Water and Stone

Eventually she looked back to me. "I probably should start heading back. Truth is, this is near the turnaround for my usual walk. I can't tell you how glad I am I didn't cut it short yesterday."

She pulled out her phone, and I eagerly joined her. "So," she asked. "Lunch tomorrow? Same time? I didn't want to pressure you yesterday, but I'd hate to miss each other and not know what happened." We exchanged numbers, and then she was off again.

I imagined her striding into the distance on a barren landscape of rock, not a soul in sight. Utterly in her element. No wonder she was comfortable with silence. How odd, given my daily routine, that I hadn't realized how much I needed that from others now.

I didn't really know what she wanted from me, or what I could give her, but I knew now what she might be for me: a friend. I'd left that all behind and it was starting to seem crazy how little I'd worried about that.

* * *

Feed Santa, feed myself. Clean up. Finish this book, start the next. Another comfortable evening. I scratched Santa just where he liked, behind one ear, and he again grudgingly allowed that I wasn't totally hopeless.

I hadn't had anyone over the whole time I'd lived here. Not even for a dumb movie or to share take-out or any of the other reasons Lisa or I had occasionally invited other people over.

It was quiet. I rented a townhouse on a quiet suburban street, a place I'd picked out when I arrived mainly for being right near the rail station. Why drive when I could sleep or read on the train? That at least had been a good decision. And my neighbors seemed pretty nice. Occasionally I could feel a low rumble from the train, but I found it soothing.

I had too much furniture. Still subconsciously thinking for two when I moved in. Alexa would probably enjoy stretching on the recliner across the room, reading with me in silence. If she didn't pace off nervously while imagining her next trip to the wilderness or wherever she went.

I didn't know where this was going. I couldn't invite her back to my house, not until we knew each other a lot better and she understood what that invitation did and didn't mean. Until I understood. At least I was pretty sure sex wasn't complicating things from my end. She really was attractive, and I liked thinking about her. But my thoughts skated right off the idea of anything more than talking and silent companionship.

I sighed and shut my book. Tomorrow. And next week. And whenever after that. I'd waited five years, so I should damn well know how to be patient enough not to fuck things up now.

That night was one of the really bad ones. There was Lisa, at the start of our relationship, just out of college. Skinnier then, much shier, with smaller tits that she couldn't believe I found so attractive. She had cried the first time we had sex, not because I was her first, or she was uncomfortable, but because I apparently was the first one willing to be as gentle as she needed. Yet somehow in my dream I couldn't understand her, and kept trying to treat her roughly, something she only came to like much later.

Then she turned around, and she was suddenly much older. Not the healthy, sex-craving Lisa I liked to remember, but the very end. The emaciated, pained shell of my lover. The version that never said a thing in dreams, but just accused me with those hollow eyes.

I woke with a jolt.

Calm down. Get up, get some water. Sit with the cat. He knew about these times, and would always curl up with me. It was just guilt. Pointless, wrong-headed, but not worth being angry at myself about. It would go away someday, surely. The real Lisa was the one who insisted I should move on, who would probably be making rude suggestions at this point if she thought it would speed anything up or make me feel better.

None of these thoughts were the slightest bit new. This kind of night had its own routine, and an hour later I was in bed again, drifting back into a fitful mess of horrible and erotic images.

* * *

Work was work. Home was home. Same as always. And suddenly there was Alexa, those lunch visits immediately elevated to an entire category of their own.

We didn't manage to meet quite every day, but it was pretty clear this was a routine now. I started walking a little further to meet her partway towards her workplace, and we'd walk back together to our bench. More exercise for me was good, and even a week seemed to make it easier. I was shocked when I realized how far she was walking from her office. She did her best to slow to my pace as we walked together, but if she got too animated telling me something, she would pull right ahead. After a few manful efforts I gave up trying to pretend I could keep up, and she would quickly realize and slow down again. We must have made a comical pair, and I found I didn't care in the slightest.

I heard a few funny stories from her graduate school days. That seemed the earliest she liked to talk about. I vaguely remembered some teasing of her back in high school, which was part of why I'd been so careful at the time to be polite. I suspected I was vastly underestimating the cruelty she'd been forced to grit her way through. It sounded like grad school was the first place where she felt anyone had taken her at all seriously.

