Meant For You

by Lili Valente

  Mitch: Well, I’m hoping my father will have a heart attack and my mother will finally be free of that drunk, wife-beating son of bitch and have a chance to think for herself. So if you’ve got any heart-attack vibes to spare, send them my pop’s way.

  Nate: Done. I won’t go to hell for that, right?

  Mitch: You’re already there, man.

  If hell isn’t a ridiculous world like this, I don’t know what is.

  Nate: It doesn’t have to be ridiculous, Mitch. Sometimes it makes sense.

  Like when I’m with her.

  Mitch: Then, I’m happy for you.

  I hope you and summer love girl live happily ever after.

  Nate: Her name is Adeline. Hopefully you’ll get the chance to meet her. She lives in the city, too.

  Mitch: Adeline? You’re shitting me…

  That girl I was texting is named Adeline, and she was at a lodge with her ex named Nate! What are that chances, right? I mean, your name isn’t anything special, but Adeline is weird and old-fashioned and how many exes are trapped together at a hotel on Valentine’s Day?

  But she was under the impression her ex was gay, so maybe it’s not the same girl.

  Five minutes later…

  Mitch: But I saved her number when I tossed the phone I…ahem…borrowed.

  I was planning to text her and apologize. I’ll ask her if her Nate matches your stupid-pretty description just in case. What’s your real last name again? I always forget.

  I know West is the pen name, but…

  Ten minutes later…

  Mitch: Well, I guess I lost you.

  Stay safe in the storm, man. And thanks for the beer offer. I appreciate it.

  Good luck with Adeline, too. I hope it works out. I really do.

  From the texts of Pervert in Paris

  and Adeline Klein

  Unknown Number: Hey Adeline, this is the Pervert in Paris.

  BEFORE YOU BLOCK ME, I know it’s creepy that I’m texting, but the only reason I wrote down your number was so I could apologize for being a dick to you before. I was writing an article on Why Women Love Assholes and took my research too far, and I’m sorry. I promise never to use a phone that isn’t mine to text jerky things to anyone ever again.

  I’m actually a nice person. Mostly.

  Anyway, I hope you’ll forgive me. Especially considering we might have a friend in common. My friend Nate West—can’t remember his real last name, but that’s his pen name—was just talking about a woman named Adeline. If he’s the ex you were texting about before, then there must be some sort of misunderstanding. Nate is as straight as they come, a really great guy, and it sounds like he’s completely gone on you. I normally wouldn’t violate the bro code by sharing that kind of information, but I figure I owe you a solid, and it might make you feel better if it’s the same Nate. Maybe hit me back and let me know?

  Hope all is good with you.

  Wishing you happy things,

  Pervert, aka Mitch

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Nate

  I pace to the window, holding my phone up closer to the ceiling, but there’s not a bar in sight and my last text message to Mitch refuses to send.

  That’s her! That’s my Adeline! There was a misunderstanding and she thought I was romantically involved with the friend I’m here with. But that’s totally her! Don’t you see what this means?

  THIS IS FATE!

  WHAT ARE THE FUCKING CHANCES THAT THE PHONE YOU HAPPENED TO STEAL IN PARIS JUST HAPPENS TO BELONG TO MY EX-GIRLFRIEND’S BEST FRIEND!? THERE ARE BILLIONS AND BILLIONS OF PEOPLE IN THE WORLD, MITCHELL. SHIT LIKE THIS DOESN’T JUST HAPPEN!!

  But it’s happening to Adeline and me, and I believe that means something.

  It fucking means something, and I’m not letting her go without a fight this time.

  “Everything okay?” Eduardo asks from behind me, where he’s perched on the couch watching the Weather Channel predict dire things for the Catskills in the next twenty-four hours.

  “Yeah,” I say, then I shake my head. “No. I feel sick to my stomach.”

  “Completely understandable. This is all very strange, Nathaniel, I won’t argue with you there. But it’s also wonderful, and unless I’m very mistaken, I think it means that everything is going to work out the way it should have years ago, before you and your girl lost each other.”

