Be My Reason

by Samantha Christy

  We are at least a half-mile from the car when it starts to sprinkle and our steps quicken. Then it starts raining lightly and we share a ‘what-now’ look. Realizing we are nowhere near the car and that all of the shops are closed, there is no place to go but forward so we walk faster. When the rain really starts to come down, Nate removes his jacket and covers our heads as we forge on. We are practically at a full-on run. Well, as much as we can be, considering my heels and the fact that we are practically stuck together like Siamese twins by the coat that is covering our heads. By the time we get to the car we are laughing, smiling and soaking wet.

  Almost simultaneously, we look at the car and realize that Graham has the keys and that he is not right behind us. Our eyes grow big and we look at each other for a second before breaking out in hysterics. Thankfully, I hit the bathroom before leaving because I swear I would pee my pants. I think I may have even snorted a few times, but I don’t care because Nate is making some pretty freaky sounds himself. My stomach muscles hurt and my face is about to crack open from smiling so hard.

  The rain eases up and both of us are trying to catch our breath. He looks at me with his wet, messy hair and glistening face and reaches over to pull a piece of wet hair from my mouth. His fingers touch my face, sending tingles down to my chest. His hand cups my chin and my heart starts beating a thousand miles an hour. I feel like I’m out of my body watching this play out for some other girl.

  Kiss her.

  Wait, what? That’s not what I want. Then why am I letting him trail his thumb along my lower lip? I’m staring at his mouth. He is staring into my eyes. Oh God, this is really going to happen. He leans in slightly, probably to see if I will pull away.

  Pull away.

  He grabs my hip with his other hand and draws me to him. With his thumb, he pulls my lower lip out from between my teeth while he smiles and comes closer. I can smell the mint and beer on his hot breath and then I can’t think of anything else except how I want his lips to touch mine. And then—

  “Oh my God, you guys are soaked,” Emma squeals and I’m instantly jerked back into my body.

  I step away from him and shake my head. I hear the beep-beep of the car unlocking so I run around the back of the car, let myself in and slam the door shut. Emma and Graham get in and don’t seem any worse for wear. They also don’t seem to have any clue of what they interrupted.

  Oh, thank the gods of all stupid girls that almost cheated on their perfect fiancés that they interrupted us.

  Nate takes a minute to shake the water off and get himself into the car. He is staring a hole into the side of my head but I cannot look at him. I realize I am twisting my hair and counting to five over and over. Calm down, Lyn. Breathe. I don’t know what came over me. Was I actually going to let him kiss me? Am I losing my mind? Of course I wasn’t going to kiss him; he is a philandering man-whore. I’m engaged. I love Michael.

  A wave of nausea washes over me.

  “I don’t feel very good,” I say, as Graham pulls up to the hotel curb. “I’m going to head on up. Thanks for a great night and I’ll see you guys later.” I quickly exit the car and go into the hotel, leaving Graham and Emma looking at each other in confusion.

  “I’ll be right up!” Emma shouts out the window.

  “No.” I turn around briefly. “Take your time. I’m going to shower off and go to bed.” I don’t want her to come after me, yet again, so I can explain what a weak person I am when it comes to Nate Riley. What I need is to get a good night’s sleep and forget about the last fifteen minutes of my life. Chalk it up to alcohol and adrenaline, that’s it.

  After my shower I remember I was supposed to call Michael. I can’t call him. I don’t know what I would say. I need time to get some distance from tonight. I type out a quick text to him that says I think I may have gotten food poisoning from dinner so I can’t call. He, of course, immediately texts me back instructions on how to manage the food poisoning and to call him if I can’t keep any water down after eight hours. I type out another message to thank him and tell him I’ll call him tomorrow.

  I lie in bed and try to sleep. Then I lie in bed and fake sleep when Emma cracks my door a half an hour later. Then I lie in bed and eventually watch the sun rise through the heavy curtains.

