Why I Love Singlehood: (16 page)

“Ow! Geezus, Eva, what the hell?” Shaun said, hunched over and holding his left knee.

I took a step toward him.

“You don’t get it, Shaun. You just don’t freakin’ get it, do you. Are you insane? I don’t wanna go to your stupid wedding. I don’t wanna be friends with your perfect Jeanette, or you, for that matter. I wanna go back to the way things were! You loved me once, I know you did. What happened? Just tell me and I’ll fix it.”

“Eva, stop this, please. Nothing good comes of this.”

I wanted to stop, to spare myself any further humiliation. But I couldn’t. He was slipping away from me all over again, just as he had the night he broke up with me. Just as my mom and dad had slipped away into the oblivion of cancer. Just as Olivia had kicked me out of my own house so she could get on with her own life. There had to be something I could prevent from happening. There had to be something I could save, something I could keep for myself.

“Tell me, what does she have?” I asked in desperation. I would’ve sold The Grounds for the answer, the secret.

“I
never
loved you the way you thought, OK?”

Tears rolled down my face. “But
I loved you
, Shaun. For keeps.”

At that moment, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out
why
I loved him, why I still cared, why I was blubbering away when I really wanted to topple the bookcase over him. I hated him, and I hated myself for not having the moxie to just wish him well, turn my back, and never give him or our relationship a second thought ever again. I hated that it still hurt as bad as if we broke up yesterday. Most of all, I hated that if he asked me to, I’d take him back in a New York minute. But he was already long gone.

“I can’t stand all this dating shit,” I confessed. “I don’t want any of it. There’ll never be anyone else but you. You were it. And now you tell me that you shared my life and my bed for three years and you
never
loved me? Did I dream the whole thing?”

“I tried to want it.”

Before I could ask what he meant, Minerva’s voice sharply interjected, “Shaun, this is neither the time nor the place for this discussion. I suggest you and your fiancée leave Eva’s place of business.
Now
.”

Thank God for Minerva.

Without looking at her, Shaun backed out of the reading room, met the Jeanette at the door—perfect, sane, engaged Jeanette—and left without their orders. God knew what she thought of me at that moment as she walked to the door without a backwards glance, clutching her handbag as if to protect it from muggers. God knew if she even cared.

After they left, Minerva shot Norman a stern look, and he informed the customers that the show was over. I sank to my knees and wept while Sister Beulah and Minerva attended to me. Minerva bent down and put her arms around me, our second awkward, sideways hug of the day.

“He forgot my birthday,” I cried. “He remembered Lemon Torte Day, but he forgot my birthday.”

“He never deserved you,” said Sister Beulah as she rubbed my back, just like Olivia used to do. “It’s a blessing in disguise, even if you can’t see it right now.”

“Got room in the convent for one more?” I tried to joke.

“And waste a pretty face like yours? I’d just as soon have you run off and join the Marines,” she joked.

When I regained my composure, I stood up and entered the café as if I were about to be thrown to the lions—the pretend preoccupation amongst the clientele was worse than when they’d all been gawking at me. I caught a glance of Tracy holding her hand on her heart and mouthing something to me, although I couldn’t make out the words.

“Norman, I’m going,” I announced as I went behind the counter, looking for nothing in particular, my voice wavering.

“Do you need someone to take you home?” Norman asked, clearly concerned. Scott leaned against the counter so far I thought he was going to climb over it.

“I’m fine,” I said. I could silently hear Kenny asking me,
No. How are you
really
feeling?

“Dude, you shouldn’t be alone,” said Scott.

“Don’t ‘dude’ me,” I snapped at Scott, and everyone’s heads turned and chatter stopped for the second time. “I am not one of your bar buddies. I am not a ‘dude.’”

“You’re right,” said Scott. “I apologize, Eva. Let me make it up to you by taking you home.”

“
I’ll
take her home,” said Minerva as she started to close her books and put away her laptop.

I looked at Minerva, Norman, and Scott; for a split second I hated all of them.

