Page 29 of The Spider & the Storm

Grabbing two mugs from the cabinet, I replied, “I did that a few months ago.”

“Well, it’s excellent,” he said. “I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but you’re very talented.”

“More like a thousand times, but thank you.” I grabbed the canister of instant coffee packets. “Decaf?”

Ivan groaned before replying, “No, but … yeah. I have to be up early tomorrow. Going to Connecticut to check out some bakeries. Lyla and I both agree that a memorable cake is an absolutenecessity.”

Connecticut. My feet froze on their way to the kettle. My lungs stuttered and coughed. I wouldn’t ask. I wouldn’t demand an explanation as to why they were tasting cake in Connecticut and not Massachusetts when I was sure there were perfectly good bakeries here in Salem. But I wouldn’t draw attention to my anxiety and panic. Instead, I forced myself to think about how strange it was that Ivan was suddenly in a relationship while the ghosts of past broken hearts clawed their sharp, spectral nails up my throat.

“Maybe we should double date. Lyla has a younger—”

“Oh, no,” I interrupted, leaning my back against the counter and crossing my arms, grateful for this change in topic. “I’m thrilled for you; don’t get me wrong. But I don’t do that double-date stuff.”

“All right.” He smirked and lifted his shoulders. “I’m just saying, Lyla is quite the looker, and her sister is just as beautiful.”

The kettle whistled, and I poured the water into the two mugs. The black powder billowed in the clear water before being swallowed into darkness. The scent of strong, bitter instant coffee hung heavy in the air.

“Milk?”

My friend hummed with contemplation, then said, “No, but I’ll take some sugar if you have any.”

I took the jar of sugar down from off the fridge and carried it into the living room with Ivan’s mug and a spoon. I placed them on the end table next to the wingback chair he’d taken a seat in.

“Help yourself.”

“Thank you kindly, my good man.”

I went back to the kitchen to grab my own mug, and when I returned to the living room, Ivan had already begun sipping his coffee, then wincing and scrunching his nose.

“Oh Lord, that’s sweet as molasses,” he groused, smacking his lips and sucking his teeth. “Absolutely delightful.”

I sat in the identical wingback chair across from his and crossed one leg over the other as I leaned back. While Ivan might’ve liked his coffee to be full of enough sugar to rot his teeth from his skull, I preferred mine to bite at my tongue with the strength of its sharp, nutty flavor. So much that while it might’ve been decaffeinated, the taste alone was enough to keep me jolted awake for hours.

Whatever it took to keep the nightmares away.

For the next ten minutes, Ivan and I drank our coffee and talked about recent books we’d read. Neither of us had found anything quite worth recommending, so instead, we critiqued and nitpicked until our mugs were empty. Then, he stood with decorum and announced it was time to head home to his better half.

“I’ll give you a ride to your car,” I said, already grabbing my jacket and keys.

“You’re a gracious man, Chuck. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.”

“Nobody else tells me shit, Ivan,” I muttered as I opened the door. “And nobody in my life has ever had the balls to call me Chuck.”

Not even my worst enemy.

“You gonna cry, Charlie boy?”

Where the hell did that come from?

I resisted the urge to flinch at the never forgotten, but rarely thought about nickname as Ivan reached up and patted my cheek.

“That’s because nobody else has ever loved you like I do,” he said, smiling and making his round cheeks even rounder.

***

I pulled the utility truck into the lot near the front gate, where Ivan’s car was parked. He opened the passenger door and carefully dropped himself out, wincing when his feet hit the ground.

“How’s the hip doing?” I asked, offering an empathetic grimace.

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