They hadn’t spoken since last autumn, but it was raining for the first time in a while—since last Tuesday, at least—so of course he came to mind. The rain always stirred him to the top of her brain, washed him onto the shore, rolled him into the sands of consciousness. He charged up the banks a dripping wet castaway, dirty-blond hair plastered to his forehead, J. Crew suit fraying, Armani shoes waterlogged, the face of his Rolex turned into a glorified snow globe, engagement ring glittering on his finger. The sight of him made her itch. What was she to do but pick up the phone and dial? She always got voicemail, anyway. Sometimes he gave her the button, and she’d hang up on the tinny little voice—Record your message at the tone. Sometimes, instead, it would ring out. She imagined him standing by the phone, watching it shake, seeing if she’d hang up first and spare him the trouble. But she never did, so he’d give her the button, usually on the sixth or seventh ring.
Today, she only got four rings. But there was no tinny voice—instead: “Nance?”
“Jonah.” Like the whale. Swallowed whole, into depths, rocky seas, salty waves, gulped down like a 7-Eleven slushy.
“Are you okay? Do you need something?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“Yes you’re okay? Why are you calling?”
“I was thinking about you.”
She couldn’t stop thinking about slushies, now. He always ordered cherry. She was more of a blue raspberry girl, herself.
“Okay…” he said. “Do you need to talk, or something?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m sorry—this is weird. I know it’s been a while.”
“Mm hm.”
She wrapped the phone cord around her finger. “How are you?”
“I’m well. Doing good.”
“Good, good… that’s good…” She kept playing with the phone cord, winding and unwinding it. Her hands were shaking, sending tiny vibrations through the cord that she could hear in the speaker. She wondered if Jonah could, too.
“Listen, Nance,” he said, and her hands started to shake even more. She was batting a solid five on the Richter scale. May cause damage to populated areas. “This isn’t a great time.”
“Oh.” She let go of the cord, gripping the edge of the counter instead. “Are you busy?”
“I mean, yeah, kind of. Yeah, I’m busy.” There was a shuffling noise. Then, Jonah’s voice again, but muffled.
“What?”
“Nothing—look, Nance, I’ve got to—actually give me a second, I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called.” She was thinking about purple tongues, and it was making her want to cry. There was a rattle at the end of the phone, then muffled voices.
Nancy looked towards the receiver. Then she looked away, squeezing the phone tighter in her hand.
“Look,” Jonah said suddenly, startling Nancy. “Let’s get lunch tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.”
“I might have plans.”
“You ‘might’ have plans? What does that mean?”
She didn’t have plans. She wasn’t sure why she said that. “Okay, fine. Let’s get lunch.”
“You don’t have to see me if you don’t want to,” he said. More distant, muffled shuffling.
“You don’t want to?” she asked.
“God, Nance, would I have said it if I didn’t want to?” He was getting aggravated, now. She could hear it in his voice—the familiar, strained, higher-pitched tone.
“Okay. You’re right. Let’s do noon?”
“Eleven-thirty sounds better, don’t you think? I’ll pick you up at eleven.” She opened her mouth to respond, but he kept talking. Muffled again, saying something to someone Nancy couldn’t hear—then he hung up the phone before she could say anything else.
It started three autumns ago, the September when she turned nineteen. Maybe that was why she measured time by seasons now. He left with the snow. Came with the rain.
The forecast that morning had promised clear skies—she’d checked, she always checked—but the afternoon had instead offered nimbus clouds, strong winds, and a severely delayed bus schedule. The bus website said the J was going to be delayed at least an hour and a half, probably more like two, which meant that she’d definitely miss the transfer to the CU, which was the only way to get home except by walking the length of Everett Street, but Everett was sketchy, even at four in the afternoon, and anyway it was too long of a walk: last time she’d done it, almost two miles in her Docs, she’d taken them off to uncover a horde of blisters that had taken all night to nurse.
“There’s a tropical storm warning,” Sheryl, her boss had told her. “Real bad, looks like.”
She’d pursed her lips and said nothing, just kept wiping down the counter, pitting wet rag against espresso spots.
“You can pick up extra hours, if you need.”
This had made her stop. She straightened up. Turned. “You always say no when I ask for extra hours.” She’d asked several times before, grown used to Sheryl’s pitying gaze as she offered all the reasons she couldn’t say yes: can’t afford overtime, too many people on staff, overscheduled already, more hours and we’d have to give you higher wage and benefits, HR would throw a bitch-fit.
