I Am A Freaking Unicorn
~Epilogue~
The moment he saw Stephanie's face in the pastry store, he knew.
Where she'd been staying.
Who she'd been with.
The ring smelled of tomato sauce. He'd been waiting for her to call. To explain. To change the subject. To avoid the entire question. To ignore the issue at hand. She was such a bad liar. But she sure was cute. Conservative. Rebellious. Curious. Pretty. Not overly smart. Just the kind of woman he liked. Just the kind of companion he wanted. They'd make a great couple. Like a dark rich Arabian prince and his treasured pure-blood mare. He knew just how to apply the right amount of pressure. He knew how to hold the reins. Make her feel guilty. Make her less ambitious. Make her feel responsible. Make her more...docile. Make her believe she was in control. He'd always been a smart learner. And Mrs. Plum, the talented cook, the impeccable housewife, had taught him well. He'd meant to drop by Stephanie's apartment and check on her. But he'd been unexpectedly busy and she hadn't returned his calls.
Antsy. Was he feeling antsy? He'd claimed her virginity here one summer afternoon many many years ago on the hard cold floor. And now he could just stare at her. As if she was a stranger. As if he didn't know her at all. He couldn't even muster a smile. He couldn't even utter a word. Didn't he deserve an explanation? Didn't she owe him a feeble apology, a blurred answer? He hated the way she smelled. That familiar fragrant expensive shower gel. The other man. The bad influence. The great temptation. The sinful seduction. He knew what they'd been doing on those cold freezing nights. Suddenly he wanted to yell. Suddenly he wanted to run around in circles. Like a wild Indian warrior. Dancing to the imaginary war drums. Mourning a war that had been long lost. Weeping with those pale sorrowful ghosts. He tried to smile but failed. He tried not to show his burning anger. Nope. Not in front of the curious crowd. Not in front of all these expectant grinning bystanders. He made sure she knew he felt hurt. He clung to the last shred of hope. Dear sweet Stephanie. Always eager to help. Always eager to please. Always eager to make amends. Always think too much of others. Always think too little of herself. He prayed this would work. He needed this to work. It had to work. He'd been planning for so long. All would be lost.
"Cupcake," His eyes two pools of melted chocolate. His voice very, very soft.
"Joe," Stephanie's voice was very small. She blinked. As if feeling unsure, uncertain, or ashamed of herself. "I..."
She suddenly stopped. No. She wasn't sorry. She felt no regret. For what she'd chosen. For what she'd done. Instead she was happy. Happy that the Polar Vortex had gone back north. Happy that the snow had finally stopped. Happy that she'd woken up way too early this morning and thus been awarded great morning sex. Ah, all the things you could do in a warm bed on a cold morning/night. All the fun you could have. No. It was more than sex. It was an unbreakable link, a strong invisible connection. An unspoken promise. A silent agreement. It wasn't a gamble. It wasn't a game. It was something beyond words and description. No, she didn't have any physical proof, but her heart and soul were the solid witnesses. Maybe she was being a fool. But that was her own decision and, somehow, she knew the price would be right. All you need to do is have some faith in love. Grandma was waiting for the doughnuts and yeah, Grandma was usually right. And the man she loved and wanted would be willing to pay the price.
"Joe," Stephanie smiled. She was beautiful and pretty. She was cute and brave and polite and nice and sexy. She was so familiar. She was so sweet. She was drifting away. She was getting out of his reach. "I'll see you around."
And then, just like that, she was gone. From his life. From his dreams. From his plans. From his house. She never went back for the small, useless stuff left behind—an odd sock here, an odd sock there. And the socks wouldn't even match. He just stood there, in the pastry store, and watched as her sleek black borrowed car pulled away. He didn't hear all the whispers. He didn't notice the looks and grins. And that night, he sat all alone inside his lovely cozy two-story house, on his chewed-up couch. Bob was having a sleepover at his brother's house. A Knicks game was on. He took a bite of the meatball sub. He stared at the TV. He wasn't exactly a fan of Pino's meatball sub. The bun was soggy. The tomato sauce was too sweet. And it tasted of too much memory. He flicked to another channel. He wasn't in the mood for basketball. Sasquatch. Bigfoot. National Geographic Channel. Legendary creature. Here in the State of New Jersey. Hairy, hairy beast. The ring smelled of garlic, oregano, black pepper, and parsley.
He needed a bigger TV.