“Probably Legos. I had about a million of them.”
“And what would you build?”
“Cities. My brother and I would build entire cities out of Legos—skyscrapers and houses and garages for our matchbox cars. We had a huge room in the basement devoted to Legos. We used to play down there all the time on rainy days.”
“What about when it was sunny?”
“If it wasn’t raining, we were always outside. There were lots of kids in our neighborhood, and we’d have epic games of Peas and Carrots, which was basically hide and seek.”
I laughed. “Why’d you call it Peas and Carrots?”
“I have no idea,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as he changed lanes. “But we always did. And once you were hidden in your spot, you had to yell out peas and carrots to give the person who was it at least a clue where you are hiding, because the houses were so big and the yards were fair game, too. And the tree behind our house was always Goal.” He was quiet for a moment, then he laughed. “Also, I was obsessed with Batman when I was young and always wore a cape like he did. I even slept in it.”
“You did?”
“Yep. Wore it over my Batman pajamas.”
“Please tell me you still have Batman pajamas.”
He grinned and shook his head. “Sorry. But if you really want me to, I’ll come to bed in a cape for you sometime.”
I clapped my hands. “Oooooh, please do. Naked except for the cape. And I think you should wear the mask with the pointy ears too. So sexy.”
He reached over and put a hand on my leg. “Anything for you, babe. Glad to know you have a superhero kink. I like it.”
“What about your brother?” I asked. “Was he Robin to your Batman?”
Nate took his hand away. “Yes.”
An uncomfortable silence followed, during which I was kicking myself for ruining the light mood. Nate’s neck muscles were tense, his mouth a grim line. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to upset you by bringing him up. I was only curious.”
It took him a moment, but eventually the tension left his body, and his jaw unclenched. “It’s okay. I’m just not used to talking about him.” He put his hand on my leg again and surprised me by going on. “It’s like there were two eras of my childhood. The Before years, which were idyllic, and the After years, which were agony. And no one ever talked about any of it. We buried the past just like we buried my brother.”
A lump formed in my throat, and I took his hand in both of mine, hoping he would keep talking. He did, although not right away.
“I’m sure we all thought we were doing the right thing by suffering in silence, sparing each other the pain of talking about Adam and our life before leukemia, or even about our grief after he was gone. But it was so hard. I remember feeling torn between wanting to remember him out loud and wishing he had never existed in the first place. I felt a lot of guilt about that.”
“God, that must have been so awful for you.” I squeezed his hand.
“It was. And there was no one I could talk to about it. My mother was drowning in her own grief and guilt, my father turned to the bottle for solace, and my friends didn’t know how to deal with such a huge loss—what twelve-year-old boy does?”
“You needed therapy,” I said. “I can’t believe no one suggested it.”
He shrugged. “Someone might have, I don’t remember. But my parents were not in the right frame of mind to arrange it, and I probably would have refused to go, anyway. Talking about it wasn’t going to bring my brother back.”
“No, but it might have eased your guilty feelings a little bit. Helped you to process the loss and prevented you from being so afraid to care for someone again.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Do you want to talk about him now? About the Before years, I mean? I’d like to know about him.” For a moment, I was afraid I’d gone too far, but then he started to talk.
“He loved baseball. And Swedish fish. And knock-knock jokes. He had a book full of them, and they were all terrible.” He smiled. “I remember this one he used to trot out every time he met someone new. Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?” I said.
“I eat mop.”
“I eat mop who?” As soon as the words were out, I realized what it sounded like I’d said, and burst out laughing. Nate did too, and the sound made my heart beat faster.
“Yeah, he used to love getting people with that one, especially girls.”
“Well, he’d have gotten me, that’s for sure.” I giggled again. “And I’m going to get my sisters with it.”
“Adam would be proud.”
“What else did he like to do?”
“Whatever I was doing. He was forever tagging along after me. He used to sleep at the foot of my bed like a puppy. And when he got too big for that, he’d sleep on the floor in my room.”
“Aww. I bet he idolized you.”
“He did.” He paused and swallowed hard. “He was a good kid. I miss him every day.”
I kissed the back of his hand. “Thanks for telling me about him.”
