What Lovers Do

“I see. I guess that means we’ll never get married.”

With a nervous laugh, I bite my tongue. We’ll never get married for a lot of reasons, but his four a.m. routine is low on the list. “How long were you married?”

“Five years.”

“How long have you been divorced?”

“A year.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I see her way too often to miss her.”

“Do you miss being married?”

“I miss some things about it.”

“Like?”

“I miss going out with friends, our couples’ friends. I miss barbecues. Golfing with her on Friday afternoons. I miss quick trips to vineyards and long walks with the dogs. I sometimes miss the woman I married, but I never miss the woman I divorced.” He sounds normal.

They all sound normal at first.

“What do you not miss about her?”

“Sorry, Sophie. I think it’s my turn again.”

“Fine, but nothing personal.”

“You just grilled me on the history of my marriage. That’s personal.”

“You brought it up. I was just following your lead.”

“I see what you did there. Cute. Okay. Why did you choose to be an optometrist?”

I hesitate because I don’t want to tell him. It’s the most ridiculous and uninspiring reason. “Good pay. Good hours.”

“Liar.”

I laugh. “You don’t know if I’m lying. We’ve known each other for less than a week.”

“You just gave me the most generic answer ever, which means you don’t want to tell me the real reason. Why is that?”

“A guy. God … I’ve never told anyone, I mean anyone, this before. I don’t know why I’m telling you.”

“Because I’m safe.”

I grunt. “I don’t know if I’d call you safe, but …” I sigh. “I decided my junior year of high school that I would go to optometry school. My best friend, Jules, had a brother who was four years older than us. After his second year of undergrad, he declared he was going to be an optometrist. I had such a huge crush on him. Jules never knew. She still has no idea. I thought he’d help me through school. I thought it was the perfect chance to get close to him.”

“But?” Shep draws out that one word.

But. Yeah, he has no clue. There’s a big “but” to this story.

“But he died in a car accident two weeks after I started the optometry program.”

“Jeez, Sophie … that’s … well … that’s a terrible story.”

“What? You asked me!”

“I did. But you make something up if the truth is … a terrible story.”

“Wow. I’m sorry I don’t have something as heartfelt as missing my ex because we used to golf and go to vineyards together.”

“That’s not what I miss most about her. It’s what sounds most engaging. Most romantic.”

“Did you … did you lie to me?” I sit up and hold out my phone to stare at it for a few seconds. Who is this guy?

“Six-thirty.”

“Six-thirty what?” I ask.

“Walk the dogs at four. Exercise at five. Shower at six. Have sex with my wife at six-thirty. That’s what I miss most. But I thought we’d ease into our tele-dating.”

“Tele-dating?”

“Yes. We’re dating via phone.”

“We’re conversing, not dating.”

“No, Sophie. We were conversing. At least, that was the plan until you just had to know what I was wearing. You can’t uncross that line.”

“Uh … I can and I did.”

“Nope. I thought we’d discuss the weather, then move on to hobbies, favorite vacation spots, and maybe share our bucket lists. You’re the one who initiated phone sex right off the bat.”

I open my mouth then shut it. I do this several times without anything coming out. He remains silent.

“I’m wearing white fitted capris, a floral blouse, and no shoes. My toenails are painted hot pink. My hair is its usual stringy mess, even more so now because I’m on my bed and it’s been a long day.” I tug at my lower lip, waiting for him to make some well-calculated comment.

He says nothing.

I’m not sure we’re still connected.

“Shep?”

“I’m sorry about your friend’s brother. I’m sure he’d be proud of you for finishing what he never got the chance to do.”

“Thanks,” I whisper. “Now who’s keeping my terrible story alive?”

“How tall are you? I was trying to estimate it. Five-three? Not even? You’re very petite.”

“Five-four.”

“Just barely.”

I laugh. “Just barely still counts. How tall are you? You’re freakishly tall.”

“I’m not. Six-two. Six-three if I’m trying to show off.”

“Show off? Like a bird puffing out its chest and lifting his head?”

“Exactly.”

I’m not going to marry him or even go out on a date that’s beyond a phone call, but I can’t remember the last time a guy made me grin so much. Jimmy has sucked the life out of me so incrementally, I didn’t realize until this moment just how much I’ve missed this kind of conversing.

“I should go. Cersei needs her dinner, and so do I.”

“It’s been fun.”

I bite my thumbnail. There’s no way I’m agreeing no matter how much I’m thinking it.