Together Apart: Change is Never Easy (21 page)

When it was over, she lay on top of him, his cock inside her, still hard. She didn’t want to roll away. The second he came out of her, it would be the end. He’d never be back inside. She wanted him forever, hers to have and hold.
 

“I don’t want it to end,” she said, brushing hair from his face.
 

“Then let’s stay this way,” he said, tracing her cheeks with a quivering finger.
 

She could feel his seed leaking, could feel him softening inside her.
 

“For how long?”
 

He met her eyes. “For as long as we can.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Three Years Later

Sam arrived at the small outdoor café and sat in the uncomfortable wrought iron chair across the table from Zach. He smiled, and reached into the satchel at his feet.
 

Sam saw him do it and rolled her eyes.
 

“You weren’t serious,” she said.

“Don’t give me any shit, Hollander!” he barked. He pushed the book from his satchel across the table. “This was the deal.”
 

“Alexander,” she corrected.
 

“You kept the name?”
 

She flopped a hand on the book. “Getting a new license is such a pain in the ass.”
 

But he was touched. An annoying name change wouldn’t stop Sam. She had barely taken his name when they married, and he’d heard her praise a girlfriend for taking her maiden name back after a divorce, thus “reclaiming her identity as an individual.” Zach had understood but found the implication annoying.
 

She took the paperback from the table. The cover showed a close up of an angel statue. Across the bridge of the statue’s nose was an understated word in all lower-case letters:
relegated
. Lower down was Sam’s pen name:
V.F. Chase.
She took a moment to look at the image, then rolled her eyes up to meet Zach’s. Finally she opened the book and said, “So how should I sign this? With my real name, or as V.F?”
 

“I knew Samantha Alexander,” he said.
 

She flipped a few pages, past the title and copyright, and signed on the wide open plain of the dedication page. Zach knew exactly what the dedication said, because even after all this time, it had still cut him like a knife when he opened it in the mail. It read,
To the father of my only child.
As Sam held the book open with her left hand so she could sign with her right, the diamond ring’s gleam on her third finger was too much, and he had to look away.

When she finished signing her name, Sam looked at him with a sly eye, then curled her arm around the book so he couldn’t see what she was writing. Clearly she was adding an inscription. She closed the cover and extended the book, but when he reached for it Sam pulled it back and eyed him.
 

“You can’t look at this until later.”

“Why?”
 

“I’m being mysterious,” she said. “Promise?”
 

He shrugged. She handed him the book, apparently taking the shrug for consent, and he slid it back into the satchel under the table.
 

“So how does it feel?” he said. “Being published?”
 

“I’ve been published for years,” she said. “In like fifty languages. That’s like … a normal day’s work.”
 

“I meant your book. Holding your novel in hand.”
 

Her sarcastic expression crumbled. “It feels great,” she admitted. “I thought I would be immune to being impressed with it all, and with the e-book I kind of was. But when I finally got the paperback finished? Well, it was a hell of a thing to open a box and see it in front of me.”
 

“Selling well?”
 

“Oh yes. I’ve sold almost six copies in the past three months.”
 

He laughed, then crossed one leg over the other. He looked back for the waitress, but didn’t see her. Zach didn’t really remember what she looked like. He’d been too nervous waiting to pay attention. He looked Sam over, shamelessly but jokingly, from her high-heeled shoes, up her fantastic legs, to her short skirt, to her white blouse. When he finally met the
Are you done?
look in her blue eyes, he nodded and said, “You look good, Sam.”
 

“That’s what we say, isn’t it? ‘You look good.’ That’s like the standard reunion line. I could look like hell, and you’d have to say I look good.”
 

“You really look good. Want to go to a hotel so I can prove it.”

Instead of answering, Sam smiled and said, “You look good, Zach.”
 

He straightened his shirt collar. “I know.”
 

She smiled. He smiled. Neither really seemed to know what to say. Then, suddenly, Sam said something as disarming as it was surprising.
 

