Rob looked back at him, not offering an explanation.
“No, I have to get home now. But thanks for the offer,” Everett said, before realizing he was thanking a stranger for inviting him to dinner at his own parents’ house.
“No problem,” Rob said with a smile. “I’ll let Miranda know you stopped by.”
Everett nodded. “Go ahead and do that.”
And then he walked onto the porch and shut the door. The night had turned cold, but in that pleasant early-fall way that people liked to describe as “crisp.” You could wear a jacket, but you didn’t need a hat. Couples walked down the street with their dogs, headed for Goodale Park, and parents trailed kids on scooters. As if to complete the picture, a single leaf twirled down from the sky and landed at Everett’s feet.
As he picked up the leaf and spun it around, a rogue feeling shocked him. Something he wasn’t sure he’d experienced ever, or at least not recently. He was struck with the sudden desire to share this moment with someone, to be one half of one of the couples walking down the street, to be holding on to both a hand and a leash, to point out his observations about this night to another human being, instead of saving them in his head with hopes of using them on some episode of the show that discussed seasons.
He shook his head and walked down the stone steps. These emails. They were doing things to him.
20
Dear Theodora,
You have my word that I would never, ever judge your chassé. Mostly because I don’t know what that is. To be honest, it sounds too inappropriate for what is technically my work email, so I’ll change the subject.
Regarding the “shouldn’t thirty-year-olds have their lives figured out?” question: well, that’s hard for me to say. After all, you’re talking to a freak of nature who’s been interested in puppetry since the tender age of four. I realize that’s not necessarily normal.
The breakup happened four years ago, which seems both like a lifetime away and like yesterday. She’s married with a kid now, and honestly, I’m happy that she finally got what she wanted, even if it wasn’t with me.
Good job telling your shitty ex no. So what else is happening on the “do one thing every day that scares you” front? Have you skydived yet? Bungee jumped? Watched Human Centipede?
Of note: I’m halfway through the second Alice book. I am scandalized that Pamela’s bikini top fell off at the beach.
In rapture, sort of,
Everett
Teddy flushed. She couldn’t stop flushing, because this email was one giant recipe for a full-body flush. She knew Everett’s sign-off was a reference to the book he was reading (Alice in Rapture, Sort Of), but . . . he was reading the Alice books? He was reading an (admittedly genius) series of books aimed at preteen girls in the eighties and nineties just because she’d mentioned them once? She pictured Everett sitting in a chair, his big fingers turning those tiny paperback pages.
It wasn’t an altogether bad image. She smiled, then frowned.
Before the emails, she would have said she had a crush on Everett St. James the way someone might have said they had a crush on Chris Evans, in the way where they simply enjoyed watching him on-screen and spent little time considering his personal life.
But that was not how she felt now. Now she had a living, breathing crush on Everett St. James, the real kind, the kind where she imagined him reading her favorite childhood books, smiled at his emails, and wondered what he was doing at any given moment. Everett St. James, the man who no doubt had plenty of women (and not only married moms, although who knew? Maybe married moms were his thing!) at his disposal. Everett St. James, who’d known what he wanted to do since he was four years old. Everett St. James, who certainly couldn’t ever be attracted to a woman who didn’t know what she wanted, even if he was very kindly humoring her via email.
No, Teddy thought, there’s no way this is going to end well.
She closed her email and opened a tab to watch the latest episode of Everett’s show. She didn’t know how far in advance they were filmed; had he made this since they’d been talking? Or, rather, emailing? Was the Everett on-screen aware of who she was, even if he didn’t really know her?
She was smiling as Everett talked to an owl puppet when Kirsten walked by her open door.
Teddy slammed her laptop shut, and Kirsten tilted her head. “Oh, Teddy, no need to hide anything here.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” Teddy said, sitting up straight.
“I’m not going to judge whatever weird porn you were watching with the door open,” Kirsten said. “This is a judgment-free zone.”
“I wasn’t watching—” Teddy started.
“I’m just glad you’re happy,” Kirsten said before Teddy could explain. “Eleanor? You ready?”
Eleanor breezed past Kirsten and into the room. With the three of them there, even with Teddy sitting on the bed, the room was pretty much at capacity.
“Why are you wearing your sparkly skirt?” Teddy asked, pointing to Eleanor’s sequin-covered silver miniskirt that she’d paired with maroon tights and a denim jacket. “Are you going on a date or something?”
Teddy hadn’t been living with the girls long, but she already knew that the sparkly skirt was Eleanor’s “going out” attire.
Eleanor shook her head as if she was offended. “No. Well, maybe a friend date. We’re going to karaoke!”
“I can’t do that,” Teddy said immediately.
Eleanor and Kirsten looked at each other and then back at Teddy. “What do you mean, you can’t? Are you, like, physically unable to sing?” Kirsten asked.
“Is this a vocal cord issue?” Eleanor asked with concern.
By all accounts, Teddy Time was going swimmingly. Teddy mentally ticked off the list. Emailing Everett? Check. Going to Jazzercise? Check. Confronting the fact that she’d actually loved Jazzercise? Big check. Having a conversation with Kirsten about her and the Viking’s sex life? Check, check, and check.
She was doing it! She was moving out of her comfort zone, and she had the sore calves to prove it! But this . . . this was perhaps a bridge too far.
“I’m not a karaoke person,” Teddy said firmly.
“Untrue!” Eleanor said, a finger in the air as if she were bringing up an important point. “That’s because everyone is a karaoke person.”
“There are two types of people,” Kirsten said. “Those who love karaoke and those who don’t know they love it yet.”
She and Eleanor nodded in sync.