Something Warm and Familiar (aka Stella's Blog)

“Right now, if things were different, I’d be trying not to text you or call you too soon. But I’d be dying to see you again. I am dying to see you. And you’re sitting right next to me.” 

~ Stella to Maggie, in The Match

I mentioned to a co-worked yesterday - after he'd asked me how "the writing" was going - that I hadn't been writing any fiction but I'd really been missing Stella and Maggie, the protagonists in my novels. I'm not sure why I confided something so - I don't know - weird to him. He's a young guy, an aspiring barber and musician, but he's seemed to get me and like me from Day 1 so I guess I figured the risk was minimal. What was the worst that would happen? He'd think I was odd? Let's be honest. He probably already thinks that. And he likes me anyway.

So, yeah... I said what I said. Then Julian said something so profound I could hardly believe it - "Maybe your readers are missing them, too." Whoa. What?

And maybe y'all are. Or maybe a few of you weren't around last year and never had a chance to buy and read my novels. Maybe in addition to existing fans, maybe there are new ones out there who haven't even met Maggie and Stella yet. I've only sold (and given away) a handful of copies of the novels so it stands to reason that there a seriously jillions of people who haven't read them. Regardless if you're currently a pre-fan or a Team Maggie/Team Stella mainstay, I hope you'll keep reading.

This isn't a blog like most of my other ones. No diatribe about life or moving or travel or running or the sorry state of my mental health. Nope, this one is dedicated exclusively to Stella and Maggie. When Julian made his grand statement yesterday, I had no idea what I was going to do. I figured I might start a continuation of their story or make them lesser characters in someone else's story. All I did know is that I needed to spend some time with them.

When I grabbed the earliest draft of The Match from the bottom shelf of my bookcase (I saved every copy of every draft I ever printed), I assumed it would be either a band-aid or an inspiration. I didn't much care which; I just needed something to read while doing cardio at the gym this morning. The draft included not just "Maggie's Story" (The final short story written for my Master's project) but its follow-up, the story I set out to write because I hadn't written any thing in ages and I needed something warm and familiar to buoy my confidence. That story - Stella's Story - told the story of Maggie and Stella's meeting and first date from - you guessed it - Stella's perspective. The friends I shared it with loved hearing both sides and encouraged me to keep going. I took their advice and, two and half years later, I published their complete story, affectionately known as "The Match Trilogy."

Without further ado... Here is something warm and familiar, replete with Stella's foul language and her usual unflappability flapping gloriously in the wind.

If you've read Game, the first book of The Match Trilogy, you'll notice I made a few changes before we got to the final published draft. I hope you will enjoy this story, Stella's first thoughts about Maggie, before my editor and I got out our red pens. 

Stella’s Story

            It began, for me, on one of the worst days of my life. Six months later and still unable to shake the nightmares, I found my way back to St. Teresa’s and Father Nick DeLeon. Usually I coped by burying myself in my work, but this time was different. I tried traditional therapy, took a sleep study, smudged with sage, even momentarily experimented with Buddhist meditation, and still the nightmares continued. Now, I suppose I called myself a “Catholic”, a strictly whiskey kind of non-practicing one - I hadn’t been to mass in ages. And yet, one bright and sunny Tuesday in late summer, I sat crying in the parking lot of St. Teresa’s Catholic Church. It took fifteen minutes to work up the courage to go inside.

            “Hello? Father Nick are you here?” I called from the vestibule.

            “In the office,” I heard Nick say. He quickly emerged from the office.

            “Stella? What are you doing here?”

He must have seen the tears in my eyes because before I could answer, he asked, “Are you ok?”

            “Not really. Can you hear my confession?”

            I had never felt the need to confess. I couldn’t count the number of sins I had committed in the eyes of the Catholic Church, but somehow this was different. Once a Catholic, always a Catholic.

            When we emerged from the confessional, I felt changed. My spirit was light. I smiled.

            “Damn, Catholic guilt. But that God of yours, Nick, he did the trick.”

