Meat Market

Darius smiled warmly. "Clearly. You seem to be more the rescuing type these days."

The waiter interrupted our conversation then. We ordered, and he continued. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry that that all happened to you. That guy..." He shook his head. "I will say, you're right about... I don't tell my story much anymore. The full one. Most people don't dig about--" I didn't mean to, but I cringed. "No, you didn't dig. You asked, as part of a conversation, where you could see I needed to get something off my chest. That's different. I appreciate that. I really do."

He leaned back in his chair, coffee in hand. "I mean the ones that... I tell them that my wife died. And then it's like, 'Oh no. How long ago? What happened? Did she suffer long? How did you find out?' Those folks, the ones that ignore the fact that I clearly want them to shut the fuck up about-- Uh, sorry."

The mimosa almost went out my nose. "Oh, hon, trust me. One swear word out of a few hundred? That's fucking nothing."

"Okay. But, yeah. The ones that dig, especially the women. I just-- some of them mean well and just don't have the social graces to not ask, but some of them want to fix me. Like the fact that I love and miss Carla is some kind of defect, that they can-- can replace her in my life and I'll be all better. I've had more than one friend try to set me up with a woman that they say is like, 'oh, bro, she's so caring, she'll get your pain,' and then she just wants to..."

He shook his head. "Moving on isn't... When most people our age move on these days, it's because they got divorced or broke up. They want to forget what happened before. I don't. And when I do want to move on? I still... She's still going to be a part of me. And I want that. I don't want Carla replaced in my heart. But people are so stuck on the idea of competing with an ex that..." He laughed. "I'm ranting now. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. I wanted to talk with you about her and about how you're feeling. And... honestly, this feels really good. Cathartic for me. Just having someone to talk to about this shit that gets that... that it is shit. That people don't get it. Your problem and mine might be different but..." I searched for the words.

"Our problems are so different from most folks' that it's hard to find anyone to talk to that doesn't immediately try to apply solutions that don't fit. You aren't doing that with me, and I hope I'm not doing it with you."

I smiled. "You're not. But, um. Did you want to talk about Carla? Tell me about her? You don't have to-- to tell me anything about what happened. But just about her?"

Darius took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "She was... amazing. Smart, funny, gorgeous. A real 'dad joke' sense of humor, the kind that would make you groan and laugh at the same time. We met in college. She was comp sci, and I was, well, linguistics, obviously. I fell in love with her so quickly." He looked off in the distance. "So easily. She was so easy to love." A slight tremor in his voice there, but he cleared his throat and continued, looking at me again.

"I proposed to her just after she graduated, a year behind me. We got married on her parents' farm, a couple hours north of here. It was a rough first few years, since I was a TA and she was just starting out, but we made it work. She was my biggest booster; I don't know that I would have made it all the way through my doctorate without her."

The food arrived, and we ate for a little bit before he continued. "She was such a hard worker." His face fell. "That's what... what took her from me."

"You don't have to--"

The brave little smile on his face broke my heart. "No. No, it's okay. I-- I'm just glad you want to listen. Really listen." Another deep, fortifying breath. "Carla started in a corporate gig, but switched to a startup after a year or so. I was getting paid almost nothing as a TA, so we needed to make it up somewhere. And startup means crunch. She'd work sixty and seventy hour weeks. I'd handle the household, the cooking and cleaning and the like, but she wanted to make sure... make sure there was time for us. We were newlyweds, after all. So she burnt the candle at both ends."

Darius' eyes grew moist. "She got used to that level of effort. Promoted to senior dev. Less scutwork coding, but the same hours. Eventually, things eased off as the company transitioned a bit out of startup mode. But Carla was still so tired. We thought it was burnout. She wouldn't go to the doctor, though. She grew up on a farm, after all; her dad worked sunup to sundown and the only time he went to a doctor was when he had a broken bone. She idolized him.

"I couldn't get her to go until..." He swallowed. "We decided we wanted kids. She was starting to get time in her schedule, and the company had been bought out by a German corporation; good benefits, including maternity benefits. So she finally went to the doctor to do an assessment and... And..." His voice broke. "It was cancer. Stage four pancreatic that had metastasized. There was..." A drink of water. "She passed six months later. I held her hand as I watched... watched her last breath. She was so sedated by then that..." He shook his head. "She was twenty eight years old."

