by Lili Valente
Back when it all went down, my gut kept screaming that Nate was coming back, that he wouldn’t have left me the way he did unless he had a very good reason. Maybe being gay and scared of how his family, friends, and girlfriend would react to the news was that reason. Judging from Nate’s stories, his father certainly wasn’t the tolerant sort. He was the kind to send his son to one of those barbaric camps where they try to torture the gay out of people with electroshock therapy.
I shudder at the thought.
Maybe Nate truly felt he had no other choice but to run without telling me the truth. Maybe he was afraid I would be cruel to him, too. And maybe I would have been. I would have been angry, that’s for sure. I would have wanted to know why he couldn’t have figured out that he was gay before he took my virginity, made me love him, and became the only thing that felt right in the crazy, mixed-up world.
Looking out at the mountains, I can’t help but think about our last trip together, of making love to him until it felt like we were the same person and I saw my forever right there in his eyes.
My heart is beating faster, fresh sadness and confusion ramping up my beats per minute, when a familiar voice says, “I thought I might find you here.”
I turn, a too-loud sound of disgust escaping from my lips before I can stop it, earning a sad face from Nate and a dirty look from the woman perusing the shelves on the far side of the room.
“I deserve that.” He circles the couch, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his beautiful brow furrowed as he nods toward the empty half of the loveseat. “Can I sit?”
“Sure, of course. Sit,” I say, though I’m not ready to be this close to him.
He’s still stupidly beautiful, and so heartbreakingly familiar. His face is a song I sang a thousand times, until the lyrics were a part of me. And then he left and took the music away.
As Nate sits down, squishing the cushion enough to boost me into the air, I remember what it felt like to be loved by him. To share secrets and adventures and books, and kisses that lasted forever. I used to kiss his perfect lips until my mouth was bruised and the taste of him was my entire world. There was a time I could have lived on his kisses and never wanted for food, but those days are far away, and my heart feels so much older than twenty-three.
When I meet his eyes, I notice the gold flecks that used to dazzle me, and all I want is to go back. Back to the days before I knew his tenderness was a lie and his beauty was only skin deep. Even knowing the way it ends, if I could, I would turn back time and live that summer with him all over again, just for the chance to feel so completely at home in someone’s arms.
And that hurts. So much.
It hurts to know I’m still so weak, so pathetic. As pathetic as sixteen-year-old Addie crying at the window, waiting for the knight in shining armor who was never going to show.
No, Pervert in Paris is wrong. Nate being gay doesn’t make anything better. It doesn’t change a damned thing. It doesn’t change the fact that I loved him and he threw me away. Nothing can make that better. Nothing. Even if he bolted because he couldn’t bring himself to have sex with me anymore—a thought that’s pretty crushing, considering making love to him was the best thing to happen to my body in my entire stupid life—it doesn’t matter.
I was a kind, decent human being. I was his friend, a kindred spirit who loved him, and the only person in his life who knew what he was talking about when he quoted Shakespeare or Einstein, and who believed he could make a living with the stories he wrote. I knew his dreams and his hopes and, I thought, his heart. And he knew mine.
The day he left, he knew it would tear me apart. But he did it anyway, which means Nate Casey has a capacity for cruelty I would never have imagined possible when he was mine, and no amount of coming-out stress makes that okay.
“I talked to Eduardo.” He leans in, completely unaware that I’m thinking about stabbing him repeatedly in those intense eyes of his. “He’s a good guy, and he said it was okay for me to—”
“He seems like a good guy,” I snap, deciding it’s time to pull the plug on this conversation. Nate may be ready to cheek-kiss and make up, but I’m not, and I doubt I’ll ever be.
I stand, forcing a smile because I refuse to let him know that being near him is so painful, even after all these years. “You two seem good together. I’m glad you’re happy.”
No, I’m not!
I hate that you’re happy, and I hate that you don’t remember me the way I remember you. I hate that you don’t still love me or hate me or feel some strong, strangulating emotion when you think my name.