  In the morning, I tell Emma that I don’t feel well, feigning food poisoning. I tell her that she shouldn’t count on me for tonight. She says she will send my apologies to the guys and check on me later.

  I finally manage to get a few hours of sleep. It clears my head and I decide that I shouldn’t see Nate again. It is a disaster waiting to happen and I will only end up hurt. Why risk ruining what Michael and I have together? It’s the right thing to do. But I don’t want Emma to miss out on seeing Graham the last night she is here so I’ve got to keep up this whole sickness charade.

  I spend the morning studying. Then after a quick nap and a light lunch I head down to the hotel gym to hit the treadmill. No way am I going to risk the running trail and Nate.

  When I return to the suite, there is a new bouquet of flowers on the coffee table with a note sticking out of the vase. I’m nosey so I peek at the card. Oh, not for Emma. For me. My heart beats a little faster. I open the card.

  Brooklyn, I missed you this morning. I hope you are feeling better. Nate

  He sent me flowers? I throw away the card so I don’t have to explain anything to Emma. After all, we are in a suite and they have provided fresh flowers every day, what is another bunch?

  The rest of my afternoon is spent returning texts from Kaitlyn, my mom and Emma. Thankfully when I call Michael, I get his voice mail so I leave a nice message for him telling him how I can’t wait to see him tomorrow and that I’m feeling much better.

  Before Emma gets back, I hide the evidence of lunch and my run and climb into bed hoping she’ll leave me alone and go out with Graham. I must be a better actress than I thought because she buys it without so much as an ‘are you sure?’ That or she is glad to finally be alone with him without us tagging along.

  I’m studying again when there is a knock on the door and I hear a muffled, “room service.” I didn’t order anything, but I look at the clock and it is close to dinner time. I open the door and direct the waiter to put whatever it is on the table while I fish around for a tip. When he is gone I look at the tray that is donning a chocolate milkshake and when I lift the silver dome covering the food I see a plate of french fries. There is a note but I don’t have to look at it to see who sent this. Of course I read the note anyway.

  Brooklyn, I hope you can eat something tonight. I’m sorry you don’t feel well. Get better soon. Nate.

  I am starving. I shouldn’t eat this. Is it like cheating if I eat this? Nobody is here to see if I eat it or not. I could have even ordered it myself. Except that I haven’t eaten this combination since that night in high school. How did he remember? It was one short conversation we had eight years ago. No, it doesn’t mean anything if I eat it. I’m being stupid. It’s food, just eat it.

  I pick up a french fry and dip it into the shake then bring it to my lips. God, this is so good. Why did I go so long without eating this? I finish the entire tray.

  I make sure I’m in bed before Emma gets back. I leave her a note to tell her that I’m feeling better and that I can’t wait to get back to Savannah tomorrow.

  ~ ~ ~

  On the drive back home, I get the play-by-play of her date last night. Apparently Graham has already made plans to come for a visit in a few weeks. She won’t stop smiling and I’m glad that she is so wrapped up in Graham that she doesn’t grill me about my own feelings. I make sure to keep the conversation focused on wedding planning so that she understands that nothing has or will ever change.

  I am truly excited to get back and see Michael. He is my life, he is my future. I fall asleep in the car hoping I dream of him and only him.

  Chapter Seven

  The past few days have been spent trying to get back into the swing of things a
t the bakery. Now that I know the place will run smoothly and won’t literally burn down in my absence, I can feel comfortable moving forward after graduation to find ways to branch out.

  My first night back with Michael was great. He is great. I got to his apartment before he did and when I used the bathroom, I noticed that he had purchased me my own toothbrush and there it sat on the bathroom counter, still in the packaging. I proceeded to open a drawer in the vanity and place the un-opened toothbrush in the back, behind some other toiletries. I liked the gesture, but being a guy, he just wouldn’t understand the sentimental bond I’ve created by using the one he does. Maybe once we are married, I’ll stop using his.