I took his hand. I didn't even think about it; he just hurt so badly. I couldn't let him suffer alone. "Oh, Darius. I'm so sorry. That's..." I felt myself tear up. "God, I'm so sorry." He squeezed my hand.

We sat like that for a while; he wiped his eyes and laughed. "Sorry, not exactly good brunch conversation."

"Hey, no. I... Thank you. It really-- Look, I know we don't know each other, but it really means a lot to me that you shared that. She sounded like a wonderful woman."

"She was." He sat quietly for a minute, then picked up his fork and began to eat again. I followed suit.

When the waiter was clearing the plates, Darius said, "Sarah, thank you. I-- It's been a long time since I felt... This is the first time since it happened that I wanted to tell someone the story. Not-- Not felt like I had to, like I was expected to." He ran his hand through his dreads. "Look, I know this might seem weird, but it's... These are the two best conversations I've had in close to a year. Can we-- Like, would you like to hang out some time? Not talking about this again, or Richard, but just hanging out like friends?"

I nodded eagerly. "I really would. It felt great, just-- god, just talking to someone and not dancing around shit."

He laughed. "Strange place to start a friendship, but I'll take it."

And so we both made a new friend. That's all it was at first, a friendship. We did talk about our respective tragedies a bit more, but we also just talked about movies or music or the news of the day. We had coffee a few days later, dinner two days after that. Things continued on similarly for a couple of months.

He was charming. Funny, in a very self-deprecating way, but with a wit that could turn on a dime to extremely dark humor. He was a kindred spirit there. We loved a lot of the same movies, TV shows, and music. He was a linguist, and I was a lapsed writer, and we spent a lot of time just talking about words and where they came from and where they were going; it was exactly the kind of nerdery that I hadn't gotten to experience in almost a decade. We both hated the figurative literal; that really cemented our bond, being apparently the only two millennials that literally meant "literally" when we said "literally."

I very quickly developed a crush on my friend; I was pretty sure he felt the same about me. But I wanted to respect his boundaries, and he wanted to respect mine. So we danced the dance of two people that like each other, but can't admit that they, like, like like each other. He was my friend, and I was his, and we put anything else we might be up on a shelf; not completely away, but shoved out of reach for now.

Then I asked him if he wanted to hang out on a Sunday afternoon, just watching movies at my place.

His grin was somewhat embarrassed. "I can't. I wish I could, but I, um. I have a standing engagement on the last Sunday of the month."

"Oh! Well, that's okay. We can do it some other time then."

"Thanks. I-- look, I don't... It's weird. You won't judge?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Other than your absolute trash taste in sci fi, what have I judged you on?"

He frowned. "I'm serious. It's-- look, I go visit Carla then. Her grave. I just-- I talk with her. Tell her what's going on in my life. I used to go every Sunday, then it was every other, and now..." He shook his head. "I know it's kind of pathetic. It's just a stone. She's not really there. But..."

"It's not. You're doing what feels right for you, and you're not hurting anyone." I gave my friend a hug, and he returned it, a tight, warm embrace that felt just... right. We held it perhaps a little longer than necessary. "It's not pathetic. It's sweet." My hand went to his bicep and squeezed. "We'll catch up in a couple days, okay?"

As I hung out more with Darius, I found myself spending less time at the bar. Not a lot less at first; one or two days fewer each week than I had before. Some of that was that I was spending time with him. But even on the nights when we weren't hanging out, I just didn't feel the same pull anymore. It was still fun when I did go; there were still people to watch, new lost souls coming in, and guys to flirt with. But I found myself flirting less, and only flirting. I looked out for lost souls, but they mostly made me think of him, of the man I'd preferred to spend my evenings with.

We spent more time together over the following months. Got closer. Still not anything more than friendly, but edging closer to that fuzzy boundary between friends and something else. He wasn't ready for that. I wasn't sure I was. But neither of us seemed to be shying away from the course that would take us into that liminal space.

