Her hands were ice. They always had been. She wasn’t the sort of person whose body regulated with the outside temperatures. No, even when it was a hellish 110 degrees, her fingers were as icicles growing out from chilled and brittle knuckles. Her palms never sweat. Mine, on the other hand, pooled with it. Maybe nerves gathered them there, or maybe I just ran a few degrees hotter than her. Whatever the reason, we were opposites in this, and in so much more.
She’d cocoon herself in our bed every night. I’d throw off the blankets even in the dead of winter. Like a squirrel, she’d scramble for my discarded quilt and bury underneath the body heat it still held, taking advantage even there.
Kayla was frigid.
Always.
And she’d become so cold to me in every possible way. Her hands were the starting point and I swear she could use them to cast a spell like some ice queen. She’d frozen me out, frozen me solid.
Tonight, when Mallory stepped out from the dark porch covering and into the hazy yellow light from the lamppost, I thawed.
Instantly.
She was warmth. I wondered if her hands were, too.
I’d mustered all my courage and found out eight numbers into tonight’s performance.
I could see her eyeing me throughout the night, trying to be discreet and it was cute as hell. Every time I’d angle my head a couple degrees her direction, she’d flinch and whip her gaze toward the front of the auditorium. If she’d been driving, she’d be in oncoming traffic with the way she overcorrected. It was cruel, but for the length of an entire dance routine, I kept playing like this: me looking over and her looking away.
She had to have noticed it, this game of ours.
But then I did it. I used the commotion that came after intermission to my advantage and effortlessly slipped my hand in hers, right as the noise and lights died down. I could feel her surprise in her fingertips, so I wrapped my thumb around and rubbed small circles on the back of her hand to let her know how intentional this was. It wasn’t like I’d accidentally dropped my hand onto hers. I’d taken it within mine.
Oddly enough, for a guy who had a one-night stand just a week before, this felt incredibly forward, but even more so, it felt right. Sometimes taking things slow was more of a turn-on than going all the way.
I couldn’t say I watched much of the dance recital. I paid just enough attention that I could later recount to Natalie how spectacular she’d been in the piece with the lavender harem pants and how her flying leap across the stage in the Tchaikovsky number was on point. Everything else focused on a four-inch space on my body, resting on a four-inch space on Mallory’s body.
When that final tap clicked across the black stage, we all waited for an expectant pause, the customary moment it took to recognize the performance was over. Then, someone near the back started to slow clap and we followed suit. Applause was such a strange thing, how we latched on to one another, some leader who set it into motion, indicating when to begin and end like a clapping conductor.
For me, this leader was a complete buzzkill.
It wasn’t like I wouldn’t have clapped. Of course Natalie’s performance deserved that. Probably a standing ovation. It was the fact that, had the round not been initiated by someone else, I’d have never realized the evening was over. My hand had no other purpose than to hold Mallory’s.
I prayed that she wouldn’t move, that she’d let our fingers stay together like they had been for the past fifteen minutes, but she yanked her hand free and pressed her palms together emphatically, just like everyone else in the room.
From the stage, makeup emphasized my niece’s features and her braced teeth appeared even more brilliant behind her ruby lips, pulled taut with a beaming smile. I looked at Mallory. Her face wore the same, proud expression. Proud of a young girl she’d only recently been introduced to. This woman had so much joy it was contagious.
My hands finally found one another and I clapped along, knowing that I’d just have to gain more courage later.
That courage finally came after the event when I asked if Mallory was ready to head home or if she’d like to stop and grab a cup of coffee.
“Coffee,” she replied, instantly. “That sounds amazing right now.”
“Great. There’s a little shop off Hickory Avenue that I love.”
“The Roasted Bean.”
My eyes went wide. “You know it?”
“When I was pregnant with Corbin, I craved their decaf peppermint white mochas. They’re the only shop I know that carries the peppermint syrup year round.”
When she was pregnant.