She didn't talk about men in her life. Or women, for that matter. Of course, neither did I. Those silences could mean a lot of things, really. But the more we talked, the less it seemed she was looking for anything other than what I was. Simple friendship for two lonely souls.

Next week she was off to geologize with some Army Corps people, a group she'd worked with before. She rolled her eyes a little but I could see she didn't mind it so much. And she had a day in the middle to go off and wander around the shore of an ancient lake basin. The detailed history of that kind of terrain seemed to relate to her personal research, but she admitted this particular trip would be more recreation than anything else.

"Just walking the land," she said. It seemed my cartoon image of her wasn't so far off.

On Friday we sat on our usual bench, watching the water.

"When I first started work here, I hated the city, " Alexa said. "I know, not really much of a city, but I was coming from that oil company job. What a dumb idea that was, trying to convince myself I hadn't sold out to the forces of darkness, but it was Wyoming. Spectacular. And not all of the guys were complete assholes, I guess. Everything else about work is really better here, but that outdoors at my doorstep was hard to leave."

I nodded comfortably. "Yeah. When I first came to the city, ..." and then I was frozen again. Because there was a reason nothing had felt right back then, and the city was the least of it.

I sighed. I was going to have to say something eventually. There wasn't going to be a right time.

"Alexa, so here's the thing about me." I stopped again, and we just watched the river some more.

I took a breath. "I got married right out of college. Lisa, the love of my life. She was just starting law school. Eleven wonderful years, we were about to start a family, and then she was gone. Brain tumor. I moved here five years ago, but something's still totally broken."

I shuddered to a halt. I'd never dropped the bomb on someone like that. Suddenly I felt selfish, loading that all on her when she hardly knew me. Now she'd be stuck in the role of mouthing the platitudes I'd spent years running away from.

"Oh, fuck." She looked away, and reached for my hand. It was painfully obvious she was starting to cry and didn't want me to see. "That is the most unfair thing I've ever heard the world do to someone I like. I wish I had a giant rock hammer and could just fucking hit the whole thing at once. But, like, in a thin spot in the middle of the ocean. So, big messy eruption more than cataclysmic earthquake."

I couldn't help it -- I started to laugh. Alexa looked back at me, slightly confused, eyes red.

"Alexa, that's the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time, " I said slowly. "It's just not what I expected. You have to understand that for years I've imagined the predictable responses to conversations like that, which is probably why I don't even try to have them. And then along you come, ready to break the world apart in outrage."

She had started to smile a bit. "I wasn't going to hit it THAT hard, really."

Her hand was warm, comforting. Long, slender fingers. Companionship, and talk. Still all I wanted, really. But it had been a long time since I'd had any meaningful human touch.

I sighed and squeezed her hand before letting go. "So, a week from Monday, then?"

"Look forward to it, " she said sincerely.

* * *

Weekends were quiet, of course. I did whatever shopping I needed, and often cooked for the week. Easy when it was just me. Efficient. I generally hit the local library on Saturdays, and after raiding the shelves I sometimes sat there people-watching. I wasn't like Alexa that way, I guess. I still liked being around people, even lots of people. I'd just forgotten how to be more than an observer.

Before dinner I decided to take a walk to the local park. The more I walked, the easier it was, the more I could creep towards Alexa's world. And of course it was good for my health.

It was that perfect time before sunset, the temperature comfortable, the sky deepening with color. The park was jammed with dog-walkers, joggers, parents with children. I picked a bench and just watched for a while.

When had I started to like seeing kids playing again? It must have snuck on me slowly. A little bit of introspection, and there it was: the old, throbbing pain I was used to. But no, time had done its work for this at least.

A young woman in a sports bra, glistening with sweat, moving past at good speed. Not dressed that way for anyone else, just needed to get her exercise in. Her breasts bounced slightly and I let myself imagine.