  I turn from the window, crossing my arms at my chest. “I want to believe that, but I’ve got this feeling that something’s wrong. That she’s not okay, or she’s in trouble, or…” I sigh. “I don’t know. I’m probably being crazy.”

  “You’re not being crazy.” Eduardo stands, joining me near the doors, gazing out at the frenzy of snow pelting the world outside. “You’re probably just picking up on Addie’s ‘get me the hell out of here’ vibes.”

  “What?” I turn to him with a frown.

  “Oh, honey, I’m surprised Adeline didn’t break into a sprint on her way down the hall. That little girl was in full-on flight-or-fight mode. She was running from you as fast as her legs could carry her.”

  I curse, running a clawed hand through my hair. “So I fucked it up? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, not at all,” Eduardo says. “She cares about you. One look at her and you can see that there are still feelings there, but she’s also scared, sweet pea. She’s clearly been through some ugly stuff. So she might need to run from you for a little while, and that’s okay. Your job is to figure out when to give her space and when to get close enough to let her know that you’re not going to give up on her.”

  “I shouldn’t have kissed her.” I curse again. “I should have taken it slow.”

  Addie might have been talking dirty to me, but she was also crying and upset, and I’ve never seen Adeline cry like that. She’s not the kind of person who gets upset easily, or at least she didn’t used to be. The fact is I don’t know what she’s been through or who she is now. The connection between us is still there, but the communication isn’t. And until it is, I should have trusted the voice in my head that said the best way forward was to keep things light and give her space.

  “I don’t know about that,” Eduardo says, breaking into my thoughts. “A kiss is always a good thing, but maybe stripping down was a little much. That chest of yours isn’t for the faint of heart, pumpkin.” He winks, and I almost laugh, but I don’t because nothing’s funny right now.

  “I should go apologize.” I glance back at the door, ready to run after her right now. “But fuck, I didn’t get her room number. Or the name she’s registered under. Or her cell phone. Why didn’t I get her fucking—” I break off, inspiration striking. “But Mitch has it. He said he wrote it down! I just have to find a place where this stupid phone can get some reception and call him back.”

  “Excellent plan,” Eduardo says. “But if you can’t get service, you’ll be able to see Adeline in the morning. And she might feel better after a good night’s sleep. In any event, I think I should add her name to our reservation for dinner tomorrow night. That way, if she’s still feeling skittish, I can play chaperone and put her at ease. And if you two are ready for a romantic Valentine’s Day dinner, I can make myself scarce and you lovebirds can enjoy yourselves.”

  “Good idea, and thank you so much,” I say, starting toward the door. “I’ll take care of changing the reservation. I’m going out hunting for bars, anyway. I can swing by the concierge while I’m out.”

  “All right.” Eduardo sighs, stretching his arms overhead. “And I will take this opportunity to grab a quick victory nap before we go rustle up mojitos. Revenge is lovely, but exhausting. Happy hunting, doll.”

  “Happy napping.” I slip out into the hall, making a mental note to tell Bash that I want my portion of this intervention to be on the house. Eduardo is starting to feel more like a friend than a client, and after he’s been so willing to play cupid between Addie and me, the least I can do is comp my fee.

  For the first time in my writ
er life, I’m actually doing fine money-wise. Between the interventions and the book advance, I’ve got a cozy nest egg built up. Maybe, if all goes well, I can use some of it to take Addie on a trip, just the two of us, somewhere we can relax on the beach, take our time getting to know each other again, and do lots of lounging semi-naked together in the sun.

  It’s a nice daydream, but that’s all it is—a dream.

  As I move down the hallway toward the lobby, the “something’s wrong” feeling returns, and a soft voice at the back of my mind assures me that unless I pull my head out of my ass, I won’t be taking Addie anywhere.

  “I’m trying to pull my head out of my ass,” I mumble. “Just tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

  But the universe or fate or whatever force is behind the coincidences that keep binding Addie and me closer together isn’t talking. There are no signs or omens, just an empty elevator with a note taped to the wall announcing that hokey-pokey has been cancelled due to lack of interest.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Adeline

  My head hurts and I’m cold. So cold.