And most of all, I hate that you get to walk through life without the memory of that summer carved into your soul like a scarlet letter.
And I do. I hate it so much I’m afraid my fantasy violence might find its way into the real world, and I might actually do something crazy like rake my nails down Nate’s face.
But before the impulse can become action, a perky voice from the door to the library calls out, “Last chance for hokey-pokey around the Valentine’s Day tree! Come join us on the ground floor and shake it all about! We’re decorating sugar cookies after! Heart-shaped of course!”
The woman has a long brown ponytail and an oversized sweater with “I love LOVE!” scrawled across it in pink letters, and I wave at her like we’re best friends. “I’ll be right there! Thanks for reminding me!”
Hokey-pokey sounds like about as much fun as being bitten by zombies while endlessly riding the Small World ride at Disney for all eternity, but if it gets me away from Nate, I’ll shake it all about until the cows come home.
“Of course!” Miss In Love With Love motions for me to follow her. “We can share an elevator and grab hot chocolate before we start!”
I glance down at Nate, looking at his chin instead of his perfect lips or heartbreaking eyes or those big, strong hands that used to know all the secret ways to make my body sing. “Gotta run. Have a great vacation.”
Or not, I silently add as I grab my boots and scurry around the loveseat in my sock feet. I’m certainly not looking forward to my vacation as much anymore. I had been excited about skating, hiking, and drinking my weight in hot chocolate as one of the Tomahawk ice-gondolas ferried me around the frozen lake in front of the hotel, but now staying in my room for the next five days is sounding pretty good.
Pretty damned good.
And so I let Tiffany—the activities director with the deep-seated love for the hokey-pokey—lead me down to the lobby, but slip away as soon as her back is turned. I make it safely to my room, tuck myself into bed, and resolve to stay there until Tuesday.
Or maybe, if I can find a way to pay for it, forever.
Forever under the covers sounds pretty good right now.
So I pull the quilt over my head, turn off the lights, and go to sleep with the sun at around six o’clock, happy to forego food or drink or entertainment as long as I can sink into oblivion for a few hours and pretend this day never happened.
CHAPTER NINE
From the texts of Adeline Klein
and Pervert in Paris
Addie: Are you still there Pervert?
Pervert: I am. No luck getting ahold of your friend at her hotel?
Addie: Not yet, but I left a message. Your reign of terror could end any moment.
Pervert: Good to know. I better finish checking in with all of my friends in the States.
I threw my cell phone in a fountain the day I decided to quit my job, and calling cards are so much more expensive than I thought they would be.
Turns out ditching my Friends and Family plan wasn’t the best idea I’ve had lately.
Addie: You’re full of bad calls. Like about my ex.
Him being gay doesn’t change anything. You said it yourself—love is love.
Pervert: Okay…
Addie: So it doesn’t matter if he didn’t want to sleep with me anymore, or be my boyfriend. If he had really loved me, even as a friend, he wouldn’t have done what
he did. Friends don’t abandon friends.
Pervert: I see your point. But we all make mistakes.
Except you, right? You’re perfect?
Addie: Of course I’m not perfect! But I don’t hurt the people I claim to love!
Pervert: We all hurt the people we love. It’s human nature. No matter how hard we try to be good, we just can’t help ourselves.
Addie: I refuse to believe that. I think humans can be better than our nature.
Love can make us better.
It should make us better, anyway…
Pervert: You’re more interesting than I thought you’d be when we started texting. And you make some valid points…
I think maybe I would like to see your tits after all.
Addie: Oh for Pete’s sake…
Why did I text you? What was I thinking?
I must be losing my flipping mind.
Pervert: You texted me because I’m guessing you don’t have anyone else to talk to except Shane. But she has tons of people. Her phone has been blowing up all night.
So maybe instead of feeling sorry for yourself, or letting the past drag you down into the sad pit, you should get out and make some new friends.
That way you won’t have to text a creep you don’t even know.
