Chapter 14
Lucy
Trish is already waiting when I arrive for our after work drinks. There’s a bottle of wine on the table, which she uncorks as I approach. She hands me a glass and holds up hers. “To one night stands,” she says. “Make that weekend-long. Cheers!” We clink glasses and I settle into my chair. “So tell me, how did one night turn into a weekend of reckless abandon?”
I start from the beginning. I tell her about how I was nervous so we spent the night talking and getting to know each other. I tell her about the jazz club and him showing me a piece of himself he doesn’t let others see. I tell her how I opened up to him in ways I’ve never done with anyone else. Not even Melanie. I tell her he gave me the best compliment I’ve ever received: that he wants to be a better man for me. I tell her about how he told me he’s ready to share his life with me, something he’s never told anyone before. And how I’m ready to share mine with him. I talk and talk and realize I’ve been going on for almost an hour. When I’m done she just stares at me.
“Wow. Just wow.”
“I know.”
We both take a sip and I pause to let all that I’ve said sink in.
“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with someone you just met?” I ask her.
“Wow. OK. So we’re talking about love.”
“I didn’t say I was in love with him. I just want to know if you think it’s possible to love someone you haven’t known long.”
“Yes. God yes! I can’t believe this. You’re in love with him.”
“That’s crazy. I mean, I don’t know what it even feels like to be in love. And we’ve only known each other for what, two days? I don’t even know his name.”
“Lucy Chalmers, I never would’ve expected this from you! I think it’s fantastic. He may be anonymous,” Trish says. “But you know him. Intimately it seems. I wish I could meet this Mr. Anonymous.”
I blush. “I referred to him as Coffee Guy. But I like Mr. Anonymous better. It sounds more mysterious.” I shake my head at her and laugh. “You and your nicknames. And yes, I guess you’re right that I know him intimately. His name is just a fact about him, but not a defining part of who he is. I know the real Mr. Anonymous—not just who he is on the surface.”
“Think about it this way. People spend what, maybe three hours on a date? And you’ve been with him for more than forty-eight. So it’s as if you’ve gone on sixteen dates.”
I laugh. I like that analogy.
“I know I’ve fallen for him. But maybe it’s lust and not love. How do you really know the difference?”
“Luce,” she says. “If it were lust you’d want him purely for sex. But if it’s love you want the whole package. From what you’ve described, this is what love feels like.”
“Then I never want to let it go.”
She smiles and reaches for my hand. “So don’t.”
I know my feelings for him run deep. And that I fell hard. I kind of suspected it might be love. But I still can’t say for sure. I never loved Toby so I don’t have a relationship to serve as a point of comparison, but Trish validated everything I’ve been feeling. Our talk turns to work and the Robica wedding. Trish came up with the moniker for Rob and Veronica. “It’s too long to say both their names all the time,” she complained.
I look at my watch and realize I should head home. I left in such a hurry this morning and my place is a disaster.
“So what’s next?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I gave him my number.”
“Wait. So then did you tell him your name?”
“No. I put it under A for Anonymous. We said we’d tell each other our names when he calls me. I figured it would be an incentive. But I haven’t heard from him yet.”
That’s the one dark spot hanging over an otherwise perfect day.
“You will. He doesn’t need your name as an incentive. He has you.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“Yeah ya do. Lucy, I’m so so happy for you.”
We stand to go and she gives me a hug. I hug her back even though I’m not the touchy feely type.
Trish knows this and regards me through narrowed eyes.
“You’re a changed woman already.”
I smile as we part ways. As I hand the valet my ticket, I once again check my phone. No texts. No calls. I brush away the stab of disappointment. We saw one another this morning, I remind myself. But it seems like it’s been longer. He’s quickly becoming a drug that I need.
When I get home I straighten up the mess that is my apartment. I bend down to pick up some clothes on the floor and discover his black waffle shirt. I pull it over my head and wrap myself in it—in him. His scent still lingers on the fabric. When I close my eyes it’s as if he’s here with me. The memories of our weekend together come rushing back. I finish cleaning up then climb into bed. I reach out and touch the space that he occupied only hours ago. I’ve slept on my own my whole life, but suddenly my bed seems empty without him. I feel empty without him. My eyes are heavy with sleep, and I drift off with his shirt wrapped around me, thoughts of him in my dreams. Who are you, Mr. Anonymous?