[RECAP: Joanna is a married 34-year-old journalist, mother of two boys. At her son's school play she meets Alan, a rookie teacher of 27, and the two quickly hit it off, going on to establish a texting-based friendship fed by off-the-cuff jokes and an interest in theatre. He becomes for her an outlet of sorts in the face of a stressful job and a marriage strained by an episode of infidelity on her husband's part. The communication with Alan grows more and more intimate until it culminates one evening in an impromptu session of phone sex. Joanna and Alan are well attuned to each other's expectations, however, and are not about to let an incident that neither of them regrets make things complicated.]
Part 1: /s/he-she-is-typing
***
JOANNA
I'm at the mall, shopping for a present. There's a baby shower this Saturday for Pilar, one of the layout designers at the paper. She's the sweetest girl, about to have her first. I want to get her something she'll need, not just something she'll like. And here with me is Alan, holding up everything that he finds either cute or ridiculous, or both. At one point I figure he's had his hands on over half the store's merchandise. But in the end the suggestion that wins me over comes from him: a quick-trip diaper bag with magnetic closures and a translucent wipes case. That's Alan in a nutshell: at the core of the goofball there's a bubbling cleverness that's always ready for use. I wouldn't tell him this outright, but it adds to his charm. It's one more feather in his cap. Alan's a tall, burly young guy. Bearded, with smiling blue eyes and short, curly brown hair. Thick arms that fill up a short sleeve. A laid-back buddy-type who can be attractive when he wants to.
We've mentioned our phone session from that night here and there. We talk about everything and this has been no exception. It hasn't weighed things down. He does touch me more now; he's kissed my head to punctuate a condescending joke here, taken the liberty to arrange my hair in a casual manner there. My own hands end up on his arm or his hair every so often. There's a certain implicit promise that something could happen again at some point; and at the same time a certain peace with the possibility that it might not again, ever. It's my reading of it, at least. I'm fine with where the pieces have fallen and don't dwell on it any longer than I have to. With him, I get to feel like not everything is horribly unmanageable. I feel airy. It's been a while.
We get lunch. At 1 PM we're joined by Katie, my friend and coworker. She's heard plenty about Alan, but she doesn't know everything. Alan starts out trying hard with her, clearly hoping to make a shared friend out of her early in the game, but Katie's in a mood today and gives a challenge. A weird rapport develops. They enjoy trading jabs, but they'd find it hard to stand each other for long. If the lunch is fun it's because they communicate either with me or with one another through me.
At 3 PM Alan says goodbye, tell us he has grading to do. We don't schedule another meet-up right then. I know we'll later find an excuse for one.
"Take it easy, Katie. Smoking kills," he says on his way out, his jacket in hand.
"Bye. Have fun grading grammar or whatever," is Katie's retort.
"What's with the bitchy attitude today?" I ask in jolly tones once Alan disappears around the restaurant's corner.
"He gave me shit for smoking, he had it coming. Nice guy, though. Have you been out the whole morning?"
"Yeah, getting Pilar's present. Tough pregnant woman to shop for. But I also helped Alan pick out new shoes, first pair the guy buys in like a year. He was nearby for the farmer's market, so we met up." I get a mint candy into my mouth to stave off the cravings Katie's cigarette is giving me. "It was a fun morning. I wish you'd come earlier."
"Clingy dude?"
"Alan? Not at all, I was the one who asked."
"Huh. But he sure stayed past lunch."
"Well, that's the point of lunch. You have to finish it."
We bounce inbetween a variety of topics, as is our usual ritual, until we land on my marriage again. She's been a constant ear on which to dump my woes, so I feel I owe her details. Henry, my husband, has not made things easy. He'll drop hints that I'm not close enough, not present enough, and he'll succeed at what he's clearly hoping for, which is to guilt me. But when I do make myself available, his mode switches to cold, distant, dismissive. Sometimes offensive, in low-key ways. I can tell he's been feeling rejected and that the distancing that has occurred between us - a natural follow-up of my decision to stay after his cheating, and an absolute necessity on my end - has taken its toll. He must feel that I'm harboring resentment still. I can't say that he's wrong. But I've given as much as I've felt capable of. Often more than that. In the past Katie has understood that I need space and she's told me before, adamantly, that I should create as much of it as I need.
But her advice is different today. She asks me about Phillip from work. Has anything happened there? She's seen us flirt and I've told her about our risqué texting, which never went past that. There was a time when that felt like something we could joke about freely, and we've done plenty of that. Now she asks me bluntly... how far would I be willing to take it? Phillip is a non-issue for me at present, but as far as Katie knows, he represents the possibility of something from which there'd be no turning back. I know that if I were to tell her that I'm contemplating having an affair of my own, Katie wouldn't judge me. But she wouldn't pretend to approve, either. She's reached the point where she's worried about my decisions and hopes that I'll do the right thing for my family. Our rapport is often fun and games, goofy or raunchy jokes of the kind that we're too old for. But for this, she's perfectly capable of sobering up and allowing honesty to take over. That's something I have to appreciate.