  The next morning when he noticed me still using his toothbrush, he smiled, shook his head and continued on into the shower without saying a word. I think maybe he got the picture.

  Today, I’m in the back after the morning rush when my phone chirps. I look at it to see a number that I don’t recognize. I open the text.

  Nate: Brooklyn, I hope you are feeling better. It was so nice to see you again. N

  If the ‘N’ didn’t give it away, the ‘Brooklyn’ did. He is the only person who calls me by my proper name other than my mom.

  Damn Emma. She must have given him my number. Why would she do that? So I ask her.

  Me: Why did you give Nate my number? He is texting me.

  Almost immediately she responds.

  Emma: Lyn, I swear I didn’t give him your number and I didn’t give it to Graham either.

  She had to have given it to him. It’s not associated with the bakery so there is no way he could have gotten it.

  Nate: Before you get pissed at Emma, I lifted your number from her phone when you were both in the bathroom. N

  At least he is honest, but I’m still not sure I want him texting me. We are not friends and I’m with Michael. I decide not to text him back and I leave my phone in the office when I go out front.

  I try my hardest not to go back to the office to check my phone. It’s not like I want to get more texts from him, but it is compelling all the same. Like when you see a car accident. You know it can’t be good and you don’t want to look. You tell yourself that when you pass it, you will just keep going and not turn your head like every other rubbernecker out there. But when it comes right down to it, you can’t not look. You have to look. You have to look or it will kill you. So I look. Damn it.

  Nate: Brooklyn, I’m sorry if you were uncomfortable at the club. And then again in the rain. But at least admit to yourself that you felt something. I know I wasn’t the only one. N

  What does that have anything to do with anything? Even if I did feel something, and that is a big freaking if, I would never do anything about it. He was my first crush, my first love. It’s understandable that I might have some residual feelings. Plus, he’s hot. However, I’m not about to become a Nathan Riley statistic. So I tell him.

  Me: I would never dream of becoming another notch in your bedpost, even IF I had feelings for you. Which I don’t. B

  I sign my text the same way he signed his. Belatedly, I realize that I used a ‘B’, not an ‘L’.

  A few seconds later, he texts me back. Doesn’t he have anything better to do?

  Nate: So you’ve told what’s-his-name all about our week together? N.

  Okay, now I’m getting mad.

  Me: First of all, his name is Michael. And it wasn’t OUR week together—it was Emma’s and my week together. B

  Nate: Purely semantics. I take it you didn’t tell him then. It was great to see you. I have thought about you a lot and I wish things could have been different. I want to say I’m sorry for so many things. Things that happened a long time ago. Things I can’t talk about. Just know that I am sorry. N

  Why couldn’t he have said this last week? What is it about guys and their inability to communicate?

  Me: I appreciate you saying that. Doesn’t change things though. B

  Nate: Wish it could. Wish you would give me the opportunity to try. I’ll throw away my old bed post and you could be the ONLY notch in the new one. N

  Words. Just words. I’m not sure why he would want to waste his time on someone who is so far away when he clearly has many willing candidates all around him. I decide not to acknowledge his last text and start to clean up for the day. Thankfully, he does not text me back. But that doesn’t keep me from checking my phone every few minutes.

  ~ ~ ~

  A few days have passed since Nate texted me. I guess he has lost interest since I didn’t show any. Emma grilled me on the whole texting scene with him and she thinks I handled it appropriately which is good because if she knows anything, it’s how to handle men.

  I am out to dinner with Emma when my phone chirps.

  Nate: You know, it is customary in this country to thank the giver of gifts. I assume you got them? N

  Well, this is just great. Now I have to show Emma the text because she won’t let it go, and then she will want to know all about the flowers and food he sent that I never told her about. So I confess everything. Then the conversation takes a turn that I didn’t expect. “Well, why haven’t you told Michael?” she asks.

  Shoot. Why haven’t I told him? Because of that Karma bitch? Because I feel guilty even looking in another man’s direction? Because if I admit deep down inside, I do still harbor those feelings even if common sense tells me it’s only because he was my first?

