Page 14 of The Now in Forever

E d approaches the bar. “I didn’t know you were here. Do you want to be alone?”

I did, before. But now that he’s standing here, I really don’t. “No. Have a seat, if you want.”

Kyle comes over, and Ed orders a beer and a turkey sandwich.

I idly stir the lemon in my drink, thinking about all the comments Ed left on my manuscript. If it was printed in red ink the way we did it in my Intro to Long Form Narrative class, it would’ve been bloodier than the murder in my book.

“Look, I didn’t mean to be harsh in my critique.”

I nod but don’t look his way. Kyle comes back with Ed’s tall can of Pabst. Ed takes a sip, and the silence stretches in front of us.

He sets his beer down on the bar. “There’s a lot to like in your book. It’s exciting. I couldn’t put it down. Literally. I stayed up late reading it on my phone. And the stuff that needs fixing, that’s easy stuff. It’s only my opinion. Writing is so subje?—”

“I swear to God if you say subjective, I will throw this lemon wedge in your eye.”

Ed laughs. “Okay. I’m just saying sometimes it’s easier to let the negative sink in and the positives slide off. Let some positives sink in.”

He has a point .

Kyle brings over Ed’s sandwich and gestures to my empty soda glass. “Want a refill?”

“I’ll take that Cab now.”

Kyle brings my wine over. Ed holds up his can in a cheers. “To the positives.”

I clink my glass, the contact with his half-empty can making a dull thud.

“Easy for you to say, Mr. New York Times bestseller.”

Ed laughs. “Yeah, how many years ago? You're only as good as your last book, and mine wasn’t great. In fact, one Goodreads reviewer called it a ‘shameful waste of trees.’”

“You look at your Goodreads reviews. Oh, you’re bad.”

He smiles, that devilish twinkle in his eye. “Do you like bad boys?” He says the last part in a mock breathy voice.

I sip my wine to hide how wide my smile is and how undoubtedly pink my cheeks must be. “Mmm-hmm.”

“It’s on my phone. I can’t help reading them. Literally, all I have to do is go to a little app, and I can see what people are saying about me.”

“Your writing.” I correct.

“Same difference.”

“I can see how it would be hard. Not that I would know, but I can imagine.”

Ed puts his hand on my leg, his palm warm against my bare thigh. “You’re a good writer, Hattie. You’re going to get published.”

Instead of deflecting or making a snarky comment, I let his words sink in.

He moves his hand, and my leg feels cold in the spot where his hand is now missing.

“This is what I think we should do. We should sit with each other’s critiques, let them percolate, throw them against the wall, see what sticks.”

“Are the crits coffee or spaghetti in this analogy?”

He shrugs. “Take your pick. We’ll sit with them for a week then get back to work. In the meantime, I think we should get a little day drunk and play that pinball machine in the corner.”

I look past the pool table to the Twilight Zone pinball flashing neon. I turn back to him and steal one of his French fries.

Ed looks at me expectantly. When I still haven’t agreed, he says, “Drinks on me.”

“Let’s do it.”

Ed buys some quarters from Kyle and orders himself another round.

We take our drinks over and set them on the sticky little table by the machine.

Ed puts the quarters in and presses the button twice for two players.

He motions to the table with an exaggerated sweeping of his arms, and for a second, it’s like I’m back on the beach with him. I’m stunned still.

“Unless you want me to go first?” he says with a confused wrinkle creasing his brow.

“I can go. It might be quick though. I don’t think I’ve played pinball since I was a kid, and honestly, then I didn’t know how to play. There was a machine at the Red Robin out by the mall, and sometimes I would play with my dad.”

The memory is so vivid, I can practically smell the seasoning salt.

Ed steps a little closer to me, putting his arms around me to the machine. He pushes the buttons on either side, the loud clacking mimicking the wild beating of my heart. “Keep pushing the flippers, and you’ll be alright.”

He moves away, and I resist the urge to ask him to show me one more time, just to feel his body next to mine again. My first ball goes straight down the gutter but is auto-saved.

“Lucky save. Flippers, flippers,” he instructs.

My next attempt is better, but not by much. I try to focus on the ball, but Ed is bopping around next to me, and my eye catches sight of the tornado tattoo on his forearm just as the ball sinks right through the middle.

Ed does much better on his turn.

“So, you’re a shark?” I say while he hits ball after ball as the game blinks and flashes .

“Figure if the writing thing doesn’t pan out, I can go pro.” Two balls sink one after another. Then a third out of nowhere. Ed tries to save it, but it goes down the side. The table is silent.

“Hmm.” I frown. “Better stick to your day job.”

After a few games, we make our way out onto the patio, sitting near the unlit fire pit. Now that I’ve noticed Ed’s tattoo, I can’t help but sneak glances at it every so often. He catches me and holds it up to get a better look.

“It’s a sandstorm.”

I smile. “Looks more like a tornado.”

“Same difference.” He sips his beer, leaning back in his chair. There’s a mystery in his smile. It’s a little far off. I wonder if he’s thinking about that day. How can he remember it but not me? Have I changed that much? I don’t feel like I’ve changed at all.

