Nothing Like Him

by Jessica Roe

  Chapter 2

  Ophelia

  “WE’RE ALMOST THERE, sweet,” Aunt Ellie informs me softly, pulling me from my thoughts. I'm relieved – thinking about my brother, my family, home, Norson Lake, old memories. . . God, it hurts. “The captain just made the announcement.”

  As always, my aunt knows me well enough to know I didn't hear a thing.

  We're almost there. My terror racks up a gazillion notches.

  Silently, I reassure myself for the hundredth time that Nellie is more than capable of taking care of Shark alone in my absence. That's absolutely one area of my life I do not have to worry about.

  Seth had felt so incredibly guilty that he hadn't been able to come with me. He'd promised to join me as soon as he could get time off work, but honestly – and this is something awful I'd never admit to him in a million years – I was relived he couldn't make it. I don't want Seth in Norson Lake. It's nothing to do with him or not wanting to be with him; in an ideal world, having his support would have been incredible. But the idea of my old world and my new world colliding is just too much for me to handle, too much for me to bear. I'm such a different person these days to the girl I was back when I lived in Norson Lake, and it's a side of me Seth knows very little about. I'm not at all eager to share it with him. I doubt he'd even recognize the old me if she walked up to him and slapped him in the face with her boobs. I left that Phee behind when my parents sent me away; the wild, overly passionate, carefree Phee who blindly followed her impulses no matter how crazy they seemed – and they usually ended up being damned crazy. If Seth got a glimpse of that version of me, I doubt he'd ever look at me the same again.

  And living like that, letting my heart rule over me instead of my brain, it only led me to heartbreak, devastation, and my complete and total destruction.

  No, that's not who I am anymore. That Phee is long gone.

  +++

  AT THE AIRPORT, Aunt Ellie and I find our bags in no time at all. While she's sorting out the rental car I dig out my phone and call Ivy.

  Ivy and I were friends many years ago, back when I still lived in Norson Lake. Aside from my parents, she's the only person from home I've kept in contact with, and even that's mostly just been emails updating each other on the things going on in our lives. I was surprised when she informed me she was moving back home from where she'd been living in San Francisco, but less surprised when she told me that she and Nash, one of her childhood best friends, had fallen in love. I'd been able to see that brewing between them, even when we were kids.

  Ivy is awesome, but she brings back so many memories. Mostly memories of him. . .

  “Phee?” she practically shrieks into the phone in place of a hello. “Oh my frigging God, Phee. I can't believe I'm actually talking to you right now! This is so crazy. Aw man, I feel like a teenager all over again.”

  Her voice, welcomingly familiar even after so many years, washes over me with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. I underestimated how good it would be to actually talk to her.

  “Hey,” I greet, and the smile is plainly evident in my voice. It feels good to smile - I hadn't thought I'd be able to today at all.

  We babble senselessly for a few minutes, both too excited to be talking to each other again to get out coherent sentences. We have so much to share, to tell each other, to ask and to gossip about. So much to say and not enough time to catch up the way we really want to.

  “So. . .” Ivy puts in after a few minutes, and for the first time she sounds hesitant, unsure. I immediately know what's coming next and my smile fades away faster than Nellie can down a shot of tequila. “Can I tell Nathan you're back?”

  I really shouldn't be after all this time, but I'm unprepared for the absolute loss of breath at the sound of Nathan's name. It's the first anyone has mentioned it to me in a long, long time, and I'd almost forgotten what a heartclencher it was. Most people in my life these days don't even know of Nathan's existence. Certainly not Seth. Aunt Ellie knows about him, of course, and I'd spilled my life story to Nellie one drunken night in college, but both of them know better than to bring him up. Why would they? I haven't seen the guy in almost ten years, not since he ripped my heart outta my chest and stomped on it before walking from my life and leaving me in pieces. Why would they mention him when I should be over that crap by now? When he shouldn't even be a thought in my head these days?