            “Stella, it’s always more you than God. Remember that.”

            “Well, regardless, thank you.”

I shook his hand and turned to leave. Something stopped me. I had an idea, the idea that would eternally change my life.

            “You playing any tennis, Father Nick?”

            Once upon a time, Nick had been a solid collegiate player. Had he not chosen to enter the priesthood, he could have joined me on the pro circuit and had a decent career. I’d long dreamed of playing mixed doubles with him.

            “I’ve been hitting around with a few of the parishioners on occasion, but nothing serious.”

            “So, my country club is having a Bring-A-Ringer tournament next month. We should play mixed. Even with you being out of practice, we could do some damage.”

            “I don’t know, Stella.” Nick hesitated. “My weekends are so busy here.”

            “Christ, Nick. You need to get out of this stuffy old church. Breathe some air. Experience the real world.”

            “Your country club is the “real world”?”

            “Very funny. What do you say? Play with me. Worst case, it’ll be fun. Best case, we kick some ass.”

~~

Nick and I breezed through two rounds on Saturday and made it to Sunday’s final. As we took the court, I was as relaxed as I’d ever been on tennis court. Nick and I were playing seamless doubles and if we played half as well as we had the day before, this one was in the bag.

“I wish you’d have let me buy you something to wear from this decade,” I laughed as we warmed up our ground strokes. “No one wears…”

I hesitated. Old Grimes Jackson, a fixture on the Little Rock tennis scene for decades, approached our court with a beautiful dark haired woman on his arm. They took a seat in the second row of the bleachers near the back of our court.

“No one wears what?” Nick broke through my reverie.

“White,” I said as I swung and missed an easy forehand.

“Ha! God gotcha. Don’t be ugly. These are classic tennis whites.”

Focus, I remember telling myself as we spun rackets to decide who would serve first. You’ve seen pretty women before. Focus, dammit, Stella focus. We must have won the toss and  elected to serve. They wanted to switch sides.

“You want to lead us off?” Nick asked as we walked to the other side of the court.

“Huh? What? Yeah, sure.”

My heart raced as I walked toward the baseline to serve. The mysterious woman was right there. Right there. Just a few feet away. I willed myself not to look at her.

I double faulted once, then a second time to start the match. I was tight, like finals of Wimbledon tight. I didn’t like the feeling one bit. I had a reputation for being unflappable. Ice cold. They said I made people nervous, so what in the Hell was this?

“You ok, Stell?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Ok, I’ll bring out the Eraser. Up the middle. Be ready for an easy volley.”

I jogged back to the baseline. I stole a glance. Just then she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Fuck, Stella. Double faulting this match away is not going to impress her. Jesus, I want to impress her? Just hit the fucking serve.

Somehow I pulled myself together and played so-so. Nick played excellent and kept us in the match. We won in two and the small crowd that had gathered dispersed. Except for Dr. Jackson and his companion. They stood and moved toward the gate.

Get it together, Stell, I thought, as Dr. Jackson called out to us.

“Congrats, my boy! Great match, Stella!” Dr. Jackson called out as he clapped Nick on the shoulder.

            “Grimes Jackson? It is you! It’s been years! Nick, I didn’t know you and Grimes were acquainted!” I said.    

I took Dr. Jackson’s extended hand and pulled him into a hug.

            “Good to see you, Stella! I was surprised when Nick told me y’all were playing together.”

            “Believe it or not, I used to go to St. Teresa’s every once in a while when I first moved to Little Rock. I’m more of a whisky Catholic these days, but I know where my roots are, don’t I, Father Nick?”

            I tried to keep my eyes scope-locked on Dr. Jackson. I didn’t dare look at the gorgeous woman who hung back a little from our group.

            Out of the corner of my eye I saw her brush a strand of hair out of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. It was a small movement, a reflex really, but it struck me as almost sensual.

            I heard Nick’s voice say, “We bumped into each other not too long ago.”

            Speak, Stella, speak.