We listen to the radio for a while after that—we discovered we both loved This American Life on NPR—but it wasn’t too long before Paisley woke up. Since we were still about an hour from Nate’s mom’s house, we decided to pull off the road and feed her. “Are you hungry?” asked Nate as we exited the highway. “Do you want to grab lunch?”
“Sure,” I said. “Anyplace is fine with me.”
We ended up at a Coney Island, and the hostess seated us in a big corner booth. I shrugged out of my jacket and fluffed my hair, which was damp from the rain. Nate set Paisley’s car seat in the booth, sat down next to her, and unbuckled the straps. “Can you make the bottle for me?” he asked, handing me the diaper bag. “I should change her.”
“Why don’t I take her to the ladies room and change her? They’ll probably have a changing table in there.”
“Won’t they have one in the men’s room?”
I shrugged. “Not usually.”
Nate’s expression was angry. “That doesn’t seem fair. They just assume a dad would never need to change a diaper?”
“I guess.”
“That’s bullshit.” He stood up. “Give me the diaper bag.”
I handed it to him, and he threw it over his shoulder and took off toward the bathrooms with Paisley crying in his arms.
Ten minutes later, he was back, his expression much more relaxed. “They had a family restroom with a table,” he said as he slid into the booth. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”
“You learn something new every day.” I turned my menu to face him. “Here. Take a look at that while I make the bottle.”
He glanced at it. “God, I need to get back in the gym. I have not been eating well.”
“I might be able to watch her for you a few times next week so you can go work out if you want. Although with Coco still out, my schedule is pretty full. Hand me the diaper bag?”
He passed it over the table. “Yeah, I probably have to hire an actual babysitter or nanny. I can’t be off work for much longer.”
“I can help you find someone,” I said as the server approached. “I think Coco mentioned an agency or website that she used to find a sitter one time. I’ll ask her what it is.”
We ordered burgers and fries and took turns eating and holding Paisley, since she continued to be fussy even after her bottle. At some point while I was holding her and trying to eat the last few bites of my burger, Nate pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet, put it on the table, and stood up. “I’ll take her so you can finish,” he said. “I’m done. If she comes back, will you ask for the check?” He took Paisley from my arms and walked up front with her.
I quickly finished eating, and when the server came by to check on us, I asked her for the bill.
“Of course,” she said. “Is your husband finished with his plate?” She gestured toward Nate’s unfinished fries.
She smiled and picked up the plate, stacking it on top of mine. “Any man who takes a crying baby so his wife can finish her lunch is a keeper. I’ll be right back with the check.”
“Thanks, Sharon,” I said, referring to the name on her name tag. I loved Sharon. Sharon was awesome.
By the time Nate returned to the table to put Paisley in her car seat, Sharon was setting the change on the table. “Good job, dad. You got her to quiet down. I was just telling your wife how lucky she is to have a man who helps with the baby.”
Nate’s eyebrows rose, and he gave me a surprised look. I bit my lip. I was kind of afraid he was going to tell her the truth and spoil my little fantasy, but he didn’t. Actually, he looked more amused than anything. “Thanks,” he said to Sharon. He carefully transferred Paisley to her car seat and buckled her up while I put my coat on, then we left the restaurant, hurrying across the parking lot in the rain.
When we were on the highway again, he glanced over at me. “My wife? Did I miss the part where we got married?”
I laughed. “Relax, you’re still single.”
“Oh, good. Because I can only handle one identity crisis at a time. I just discovered I’m a father. I can’t discover I’m a husband all of a sudden, too.” He shuddered.
I shifted in my seat to face him and crossed my arms. “Would it be so horrible, to be married to me?”
“No, darling. The man who marries you will be the luckiest man in the world, and I promise to represent you in the divorce and make sure we rake his stupid ass over the coals for fucking up a good thing. It would, however, be horrible to be married to me. I wouldn’t put you through it.”
I rolled my eyes and faced forward again, and he turned on NPR again. But I couldn’t pay attention to the show. My mind kept drifting back to what he had said about getting married. It’s not like I hadn’t known his views on the subject before, but it hadn’t been personal then. Now he wasn’t only saying he had no interest in marriage, he was also saying he had no interest in marriage to me. Was I crazy to feel a little hurt by that?
Yes, said a voice in my head. You have been dating for exactly two weeks. Get a grip. Stay in the moment.
No, said my heart. It’s only natural to dream about a future with someone you love. It’s impossible to stay in the moment all the time.