Because maybe confiding in the jerk who took your friend’s phone and keeps asking for tit pics isn’t the best investment of your time, ya know?
Addie: I think you actually just made me feel worse. Thanks a lot, Pervert.
Pervert: Would a dick pic make you feel better?
Addie: NO! NOT AT ALL!
UGH!! I’M TURNING OFF MY PHONE RIGHT NOW!
Pervert: Good! You do you, Addie!
Get out there and live your life and—
Sender blocked.
CHAPTER TEN
Nate
Eduardo and I spend approximately seven hundred and ten hours in the dining room eating dinner, giving Max and his date—a homely kid who looks young enough to be Max’s inbred grandson—plenty of opportunity to observe us being desperately in love and shamelessly decadent. Ed orders a two-hundred dollar bottle of wine, five courses, and multiple desserts, and I do my best to pretend I’m not constantly scanning the room for a glimpse of Addie.
I have to find her before she leaves. Find her, corner her, and pin her to the ground if that’s what it takes to get her to hear me out.
The thought of pinning Addie to the floor, feeling her curvier-than-it-used-to-be body pressed against mine and her breath warm on my lips, makes me ache. It’s been six months since my last hook-up with my fuck buddy, Emily, but sex deprivation isn’t why I want to get Addie in my arms so badly.
I don’t want to get my rocks off; I want to explain things the way I used to explain things to Adeline. I want to kiss her sweet mouth, worship her with my hands, hear her gasp as I press inside her and prove to her with every stroke of my cock that I never meant to hurt her. Addie and I could always talk, but some of our best conversations took place without saying a word. I know if I could get her clothes off and her lips on mine, I could convince her that what we had was real and that I still care about her so fucking much.
I suck at relationships, and I’ve screwed things up with Adeline beyond repair, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about her. I will always care, because she will always be the first—and maybe the only—person who made me believe that love was something more than the saccharine stuff of country songs and those steamy romances my university roommate, Mitch, likes to read.
He says they relax him, while providing spank bank material he appreciates now that he’s quit his job to wander the world. Turns out most women are turned off by the homeless vagabond thing. So instead of Eat, Pray, Loving across the continents, Mitch is Eat, Pray, Jerking Off.
During dinner, I tell Eduardo stories about Mitch and Becca, his little sister, who dropped out of school to start a sleepaway camp for grownups, doing my best to keep up my end of the conversation. Eduardo makes it easy for me, laughing at even my weakest jokes in between meaningful touches to my hand or shoulder.
Surprisingly, none of it feels strange. It’s easy to enjoy Eduardo’s company and not much harder to make enjoyment look like something more. By the time Max storms from the dining room shortly before we’ve finished dessert, followed by the pouting pool boy, who glares covetously at my designer suit jacket on his way past, Max’s face is bright red.
Eduardo grins like the Cheshire Cat and murmurs, “Oh, I’m having so much fun already, doll. Ex-husband outrage is delicious. I could live on it.”
“Then maybe we should have gone with four courses instead of five.” I groan as I bring a hand to my stomach. “I’m stuffed. You’re going to have to conquer dessert without me.”
Ed sighs dreamily, propping his chin on his fist as he watches our waiter approach with a loaded tray. “Well, it’s a sacrifice, darling, but one I’m willing to make.”
“You’re so brave.” I play up the flirtation in my voice as our waiter sets out dessert, coffee, and a selection of ports Eduardo chose to compliment the chocolate in the lava cake and the maple-crusted crème brulée.
Ed presses a hand to his chest and nods seriously. “I am brave. Practically a martyr, really.” He thanks the waiter, adding in a softer voice as the older man walks away, “Give me half an hour then you can go hunting for your girl again, sweet pea. I just want to make sure Max is tucked in for the night first. He’s usually not one to emerge from his lair after dinner, but just in case, we should linger a little longer.”
