Lonely but Not Alone
My boyfriend Stephen and I lived in the same apartment building. We met on a Monday two years ago in the basement laundry room and had done our laundry together every week since. I could barely call Stephen my boyfriend because, aside from our weekly laundry sessions and the occasional Friday night dinner, we rarely saw each other. He was a workaholic and moving his way up the ladder at a prestigious marketing firm. He called his firm a creative agency, but really? they were a moneymaking agency. He spent way too much time dreaming up ways to convince clients to sell out and change the look of their products so everyone could make more money. He was dedicated and had drive, but his work schedule left little time for a girlfriend. We had more sex in that basement laundry room bent over a washer than in an actual bed.
That day, I left the Chicago Crier early to begin packing for my trip. Stephen met me in the basement at six, our usual time. We would switch off picking up dinner for each other—that week he picked up Thai food.
“Hey, how was your day?” I said as I leaned in to kiss him. Stephen was only a few inches taller than me, around five foot eight, but he had a much larger presence because of his confidence, which some people perceived as arrogance.
“Hi sweetie. My day was busy, and everybody is slamming their heads against the wall over the Copley account. I actually have to take a conference call in a few minutes,” he said as he handed me a food container. “Yellow curry, right?”
“Uh-huh.” He never asked me how my day went. I opened the lid and then immediately closed it. “Is this chicken?”
“Yeah, that’s what you like.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m a vegetarian, Stephen. I have been for ten years.”
“Yeah, but I thought you ate chicken.”
“Normally people don’t call themselves vegetarians if they eat chicken.”
“God, I’m sorry. I could have sworn I’ve seen you eat yellow curry before.”
“With tofu.”
“Well, I would offer you mine, but it has chicken in it, too,” he said as he pulled his buzzing phone from his pocket.
“I’ll just eat the rice.”
He held his finger to his mouth to quiet me before answering his phone. “Stephen Brooks. Yeah, I’ll take it. Hey, what’s up, man? Oh, you’re kidding, right? Two million. That’s what I told her.”
As Stephen continued his conversation, I wiped out the rice and began sorting the laundry. When I bent over, he moved behind me and pushed himself against me. I turned around to find him smirking.
I mouthed, You’re so dirty.
You’re so hot, he mouthed back.
Stephen was attractive in a clean-cut businessman kind of way. He was always clean-shaven. He had a dark receding hairline and dark brown eyes that looked almost black, and he wore only a suit or his gym clothes. He never dressed casually. I had on ripped jeans and a University of Illinois sweatshirt. We were mismatched in many ways, and although there was physical chemistry, I never felt like our relationship could grow beyond what it was. He had never introduced me to his family. On holidays he would go to his parents in the suburbs and I would go to Rose’s. We rarely spent time in each other’s apartments. After Rose died, I isolated myself even more, believing that I had to learn to be alone, so I never pushed things with Stephen. He never pushed for more, either. I stayed with Stephen because it was comfortable. I stayed with Stephen because he was nice and I thought he was all I had, but after two years, he was still bringing me yellow curry with chicken.
I jumped up to sit on the washer. When Stephen ended his call, he walked toward me but didn’t put his phone away; his head was down, staring at the screen. I parted my legs so he could stand closer. Without looking up, he raised a finger and said, “Hold on, I just have to shoot this text off.” It was amazing how lonely I could feel when I wasn’t alone. Sometimes when I was with Stephen, I felt even worse about my situation. I really had resigned myself to the fact that our relationship was mainly physical. It was just a release for both of us. Stephen had never read a single article I’d written. His excuse was that he liked to read business journals and sports articles. He wouldn’t even humor me.
“I’m going to California tomorrow for a story. It’s a huge one that Jerry has been trying to land for months.” He nodded, still staring at his phone. “Did you hear me? I’m going out of town tomorrow.”
He looked up and then leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on my lips. “Have a safe trip. I gotta take this call, Kate. I’m sorry. Will you bring my stuff up when it’s done? This is a really important call, a million-dollar account.” He kissed me again. I nodded then forced a smile. “Thanks, sweetie,” he said as he turned and headed for the basement door, taking his food with him.