Megan Hart - Flying

“Can we sit?” Craig points to a metal bench overlooking the water.

They sit. Their knees touch every so often as they turn toward each other. Stella keeps her hands in her lap so she won’t touch him.

She wants to touch him so much.

“Look,” he says finally, after long minutes in which neither of them speaks. “I know this is one of those things that is supposed to be wrong. But it doesn’t feel wrong. Does it.”

He makes it a statement, not a question, but she’d have answered the same way even if he had. “No. It should. I want it to.”

For a moment, Craig looks unsure and sad. Then he nods, as though her reply has made something clear that had previously been cloudy. “Do you want me not to call you anymore, Stella?”

This is not at all what she was expecting. It’s not what she wanted him to say, not what she wants to hear. The thought of it, of never talking to Craig again...of never seeing him... This is when Stella can’t pretend anymore that this friendship hasn’t gone too far, and she gets up on numb legs to take a stumbling step away from him.

Her voice is far away and cold. She’s made herself an automaton. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, I think that would be best.”

Craig looks stunned. Then he gets up from the bench. Neutrality slides across his expression, shutting her out, but she can’t let herself be upset. Stella lifts her chin. Tightens her jaw. Craig mirrors her stance.

He nods once, sharply. “Right. Okay, then. Well, Stella, thanks for lunch and...good...luck, I guess.”

“Goodbye,” Stella says, and does not offer her hand.

She watches him walk away from her, his back straight, shoulders square, but somehow, though not a single step he takes is in any way faltering, Craig is limping. There’s a moment when she sees herself run after him so clearly it takes her a minute to realize she hasn’t moved. Her hand’s raised, and Stella forces it back to her side.

She watches him climb the stairs to the sidewalk, and she waits for him to turn around, but he never does.

* * *

Hey, Stella typed quickly in the dark without letting herself think too hard about anything. Got your message, but it’s too late to call. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, if you’re free.

She settled the phone back into the dock and wriggled deeper into her pillows and blankets, her eyes at last closing. She was just drifting off to sleep when her phone lit up—it didn’t make a noise because of her Do Not Disturb settings, but the glare tickled her eyelids enough to wake her. She already knew who it was before she rolled to check. But even so, she smiled at the sight of Craig’s name.

Looking forward to it.

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