  “Please don't,” I beg pathetically, my good humor doused. “He and I are in completely different towns-”

  “Neighboring towns,” Ivy points out.

  “I know, I know. But even so, I'm seriously unlikely to come to Fortune anytime soon and he's not about to take a stroll through Norson Lake, right?”

  “True,” she agrees hesitantly. “As far as I know he hasn't stepped foot there since you went away.”

  “Exactly. Our paths are never going to cross. He doesn't need to know I'm back in town, especially since I'm only here temporarily. It's not like we'll run into each other. I sure as hell don't need the drama right now, and I bet he won't either.”

  “I just. . . I hate the idea of keeping things from him. I feel awful.”

  “I'm sorry.” Suddenly very tired, I flop down on top of my suitcase and stretch out my legs before me, tapping the toes of my black pumps together as I let out a weary sigh. It's unfair of me to ask this of her, but I just. . . “Please, Ivy. I can't deal with Nathan. There's just. . .there's too much else. . .”

  She lets out a little groan. “Okay,” she agrees, albeit reluctantly. In a gentler voice, she says, “I'm sorry too. I know you're gonna have a real tough time. I couldn't even imagine how I'd cope if my mom got sick. Just the thought of it. . .” I can practically hear her shudder down the phone. “I don't want to make things harder on you. If you don't want me to tell him, I won't.”

  “Thank you,” I breathe out gratefully, closing my eyes in sheer relief.

  “We need to meet up though, Phee!” Ivy exclaims, the excitement back in her voice already. “Real soon. I can't wait to see you in person again after all the photos we've exchanged. Dying to see how you've changed over the years.”

  “That sounds awesome.” And it really does. Meeting up with Ivy has given me something to look forward to for the very first time since deciding to come home.

  “Absolutely amaze. We'll arrange something as soon as you get settled in at your parents' place.”

  Outside the car rental place, Aunt Ellie waves to get my attention and jiggles a pair of car keys in the air.

  “Gotta go,” I tell Ivy, pushing myself up. “Wish me luck.”

  “Aw honey, I wish you every bit of luck in the entire freaking world and then some. I got a feeling you're gonna need it.”

  +++

  AUNT ELLIE TAKES control of the wheel and I withdraw into myself as we make the four hour journey home to Norson Lake, Washington County. The hours fly by far quicker than I'd like, and all too soon we're passing the old, worn 'Welcome To Norson Lake!' sign. That sign has been falling apart since before I was even born, but no one has ever gotten around to replacing it.

  The further into town we get, the more and more I'm hit in the gut with heart wrenching pangs and feels of all different kinds as the memories of home fill me to the brim. I'm consumed with homesickness, nostalgia, sadness, fondness. . .heartbreak.

  It isn't long before we're sailing on past the large, breathtakingly beautiful lake our town is named after, that makes our town what it is. Feelings overwhelm me as I gaze through the window out over the glittering water, so cold outside it's frozen over in most parts. So many of my childhood memories involve this lake, and even more stem from my teenage years. Right now it's almost empty but for one lone dog walker strolling around the edge, but in a few months when the weather begins to warm, the lake will swarm with teenagers just like it was when I was one. In the summer, Norson Lake is the only place to be.

  +++

  MY PARENTS LIVE close to the lake, so it's only minutes before we're pullin
g up outside my childhood home. Aunt Ellie parks the car, and all I can do is sit in silence and stare. I wasn't prepared for this, for this feeling of longing clawing away inside my chest. I hadn't realized up until this very moment how much I've truly missed home since I've been away.

  Ours is an idyllic little house; small, but one of those places full of character and life. Though it's technically two stories, the upstairs only consists of one room – my parents' bedroom – so the building is a little oddly shaped. My bedroom was on the ground floor, something I'd taken advantage of many times when I'd been a teenager intent on sneaking out to meet my friends. . .or Nathan. The house is nestled into the edge of the woods that borders the lake. Back when I lived here, those dense trees meant everything to me; a place full of adventures to explore as a child, somewhere to be alone when I needed space. . .a secret meeting spot for Nathan and I while we were falling in love.