“Yeah, Nick helped me with a situation I was going through and I suggested we hit a few balls together. I’m telling you, Nick’s too good a player to be holed up in that church all the time. Utmost respect and all. But he needs some kind of life.”

            “I couldn’t agree more,” Dr. Jackson chimed in.

            At that point, Nick and Dr. Jackson turned to the woman. She looked from me to them, then turned to look at me.  My heart beat so hard I thought everyone would be able to feel the vibration.

            “Where are my manners,” Nick said. “Stella, this is my friend…”

            “Maggie,” the woman said. “I’m Maggie.”

            I extended her hand. Our eyes met.

            Maggie.

            She wore no makeup and yet her beauty stunned me. Her touch was electric. I knew I needed to speak.

            “You play tennis, Maggie?” I asked.

            What did you just say? “I carried a watermelon”? Fucking brilliant. Why am I so nervous?

Dr. Jackson answered proudly. “Our Maggie here is a runner. A good one, too. ”

            Somehow I managed to carry on a conversation. I didn’t want to let the moment go. I lived close by so I invited everyone back to my house. I was desperate. I imagined I’d never see her again. She wasn’t a tennis player and I wasn’t a runner. I wanted more time with her. Needed more time with her. Needed. I rarely needed anything. Sadly, they declined and we parted ways.

~~

            I fumbled my way through the next couple days. I was uncharacteristically unfocused at work, then I went for a run Tuesday evening to clear my head. A run? What was I thinking? Running made me think of her. “Our Maggie here is a runner…” Finally, Tuesday evening I called my good friend, Addie, in Austin. We usually texted so she immediately knew something was up.

            “What happened? Did something happen again?”

            “No. Well, yes. I don’t know.” I stammered.

            “Is it yes or no? Stell, are you ok?”

            “I met someone.”

            “That’s great! Where, when, how? Who is she?”

            “Maggie. Her name is Maggie.” I loved how her name felt on my lips. I quickly told her the story.

            “You’re going to see her again.” It was a statement, not a question.

            “How am I going to do that? She’s probably not even a lesbian. Hell, she hangs out with old Dr. Jackson and a priest. That doesn’t scream ‘I’m a lesbian’.”

            “Regardless, there is something magnetic between you two. You need to explore that.”

            “There’s something magnetic for me. She probably doesn’t remember my name.”

            “Call her.”

            “How am I supposed to do that?”

            “Lord, and I thought I was out of practice. Ask Father Nick. Duh.”

            “And what do I say? ‘Hi, Nick. I’m hot for your friend, Maggie. Can I get her phone number?””

            “Do I have to do everything? Lie. You said she’s a runner? Tell Nick you need running advice and ask for her number. Boom.”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Stella, you’re going to drive yourself crazy if you don’t see her again.”

            “Alright. Fuck. Alright, I’ll do it.”

            I clicked off and went behind my bar to find a bottle of tequila. I pulled out a shot glass and poured an extra large shot. I didn’t have any lime, but I didn’t care. I cued up Nick’s number. I took the shot in one gulp and let the heat drive its way into my soul. Nick didn’t bat an eye when I asked. Two minutes later Maggie’s phone number stared at me from the back of a Chinese takeout menu. It took almost twenty-four hours to work up the courage to use it.

~~

            I’d been single a long time. All by choice. My last relationship ended miserably. We were together two years and I found out she’d been cheating on me almost as long. I was devastated so I did the only thing I knew to do - I threw myself into my work and my tennis game. When I got recruited to join a new company as head of human resources, I gladly took it. A new scene and a new purpose would help and I was right. Plus my tennis game improve immeasurably. My sectional ranking rose and I got to the finals of a USTA national event. Now, at forty-six, I was in a good place. Life wasn’t without its challenges – I’d sought out Father Nick for a reason – but I was happy.

            I enjoyed my single life. I could come and go as I pleased. I had no accountability to anyone except myself. If I needed or wanted to stay late at work, I could. If I wanted to play an extra set or meet someone for drinks after tennis, I could. I wasn’t interested in dating.

