One night over Labor Day weekend, after an almost ten-mile run around Central Park, I wandered into my closet postshower, digging around for some sweats to throw on over my boxers and T-shirt. And there it was: my suit jacket. The suit jacket. It had been hanging there, untouched since Franny unceremoniously handed it to me at that morning show taping all those months ago. Dry-cleaned and pressed, pocket square tucked neatly in the front. It had felt like bad luck to wear it again, so I’d left it here, pressed between the wall and another navy-blue jacket, a relic of the moment that had set my life off course—or maybe, set it on course. I wasn’t sure anymore.
I reached for it, sliding it off the hanger and holding it in front of me, thinking of Franny for what felt like the millionth time. I brought it to my nose, hoping for some hint of her there, but all that was left was the faint smell of chemicals. Suddenly self-conscious, I stuck the coat back on the hanger, grabbing the pocket square so I could stick it in my drawer with the others. As I did, a small folded piece of paper fell out and landed on the floor.
Dear Stranger,
Just in case I don’t get a chance to properly say it today: thank you. I don’t know why you did it, but you were there to help me when I most needed it, and I truly appreciate it. （Please forget that story I told you about peeing my pants, though.）
Yours,
Franny Doyle
She had been here this whole time, had known what I needed to hear. And, god, how I wished I could figure out how to tell her: I did it because the second I saw her, I knew she was someone I wanted to be near. I couldn’t stop myself.
And then, just like that moment on the subway, I knew what I had to do. I dashed back into the living room, flipped open my laptop, and hammered out an email in seconds flat.
I know things are weird, but I’d love to talk. Could we meet for coffee?
I hit SEND before I could reconsider my words. I peeked over at some MLB scores, scanned Twitter, and went to shut my computer down, when I noticed that a reply had come through, only minutes after I sent my message.
Okay.
And then a minute after that, a second one.
Name a place, I’ll be there.
*
“I have to say, this was unexpected.”
Lola leaned back in her chair, fingers wrapped around her to-go cup of coffee. Her mouth was set in a smile, her white-blond hair tousled on her head. Next to her, Cleo sat with her chin in her hand, observing me through her glasses. She too was smiling, but it did nothing to quell my nerves.
“I really appreciate you both meeting me.” I fiddled with the silicone lid on my travel mug. “And I promise not to take up too much of your time.” I bit my upper lip. Let out a breath. “Okay, well. The first thing I wanted to tell you both is that I care a lot about her.”
“Are you asking us for Franny’s hand?” Lola said with a laugh.
“No. I know Franny doesn’t want anything to happen between us, and I get that.” I sat up a little straighter, put on my best business-meeting face. “I just wanted to find out how she’s doing. Make sure she’s okay.”
“She’s okay,” said Lola. “Hanging in there.”
“It’s nice of you to check in on her,” Cleo said with a kind smile, followed by a sip of her tea. “I think it’s been a tough month, but her mom seems to be doing much better.”
“That’s good. I’m really glad to hear that.”
Cleo put her cup down and looked directly at me. “How are you doing, though?”
I shrugged. “Busy with work. We’re expanding to Seattle, and maybe San Diego, or somewhere in California. So that’s exciting.”
“I mean, with how you feel about Franny.” Cleo looked at me like she could read my thoughts. Lola nodded in agreement and then also turned her attention toward me.
My insides roiled. “Franny wants nothing to do with me, and I respect that. I can’t change how she feels. That’s not my place.”
“God, for someone so smart, you sure are dumb sometimes.” Lola’s eyes rolled, but she was looking at me with affection. “Trust me, she definitely wants ‘something to do with you.’”
She said the last words while waving her fingers in air quotes. A feeling deep inside me pinged with possibility, but I shoved it down.
“What I mean is, I know we’re done,” I said. “But I still care about her. That’s why I reached out to you both.”
“And because you want us to like you,” said Cleo. Her voice was so gentle that it almost masked that direct hit of her statement.