Today, Sheryl had shrugged. “I could use the extra help today,” she’d said. “Lord knows a hurricane won’t keep customers away. And Henrietta already clocked out. I’m short-staffed. Really, Nancy, you’d be doing me a favor.”
So Nancy had stuck around. But the rain did in fact empty the shop, so she’d made herself a cappuccino and was sitting at the counter, long legs dangling from the barstool, sipping at the foam art when the bell above the door jingled.
She’d looked up, quick—sat the coffee down so fast that some of it had sloshed over the side, hot espresso on the counter and in her veins. But then, realizing who he was, she’d calmed. A soft warmth blooming in her cheeks.
“Shitty weather, huh?” he’d said with a grin.
“The worst,” she’d said with a smile. “How are you, Jonah? How’s NYU?”
“I’m officially an alum now. Technically I’m working on Wall Street, but I’ve been back here since June, actually.” He straightened his jacket—deep navy, fancy-looking to Nancy even though she knew nothing about suits back then—and adjusted his tie, a basic black and blue plaid.
“You left New York?” she’d asked, eyes wide. “Why?” She’d been trying to get to New York since freshman year, working at the coffee shop, putting all her tips in a savings account, skipping out on shopping sprees for nearly five years. She couldn’t fathom why anyone would leave New York.
“Weird, I know. I’m actually here on outreach. They want me to head the new branch here. Really interesting stuff but it’s pretty complicated. I won’t bore you with the details.” He’d glanced down at his watch, a big obnoxious analog thing, studded around the face, held to his wrist by a shiny leather band. Then he’d looked up. “How are you, Nance?”
“Pretty alright.”
“That’s good, that’s really good…” He’d nodded at nothing in particular, looking around the empty coffee shop. “I feel like I haven’t really seen you since high school.”
“You haven’t,” she’d laughed. The last she saw of Jonah outside of Facebook posts had been her freshman year. He’d been treasurer of the banking club, fourth string QB on the football team, which he’d always bragged about even though he never had the chance to play. They’d had mutual friends, talked every once in a while, always how are you? I’m well, how are you? I’m good, how’s Sandra? She’s great, new dog, goldendoodle, adorable, I’ll tell her to send you pictures. They’d never talked to each other about each other—only ever about other people. This was new. This was nice. This is what Nancy had been hoping for since he’d kissed her goodbye on the cheek on his last day of senior year, making both their friends giggle—everyone knew she had a big fat crush on JonahMastalerz, because who wouldn’t? He’d told her she was gorgeous, and she’d thought it was only because they would never see each other again, because he was going to study economics at NYU and she was going to end up in Hollywood, because they wouldn’t see each other again except in People magazine and the Wall Street Journal and coming soon to a theater near you!
But here they were now. Maybe he knew this would happen all along.
“Yeah.” He’d laughed too. Looked around. “Are you running this place now?”
“Oh, I wish. No, Sheryl—my boss—she’s just in the back, now.”
“Ah, okay.” His eyes went back to the watch.
You’re on the clock, Nancy. She’d stood up, pulling her apron down as she moved back behind the counter. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll just do an americano. Medium. Extra shot of espresso.”
“That’s five eighty-seven.”
He’d paid with a crisp hundred-dollar bill that she’d had to hold to the light, Ben Franklin smirking down at her. She’d cashed it in for four twenties, a ten, three ones, and a handful of change that had slipped from her palm and bounced all over the counter. She’d scrambled for them, making Jonah laugh, and she’d refused to meet his eye as she handed him the change, her cheeks full of flame.
He counted the coins and the bills. “I’m missing a one,” he said.
“Shit—sorry.”
She handed him his missing Washington, crumpled and common. He’d taken it from her, their fingers brushing as he did, his hand soft against her callouses. Then he’d dropped the bill in the tip jar with a flourish and a wink.
Jonah watched her while she made the drink. She could feel his eyes burning through her, hot on her back as she pulled the shots and drawing a hot blush to her cheeks as she added the water. As she handed him the drink, she’d dared to meet his eyes. They were muddy brown. Flecks of hazel.
“What time do you get off?”
He picked her up for lunch at eleven-ten the next day, but by then the weather had already done a number on her. She’d curled her hair into tight gold ringlets that fell to her shoulders; now it was hanging, limp and darkened with sweat and humidity, sticking to the back of her neck, falling into her eyes. Her blouse had dark circles in the pits. Her makeup was starting to run, streaking down her cheeks. Her feet were starting to ache: she’d worn heels, a pair of point-toed Dolce & Gabbana stilettos he’d given her a few years back for her birthday. The shoes were his favorite shade of blue, so she’d put them on as soon as she unwrapped them.