I was good, better than good. So what was I doing nearly coming apart at the seams as I pondered what to say to the woman I hadn’t stopped thinking about since the moment I first saw her? Damn, that Dr. Jackson.

~~

            “Hi Maggie. It’s Stella. Nick’s doubles partner. Remember we met the other night? Nick gave me your number. I need some advice about running and I thought you might be able to help me.” Sixteen maybe seventeen drafts and that was the best text message I could come up with. I sat in the conference room waiting for a meeting to start. As Dave, the Director of Operations began to speak, I hit sent.

            Bombs away.

            I put my phone face down on the table and tried to make sense of the budget numbers Dave droned on and on about. My phone vibrated. My breath caught and my heart sank into my abdomen. Gingerly, I turned my phone over to see the alert on the screen.

            Fuck. I exhaled perhaps a bit too loudly. An email update from my assistant. Stella, she has a life. Settle down.

            My phone buzzed and vibrated no less than nineteen times throughout the rest of the day until finally a little after 7pm, the text I’d been waiting for arrived. “Hi Stella. It’s Maggie.” I tried to breathe. I didn’t want to seem over-anxious so I started a fire in the fire place and sank into my favorite chair. Tennis Channel played soundlessly on the TV. I replied. So did she. Over and over.. Until after 3am. She finally signed off saying she had to be up in a few hours to run. I read our conversation again and again until I finally fell asleep.

            It took everything I had not to text her first thing in the morning. I immersed myself in work and managed a passable workout after work. On the way home from the gym, I called Addie.

            “What do I do now?”

            “Are you kidding me right now? Ask her out.”

            “We talked about a lot of stuff but never sexual preference. What if she’s not a lesbian?”

            “She stayed up until when? 3am? Texting you. Gay, straight, or bisexual she’s interested.”

            “I’m dying to see her.”

            “Only one way to accomplish that, sweet pea.”

            Addie was right. Damn, Addie. Two shots of tequila later and the dye was cast. “Meet me for dinner tomorrow night?” Ten minutes later her replay came. “Ok. Absolutely. When and where?”

~~

            I suggested Senor Tequila’s on Cantrell at seven o’clock the next evening. I had my usual Friday match with my hitting partner, Donna, at five. We usually finished by 6:30 so I could get in a good hit, shower, change, and get to the restaurant in plenty of time. It was perfect in theory only. From the first ball, I knew I was in trouble. I couldn’t hit water if I fell out of boat. I wasn’t watching the ball and my feet weren’t moving. I was utterly distracted. Is it a date? Is it friendship? I’ll see her in an hour and half. I’ll see her in an hour. I lost 6-3, 6-0 and headed to the locker room earlier than expected.

            “I’m gonna run, Donna,” I explained. We often hung out and chatted awhile.

            “What’s the rush? Hot date?”

            “I hope so.” God, I hope so.

            I hit the door of the restaurant at 6:50 and made a beeline for the bar. If I was lucky, I could have a shot or maybe two before she arrived. As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and neon, I saw the figure of a slim woman leaning on the bar. Her back was to me, but as she reached up to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes I knew. It was Maggie.

            Maggie.

            Say something. Get her attention.

            “Getting a head start, I see?”

            She froze an instant then I heard a shot glass hit the bar. She turned and her eyes met mine.

            “Yep. Want one?”

            I was done and undone. Completely.

~~

            What seemed like five minutes later, the manager kicked us out of the restaurant and we were standing in the parking lot. I leaned on my car. Maggie stood facing me. Strangely we never spoke about sexuality, but it was like we knew and didn’t need to voice it. To the depths of my soul, though, this was a date, an amazing best-first-date-ever kind of date. And I didn’t want the evening to end.

            “Is that you?” I said looking at an older Mercedes, the only other car left in the lot.

            “All those years teaching math and coaching cross country and that’s all I have to show for it,” she chuckled.