She was a mother. I knew that, she’d told me earlier this evening, and I’d also had an inclination when I saw Tommy’s painting, the one with her body so round with life.
She’d been a wife.
She had a family.
That was huge. Someone else existed that—each time she looked at him—she was reminded of the deep love which created him. I didn’t have that. All I had as a reminder of the love I thought I shared with Kayla was the narrow line on my fourth finger where the pigment was just a shade or two lighter.
But even that faded with the memories I would replay time and again, like a rerun of a sitcom that once brought me laughter.
Now my life seemed so rehearsed.
But this, with Mallory, was new.
And she was new. There was so much newness to her that I didn’t know where to start with the questions once we ordered our drinks and settled into two plush, overstuffed chairs at the cafe, right near the window where passerby’s walked just a few feet away on the other side of the glass. I gazed at Mallory over my coffee mug, the steam rising in curly and smoky tendrils. She looked up from the chocolate cakepop I’d ordered her and she beamed at me. I should’ve told her about the clump of frosting that stuck to her bottom lip, but I didn’t. I let her savor her dessert because this was the old Mallory—the one who loved and appreciated everything so fully, even down to a bite of cake.
“So, Heath. Tell me about the person you’ve become.” Her lips met the mug and she held the warm liquid in her mouth before swishing it down. “The Californian. The teacher. The ex-husband.”
“That’s a loaded question.”
She offered an innocent smile. “Is it? I guess you’re right. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“No, no. It’s all right, I’m just trying to see if I can give you the condensed version.”
“It doesn’t have to be condensed.”
“I’ll spare you the boring details,” I said. “Promise.”
Mallory shifted in her chair. Her dress was beautiful, even if a little outdated. There was an effort she’d made here, and it was so endearing I found myself giddy over it. The paisley pattern on the fabric looked like something cut from Nana’s couch, but I loved knowing that she picked out her best for our night together. It wasn’t what I would call a terribly sexy dress, but it suited her. I sincerely hoped I’d get to see her in it again.
“I want all your boring details.” She laughed, then her gaze diverted to the floor when she said, “It’s kinda what my life has become lately.”
That truth was too melancholy so I didn’t let us pause and instead started right in. “Well, as you know, I moved to California when my dad got that promotion as chief.” I waited for the recognition on her face and when I didn’t get it, I kept rolling. “Went to Sacramento State for undergrad. Met a girl. Got married out of college. Got my credential. Got a job as an English teacher. Got my masters. Got a divorce. Got an apartment with my buddy. Got the courage to text an old friend.” I tipped my coffee cup toward her. “Got a delicious cup of Joe.”
“That’s definitely the condensed version. I have a feeling you left out a whole lot there.”
“Maybe.” My shoulders shrugged to my ears. “Maybe not.” I took another slow and appreciative sip. “Damn, that’s one good Americano.”
“The best.”
There was something between us. Not really tension, but some barrier that kept all we want to say back. A protective layer we were shielded behind. That was natural, of course. It wasn’t realistic to expect vulnerability after so long, but I wanted it. God, did I want it. From her, and out of me. I wanted to be vulnerable again, more than I’d ever realized.
“So, tell me about your life, Mallory.” I knew I’d need to encourage this out, coax her story from her. “How on earth did you end up in California of all places, after all these years?”
“Dylan had an opportunity to transfer two years back. He’s got family out here.” She caught herself. “I mean, he had family out here. Well, his family is still here. It’s just … he isn’t. He died last year.”
That was not the condensed version. That was a freaking novel right there, exposed in her words, her demeanor, her nerves that fidgeted out of her.
“I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes misted. She sniffed lightly and wiped her nose with a brown paper napkin that had a wet ring in the center left from her drink. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not, but you can say that if you like.”
“Ha!” She sniffed again, kind of snorting with a laugh. “You’re right, it’s not. But so goes life, huh?”