A mother chasing her toddler. She caught me smiling at the little boy, and gave a tired smile back. Brown hair pulled back in a ponytail under her baseball cap. Full lips, substantial hips. Big breasts. A few years younger than me, with the natural magnetism of a mother. I looked away before I started to stare, but I imagined her taking her clothes off anyway. A stunning body. Not so differently shaped from Beth, though I couldn't quite imagine Beth as a mother. I closed my eyes and drifted into pleasantly vague fantasies about Beth, or this mother, or someone. Both so different from Alexa. I was glad she worked somewhere that let her wear shorts. Those legs, their long muscles going up and up --

My brain dumped me back out of fantasy land. I hadn't tried to hide from myself that I liked looking at Alexa. It was something of a relief to see that was still the extent of it.

An easy walk home as twilight deepened, the first couple stars beginning to show. Santa greeted me with a pointed meow, and I got the evening routine going.

* * *

Home, work, home again. I missed Alexa, even more than I'd expected. I briefly thought about striking up a conversation with someone at the office. Anyone. I didn't have anything to say. Beth had been drifting back into a lot of my fantasies, which only made the thought of real conversation more difficult. I had an incredibly potent dream involving both her and Lisa. At its height Beth became some kind of perverted midwife to our conception attempts, utterly naked, urging me to bury my seed in my wife's glorious pussy.

Things would even out the way they always did, I thought. My brain did crazy stuff like that sometimes, and after a while I would settle back to my usual pattern. Sporadic memories of Lisa when I was asleep and brief, nonspecific fantasies when I was awake.

Thursday brought an unexpected message from Alexa. A stark landscape of rock and scrubby plants. "Miss you" was all the message said.

Just friends, I thought. It was still a new relationship, and obviously important to both of us. "Miss you too," I texted back, with a picture of the river.

I went every day, walking farther still before coming back to sit on the bench for lunch. Even without Alexa, it was a comforting habit.

* * *

Late Sunday afternoon I got another text from Alexa. "Back again. Post-trip ritual: clean the fridge of everything that went bad. I never learn. Thanks for your message, look forward to tomorrow."

I thought for a while and then finally worked up my courage.

"Want some dinner? I'm cooking up a giant pot of linguini with peppers and sausage."

I waited an agonizing while for a reply. How did people even set up social things these days? I was a dinosaur about all this.

Finally, she responded. "That sounds delicious. Uh, where do you live?"

I sent her my address, and she immediately replied. "Oh, that's not too far. Give me a half hour?"

I happily agreed, and then suddenly I had to sit down.

Calm down, I thought. This is Alexa. We're just having dinner together. It feels like a date, but that doesn't mean that's what it is. You're just panicked because it's been so long since you did any of this normal social stuff.

I squashed an urge to jump up and start madly cleaning. The house was fine. I'd already done my weekly cleaning that morning. I looked at the wall across from me. Empty, like everywhere else. I'd had no energy to decorate when I moved in, and then I just got used to it. Lisa's books and the other bookcases of my own were really the only personal touch.

I was well into my cooking when I heard a car pull up outside. A peek out the window revealed a truly beat-up Jeep with a couple of gas cans and some large water containers strapped on top. It pretty much screamed Alexa.

Dinner was surprisingly easy. Of course we were both awkward, but there was nothing new in that. These companionable silences were familiar ground. And dinner finally put another piece in place for me. Lisa, I thought. She and Alexa were completely different in so many ways, but years of intimacy had resulted in plenty of those same companionable silences. I'm sure that was part of why I felt so close to Alexa, so quickly. The realization made me uncomfortable.

I had offered wine with dinner, but Alexa politely declined. She did happily serve herself a second heaping plate, which flattered me tremendously.

As she poked at the last few bites of dinner, Alexa gave me a few nervous glances. Our sporadic conversation had faded a while back.

She finally looked up and said, "Kevin, this was a great dinner. Much nicer than anything I could have produced at home. And good company. I don't know if you had anything else --"

She stopped and stared at her plate again. Eventually she continued.

"I should get home. Do some laundry, finish unloading the car, get back to everyday work mode. Really, thanks for inviting me." She abruptly stood up, looking uncomfortable.

