Stone Cold

He sniffs a chuckle, and I hope he’s amused by all of this and not horrified. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all …

“All right,” he says. “You know, my mom used to read these kinds of books. She’d buy them at the Goodwill. Ten cents each. Sometimes a quarter. They always had guys with long hair on the front, that’s what I remember the most.”

“Pretty sure I would’ve instantly loved your mom.”

His lips press flat, and he stares off to the side for a moment. “Yeah. I think you would have too. Everyone who met her loved her.”

“What was her name?” I ask because in all the years we’ve known each other, I never got the nerve to bring her up. Jude always said it was a sore subject and with Stone being as closed off as he was, I didn’t dare go anywhere near that.

But now that he brought her up, maybe he’s okay talking about her?

“Elise,” he speaks her name slowly, gently.

“Elise,” I echo. “That’s beautiful.”

“I was ten when she passed,” he says. “It’s weird when I think about the fact that I’ve lived over half of my life without her now.”

“I bet she’d be so proud of you now.”

He nods once. “I’d like to think so. We didn’t have much time for any kind of life guidance or words of advice from the time she was diagnosed to the time she passed. After a while, she wasn’t really all there. She was in a lot of pain, so they had her on morphine and everything else.”

I want to move closer to him, to put my hand on his or wrap my arms around him, but he’s never been the touchy-feely type, and I don’t know that there’s anything I can say or do to take the sting out of this conversation.

“How old were you when you went to live with Jude?” I ask.

“Ten,” he says with a wistful smile. “Paul was the father I never had … the one I never knew I needed. I owe a lot to that guy.”

“I love Paul,” I say. “I think of him from time to time, all of his sage advice and witticisms. It’s so weird that Jude came from him. Paul would give anyone the shirt off his back. Jude would but then he’d complain about the cold until you gave it back. Sorry, I know he’s your best friend.”

Stone laughs. “Yeah, no, you’re right. And it is weird.”

“Your friendship was always so fascinating to me … the two of you were night and day yet you were glued together.”

“Trauma bond, probably.” He takes a mouthful of wine. “Jude lost his mom when he was five, I lost mine at ten. No one else could relate to what we’d gone through.”

“Be honest, did he ever get on your nerves?” I lean over my kitchen peninsula, resting my chin on top of my hand. “Like I adore my younger sister, but sometimes we’d get into the nastiest fights after being around each other too much.”

“Of course,” he says. “I love him like a brother—and he annoys me like a brother. But there were always more good times than bad.”

“Nostalgia is a beautiful liar,” I say. “It lets us paint the past anyway we want to.”

“Poetic,” he says, tossing back the remains of his wine. “On that note, I’ve got a tee time in the morning. Meeting Jude and his future in laws for a round at some country club north of here.”

“Jude golfs?”

“He does now.”

“Well, good for him,” I say. He was always more of a pick-up basketball or flag football rec-league kind of guy. Every once in a while, he’d go on a spurt where he’d take up jogging, but it never lasted more than a month or two. He never could stick to one thing long enough to get good at it.

“Thanks for the book.” He lifts it in the air as I walk him to the door, and before he goes, he turns back to give me one parting glance. Only this glance lingers longer than most.

My stomach trills, but I chalk it up to the margaritas and wine.

If this was a date, this would be the part where we kiss goodnight.

“Thanks for coming with,” I say. “I had a good time.”

“Me too.”

I clear my throat, silently reminding myself this isn’t a date. Not even close. But damn if I didn’t wish that it were.

“I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun,” I tell Monica Saturday morning. “Maybe it took the pressure off because it wasn’t a date, you know? We weren’t trying to impress each other. It was just … two people hanging out.”

“I always thought you belonged with Stone instead of Jude back in college. And to this day, I still swear you had the wrong guy.” Monica drops her bag on my kitchen table and takes a seat. “That night at that party, I told you you were going to meet someone. I had a gut feeling, remember?”