On the other hand, neither of us talked about it, either. We were just friends. Friends that eventually were hanging out four nights out of seven. Friends that found each other really attractive, that shared the same interests, that started to finish each other's sentences. Friends that thought about each other right before we went to sleep. Friends that... well, let's just say I thought about him at times I probably shouldn't have been thinking of someone who was "just" a friend.

Three events within the space of a week changed this status quo.

The first was a barbecue. Lee was having a small pool party. I only barely knew Lee, having hung out with him a couple of times at Lee's, but we weren't anything close to friends. I didn't rate an invite yet, but Darius did, and he invited me. Not as a date, of course. As a plus one, but of course, of course not as a date.

Yeah, no one else bought that, either. Especially when we stood so close to each other. And when his arm was around my shoulder. And I, maybe, might have put my arm around his waist and my head on his shoulder one time.

Okay, and then there was the time we kissed.

That may require a little context. It was, as I said, a pool party. I wore a relatively tame bikini under my shorts and t-shirt. Darius was wearing trunks. Now, I knew that he was in good shape; he had been a swimmer in high school and kept it up during college and later recreationally. I had seen his well sculpted calves and forearms, and they were quite a sight.

But I was not ready for what he'd look like without a shirt on. He was, to put it simply, hot. Ridiculously, stupidly, panty-droppingly hot. Six pack, muscular without being bulky, v-shape, the whole nine yards. I already knew he was cute, but if I hadn't been thinking about him during my me time before? There was no way I was going to get that image out of my head now.

It didn't go just one way, either. When he first saw me in my bikini, he froze. I'm not as athletic, but I still do yoga and spin classes. I'm not one for false modesty: I look fucking amazing. Darius wasn't the only one that noticed, but he was the only one I cared about. And I knew that by the way he was looking at me, and the way that I was looking at him, that we'd crossed well over the line and into that fuzzy area between friends and "other."

We both kept trying to pretend, though. We splashed and played together, sat on the side of the pool and drank some beers, ate barbecue and talked. Everything was normal. We could just be friends. This would still work fine.

And then we headed to the car at the end of the day, with my arm around his waist just by happenstance, and his head leaned in just a little too close to mine, as if by accident. I looked up at him, and he looked down at me at just the right time. Just the right angle. Our lips were close enough that all it would take was a slight incline of my head or a slight decline of his. His eyes searched mine; whether for a sign we should stop or a sign we should proceed, I wasn't sure. I went up on my tip toes, and he had his sign.

It was a small kiss, the first one. An appetizer. Our lips brushed together, and if we had stopped there, it could have been written off as a friendly peck.

We did not stop there.

Darius pulled away for just a moment, gauging my reaction. I loved that he did that, that he was making sure it was fine. But it was more than fine; it was electric. My hand found the back of his head and pulled him in again. I flicked my tongue across his lips; the taste was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. His arms pulled me in, and I felt, for the first time, something that I'd only imagined, something hard and insistent pressing against my stomach, something that told me we were well past the point where we could pretend this was only friendship gone a bit too far. I wanted so much more, to see where this would go, to find out what we could be.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it ended. A door slammed, and loud, laughing voices reminded us of where we were. Of who we were, or at least who we had pretended to be. We jumped apart, trying to put distance between us, so that people wouldn't get the wrong idea. Darius looked at me, and the look on his face crushed me. I realized I might be one of those people that had the wrong idea.

We drove in silence until we reached my apartment. Then he said, "I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. You've been a really good friend, and I'm..." He trailed off and shook his head.

My voice was quiet. "Don't apologize. I liked it, D. I wanted it."

"I did, too. No, not did, do. I do want it." His gaze wouldn't meet mine, "That's the problem. I need-- I'm sorry, Sarah. I just need to figure some things out. I don't want to..." He shook his head. "Please. I can't lose you, but I need to figure out... figure out what-- whether I can be more than just a friend. I want to, but I just..." A deep sigh as he looked at me. "I may not be up for hanging out for a few days. Please don't take that as... I just need some time, okay?"