“I’ll stick with you tonight,” I say, though I’m grateful for the offer, and Ed’s willingness to let Addie in on our secret. “I doubt I’ll have a shot at finding Adeline again until tomorrow. She’s not much of a night owl, either.”
Ed tsks as he digs into the lava cake. “So the woman at the front desk wouldn’t connect a call to her room, then?”
“She couldn’t find a Klein. Addie must be registered under another name.”
“Do you think she’s married?” Ed asks, his eyes widening.
“I don’t think so,” I say, though the thought had crossed my mind when the redhead at the front desk assured me there wasn’t a Klein checked into the lodge. The thought inspired unexpected anger, jealousy, and then a wave of unhappiness at the idea of Addie promising forever to some faceless asshole who clearly hasn’t made her happy.
“Well, I didn’t see a ring, but that doesn’t mean anything these days,” Eduardo says. “Only about half of my younger friends wear their wedding bands on a regular basis. No one takes pride in being bagged and tagged anymore. It’s sad, really. When Max and I were first married, I was so proud of my ring. It was this lovely, simple reminder that I was never going to be alone again.”
I touch his hand. “You’ll find someone, Ed. You’re a good man. You deserve better than a douchebag who cheated on you with a weasel-faced pool boy.”
He smiles sadly. “And don’t forget suing me for ownership of the salons. Salons I built from the ground up with blood, sweat, tears, and so many hours with a blow-dryer in my hand I’ve got tennis elbow without ever having picked up a racket.”
“Exactly. You deserve better, and you’re going to find it. I truly believe that.”
“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again—you’re sweet.” He lifts his spoon, stabbing it at the air in front of us as his eyes narrow. “What if Addie is separated, too? Or going through a nasty divorce? Maybe that’s why the poor thing was so upset. Maybe running into the boy who broke her heart in high school was just the rotten raisin on her shit sundae of a day.”
“I guess it’s possible.” Again, I experience the urge to punch this nameless fuck who hasn’t loved Addie the way he should have.
“In any case, you have to talk to her before she checks out, Nathaniel.” Eduardo licks chocolate from his spoon and reaches for a glass of port. “Your tale is too Victorian and heartbreaking to be borne. You have to tell her what re
ally happened. And then maybe there will be a happy ending, after all. I do love happy endings. Almost as much as I love this cake.” He groans, his eyelids fluttering.” You really should force down a bite or two, teddy bear. It’s to die for.”
“All right, since you’re twisting my arm.” I force a smile and take a bite of cake. I don’t want to think about happy endings. There’s not going to be a happy ending for Adeline and me.
The best we can hope for is something a little less sad and painful.
***
Half an hour later, back in our suite, Eduardo kicks off his shoes, announces himself “pickled and pleased about it,” and crawls into bed fully clothed.
He’s asleep in seconds.
I turn off the lights and close the door, preparing to make myself at home on the sofa bed and try to write at least a paragraph or two of Stupid Fucking Chapter Fucking Five, when my cell rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize, but I pick up anyway, willing to talk to a telemarketer if I have to—any excuse to avoid productivity.
“I need advice, man,” a familiar voice says before I’ve had a chance to speak.
“Mitch.” I sink onto the sofa with a smile. “Were your ears burning? I was just talking about you.”
“Making the Eat, Pray, Jerking Off joke again, you son of a bitch?”
I laugh softly, not wanting to wake Eduardo, who clearly needs to sleep off some of that wine and food. “It’s a good joke. And I’m too tired to work up any original material. The new book is killing me. Book length non-fiction is a soul sucker.”
“Oh, cry me a fucking river, Mr. Big Book Deal. So you have to write real-life stuff instead of monster stuff. I think you’re going to fucking survive.”
“Maybe.” I sigh. Lately writing has felt like pulling teeth—very healthy, secure, much-loved teeth that don’t want to be wrenched from their natural habitat and trapped on paper. “Or maybe I just need to do some more research. All the fieldwork is done, but I could probably do some more expert interviews. More reading. Something.”