            “Are you running in the morning?” I asked trying desperately to keep the conversation going.

            “Yes, ma’am. Every morning.”

            “Then you should probably get going.” No. No. No. No. Please stay. Please don’t walk away. My heart pounded in my chest.

            “Yeah, I guess I should.”

            She pulled her keys from her pocket and took a step toward her car.  I’d gone the entire evening without touching her.  Not her hand. Not her arm. Nothing. The pull was so strong; I knew that once I touched her I wouldn’t want to let go; it took everything I had not to.  

But now, she was going to walk away, out of reach, get in her car, and drive away. I had to do something. I reached out and grabbed her arm. Electricity sizzled through me. She turned toward me, her face inches from mine. My lips touched hers. My tongue gently parted her lips as I felt her body respond. She leaned into me as I pulled her closer.

            An instant later, she ran out of my arms and across the parking lot.

            “Maggie!” I called out. She got in her car and sped away.

~~

            I stood in stunned silence. I thought I read it right, read her right. I’d never been that far off.

            “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” I said probably louder than I should have as I got in my car.

I had no idea what to do or where to go. One moment I was kissing a beautiful woman after arguably the best date I’d ever had and the next I was sitting alone in my car with the sky falling down around me.

I dialed Maggie’s number. I wanted to talk to her, explain, apologize. Words come easy to me, but when her voice mail picked up, I went dumb. I banged my head on the steering wheel. I started the ignition and headed for home. There was nowhere else to go. I tried her number once more as I walked in the door. Still no answer and I still didn’t know what to say. Sorry? What the fuck? Nothing seemed right.

The exhilaration of the evening reformed itself into a biting anxiety. I was tired, my body was exhausted, but there was no way my mind was going to sleep. I grabbed the blanket from the back of my couch and two Coronas from the fridge and settled into the swing on my back deck. I pulled the blanket closer around me – Had the night grown colder? - and guzzled down half a beer.

            Tears brimmed my eyes. Good thing the guys at work couldn’t see me now. They thought I was so tough. Steel and ice. And here I was crying over some girl I barely knew. Some girl. Some girl.

            “What the Hell, God? You send this amazing woman my way and what? Make her run away from me? What’s the fucking lesson behind that?”

            I drank a few more beers and cursed God a little more. I must have fallen asleep because I woke with a start. I fumbled for my phone.

            “Please let there be a message from her. Please…”

            No message.  A tear slid down my cheek.

            It was almost six. The sun would come up soon. A new day would dawn. I assessed my level of sobriety and found my car keys. The last time I had cried, I’d run to Father Nick. Maggie was his friend. Maybe he could shed some light on the situation.

            I drove the thirty minutes to St. Teresa’s. As I pulled in the dark parking lot, I could make out the silhouette of a car. I didn’t think anything of it. I made my way to the rectory and knocked on the door. No answer. I banged harder.

            “Nick!! Nick! Wake up!”

            When he didn’t answer, I surveyed the church grounds. Maybe he got up early and went to his office. The heavy church doors moaned as I pulled them open. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, a figure emerged from the shadows.

            “Nick, is that you?”

            “Stella?”

            “Sorry to bother you so early. When you didn’t answer at the rectory, I tried the doors. Do you have a minute?”

            Nick ushered me toward his office and gestured for me to take seat. He sat in the chair opposite and leaned forward. He eyes were sleepy, but serious. I charged right in before he could ask.

            “Oh, Nick. I fucked up. I went out with Maggie last night. It was great. So great. She’s great,” I stammered.

            “And…?”

            “And then she ran away.” My eyes burned with tears.

            He pulled a Kleenex from a box on his desk and handed it to me. Nick leaned back in his chair and exhaled deeply.

            “She’s going to kill me for telling you this…” He paused.

            “What? She’s married? Straight?”

            “Oh, Stella, she’s none of that,” he smiled as if at a private joke. The smile quickly faded.

            “What then? I’m dying here, Nick.”