“Do you have any?” Ed asks, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“Any…?”

“Tattoos.”

“Oh, um. One, kind of.”

“How do you have a kind of tattoo?”

“It’s a long story.”

Ed props his legs up on the rocks of the fire pit. “I have time. I love a good story. I have one from the day I got this you might want to hear.”

My heart jumps to my throat. Oh God. Is he going to tell me a story about me?

Or is he playing? Does he know? I’m suddenly not ready to talk about it.

What if it breaks the spell of whatever is going on now?

Looking desperately for something to change the subject, I notice two interlocking hearts on Ed’s other arm and point to it. “What’s the story with that one?”

Ed instinctively touches it. He finishes his drink and stands. “I’ll grab another. You?”

“Sure.”

Was he really going to tell me about our day? Maybe I should’ve let him.

Ed hands me my wine, startling me out of my daydream.

He sits back down and props his legs on the rocks.

I kick off my sandals and attempt to do the same, but my legs won’t reach.

I try to scoot the chair a little closer, but the things are made of solid wood, and all I wind up doing is splashing some of my wine onto the rocks.

Ed laughs. “What are you doing?”

“I want to prop my legs up like the cool kids.”

Ed shakes his head, but I can see a tiny smile twitching at the side of his mouth. He grabs my ankles, shocking me so much I nearly spill the wine completely. Propping my feet up on his lap, his warm hand finds my shin. The heat spreads all the way up to my chest. “Here. Now you’re super cool.”

My legs feel stiff at first, but after a few minutes, I relax into it.

“How’s the job search?”

I swallow my sip, feeling a tightness in my chest. That’s what I should be doing, looking and applying for more jobs. Not drinking wine in the middle of the day. But what about that bookstore? Could that be my new job? My new career? My new life?

“That good, huh?” Ed says, his brow furrowed, and I realize I never answered.

“It’s slow. Actually, I’m thinking I might want to do something else. Something different.”

“Like what?”

“Open my own bookstore. Maybe here, even.”

Ed frowns into his beer.

“What? Don’t you like it here?”

Ed lowers his voice, leaning in. “It’s fine for a vacation, but it’s so small. Won’t you get bored? Do you want to be tied to this tiny town for the rest of your life?”

I shrug. When I picture myself opening the bookstore, staying in Fortune Falls, it feels more like planting roots, not being tied down. But I can see his point. It is small.

We drink in stillness for a couple minutes until Ed breaks the silence.

“So, tell me more about this perfect day.”

I cough. “Why? ”

“I'm a writer. I’m curious.”

“Like I said before, it’s not really anything we did. It was just a feeling. Anyway, it was dashed pretty quickly. A day is over before you know it.”

“Hmm. What ruined it?”

“You ask a lot of questions and answer very few.”

Ed sips his beer and stares into the unlit fire pit.

He holds out his arm for a second to give me a good look at the heart tattoo.

“I was in love. ” He lowers his arms and lazily traces the bone of my ankle.

“Dated long-distance. We weren’t even together when we got these tattoos.

She drew it, and we went on the same day.

Texted each other pictures of red inflamed skin and ink, but we weren’t actually there for each other during the pain.

I should’ve seen that as a sign. She asked me to move into her apartment in Brooklyn.

I moved all my stuff into my buddy’s storage unit and moved in with just a suitcase, my laptop, and my skateboard.

She was away a lot. Then I was away for the book tour.

But when we were together, it wasn’t the same as when we wanted to be together. Does that make sense?”

I consider it, tilting my head to the side. Maybe it’s all the wine, but it really doesn’t.

Ed laughs. “We got so used to missing each other. Pining. We were great over text. Even the”—he lowers his voice—“sex was better long-distance. It’s like when we were together, we didn’t know how to touch each other.”

My skin is hyper aware of him touching me right now.

“We didn’t know how to talk. Once the longing was gone, there wasn’t anything else there. I should’ve known all along that it wouldn’t work. She was too good for me.”

Too good? I’m unsure how to respond, when he says more brightly, “Your turn. Tell me about this perfect day.”

I sigh and take a large sip of wine, stalling. “It might not have been as perfect as I remember. I’ve just built it up in my head over the years. Anyway, if I ran into that guy on the street, he probably wouldn’t even recognize me. ”

Ed holds my eye contact for a long, charged beat. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Hattie, I…”

Footsteps approach on the gravel, and Robin and Nathan come out holding drinks. I quickly move my legs, sitting up a bit and tucking my hair behind my ears.

“We didn’t know you’d be here,” Robin says with a smile and gives me an “oooh” look.

Ed chats with Nathan while Robin whispers in my ear. “Are we interrupting?”

I brush my hair out of my face. “Of course not…”

“You two looked cozy.”

“We’re just friends.” But even as I say it, the words are bitter on my tongue.

I don’t want to just be friends with Ed.

I want his hands on me, his fingers tracing my ankle, going up my legs.

I want him. But how many times can one heart be broken?

I roll back my shoulders. Friends is fine. “Just friends.”