I'd spent years hiding my tears, the years where Richard broke my heart, the years where I helped people that needed me to listen and not judge. I could do it one more time for Darius. "Of course, D. I'll be alright." I put a brave little, fake little smile on and said, "Call me when you want to do something, okay?" Then I was out of his car, and up the stairs, and in my apartment, and I didn't have to hide them anymore. I sat there for a long time, alone, slumped down next to my door, full-on crying for the first time in a long time.

We didn't hang out. He didn't call. I didn't text. I'd say that I didn't wait by the phone, but it's the 21st century; it was glued to my hand instead as I doomscrolled Twitter and compared myself to people on Instagram. Was I putting myself in a good place mentally? No. Was I going to do something about that? Also no.

In the spirit of making bad choices while being emotional, I decided to go to Roy's. Not to get laid; to people watch. But if I watched the right person come and sit next to me? Well, my whole life up to this point was a series of bad choices and worse consequences. What was one more trip to the well?

Fate intervened, or rather, Roy did. As soon as I sat down, he said, "Hey, I hate to bug you, hon, but could you go talk to the new kid? She's having a breakdown in the back corner booth, and that ain't good for business. I was gonna call her a cab, but you're here now, so..."

I sighed. "Sure, Roy. Send two Jack and Cokes over."

Jane was really not doing well. I'd seen this before; spend too much time at a bar, and you'll see just about everything. But I knew I couldn't just tell her what was wrong; I needed to let her walk herself there. The specifics mattered much more than the broad strokes.

Softly, just trying to be a comforting presence, I said, "Hey, Jane, what's going on?"

She sniffled. "I don't... What the fuck is wrong with me, Sarah? Why-- why can't I-- I can't ever just be fucking happy, and I don't know why."

"What happened?"

Our drinks arrived, and I gave her one. She nursed it as she spoke. "I was talking to a guy. He looked good, he was into me, and then-- and then I remembered Simon, and I--" She looked away. "I couldn't. I just..." She started to cry.

"Jane, no. Hey, it's going to be okay." I pulled her in close and hugged her while she sobbed quietly. We stayed like that for a few minutes before she pulled away.

"I loved Simon, you know? But we'd been together since high school. And we got married, and he wanted to have kids and... God, I'm only twenty three. I don't want that yet. I will someday, but he just wouldn't listen. And then... and then I realized he'd stopped listening to me about a lot of things. And I thought, 'is this what I want out of the rest of my life? A husband that ignores what I want, kids before I'm twenty five, having to quit my job to raise them?' And I decided I didn't. I asked him to go to counseling, but..." She shook her head.

"And then I was single. I didn't want to be, not really. I wanted Simon, but I wanted the Simon from before he stopped listening. And I couldn't get that back. And then..." Her cheeks puffed out as she let out one big, exasperated sigh. "And then I ended up in here, and I realized there was something else I'd been missing. That's been great most of the time. It's been a real eye opener. But I just..." She looked at me. "I miss being loved, you know? Going home to someone? But I also don't want to-- Hell, I don't know."

She did know, she just needed to realize she did. "Even with what happened, do you regret Simon? Being with him, I mean? Not marrying and divorcing him, but is your life better because it had him in it at one point?"

Jane nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, There are things I regret, but not... not actually being with him. Not falling in love with him."

"And then it stopped working. Maybe it could have been fixed, maybe not, but that didn't happen. But you don't regret your divorce, right?"

"No."

"And if you've enjoyed this, sowing your wild oats, getting drunk and taking a different guy home each night, there's nothing wrong with that. I had a helluva time after my divorce. But if you've stopped enjoying it, then..."

"I know, I know. Stop doing this. But then what? Look for another Simon? Or, not Simon, but a better guy? That's why I'm here, Sarah."

I laughed, but then felt bad about it as Jane frowned. "Sweetheart, you're not going to find love here. You're going to find sex and hangovers, and maybe a few friends. But that's all. Look, you're pretty and you're smart. You've got hobbies, right? Things that can get you out and social?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Then go do those. Find someone... find someone who wants to do the same things you do. Other than fucking, I mean, cause they're gonna want to do that, too. Every night you spend here doing something you don't really want to do anymore on the off chance that it makes you happy is a night you're not spending somewhere else doing something that you know makes you happy. And maybe you'll end up meeting someone else who likes it, whatever it is, and also likes you."