  “Because I don’t want to cause problems where there aren’t any, Emma. Nate is not an issue. I love Michael. End of story. There is no reason to upset Michael.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince Emma or myself.

  She doesn’t push the subject and I don’t respond to Nate’s text.

  ~ ~ ~

  It’s Friday night. Emma is on a date with Graham. Okay, not a real date as she is, in fact, in the next room and he is still in Raleigh. It’s a Skype date, but she thinks it is real so I’ll go along. So here I am, alone. Alone because Michael is at the hospital. Again. So I’m sitting at home trying to figure out what slasher movie to watch. Emma is more a romantic-comedy type of girl. Not me, give me the blood, guts and gore every time. I will never get tired of yelling at the television because someone in the movie is stupid enough to go somewhere alone. My phone chirps.

  Nate: Most people say that Friday the 13th is better than Nightmare on Elm Street because it is just too unbelievable that people can die in their dreams. Your thoughts? N

  What? How in the hell? I look over my shoulder and around the room. My phone chirps again before I can respond.

  Nate: If I assume correctly, Emma is in the next room to you, as Graham is to me, leaving us high and dry for the evening. Are you still into scary movies? N

  Oh, he is good. What, did he tape record our entire high school encounter?

  Me: First, how do you know I’m not sitting here with Michael? Second, why are you not gallivanting around looking for your next conquest? B

  Nate: Gallivanting? You’re quite the wordsmith. I heard Emma talking about you being home alone. And I don’t . . . gallivant . . . anymore. I bought a new bedpost. N

  Whoa! I decide not to touch that with a ten-foot pole but, instead, play nice and since I’m so bored, we put in the same movie and occasionally text about how stupid the characters are.

  When the movie is over and I’m ready for bed I text him one last time.

  Me: Off to bed. Plz don’t comment on that. P.S. Thanks for the flowers . . . and stuff. B

  Nate: You are most welcome for the flowers . . . and stuff. Sleep well, beautiful. N

  Well, crap. I read his text again. That text right there—that is why I have to end this . . . thing. Whatever this is. He can’t call me beautiful. He can’t make references to his bed and me. I have to tell Michael.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sitting in the shop after Monday morning’s rush I think back on the weekend I spent with Michael. The rare weekend that he actually got forty-eight hours in a row away from the hospit
al. The perfect weekend with the perfect guy. I really didn’t think it was going to turn out that way. I had decided to lay it all out there. Well, almost all. There may have been a few minor details I left out. But, for the most part, I was completely honest, telling him about how uncomfortable I was with Nate and how he is a womanizer and that yes, we slow danced once but only because everyone else was and that no, we did not kiss.

  Technically, it’s the truth. I even said that he had somehow gotten my number and had texted me and that I would show him the texts if he wanted. Of course, he said he didn’t need to see the texts. He said that he trusts me completely and that if I wanted someone else, I would be with someone else and that he knows I would never leave him for someone like Nate, a cheater who abandoned a young girl and ruined a marriage. Once a cheater, always a cheater, he said.

  When I think about it, I realize that everything Michael said is true. If I wanted to be with Nate, I could go be with Nate. But what would that accomplish? He would just hurt me again. Even if I did have feelings for him—which I don’t—he would cheat on me and move on to his next conquest.

  I knew all this but somehow it took Michael telling me to really make me understand. It took Michael accepting my flaws and trusting me completely to free myself from Nate. I know what I have to do. If he contacts me again, I will beg him to leave me alone. I will ask Graham to do whatever it takes to keep him away from me. I need to focus on Michael. My life is with him, with the perfect man who I know will be true to me. A sense of relief washes over me. The weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I am at peace.

  ~ ~ ~

  It has been almost a week since Nate texted me last and I really thought he would simply go away so I wouldn’t have to confront him. I’m bad at confrontation. But my phone chirps, and Karma, she just won’t leave me alone.