Chapter Twenty-one
Scott and I continued to email each other every night for the next three weeks. Eventually, we stopped talking about our spouses and their affair. He took The Sound of Music tour in Salzburg and emailed me pictures, which I greatly enjoyed.
We also discussed the books we were reading, and Scott continued to make an effort to get out more and sightsee. He was able to send me pictures from his phone, so everything felt very immediate.
We never Skyped or engaged in any type of video chat. I’m not sure why. I suppose we both preferred to keep some sort of emotional distance between us, because he was still my neighbor from across the street, former husband to my former best friend. Written correspondence felt more appropriate.
Whenever Bev came home from her shift at the hospital and found me typing away at my laptop, she left me alone and didn’t interrupt. But the week before Scott was due to arrive home, she asked me a question while we were preparing dinner.
“So what’s going on between you two?”
“Nothing,” I replied as I tossed the salad.
She moved around the table to set out our plates and cutlery. “But you talk to each other every night.”
“We’re just friends,” I said, “and we don’t actually talk. We just type and write.”
“Still…” She went to the cupboard to fetch two water glasses. “It’s fairly intimate, don’t you think? The things you talk about?”
I gave her a sidelong glance. “Like I told you, we’re just friends. We’ve both been through hell and it’s nice to have someone to talk to who understands. Besides, he’s really far away. I think he’s just homesick.”
Bev nodded. “Maybe. But he’s incredibly good looking, right? Surely you must find him attractive.”
I laughed and turned around to face her with the wooden salad bowl in my hands. “What are you trying to do here, sis? I’m not even divorced yet, and he’s the husband of the woman who stole mine. That would be weird.”
I moved forward to set the bowl on the table while Bev served up our chicken breasts with rice.
“I don’t think it would be weird at all,” she replied. “You know, the same thing happened to Shania Twain. Her husband ran off with his assistant who was also her best friend. Then Shania—who was totally heartbroken—ended up marrying the friend’s husband, who was a wonderful man, probably the one she was meant to be with all along.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “I am not Shania Twain.”
“No, but you’re a nice person and from what I gather, so is Scott. You might want to think about it.”
We both sat down to eat, and I grinned at her. “You’re a rascal, do you know that?”
“Maybe.” She chuckled. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all.”
I reached for the salad tongs and filled half of my plate. “Well, I’m not recovered yet from what Wes and Angie did to me, and neither is Scott. I don’t want to rush into a rebound situation or date Scott just to get back at them. That’s probably what it would look like.”
“But don’t not date him because you’re worried about appearances,” Bev argued. “If you care for him and he makes you happy…”
I held up a hand. “Stop right there. Scott and I have been pen pals and nothing more. He’s my neighbor. I don’t want to start imagining there’s something happening when there isn’t.”
“Whatever you say,” Bev replied, but I could see that she was skeptical and thought I was in denial.
I decided to let it drop, because my life was complicated enough as it was. I didn’t want to start anything that might involve heartbreak down the road. I’d already endured ten times my share of heartbreak this year, and it was only March.
* * *
The night before Scott flew home, I offered to pick him up at the airport, but his flight was coming in at midnight and he insisted he take a cab.
Secretly, I was relieved, because I wasn’t sure how to behave when we saw each other. If I met him at the baggage carousel, would we hug?
Despite all our personal emails over the past few weeks, he was still just my neighbor. I thought it would be best to maintain a proper reserve, because I didn’t want things to get awkward.
He did send me a text shortly after midnight. I was still awake, lying in bed reading a novel when my phone buzzed.
His text said: Flight just landed. It’s nice to be home.
I immediately sent a reply: Welcome back to Canada! I’ll pop by tomorrow after work and say hi.
He responded right away: Great. See you tomorrow.
I set my phone down on the bedside table and knew in that moment that it was going to be awkward.