Through all the years of my life, even the teenage ones, I had never been one for talking on the phone. I never understood how other people did it. Walked around with receivers fused to their ears until their phones died or they went deaf. Whatever came first.
Sure, the phone was fine for awhile. Until that piece of cartilage on the side of your head turned beat red and smoldered and ached.
And what do the chronic phone-talkers do when their poor abused ear starts to scream at them?
Say goodbye?
Maybe end their marathon conversations?
Hell no.
They switch to the other ear.
And they start the process all over again.
Totally ridiculous.
I wasn't ridiculous.
Before I met you, I wasn't ridiculous.
Before I met you, I used the phone only as long and often as necessary.
Before I met you, a ten minute conversation over electric lines was a long one.
But then I met you.
And gave you my work number.
And learned the art of ridiculousness very quickly.
A pair of throbbing ears was a small price to pay for what I got in return:
Knowing you.
How much you can absorb just from listening to someone talk for a few hours continues to amaze me.
When you have no face to go by, when you are just listening, that's when you really pick up on things.
No, not the things they flat out give you.
Not the information that gets tossed back and forth like a ratty baseball.
Half of that will be forgotten the moment it's said.
But the intricate lifts and drops that keep you wondering if the person on the other end is smiling or not.
The contrast between laughter that is forced and laughter that is sincere.
The hesitance with which meaningful topics are handled.
The immediate flow that answers what one considers an easy, or comfortable, question.
All of that is what I remembered.
And as the days passed, and I became more and more of a chronic phone-talker, I made a discovery.
As much as I blamed you for turning me into something I had never wanted to be.
A marathon conversationalist among other things.
And yes, I still blame you.
Completely.
As much as all that bothered me, I wouldn't ever trade one second of it.
Esme thought we were working out some serious business.
And we were.
Everyday that we spoke, you persuaded me to like you a little more.
Already I knew the fire that your body sparked in mine.
The jolt of your heart pounding handshake…
The havoc of your devastating kiss…
But it was what I didn't know that led to the discovery.
We didn't exchange childhood stories.
Or sob stories.
Or any stories.
My life is my life is my life.
And you weren't even alive for most of it.
But what we did exchange showed me I liked you.
Not only because of what you were as a person.
But who you were as a person.
Oh, who am I kidding?
You persuaded me to like you by leaps and bounds.
And it's more than possible that, in reality, you didn't need to persuade me at all.
*
"My mom wants to meet with you again," you told me one day when the shop was closing.
"She's very thorough, isn't she?" I realized.
"You could say that."
It sounded like you were smiling.
I took a second before answering to picture the expression.
"What does she want to meet about?"
"Cakes."
"Oh right…"
A birthday party would need a cake.
Of course.
"Are you too busy?"
You were picking up on things from my voice too.
"If I was busy, do you really think I would be talking to you right now?"
"Yes," you said confidently, "I do."
I let loose a sigh.
You were right.
Horrible as it was, it was the truth.
"When does she want to come?"
"Actually…" you hesitated.
"What?"
"Shewantedtoknowifyoucouldcomehere," you spit out in a rush.
I thought I understood, but I wasn't sure.
"Huh?"
You made a frustrated noise.
"It would be better for her if she didn't have to leave the house."
I'd made house calls before.
But this was more significant.
"You want me to come over?" I asked.
"Uh…yeah."
The discomfort radiating from your words made me want to laugh.
I bit down on my lip.
"Is that okay? It wouldn't be too…inconvenient for you, would it?" you worried.
"No," I assured you, "It's no problem."
Then someone tapped my shoulder.
I turned to see Jessica Newton staring at me with an impatient look on her face.
"When did you want to schedule that?" I questioned you professionally.
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow would be excellent. I'll see you then, Mr. Mason."
After being sure to tack the formality on the end for Jessica's benefit, I hung up and reluctantly turned my attention to my envious coworker.
Jessica Newton the gossiping wife of Mike Newton.
The same Mike Newton who is a 'friend' of Eric's.
"You have a lot to say to those people," she said.
I watched as her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"There's a lot to discuss," I replied casually.
"Sure there is. A birthday party is just loaded with complexities."
I ignored her.
Opting instead to remove my apron and let my hair down.
And as I walked away I hoped she wouldn't follow.
But she did.
"The son seems to have more to say to you than the mother."
"It is his party," I reminded her.
"Is that why your eyes light up whenever the phone rings?"
That was an accusation if I ever heard one.
A wave of nervous heat engulfed me.
I preoccupied myself with folding the stained fabric in my hands and putting it away with the others like it.
"Wouldn't yours if the Mason's were your clients?"
It would have been a good response if my voice hadn't wavered halfway through.
But it did.
Damn it.
"You might have Esme convinced business is the only reason you spend hours on the phone, but I don't think business has anything to do with it."
Before I could get past the shock and work up a good lie, she started talking again.
"Are you and your husband doing anything tonight?"
The emphasis she put on the marital title didn't escape my notice.
Shock was still impairing my ability to speak.
So I shook my head.
"Mike wanted to head over to your place. Visit Eric, you know."
She walked to the door, calling a 'see you later' and a reminder to lock up over her shoulder before leaving.
Of all the people in the known universe who could have caught a whiff of what was going on between us, it had to be Jessica.
Gossiping wife of Eric's 'friend' Jessica.
Does this sort of thing happen to every middle-aged married woman infatuated with a teenager?
Or am I just special?
A/N: Well, I hope March has treated you all better than I have. I'm sorry for the month of absence. Sometimes our lives take control of us rather than the other way around. Getting back into the swing of things, I'll try to keep updates reasonably consistent. I'm not too sure about this chapter, but I wanted to get it out there anyway.