“I suppose.” I studied her until she caught my gaze. It didn’t throw her off. Her eyes crinkled behind another smile that got even bigger when I asked, “So you have a son, huh?”
All pretense sloughed off, melting the opaque and secretive layers she tried unsuccessfully to wear, leaving her transparent with the obvious emotion and affection she held for her child. Mallory slid deeper into her seat and the cushions surrounded her small body. “I do have a son. Corbin. He’s the absolute love of my life.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Really?” Her cup stopped short as she brought it to her lips.
“Yes. Of course. What’s it like being a parent?”
“In a nutshell, it’s letting someone else carry around your heart, outside of your body.”
At that moment, a young, hipster-looking couple shuffled past and bumped Mallory’s elbow as they walked to an empty table behind her. Her cup jostled with the movement and brown liquid splashed out onto her floral skirt, but she offered the same, honest grin when they apologized, to the point of profusion. I swore I could watch her interactions all day long. She was so genuine it was nearly alarming.
I handed her my extra napkin. “If that’s the case, parenthood sounds amazing.”
“I’m pretty sure I plagiarized that from a greeting card, but it sums it up for me, at least.”
“And Dylan?” His name was different coming from my mouth than I’d expected. I figured it would be tinged with jealousy, but it just wasn’t there. “Did he love being a dad?”
“He never got the opportunity.”
“God, Mallory. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” She stopped me before I could properly wallow. “Dylan died when I was three months pregnant. The day before he passed, we had our appointment to hear the heartbeat. I’m forever grateful he got to experience that. It’s sort of silly, but in a way it feels like he got to meet Corbin.”
“There’s nothing silly about that. It’s actually really beautiful.”
Her tears were spilling and she didn’t try to blot them away anymore. “It kinda is, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.”
Our gaze stayed locked for so long I wondered who would break first. Only when the door chimed as another patron entered the coffee shop did we allow our gazes to fall elsewhere.
“I might be saying too much, but this is really, really nice, Heath. I’ve missed you.”
“Mallory—”
“I mean, I know we were just kids, but what we had was real, wasn’t it?”
“It was real,” I said quickly. “For me, it’s always been real.”
Mallory seemed satisfied with my answer and the content expression on her face proved it. We were wordless for a while more and it felt right and appropriate so I let the silence stay.
“How long have you been alone?”
“Oh.” I jolted. My eyebrows raised to my hairline as I asked, “You want to go that complicated tonight?”
“Complicated is all there is anymore. We’re adults.”
“Unfortunately, I think you’re right about that,” I agreed. “Well, Kayla left me about six months ago. Legally, at least. She’d left long before that.”
“I can’t imagine how awful that must’ve been.” From across the gap of space, she extended a hand and it fell softly on my knee. A fiery heat licked across my cheeks and my heart forgot a few beats, but I loved how all that felt deep inside. I wanted her to keep her hand there forever.
“I think you must know exactly how it feels, having lost your own husband.”
She pulled her hand back, but not in recoil. “I didn’t lose Dylan’s love, just Dylan. There’s a difference. He never stopped loving me, he just couldn’t love me anymore.”
I wanted to tell her that I never stopped loving her, either, because I got the sense she thought I had, that she could relate to losing love in that way.
I didn’t say it, though. I let the elephant hang out in our room a little bit longer.
“I’m sorry your wife left, Heath.” Her coffee was drained but she swished the empty cup in her hands, the dark residue pooling in the bottom of the mug. “Are you at least still friends?”
Bitter liquid burned my throat. I had to clear it with a cough, then I settled my drink onto the side table next to me. I looked directly at Mallory. “Is it ever possible to remain friends when someone breaks your heart?”
Her lips pursed. She nodded slowly like she understood what I was implying, but I wasn’t sure what I was saying, or why I’d said it. It was just something that had to come out. “I hope it is.”
“I do too, Mallory.” I hid behind my cup as I said again, “I really do.”