“For the love of…I am older than all of you,” I said, ignoring the fact that Sister Beulah had a good fifteen to twenty years on all of us.

I removed my apron and went into the back, grabbed my purse, took two deep breaths, and stood there for a moment.
Stop it
, I thought.
Stop the madness. Stop the world from crashing down on you.

I knew what I wanted. Not the comfort of a warm chocolate chip cookie, or the hug of a friend. Not a sister’s hand gently rubbing my back, or a Marx Brothers marathon. No, I knew
exactly
what I wanted. What I needed.

When I came back out, Minerva was waiting for me. I turned to Scott.

“I accept your apology, Scott, and the ride.”

Minerva’s neck practically snapped as she turned and looked at me, wounded.

“I’ll call you later, Minerva,” I said as Scott lightly laid a hand on my back. The silence rang as we walked out. I said nothing in the car while Scott talked incessantly about what an asshole Shaun was and how Jeanette couldn’t hold a candle to me and he should be the one begging me to take him back, blah blah blah blah blah…

When we got to my house, he accompanied me to my front door as I unlocked and opened it.

I should’ve said good-bye and left him there, on the porch. I should have never let him drive me home in the first place. I should have stuck to my original plan and tunneled the hell out of town that morning.

As if my brain was functioning separate from my body, I took Scott by the shoulder, pulled him to me, and kissed him.

Not bad.

I kissed him again.

Next thing I knew, we were in my house, making our way to the bedroom, kissing and pulling each other’s clothes off along the way.

Bed or shower, bed or shower?

We showered first, then went to bed. Minerva had both called and left a text message, as did Norman and Shaun. I ignored them all.

14

Scott

I OPENED MY
eyes in darkness, during what was presumably the middle of the night, to the sound of light breathing next to me. My head felt heavy as I turned it on the pillow to see the figure beside me, the source of the light breathing. I faintly smiled as I closed my eyes again, comforted by this presence, and fell asleep again.

Bright light streamed through a slice in my window shade and struck my headboard like a laser beam, leaving me with no choice but to wake up. The smell of sex and soap hit me first.

Uh-oh.

A tactile sensation struck next—soft, percale sheets that hugged my bare skin.

Bare. Skin.

Then I heard cabinet doors open and close in the kitchen.

Oh shit, what did I do this time?

It all came back at me like a crescent wave: the Jeanette, the confrontation with Shaun, the meltdown, the going home with Scott, the kissing Scott, the foyer, the shower, the bedroom, the sex, the sex, oh God, the sex!

I slid out of bed, stepped over the heap of clothes and damp towels, and found my robe. After sliding on the robe followed by slipping into flip-flops, I first went to the bathroom, splashed some cold water on my face and gargled mouthwash, and then flapped down the hallway, past the living room, and into the kitchen, where Scott was rummaging through my pantry and wearing nothing but plaid boxers. Odd, I hadn’t even realized he’d been wearing boxers last night.

“Hey,” I said, my throat froggy.

Wow, the eloquence.

He turned and saw me and smiled. “Hey, you,” he said as he padded over to me and planted a kiss on my lips. “How are you? How’d you sleep?”

I cleared my throat. “Like a rock. How ’bout you?”

“Really good. Your mattress is really comfortable.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I’d had sex with Scott. I’d had a lot of sex with Scott.

“Um, where do you hide your coffee?” he asked.

“I don’t have any coffee. I don’t even have a coffeemaker.”

He dropped his jaw and looked at me. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t like coffee.”

“You
what?
”

“I don’t like—” I started before he interrupted me.

“You own a coffee shop!”

“You noticed.”

He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out.

“It’s the biggest joke at the shop,” I said.

Not only had I just slept with one of my customers, one of the
Originals
, but he didn’t even know that I don’t like coffee?

He processed this. “You know, come to think of it, I’ve never actually seen you drink a cup of coffee. I’ve seen you drink tea, smoothies, water, pineapple juice, but no coffee.”

