to do things like paint the fence and mow the lawn, because Harold isn’t too handy outside the lab. We’d have sex every other Saturday night in our bedroom only, lights out, missionary style, over in precisely ten minutes. Maybe I wouldn’t even take my nightgown all the way off. Harold would kiss me goodnight, and I’d roll over and try to have nice dreams.
But I wouldn’t. Instead I’d dream of Ryan—hot, dirty, passionate dreams that would leave me breathing heavy and drenched with sweat, and I’d wake up every morning longing for the one man who’d claimed my heart and never let it go.
Thirty-Three
Ryan
November arrived and things slowed down at work, which sucked for me, because I needed things to keep me distracted. My feelings for Stella were like fucking chains on my heart, and they refused to break, no matter how hard I tried.
A thousand times I wanted to call her and beg her forgiveness, but I never did. Why should she forgive me? She’d been right—I’d lied to her. I’d broken her trust. I’d known she was scared of what she felt, and I’d told her she was safe. I’d told her I’d try.
But I did try, said a stubborn voice in my head. I tried and I failed. I fucked it up, and I don’t deserve a second chance. I’d only screw up again, because I don’t know what I’m doing. I never have. She deserves better.
But I missed her fiercely, not just her physical presence but the hope for change she’d brought to my life.
I spent more time on the house—patching and painting bedroom walls, refinishing the floors, repairing cracks in the ceiling. After checking with the real estate agent, who secured permission and funds from the owner, I decided to try tackling the kitchen. It was so horribly outdated, I knew the house wouldn’t have a prayer of selling without some refurbishment in there.