"Alexa, " I said. "This was really nice, and it really was just dinner. I didn't have anything else planned. Just felt bad that you'd come home to a sad fridge while I was over here doing my usual cooking for most of the week."

She nodded, looking relieved. Then, just as abruptly, she sat down again, burying her face in her hands. She was silently shaking. I instinctively wanted to fix whatever it was, and just as quickly knew I needed to sit and wait.

Finally she managed to mumble, "Could I use your bathroom?" and I directed her down the hall.

When she disappeared, I got up, occupying myself by clearing dishes and packing servings of leftovers for the freezer. Alexa was OK, I thought. She would tell me what was up, or she wouldn't, and either way was fine.

As long as we kept up our lunches. I had a sudden terror at the idea I'd stupidly messed that up.

She returned as I was loading up the dishwasher, and watched me for a while.

"I'm so sorry, Kevin, " she said. "You just wanted dinner, and instead I made it a Thing. I suck so hard at all of -- this." She gestured vaguely.

She looked like she wanted to say more. Or at least not leave right away.

After we'd stood awkwardly for a while, I asked "Want to sit down for a little?"

She nodded, and I led her into the study. She dropped heavily into my usual chair, slumping down. God, her legs were long. I settled into the recliner.

For a while her eyes wandered along the shelves of books. Santa made his entrance, and Alexa immediately smiled.

"Oh! Hello there," she said. Santa pretended to be unconcerned and uninterested in her, but I knew the dude had been hiding for a while until he convinced himself it was safe. He rubbed her legs and then sidled up to her to accept a few pets. No big deal, he emoted at me. His tail betrayed him.

"That's Santa," I said. "Santa Claws. The real master of the house."

She smiled. "I see the resemblance." Santa was mostly grey but had a patch of bright white fur from his chin to his chest. It could be a beard if you squinted hard enough. I think Lisa mostly picked the name because she was so tickled by the pun. She'd gotten him as a kitten around when we started dating, and absolutely doted on him, though it took me a while to come around. A cranky old man now, but he was still healthy enough -- I steered my thoughts away.

"I don't know how you see me, " said Alexa. She was still looking at the cat. "I have so little experience with guys. I mean, with relationships. Of any kind. Not that I'm saying that's what you --" She looked at me miserably and fell silent.

I was about to try to reply, when she started again.

"Let me try that again. I like you, Kevin, more than I would have expected for just getting to know someone. I keep being amazed at how easy it is to be comfortable with you. But I'm not looking for a relationship, not that type. I stopped trying that years ago. I'm pretty sure I'm, uh, I'm not put together the way most people are." She watched me nervously as she finished.

"Alexa," I said, "you've suddenly turned into a really important piece of my life, but you have some idea where I am. I couldn't even make sense of that kind of relationship right now. I've waited for the moving on thing to happen and I'm starting to question if it ever will. I had this sudden terror when I invited you over that you'd think I was asking you on a date, because I can't even remember how normal people do friendly things. You're the first person who's even seen my apartment. If I seem at all nervous around you it's because I think I've finally found a friend and frankly I'd forgotten what that was like."

I must have gotten it out well enough. She really had a great smile, even if it looked a bit fragile at the moment.

"OK, great," she said. "Friends. Few and far between for me too." She stretched and shifted. "I do need to go get all those stupid chores done. So, lunch tomorrow?"

"Look forward to it," I said, as I walked her to the door. "And Alexa -- thanks for trusting me."

She shook her head but didn't say anything. We made our familiar, awkward goodbyes.

I flopped back in my chair now that she was gone. Huh. That must be her I was smelling. My brain jolted with the unexpected sense of intimacy. But I didn't get up.

Santa curled up in my lap before I had time to grab a book, so I gave him the attention he clearly didn't get enough of.

"Good work earlier, Santa. You always know how to calm people down when we need it." He purred quietly, and then in an instant changed his mind, giving me a whack. I shoved him off me before we got into that game.

She'd been vague, of course, but I was pretty sure Alexa had sort of come out to me, as asexual. Or something like that. Something different from my particular version of celibacy. When I thought about it that way -- well, that must have taken a tremendous amount of courage to say.