  Cold like the bottom of an arctic river where the fish are buried in the mud, waiting out the long, hard winter.

  I open my eyes, stroking my hands through the icy water. My joints feel sleepy and my fingers are starting to go numb, but I don’t stop; I pull harder, forcing my sluggish limbs to move. I’m not in trouble yet, but I have to find a hole in the ice before I run out of air, have to keep swimming because stillness equals death.

  But all around me the world is quiet and blue, and I’m starting to feel so tired.

  Tired and peaceful.

  There’s no reason to be scared, the current murmurs, Look at the seaweed waving like an old friend. Listen to the rush of the waves and remember how good it feels to take it easy. Soft and quiet and easy…

  Yes. Easy can be good. There’s a time for easy. A time for letting go of the past and the pain and letting your heart go blissfully numb.

  But you heart just woke up again, Addie. It’s not time to sleep. This time the voice in my head is my own, but younger, newer—the voice of a girl who has big dreams and so much to live for. Wake up, Addie! Please! You’re worth fighting for, and so is he.

  Nate’s face flickers through my mind, and I try to swim again, but my arms refuse to play nice. They jerk through the water, twitching and trembling, until I’m shivering so hard my jaw threatens to chatter open and let the river rush down my throat.

  If only I could find a place to rest for a little while, to curl up in the dark and just…

  Close my eyes…

  For a minute or two…

  Addie! You can’t go to sleep. If you do, you won’t wake up!

  Young me is right. I kick harder, clawing at the water as my nose stings and my eyes begin to burn from the cold. But the smooth gray surface of the ice is still so far away, and I’m so heavy. There are lead weights around my ankles, a cartoon anvil on my chest, rocks sewn into my clothes…

  Rocks, rocks sewn into my clothes, I sing softly. And where the rocks go nobody knows. And when the girl sinks who will care, only the fish and the waves and the…

  Hmmm… What rhymes with care?

  My thoughts are so fuzzy…

  Maybe…air? Yes. Only the fish and the waves and the air.

  Satisfied that I’ve accomplished something, even if it’s not what I originally intended, I curl my legs into my chest and draw the soaked winter coat I decided to wear swimming around me like a soggy cocoon.

  But you’re already a butterfly, Einstein. A deeper, softer voice drifts through the water, making it feel a bit warmer. No cocoons for you. Wake up, beautiful. Come back to me. We don’t end like this. Not this time.

  Nate. I think his name and my chest fills with pressure. But I’m so tired. Tired and full of monsters.

  He hums, and the waves vibrate around me. Well, good thing I’m not scared of monsters. You know that. And you aren’t, either. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.

  Not I’m not. But I uncurl, reaching my hands up toward the light, wondering if maybe it’s not quite as far as I thought to the surface. And I’m not a butterfly; I’m a caterpillar who crawled into a chrysalis and never came out.

  Maybe it’s just taking you a little longer than the other caterpillars. There’s nothing wrong with that.

  I flutter my legs, experimenting with movement as my lips curve. Are you saying I’m a special needs caterpillar?

  I’m dyslexic, he says, dodging the question. It makes proofreading a son of a bitch. I can never catch all the errors, no matter how hard I try. But I keep trying, because I don’t want my mistakes to get in the way of the story.

  I swoop my arms through the water in a long, slow arc. I made mistakes that got in the way. And I made another mistake when I jumped into this river. Why did I decide to go swimming in winter with my clothes on? I pull and kick, frogging my way slowly toward the surface. And how am I holding my breath for this long? Do you think I grew gills while I was in my chrysalis?

  That would be a good superhero origin story, Gill Girl, he says. But I doubt it. I think it’s more likely that you’re not underwater.

  My arms go still. I stare at my spread fingers, wiggling them through the waves, but he’s right—there’s no resistance, no slippery feel of water. Only cold.

  Wake up, Addie. His voice is louder, and the teasing note has vanished. Wake up and help me get our story back on track. I love you.

  ***

  “Love, too,” I mumble as my eyes creak open and pain flashes through my head.