...
ALAN
There was a time when I had to feel like a guest whenever I stepped inside the teacher's lounge. Now I get to eat yogurt and watch Youtube videos at full volume on my laptop while stretching my legs as far as they go. Also drink coffee from a randomly borrowed mug, which I'll wash after. Privileges of being a full-time staff member. Sergio, my coworker and roommate, is lying on the couch behind me, attempting a nap and failing because I'm making him talk to me. As I list my class's epic suggestions for the name of our new ficus ('Muchacho'; 'Sven'), the sight of one of Joanna's posts on my Facebook feed shuts me up. It's nothing extraordinary. Just her and a posse of coworkers posing in what I assume is the parking lot of the newspaper where she works. They look like a fun, intellectual bunch. I feel a quick pang of jealousy for anyone who gets to spend their working week with Joanna just a few desks away. She looks pretty and happy, second from the right, hand on her waist, her light brown hair ablaze with sunlight.
Overcome by a sudden thirst for more, I click on her photo album. I've been here only once before but couldn't bring myself to go through the whole thing. Her photos go back years, since her kids were newborns. Different hair styles, different hair shades of brown, but the same buxom physique, the same round face, button nose and long eyelashes, the same cute ears that slightly stick out. My eyes bounce quickly from one image to another, trying to absorb enough while not too much. I'm only looking for work stuff, friend stuff, and I don't want to be a creep. When I see her husband, however, I find it impossible to look away. Grey-haired but still youthful, handsome. The older pictures have her and him smiling together often. A hollow feeling has suddenly me wondering at the kind of man that Joanna would marry... the one that she did marry. With Sergio behind me, mumbling his sleepy words through closed eyes, I let what was supposed to be a quick glimpse into her pictures turn into click after click. I quickly regret it. A truth begins staring me in the face. I see, in so many pixels, that he's made her happy for years. It's easy to imagine how proud being her significant other would make him. Whatever connection I've believed she and I have... I see that their version of it is bigger, heightened, nourished by years together. They've laughed harder than we ever have, longer than we ever have. The memories they share mean more. I've been out shopping with her; he's given her children. It's tissue that will keep them connected for a lifetime. I feel tiny.
I close my tabs once a group of teachers comes bursting in. I've certainly had enough for today. Something comes to the forefront of my mind: a quick mention she once made, weeks ago, about the "walking on eggshells" she has had to do at home. I wish I knew more. I wish she had said more. If she were to touch on the subject again, however, I'm not sure what I'd want to hear.
...
JOANNA
Phillip's got his eye on me. We're at the sushi bar across the street from our office, along with a dozen coworkers. The spot was picked as the site to celebrate the birthday of Walter, sports writer extraordinaire. Japanese liquor soon replaced sushi as the main course. They've now gotten to their seventh round, just as I'm about to leave. Phillip sent me his first text before I even arrived - then a few more followed during the party, with me just seats away from him. I met his gaze a couple of times to acknowledge my being aware of him. I wait until a trip to the bathroom to finally read them.
PHILLIP: I'll be seeing you at Walter's thing, yes? [5:22 PM]
PHILLIP: It's been a while. [5:22 PM]
PHILLIP: Jo, you look gorgeous today. I know a stealth twirl for my benefit is too much to ask for. But a guy can dream? [5:53 PM]
I brace myself for the long, serious-looking one.
PHILLIP: I'll come clean. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. Your desk is the first thing I take a look at when I arrive at the office in the morning. It seems like just yesterday that we were fantasizing together... and we both seemed game for the ride. Am I wrong about that? [6:35 PM]
These lines shed new light on the glances and attention he's been throwing my way all evening. I feel bad about not reading them earlier... but not excessively. With Phillip it's been clear what he's after from the start. He's a "his reputation precedes him" kind of guy. He remains single by choice, he's a player, drama is not his thing. Our texted conversations have remained strictly in a certain line ever since I first started encouraging them, and he's never made the effort to steer them away from that, even when I did. Still, I'm well aware of my part in leading him on.
I come out of the ladies' room and there he is. Leaning against the wall of this tight restroom alley, pretending to text on his phone. He then looks up at me with a smile, thus acknowledging the fakeness of his pose. It's charming. Getting chuckles from people comes easy to Phillip. It's the reason he's friends with everybody, and the reason I liked him.