“I miss you.”
 

He nodded. “I miss you, too.”
 

“I’ve thought about you a lot. A lot.”
 

“Did you wonder if we’d made a mistake?” His thumb stole to the place where his wedding ring had been. Only recently had he stopped wearing it. He’d taken it off for a while after she’d moved out, but it broke his heart to see it gone. As strange as it seemed, he felt sorry for the ring. It was as if, by taking it off, he was negating all it had stood for, all it had ever meant to him. But eventually, you had to move forward.
 

“Yes.”
 

“Did we?”
 

She shook her head. He wasn’t sure if her shake was sad or satisfied — whether she was feeling regret for their parting or pleasure that at least, in doing so, they had done the right thing.

“No. It was the right choice. But I hated it. It took me months to feel right enough to even get back into my work. That was hard, because I started to wonder, during that time, if I should go back to you. Maybe we’d been wrong.”
 

Zach nodded. He knew the feeling. All but the failing to get back into work. In contrast with what Sam described, the months following their separation and divorce were the most productive and artistically rewarding (and yet most painful) of his life. It was ironic that their union had inspired Sam to finally publish her book, whereas their breakup had inspired the art that had changed Zach’s trajectory forever.
 

“So, where are you living?” she asked. “Still in Memphis?”
 

“I moved back to Portland. It’s how Walter found out about … well, you know. I sure as hell wasn’t sending him photos. He came over to talk me out of a suicidal episode and saw the canvases, and the rest is history.”
 

“Not literally,” she said, concern on her face.
 

“Not literally,” he confirmed. Then, because he was Zach, he added, “He actually saw the sculptures, not the canvases.”
 

“I like it here in New York,” she said. “There’s always something going on.”
 

“Just for the record, I could have done New York. Rumor has it that there’s a small artistic community somewhere around here.”
 

That must have been too close to the bone, so Sam sat back and said, “I don’t want to talk about us.”
 

“Ouch.”
 

“I meant the end of us.” Again, he wanted to say
Ouch
. “Tell me about your movie poster deal.”
 

He laughed. “Ironically, you know what made that happen? Dave did. From my old office.”
 

“You’re kidding.”
 

“Hey, apparently graphic designers are artists after all. Who knew? And what’s more, they understand this marketing or merchandising thing.”

“Which was it? Marketing or merchandising?”
 

He rolled his hand in circles on his wrist. “I hear they’re both in there.”
 

The waitress came. Zach ordered a grilled chicken salad, and Sam mocked him for it. She ordered a cheeseburger, and Zach mocked her. It was nice. They passed the meal talking about nothing in particular and everything in general, steering clear of rehashing the past now that they’d cleared it from their way. Sam asked if Zach was seeing anyone, which he wasn’t. Zach pointedly didn’t ask her the same, but she started to tell him anyway. He waved her off, pretending he didn’t see her new ring, saying that he wasn’t ready to hear it.
 

When the check came, Sam tried to pay, but Zach snatched it away.
 

“Hey,” she said. “You’re a guest in my city.”
 

“You were my wife.”
 

He wasn’t sure why he said it. It was meant as a joke, but it came out too serious. Even during their time together, they’d never been traditional, and he’d never been the breadwinner, so the idea of providing for her was laughable. She looked at him funny, then let it go, and Zach averted his eyes to search for his credit card, wondering if he’d said it to plant a flag — if he’d said it because he’d wanted to say it.
 

He set the card and check on the table, looking out across the city, watching the sun dip between skyscrapers. The waitress took the check, and Zach watched it go, feeling a familiar sensation of not wanting the moment to end.
 

“How long are you in town for?” she asked.
 

“Whatever I said when I messaged you on Facebook,” Zach said. “I’m far too important these days to remember such details.”
 

“Mmm. Because you’re an
artiste
.”
 