  “Come on, sweet,” Aunt Ellie encourages, pushing open the car door and heading out. I take a deep, not at all calming breath, then do the same.

  As we're pulling our luggage from the trunk of the rental, the front door of the house opens, casting a welcoming glow of light out into the dark night. As I've always remembered it, the house looks warm, inviting, cozy. More familiar than anything I've ever known.

  My giant of a father steps out, his large frame silhouetted against the light. He ambles over to help with our cases and I smile shakily at him as he approaches, ridiculously nervous to see him again. Dad has always been the biggest person I've ever known. Not an inch under six feet six and practically as broad as he is tall, there was always just something about him that made me feel utterly safe. Though he's such a huge person physically, he's quiet, unassuming; gruff, in that manly way that only dads seem to be able to pull off. I've always suspected his height makes him feel self-conscious, and that he thinks if he keeps himself to himself then people won't notice him so much. He's the kind of man who scarcely gives out affection – hugs and kisses from him were a rarity growing up – but we always knew how much he loved us by the way he worked so hard to keep our family happy. And when we did get that rare hug or kiss, it made it all the more meaningful because we knew he really and truly meant it. He's the complete opposite of my chatterbox, overly affectionate, larger than life mom.

  It's been a couple of years since the two of them last visited Aunt Ellie and I in LA, but Dad hasn't changed all that much since then. There are a few more lines around his eyes and his hair is completely white now instead of threaded with grey, but he's still the same old Dad I remember.

  “Hello,” he greets when he reaches us, his deep voice rough with exhaustion. There are dark rings beneath his eyes and his wide shoulders are slumped, almost making him seem smaller than usual. Mom's illness has been taking its toll on him.

  Coming to a stand in front of me, Dad hesitates for a few seconds before reaching up a giant hand to clap my shoulder – his way of a warm greeting after not seeing me for two years. I'm just as bad. Awkwardly, I pat the back of his hand before he slides it away. “Hi, Dad.”

  And that's our big reunion over and done with.

  Over the past ten years I've only seen my parents a handful of times. The occasional birthday, Christmas or Thanksgiving mostly when they've made the journey up to stay with Aunt Ellie. I haven't been down here to visit them at all. I've always harbored this undercurrent of resentment towards them for the way our relationship turned out, but the truth is that I could have worked harder to fix things between us. So much harder.

  It doesn't take long to carry our bags inside and soon Aunt Ellie and I are making the journey upstairs to visit with my mom, resting in bed. My mom was always the perfect hostess, so the fact that she wasn't downstairs to greet us says a lot about how ill she really is.

  My heart catches in my throat as I walk into the bedroom. The room is filled with her scent in a way that takes me right back to childhood, but at the same time it smells like. . .it smells like sickness; a thick, almost tangible smell that seems to coat my tongue. I didn't even realize that sickness could have a smell, but it does.

  I'm completely unprepared for the way my heart breaks apart in my chest at the sight of her looking so tiny and fragile in that large bed, surrounded by soft pillows and fluffy blankets as if she's freezing cold even though the room is warm, almost uncomfortably so. I know I should have expected to see her this way, prepared myself for it, but seeing how ill she looks comes as an awful shock. This woman isn't the mom I remember in my head; the loud, outspoken, vibrant mom who was always the first to pipe up with an opinion even if it wasn't asked of her. This woman right here before me is a ghost, a shadow of her former self. My heart breaks all over again as I watch my dad move around to the far side of the bed and perch on the edge of the old, overstuffed armchair to carefully take one of her bony hands. He looks ill with worry; though I can tell he's doing his best to hide it from her.

  I should have come sooner.

  Anger at myself blinds me for a moment. How could I have allowed my stupid, ridiculous fears to keep me away? Keep me from being here for them like a proper daughter? I've been selfish, and I make a silent vow to do everything in my power to make it up to them. Because no matter what happened between us in the past, these two people right here in front of me are my parents and I love them with every fiber of my being. Nothing will ever change that or take it away, even if I lost sense of it for a long time. Too long.