They were a size too small. She didn’t tell him, but she hadn’t worn them since.
She knew he hated waiting, so she’d made sure to be out the door with ten minutes to spare. Except those ten minutes turned to twenty; twenty long minutes that she’d spent standing outside the lobby of her apartment building in the blistering onslaught of rain, clutching her Old Navy handbag with slick fingers, shiny white acrylics curled around the pearl strap. And she’d waited like that until he showed up, finally, late.
He was driving something new, but he was always driving something new. When they’d first started dating, he’d rented a new car every week to impress her. Chargers, Corvettes, Camaros, Mustangs, always sleek and with tinted windows, sliding up to the coffee shop at the end of all her shifts. She liked the A4 the best—it was the only sedan she’d ever seen him drive.
Today, another coupe pulled up to the curb. A purple Genesis. She wondered if he owned this one. If he’d wrapped it himself. He’d always wanted to wrap a car.
He honked the horn, then rolled down the window a crack. “Oh, you’re ready,” he said, looking out as she ran out from under the awning, holding her purse over her head to keep from making her hair worse. He kept the car running as she climbed in and drove off before she was buckled up.
“I wish you would’ve reminded me about that turn,” was the first thing he said. “You know the one. The one I always used to miss. Tripp Avenue. I swear, getting to Glaundale Street is such a maze.”
“Sorry.”
He glanced at her. Gave her a once-over. “You’re very dressy.”
She looked down at herself. The blouse was like a corset, and she’d tightened it to make her chest look bigger. “I guess.”
He was dressed simply. Nice Levis, clean Air Forces, a polo. His hair was different, shorter, no longer flopping all over the place but instead stiff with gel. “You look good though.” He glanced over. “Really good.”
“Thanks. You too.”
“How are you?”
“Fine. Good. How are you?”
“I’m great,” he said. She was trying not to look at him too hard. She knew he’d feel it, knew he’d cringe under her stare. She set her gaze on the floor instead. An umbrella sat on the floor, and every turn he took too hard sent it brushing up against her bare ankles.
“Where are we eating?” she asked.
“I was thinking that sandwich place, over on Forsyth. You know the one. I forget the name. The one at the corner, Forsyth and Opal.”
“Drisby’s?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. I know you used to like their BLTs.” He was right. She did like their BLTs.
Her hands were still sweaty. She wiped them on her blouse. “They closed down.”
“What? When?”
“Two months ago. They had a big event for it. The weekend after the Fourth.”
“Damn.” He frowned. He actually seemed upset. “I liked that place. Why’d they shut down?”
“Not enough business. That’s what I heard, at least.”
“Shame. I would’ve liked to have gone to the event thing.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He shifted his grip on the wheel, holding it with his right hand instead of his left. “I was out of town. Visiting Joanna’s parents.”
“Oh.” She looked down at her lap. Jonah. Joanna. Their names went together. Maybe they’d both end up in the whale’s mouth, holding hands amongst the krill and schools of fish, French kissing on its tongue. Maybe the tongue would be purple. She wondered if a whale would drink a 7-Eleven slushie. She hated that love devoured her like a lollipop in a toddler’s fist. There was no chance she’d make it out in one piece.
They’d moved fast.
After that first afternoon in late September, they’d gone on dates more often. So many cars and kisses she couldn’t count them all. They’d gone to parties, weddings, his older brother’s college graduation, her parents’ vow renewals. Everyone loved him, remembered him from high school, and she made sure to steer clear of drunk family members, for fear that they’d start talking about the debilitating crush she’d had on him throughout high school.
He’d invited her to move in with him the following March. She’d accepted, of course; she was living in a box, anyways, this cramped old apartment on Glaundale Street in the more suspect part of town. He’d helped her pack, gotten hand cramps writing on boxes, handle with care. She’d moved into the condo.
April brought showers and the idea of engagement. He’d spent several afternoons in town and wouldn’t tell her where he’d been, but always came back with flowers—lavender, her favorite fragrance and color—and a wide smile that pulled back his lips and bared his teeth.
She’d started researching wedding gowns. She’d been promoted to lead manager at the coffee shop, so she made more money than she used to. Prettier dresses were in the picture.
Then she’d heard him on the phone one night.