  I groan, pressing my hands into the hard plastic beneath my cheek, my thoughts racing. Where the hell am I, and why is it so flipping cold?

  I blink, pulling into focus the handle of a car door and chunky pieces of ice scattered over the seat.

  No, not ice—what’s left of the window, I realize as I unbuckle my seat belt. There are pieces of it all over my hands and in my hair, and there’s a gaping hole where the passenger’s side window used to be, letting in wind and snow. It’s freezing in here and getting colder. I can barely feel my nose, my fingers are numb, and my head is foggy in a way that scares me.

  I bring my hand to my forehead, wincing as I discover a lump near my hairline. It hurts, but it’s not that big or that bad. I should be able to think, to decide what to do next, but it’s like my synapses are firing in slow motion.

  For a long time the winter scene outside the shattered glass—the hill sloping down, the trees covered in white, the snow falling so fast, but eerily silent—makes no sense to me. It takes forever to remember that I’ve been in an accident and a second eternity to recall that I wasn’t alone when the vehicle was hit.

  I glance over my shoulder, pulling in a sharp breath as I see the older man slumped over the steering wheel.

  I reach out, touching his shoulder. “Ha… Ha… Hank!” His name stutters to the front of my mind as I give him a gentle shake. “Hank! Hank are you… Are you…”

  I can’t finish the question. There’s no point. If he’s dead, he’s not going to tell me. If he’s dead, he’s dead, and it will be my fault for deciding to run away in the middle of a blizzard.

  Oh God, please. Please, be okay, I silently beg as I pull off my glove and touch his cool neck with bare fingers. It takes a long, gut-wrenching moment, but finally I feel a faint pulse beneath the skin.

  Breath rushing out, I promise, “It’s okay, I’ll call for help.”

  I turn back to my side of the cab, searching for my purse, but all I find are a lipstick, at least twenty dollars in loose change, soggy receipts on the floor, a spilled coffee cup leaking pale brown liquid between the seats, and a random assortment of pens, screws, and one tiny flashlight wedged between the dash and the front window.

  The truck is only tilting slightly to the right, but the chaos all around me makes me wonder…

  I look up, see the deep dent in the roof, and swallow hard. We’ve
been upside down. At least once. Do I remember that? I think maybe I do. I think I might have screamed and reached my arms up to brace myself, but it’s all blurry. Blur and fog, shadow and shade, cold and numb, and if I don’t get moving, I’m going to die here.

  The realization cuts through the haze, making my pulse beat faster.

  Coming onto my knees, I turn to look into the small passenger area behind the front seat. I find more detritus from my purse—a subway card and a bottle of hand sanitizer—but no sign of my cell phone. Thankfully, however, there is also a blanket and a large flashlight. It’s getting dark and I’m going to need that flashlight to find my way back to the lodge and call for help.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I say, wrapping the blanket around Hank’s shoulders for extra warmth. “Or someone will be. I’m going to get help.” For a moment, I debate lying Hank down on the seat so he’ll be more comfortable, but decide it’s best not to move him since I don’t know exactly how badly he’s injured. So I tuck the blanket around his shoulders and gently under his forehead instead, and with a silent promise not to let him down, I reach for the door handle.

  It takes some shoving, but eventually the door opens and I spill out into the snow, hissing as my legs sink into the drift up to my thighs. Thank God I put my ski pants back on. Now, they might prove vital to staying alive long enough to get help.

  Trudging through the snow to the front of the truck, I look up the mountain, my stomach lurching as I see the deep gash in the snow and the flattened baby trees where the truck rolled down the side of the hill. It looks too ugly for there to be two survivors down here, but so far we’re both still breathing, and I mean to keep it that way.

  But damn, it’s a long way up to the road. At least five hundred feet, all of it uphill, and the last ten feet are a vertical climb up snow-covered rocks. Just looking at it makes my shivering arms feel like jelly, makes me wish I loved exercise as much as I love books, or that I’d kept rock climbing after I moved to the city. If so, maybe I would feel up to conquering the mountain, instead of seriously doubting whether I’ll make it halfway up before what energy I’ve got left runs out.