  Mom's face breaks out into a beautiful, utterly radiant smile when she sees me standing in the doorway. It lights up her whole face and for just the smallest second, she doesn't look sick at all. There's nothing in the whole world like my mom's smile.

  “Phee,” she breathes out happily in a weak voice, stretching her thin arms towards me.

  Every wall I've built over the last decade crumbles in one fell swoop. “Mommy,” I cry, and then I'm falling into her arms and it's the most amazing feeling I've had in years.

  Chapter 3

  Nathan

  AS SEEMS TO have become a regular pattern with me these days, Saturday afternoon finds me hanging out at Nash and Ivy's new house, having a beer with my best friend while we chat shit about work and women and life in general. I seem to be spending a lot of my free time here nowadays, but thankfully the pair of them don't mind having a regular house guest. It's just. . .I guess it's just that their place feels like a real home, whereas my little one story house is. . .is that. It's just a house. An empty, uninviting house, with only me rattling around there in the too loud silence with just my own thoughts to keep me company. And something I've discovered over the years is that being left alone with my thoughts often leads down dangerous roads.

  “I fucking love this dog,” I say between chuckles as the stubby little bulldog pup goes absolutely insane trying to tug his toy rabbit from my hands with his teeth. He's snarling and foaming at the mouth in his determination, working himself into a real mental episode. But his tail is wagging furiously back and forth, showing just how much he's loving our game of tug-of-war. Man, I adore the shit outta this hyperactive pup.

  Nash laughs as the dog begins to growl. “Calm your shit, Bamboo,” he instructs, but as usual Bamboo completely ignores his papa like he hasn't even spoken.

  It was Nash's idea to name him Bamboo, carrying on Ivy's family tradition of naming their kids after plants and flowers. Obviously he came up with it because he knows how much Ivy hates that tradition and he does love to wind his woman up. She'd protested the name, of course. Heavily. Refused to call him Bamboo at first, but the little bulldog refused to answer to anything else, much to her frustration, so the name ended up sticking. Ivy was seriously bemused by the whole situation. Nash, obviously, was smug as shit.

  And I have an extreme love for the crazy ball of fur, so much so that I've been considering getting one of my own. Who knows, maybe having a dog around the house would make the place seem a little less empty. Maybe if I had one of these to come home to, I wouldn't mind
being there so much.

  Eventually I concede defeat and let a triumphant Bamboo have his rabbit. Smugly, he carries the raggedy thing over to Nash and collapses at his feet so he can chew on the thing's ear contentedly.

  I lean back and settle comfortably into the sofa, taking a swig of beer before grinning at Nash. “So,” I start. “You thinking about popping the big Q to Ivy yet? You musta thought about it, what with Silver proposing to Blair and all.” Mostly I'm just asking to wind the guy up, but a part of me is also curious.

  There was a time, not too long ago, when the very idea of marriage would've had Nash's eyes bugging right out of his head in horror, but now all he does is waggle his brows and smirk. “Thought might've crossed my mind,” he admits. “Not just yet though. Give it six more months, I reckon.”

  Nash and Ivy, they're the kind of couple that were just meant to be. I mean hell, I don't believe in all that fate bullcrap, but if ever there were two people destined for one another, it'd be those two. They had their shit messed up and their wires all crossed for too many years, but they finally found their way to each other in the end. I'm real happy for the pair of them, real happy they've come together at last. They're right together, they fit. And thankfully for me and anyone else who might care to weigh in, they're surprisingly ungross now they've finally gotten together like they probably always should've done.

  And so sure, maybe sometimes I get a pang of. . .something in my gut when I see how happy they are together, something that makes me feel just the tiniest bit lonely, but I always make it a rule to ignore that pang. Nathan Alders does not do pangs. Nathan Alders is way too fucking awesome for pangs.