She’d been in bed, cross-legged, the latest editions of Brides sprawled out on the comforter. She only ever looked at them when he wasn’t around—she didn’t want to spoil the surprise, after all, so she kept it all stashed in a shoebox under her side of the bed, along with her old manuscripts and bad poetry. She’d tried being a writer in middle school, but she found that she wasn’t good at telling her own stories, so she pivoted to telling others’. She decided in freshman year that she was going to be an actress. She was going to move to Hollywood as soon as she could afford it. Jonah was helping her save, helping her follow her dreams like he’d followed his. She was so lucky to have him, and terrified of losing him. What if he didn’t come with her to California? She hadn’t brought it up; she was too afraid. It didn’t matter yet, anyway. They’d cross that bridge when they got to it.
It was quiet. Lots of watery sounds: the pitter-patter of June rain on the window, the gentle running of the shower water.
But then she’d heard his voice. That familiar, gravelly sound, clear as day, even with all the rest of the sound currents trickling in.
She’d gotten up. Crept out into the hall. Knocked on the bathroom door. “Jonah?”
His voice had cut off. Then: “Yeah, babe?”
“Who are you talking to?”
Then the shower had cut off. She’d heard the slap of wet feet on tile, then the door swung open. He had a towel wrapped around his waist.
“What?” he’d asked.
“Were you talking to someone?”
He’d nodded, soft dry curls flopping around in front of his eyes. “Yeah, actually,” he’d said. “Your cousin Joanna called.”
“She called you? Why?”
“I’d had to ask her about something,” he’d said. “She was calling me back. Some stock stuff—you told me a while ago about her old bookkeeping job, so I thought she might be able to help.”
“Huh. Okay.” She’d felt a thrill in her heart, a cool blush at her fingertips. Joanna knew her well; they were third cousins, distant relatives, but they’d practically grown up as sisters. Of course Jonah would call her if he wanted to know what engagement ring Nancy would like.
“I’ll let you get dressed, then,” she’d said.
“Okay.” He’d kissed her once, quickly, on the forehead. Then he’d closed the door.
She’d gone back to their room and laid back down in their bed.
She’d listened to the rain hitting the window and smiled.
She realized he was staring at her. Eyes on the road, bucko. But he’d pulled over, too. She hadn’t realized they’d stopped, had no idea how long they’d been parked at the corner of Hoover and Main. They used to do this, before—they’d be driving to some event, some party or picnic or birthday, and he’d pull over at random in whatever new illegally tinted car he was driving, and they’d go at it like teenagers, barely old enough to drive. Steaming windows, breathlessness, frizzy hair.
But now, at the corner of Hoover and Main—he didn’t have that same hungry look in his eyes as he used to, that I want you, I need you right now stare. He looked concerned, worried, apologetic. He wasn’t twenty-three anymore. She wasn’t nineteen. They were growing up. Trying to.
“Nancy,” he started, but she interrupted before he could finish.
“Do you think about it, at all?” she asked.
He only frowned. “Nance. I’m sorry. I can’t do this with you right now.”
She wasn’t sure what ‘this’ was. Lunch? What was so bad about lunch? Should they have done breakfast instead?
He sat back. “God, I told Jo this was a stupid idea.”
Oh.
Oh.
Nancy felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her face burned. “Joanna told you to get lunch with me?”
He glanced over at her. His face sunk into an expression of pity. “Shit, Nance—I know it’s hard for you guys, okay? But Jo says you’re slipping away from the family and that she doesn’t want that. She’s been really upset about it, Nance. You missed her brother’s high school graduation. Her mom’s birthday party. She’s been wailing about it for months, now. ‘We’re pushing Nancy away. The family’s going to hate me because we’re pushing Nancy away.’ She didn’t want me to be the reason you fall out of touch with the rest of your family. She wants to make amends.”
Nancy wanted to hide, but where was she to go? Into the pouring rain?
He kept going. “Look, Nance, I think we should do this for Jo, okay? I just want to make her happy. I’m sure you want the same thing, don’t you? You used to be so close.”
“Did you wrap the car yourself?” she asked. She knew where this was going. This was the last chance she’d get, the big bite into the lollipop: the world may never know.
“That doesn’t matter right now,” he said. “Are you listening to me?”
“Jonah,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Did you wrap the car?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “Yeah, I wrapped it, okay? Why does it matter? Look, Joanna wants—where are you going? Nance? Nancy!”
She got out of the car, stepped into the pouring rain, letting it wash over her. It pooled in the stilettos, so she took them off, walking barefoot down the sidewalk. Jonah was still calling after her, but she didn’t care. What she wanted, he’d never be able to give.