            “Stell… She’s a nun.”

            I struggled for breath.

            “A nun? Holy Jesus.”

            “Sister Mary Margaret. I’m sorry. I thought she would have told you. ‘Come out’ in Grimes’ words.”

            So that was that. Maggie, beautiful Maggie, was a nun. It sure explained a lot. I fought to contain my disappointment. I’d never experienced “love at first sight” but I was pretty sure Maggie was the closest I would ever come. I stood to leave.

            “Could you tell her to call me or text me? I really want to apologize to her. And tell her what I great time I had last night.”

            “Why don’t you tell her yourself?”

            “She’s here?”

            There was no escape. I would have to face her. I wasn’t going to get away with an easy “Hey, didn’t realize you took a vow of chastity when I kissed you” text. I followed Nick out his office door.

            ‘Someone is here to see you,” Nick called as I walked down the aisle. Maggie was in the first pew. I sat down next to her.

            “Looks like everyone is up pretty early this morning,” I said forcing a laugh.

            Maggie turned to face me. Her lips curled into a wry smile. How I wanted to kiss those lips again.

“You should have told me last night.”

Shock registered on her face before she realized that Nick had told me.

“But if I had…” She looked away.

“But if you had…?

“I don’t expect you to understand, Stella. I became a nun because I had a calling. It’s the only thing I ever wanted to be. Well, and a cross country coach. What I told you last night about my grandmother was the truth. She was my rock. She encouraged me. She would have been so proud. I did my novitiate. Took my vows. Life went on as intended. And then it all changed. All that about Katrina and the earthquake in Haiti was true. I lost my faith, completely. That’s how I met Nick. In an online chat room for atheist clergy. That’s how I know him and why we are so close.”

I did understand. I’d lived a lie at various points in my life. Hell, even now, my co-workers had no idea about my sexuality. I kept it a secret because I couldn’t risk showing them any weakness.

“You could have told me,” I said.

“And then what? We’d have had dinner and gone home by 8:30?”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” I admitted. I didn’t know what I would have done.

“You wouldn’t have kissed me.”

“Yeah, probably not. Father Nick’s beautiful friend, Maggie, yes. Sister Mary Margaret, no.”

“That kiss…,” her voice trailed off.

“Maggie, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Please don’t be.”

We sat in silence.

“That was the best first date I’ve been on in ages,” I said.  It was actually a lie – it was the best first date I’d ever been on.

“Ha! Me, too,” she joked.

“Right now, if things were different, I’d be trying not to text you or call you too soon. But I’d be dying to see you again. I am dying to see you. And you’re sitting right next to me.”

“Thanks for not hating me,” Maggie said as I got up to leave.

I couldn’t stay sitting there next to her and not touch her. Leaving was the only option. nonetheless I felt strangely alive. I whispered a prayer of thanks. I mean, why not be thankful?

~~

            I drove home and climbed into bed. I shot Addie a text to call me when she got up, but I knew I had a few hours before she rolled out of bed. I closed my eyes and I hoped for dreamless sleep. It would have been unbearable to dream of Maggie only to wake to a reality she couldn’t be a part of. I wondered if I’d ever see her again.

            My phone buzzed on the night stand. A text message.

            “Oh, thank God. Addie. You’re up early. I really need you right now.”

            I turned over the phone to see the message.

            “Hi Stella. It’s Maggie.”

            I sat up and stared at my phone. Hi Stella. It’s Maggie. I read it over and over again. I didn’t know what it meant, but I immediately sent a message back.

            “Hi Maggie. It’s Stella.”

            “Too soon?”

            “Not a chance”

            “Truth?”

            “Always”

            “I’m dying to see you.”

            “Me, too.”

            That was just over a year ago. It hasn’t always been easy, but through it all I’ve tried to remember one thing. Even on the worst day, there is reason for hope. After all, one of the worst days of my life led to where I am right now – waiting for Maggie to get home from her morning run. There isn’t any place I’d rather be.