“I used to hate the smell of it, too, but I got used to it.”

“Wow,” he said. “That’s just too funny.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts right around the corner. You want me to get dressed and go get you some?” I asked.

“Nah, I can wait. That’s sweet of you to offer, though.”

He kissed me again, this one lingering and tasting a little bit minty. He then looked at me, his brown eyes warm. Nice.

“Soooo…” he said.

“So.”

“Last night…”

“Yep.”

“You were amazing, Eva.”

I blushed. “Thanks,” I said shyly. “I had a good time, too.” In fact, it was
really
good.

What now?

“Listen, Scott—” I started, but he interrupted me again.

“I know, Eva. This wasn’t something you exactly planned. It was a rebound from the drama with your ex yesterday. I’m not clueless. If this is only a one-time thing, then I understand. And if you want to keep it quiet, then I understand that, too, and totally respect your privacy. I just want you to know that I meant what I said. It was really special for me.”

Wow. Good in bed
and
thoughtful. What were the odds?

I took a deep breath and let out a dramatic sigh.

“To be honest, Scott, I’m not sure what I want at the moment. You were wonderful, too, and I really appreciate your offering to give me space. I want to be fair to you and not string you along. But…” I stopped, at a loss for what to say next.

“It’s OK,” he said.

At that moment, the urge to kiss him overcame me, and I did so, wrapping my arms around him. He nuzzled my hair as he slid a hand into my robe and onto my bare back.

“You smell good,” he said in practically a whisper.

“You smell like morning,” I replied, to which we both laughed. He let go of me and asked to use my shower. I was both grateful and disappointed for the killed moment—for sure we would’ve ended up back in bed again, and what surprised me most of all was that I wanted to be.

I retreated to my deck and curled myself in the cushioned patio chair, listening to the surf beyond the trees and cul-de-sac and forcing myself to think of things other than naked Scott in my shower.

Wilmington had always seemed like a logical move for me. Located on the southernmost coast of North Carolina, its beaches had beckoned to me immediately upon my arrival. I suppose growing up on Long Island, surrounded by water, had naturally predisposed me to wanting to be so close to it. Wilmington, however, had the added bonus of little palm trees lining the properties of beach houses along private roads, something even the richest Hamptons residents couldn’t buy. The sonorous rhythms of the ocean soothed me to sleep every night, and although the salty air wreaked havoc on my hair, especially in the summer, its lingering breezes were welcoming during the molten months. The NCLA campus was within walking distance of the ocean, and I had even occasionally conducted short story workshops there.

My house was a two-bedroom bungalow, complete with an open deck and skylights in the kitchen. I’d bought it just a few months after graduating, able to afford it thanks to the advance my publisher gave me as part of the contract for my novel. For years I had thought Shaun’s presence had made it a home, but even after we broke up and Shaun moved out, my house was more a sanctuary from the pain of his absence than a reminder of it. I suppose it was one more reason why I’d been single for so long. Aside from being too tired to go out after work, I enjoyed the solace of my house. Although I spent more time at The Grounds, I loved coming back here at the end of a grueling day and flopping on my couch or reading chair, listening to the not-too-distant surf, even as the central air-conditioning whirred in the summer, followed by the central heat in the winter.

Cradling a cup of tea in my hands, my thoughts didn’t stay distracted for long as the events of the last twenty-four hours crept in. The meltdown in front of Shaun; Minerva’s disappointment; Scott in my shower; they all strutted past me like runway models, and I cringed with each sight.
You just slept with
Scott,
dammit. Scott, who propositioned you on Lovematch-dot-com. Scott from The Grounds. Scott the Original. One of your
customers.
Norman’s best friend. Someone other than Shaun.
Sure, there had been guys before Shaun, but not since.
Why Scott?
I wondered. Despite my failed attempts to deny my motives, I had known exactly what I was doing when I accepted his offer to drive me home. But what if I had let Norman drive me home, or if Kenny had been there? Who would be in my shower right now?