“‘Sometimes I wake up and I think I should start wearing a beret, but I don’t do it. One day I’m gonna, though. You bet your ass; I will have a beret on.’” Zach stopped speaking and stared at her, feeling a big grin on his face.

“You’re quoting someone, aren’t you? Is that that Mitch Hedberg guy?”
 

“Yep.”
 

“It’s not that hilarious.”
 

“Did I tell you the one about the 2-in-1 shampoo?”
 

“I’m sure it’s amazing.”
 

“‘2-in-1 is a bullshit term, because 1 is not big enough to hold 2. That’s why 2 was invented.’ ”
 

Sam had pulled out her phone and was poking around, probably on Facebook. She said, “Okay, here” and looked up.
 

“‘If it was 2-in-1, it would be overflowing.’ ”

“You said you were here until the fifth. That’s tomorrow.”
 

“‘The bottle would be all sticky and shit … ’”

Sam started snapping her fingers in front of his face. “You still here?”
 

“Yes. Now I’m done. Tomorrow. Should we try and get together?”
 

“I work tomorrow,” she said, frowning.
 

“So casual sex is out.”

Sam shrugged, but didn’t laugh. The waitress brought the check back, and they stood. For the briefest of moments, they both began to extend their hands, but that was stupid. The moment broke, and they found themselves in a hug.
 

When they separated, Zach had a hard time letting go. His arms flinched toward her, and she saw how hers flinched toward him. He nodded and said, “It’s been great to see you, Sam.”
 

“You too, Zach.”
 

“I … ” But he stopped himself. He couldn’t think of a single sentence strong enough to end this. And the way things were going — with her trotting the globe on assignment and him touring with the exhibition, not exactly rich and famous but nonetheless making a living without really working — it felt more like an end than he wanted to admit. This was much more like a
goodbye
than a
see you later
.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he made himself say.
 

“Me too, Zach.”
 

But neither of them had asked if the other was happy, and neither had volunteered it in as many words. So he asked himself
, Am I happy?
And the answer came back,
I think so.
Sam was jamming his radar. There was too much history here, too much fog. Nostalgia fell like a hammer … but at least now that he’d seen her, he felt reasonably sure that what he felt was nostalgia instead of regret. And for now, that was enough.
 

“
Are
you happy?” he asked.
 

Her thumb flicked at her engagement ring. She seemed to think for a moment. “Yes.”
 

They leaned forward again, embraced in another hug.

“Take care of yourself, Zach.”

“Take care of yourself, too, Sam.” His eyes wanted to mist, but he fought it back. He was a bigger man than that. And so to prove it, he glanced at her ring and said, “Make sure that husband of yours takes care of you, too.
And
your kids.”
 

She smiled, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “I don’t have any kids.”
 

He watched her walk away, feeling something amiss. He remembered the book in his satchel, pulled it out, and flipped to find where she’d signed it, but the signature wasn’t what bothered him. He looked toward the top of the page, to the dedication Zach had assumed referred to Sam’s new husband.
 

To the Father of my only child.
 

Something wet ran down Zach’s cheek. He blinked to clear his vision. He closed the book, feeling a sudden need to be gentle. He hefted it in his hand, wondering at its weight in pounds and ounces.
 

He remembered a girl in a meadow who’d admitted, just for the day, to feeling starry-eyed, as if any dream was possible. He remembered that girl’s big blue eyes, her summery dress, and her schoolgirl’s promise to love him forever.

He looked down the page, to Sam’s slim, feminine signature.
 

Below it was an inscription that read, “She has your I’s.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

My cover designer had a fantastic, very solid idea for this book. It would show a photograph torn down the middle, with a woman (that would be Sam) on one side of the tear and a man (Zach) on the other. The people in their halves of the photo would be smiling, because it was shot during a better time in their lives, when they were happy. You, as the reader, would look at the cover and immediately get the message: things were once rosy for the people in this book, but now those good times were over … except that those cherished times weren't just
over
; they were
destroyed
.
Decimated
. Ripped down the middle, sundered forever.