Angela

The Lexington Avenue Candy Shop was one of those places Ripley didn’t realize possessed regulars. You could hardly see inside as there were dozens of old glass Coke bottles sitting inside the windows. It was a little kitschy, or it was just old. If she had ever actually bothered to enter, she would have discovered that the place was packed with clientele, tables and booths lining the perimeter of the space, and stools by a bar in the center. It smelled wonderful inside, an artificial sweetness that wasn’t overbearing. It was loud and busy like any other restaurant, but the noise was an organized rhythm rather than the sound of harsh business. The people here were happy, and they lingered.

Ripley helped Angela lower herself into one of the booths. Her pale hand clenched Ripley’s forearm, leaving slight indents from her nails in the sleeve of her blouse. “They still make Cokes the original way here, you know,” Angela said. “They mix it at the counter. It tastes so much better that way.”

“I didn’t realize this place was even open,” Ripley said.

“I’ve been going here since I was a child,” Angela said. “It’s older than I am.”

“I didn’t realize you grew up in New York.”

“Oh, don’t insult me like that, Ripley. Where else would I be from?” She raised her right eyebrow. “Don’t answer that.”

Their milkshakes arrived. Chocolate for Angela, Oreo for Ripley. Ripley instinctively pushed Angela’s drink closer to the woman, unwrapping a paper straw for her. “Careful,” she said.

Angela rolled her eyes. “I’m not a child, darling. You’ll get like this one day, too.”

“Do you come here often?” Ripley asked.

“Yes, when I can. The milkshakes are to keep my weight up. It’s difficult to feed yourself at this age.”

“Charlie doesn’t help you?”

“He brings me groceries, but he couldn’t cook if someone were holding a gun to his head. I suppose that’s my fault. Spoiled him rotten when he was a baby. Never let him tie his own shoes. But what was I supposed to do? He was my only child, and the boys get so confused without female intervention early on. They are so fragile. All they really ever want is their mother until one day they decide they’re decent enough without their help. And then they go out into the world all demented and half-formed.”

The two women slurped in silence for a few minutes.

“Why do you think he signed you up for this class?” Ripley said.

“Oh, that was my idea. Did he tell you it was his?” Angela said. Ripley shrugged in response. “Silly. See, this is exactly what I mean. Yes, my idea. When I was in high school I took a monologue class and got the best marks out of everyone for my final performance. It was about this couple driving around trying to find somewhere to eat. The woman was dying for fries and a burger, and there was nowhere to stop. And she’s just sitting in the passenger seat, moaning and groaning, talking about how her stomach is touching her spine. That’s a direct line from it, the only one I can really remember. I felt incredible during it, but I never acted again after it was over for some reason. I wanted to maintain my one perfect scene, I suppose. But time has gotten the best of me, and now I just want to make sure it isn’t something I could have really done if I actually wanted to.”

“So you’re hoping you’ll be bad at it?” Ripley asked.

“I’m hoping I’ll be so terrible that I can die in peace knowing my one moment was a fluke and I haven’t wasted all these years, sitting on my ass, twiddling my thumbs, doing nothing about it.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Are you bad at it?”

“No. I’m amazing at it.” Ripley laughed then, and Angela joined, her eyes crinkling.

“What was it like growing up here?” Ripley asked.

“I despise it when people ask me that.”

“Me too. But I still want to know.”

Angela sucked on her straw. Ripley could see the faint outline of her teeth through her cheeks.

“I love it here, of course. I’d hang myself if I lived anywhere else. It is difficult to be here at this age, though,” Angela said.

“Why? Because it’s overwhelming?”

“Oh, my dear, no, the exact opposite. There is so much going on around me and so little I can do with any of it. The city is full of attractive people I cannot kiss. I can’t climb onto barstools anymore. I want to fight with strangers downtown outside in the summer and then go home with them and let them kiss me on the neck.”

Ripley couldn’t help but giggle. “So you want to have sex?” she said.

“Oh, sure, that’s part of it. But I’m not twenty anymore. I mostly just want people to look at me and maybe think about running their hands through my hair. I want them to tell me I smell like their favorite memory.” Holy shit, Ripley thought. She was sleeping with the wrong people. “You know, when my husband Charlie passed, of course, I was upset. But I had prepared for it in the way women prepare themselves for a breakup, even if they’re happy with their boyfriends. You know what I mean?”

Ripley nodded. She knew exactly what Angela meant. Crying in the shower, fearing her first boyfriend would fall out of love with her before she fell out of love with him. Nothing was more painful and irreconcilable than looking someone in the eyes and knowing you needed them more than they needed you. So you must make all the necessary emotional preparations to combat the inevitable. You play the scenario out over and over in your tired brain until it becomes subdued and commonplace.

“I kissed him every morning on that spot right between the nostril and the corner of the mouth. Have you ever done that? It is the most wonderful place to kiss someone.” Angela was smiling. “When he passed, it was like he was a sigh leaving my body. That sounds horrible, but I hope you know what I mean.” She drank some more of her milkshake. “I miss him because no one knows my face better, I don’t think. And there isn’t enough time to find someone else who ever would. It’s just not worth it.”

Ripley’s Oreo milkshake had been sitting untouched in front of her while Angela spoke, condensation pooling at the base of the glass. She was in awe of the woman. Angela was a perfectly blunt romantic. What a rarity.

“It sounds like you may believe in true love, then,” Ripley said.

“I believe in choice. Everything and everyone else is decoration.” Angela slumped back in the booth and let out a small sigh. “I can’t believe such a brief outing like this exhausts me now.”

“Sorry,” Ripley said instinctively. She was worried she had been boring, concerned her comments and questions weren’t stimulating enough to keep Angela awake. “We can go soon.”

“Oh, no, please don’t rush on my account. You’ll get a brain freeze.”