“Listen to me. I hope you’ve heard it plenty of times before, but it’s okay to not be okay. And it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, you crying. So I don’t want you to worry. I’m totally fine with emotionalism,” Tallie said, her voice soft and sweet as that pink polish.
“Do you have to work tomorrow? I’m assuming you have a job,” Emmett said. Sniffed.
“I do have a job. I have the day off tomorrow, though.”
“What do you do?”
“What do you do?” she asked.
Emmett sniffed again. His throat was thick and wobbly. Hot. He wiped his nose.
“I’ve worked a lot of places,” he said.
“But not anymore?”
“Not anymore.”
“I teach high school. English. I scheduled tomorrow off so I could have a break from teenagers,” she said. She drank some wine, put the glass down. Picked it up again and finished it, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb.
“Easy, tiger,” he said.
“Ha! Why do men think women can’t hold their alcohol? It’s like you guys depend on us being weak and vulnerable even when we’re not. You’re drinking tonight, but I can’t?”
“I’m sorry. I was only kidding. Really. I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t seem vulnerable. Maybe you should behave more like it, but you don’t,” he said.
“Wait…I should?”
“Hell, yeah. You invite a stranger…a man to your house? A suicidal stranger. I know you can’t stop thinking about that part. Look at me. I’m not all there up here, apparently,” he said, pointing to his head. “I could be anyone.”
“And so could I.”
“Yeah, but it’s different and you know it.”
“Okay, so…want to arm-wrestle?” she asked, squinting.
（The blue mood of the room flashes and catches the light. Prism-quick.）
They got on the floor, cross-legged, with the coffee table between them. She put her elbow on the wood.
“Drunk arm wrestling,” he said.
“You expected something else entirely when you woke up this morning.”
His eyes still burned from crying, his temples throbbed.
“I did,” he said. “And I’m left-handed, so you have the advantage here.”
“Yes, a southpaw. I noticed,” she said, grabbing his hand. “I should warn you that I can handle myself.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
He wrapped his hand around hers, the pales of their wrists kissed. Tallie counted to three. He put up a decent fight before letting her win, and she knew it. She didn’t say it, but he knew she knew. She stayed there on the floor and so did he. Quietly, they watched the Giants pitcher retire another batter and another before winning the game.
So it was official.
He’d wait.
When Tallie said she was getting sleepy, she showed him how to unlock the front door if he needed to get out for fresh air. Told him he was welcome to anything in the kitchen.
“I have lots of snacks,” she said, pointing to the pantry. “And I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer.”
“Thank you. And is it okay if I use your computer if I promise not to nose around?” he asked. Her slim laptop sat on the coffee table—a glowing silver island on that cherrywood ocean.
“Of course. Feel free,” she said. “Good night, Emmett.”
“Good night, Tallie.”
Emmett watched her walk down the hallway, go into the laundry room, then her bedroom, and close the door. He listened for the click of the lock. When he heard it, he opened her computer and broke his promise.
Tallie was logged in to her ex-husband’s Facebook account for stalking purposes, like she’d said. Joel had to know Tallie stayed logged in, snooped around. Probably wanted her to. Emmett clicked through Joel’s messages first. Found some from Tallie. Her profile pic was of her with Jim the cat held next to her face. She had her hair pulled on top of her head; her lips were a cranberry red. She looked pretty. Her full smile wasn’t a total surprise like some other people’s. It was natural, as if her face preferred it to frowning. He liked that she wasn’t one of those people whose profile pics didn’t look like them, the people who used all sorts of filters and camera-angle tricks to lie to the world. Tallie looked like Tallie.
Emmett had finished his glass of wine and was drunk enough to stop drinking. He was now in a happily tipsy state he would live in, if possible. He made himself more comfortable on the couch. Tallie had also given him a new pack of boxer shorts and a cozy, thick navy-blue cardigan sweater that Joel had never worn. Still had the tags on it. She’d taken a small pair of gold stork scissors from the kitchen drawer and cut them off. He loved it on his arms, so heavy and warm. He snuggled into it more, put his feet up on the coffee table, the laptop screen robot-glowing his face as he read Joel’s messages. The most recent one from Tallie was written over the summer.