Was I in love with Nate?
I glanced at his handsome profile and it gave me butterflies, but I hadn’t really needed to look at him to know the answer.
Of course I was in love with Nate. I even thought he might be in love with me. What had he said last night? You have me. Maybe they weren’t the usual three little words you dreamed of hearing from the one who’d captured your heart, but there was something about the way he said them that made them just as meaningful. You have me. I felt it in my bones. And I’d heard other guys say “I love you” before when they clearly hadn’t meant it. It wasn’t the words themselves that mattered. It was the sentiment.
But what did it mean to have him? Or to be his? What good did it do to belong to each other if you knew it was only temporary? How could you enjoy the moment if you were constantly aware that there would be no future? That your time together was running out? It made our entire relationship seem like sand in an hourglass.
Then again, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I just needed to be patient with Nate, like I’d promised to be. After all, look how far he’d come as a father. It wasn’t that far-fetched to think he might change his mind about marriage in the future, was it? And it’s not like I was in a rush. I just liked knowing it was a possibility. I liked anticipation. My favorite moments at the weddings I planned were always those right before the bride walked up the aisle. When she stood at the back of the church and looked toward the front where her future husband waited for her. When she took that first step, it wasn’t only toward a man. It was toward a dream. It gave me chills every single time.
I wanted that for myself.
Time. That’s all I needed to do, give it time. If Nate was really the one, and something in my gut told me he was, then he was worth waiting for.
I could be patient.
Sixteen
Nate
Something was off with me.
Or maybe it was off with Emme—she’d gone quiet after that whole marriage conversation. Was it that? Did it bother her that I had no intention of getting married? Were her feelings hurt? I hoped not. It wasn’t personal—I was crazy about her, and I mean that in the truest sense of the word. There were times I actually thought I was losing my mind because I wanted her so badly. I was constantly thinking about her, always wondering what I could do to make her smile, and keeping my hands off her was nearly impossible. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her…
Except get married. I just couldn’t.
So much about my life had spun off track. In the last couple weeks, I'd had to scrap every plan and dream I’d had for myself. I'd had to accept a completely new reality, map out an entirely different future. It made the ground feel slippery under my feet. Like nothing was certain. Was it too much to ask to hold on to some part of my former life, some piece of my former self?
And wasn't it enough that we were together now? That I felt more for her than I ever had for any woman? That I, Nate Pearson, divorce attorney and commitment-phobe, was in a relationship? I'd told her things last night I’d never told anyone. She knew more about me, the real me, than any human being on the planet. I trusted her. And I was trying hard to be the kind of person she wanted me to be. Wasn't all that enough?
Not to mention the fact that I knew how unlikely it was that a marriage would last, and I’d seen firsthand how shitty divorces could be. They were soul crushing. Heartbreaking. Embarrassing. And really fucking expensive. Frankly, I had no idea why people still bothered to get married in the first place. It's not like you needed the certificate to have kids if you really wanted to. And I didn't want any more kids, anyway. One was plenty.
I glanced over at Emme, who was stone-faced as she stared out the windshield. She probably wanted kids of her own, maybe even two or three of them. And before that, she'd want the big wedding with five hundred guests and twenty-seven bridesmaids and five circus tents and a partridge in a pear tree and whatever other nonsense brides could dream up. I knew that about her. I had always known it.
But I wanted to be with her.
So now what? Did we need to talk about this? Did I owe it to her to make sure she knew how I felt? But what if that was a deal-breaker? What if she broke it off? The chocolate milkshake I’d drunk with my lunch seemed to curdle in my stomach.
I didn’t like thinking about my life without her. I didn’t want to go back to one-night stands with women whose names I could barely recall. And when I thought of her with someone else—my hands tightened on the steering wheel—I wanted to fucking put my fist through the windshield.
I couldn’t lose her. I needed her.
Especially now, when I was turning onto my old street and my nerves were already tying themselves into knots. What would my mother’s mental state be? How would she handle meeting her grandchild? Which version of her would greet us today, the angst-ridden agoraphobe who'd never recovered from the tragic loss of her younger son, or some semblance of the mother I'd once known, who baked amazing chocolate chip cookies and wore a perfume called Happy and laughed at all of Adam’s terrible jokes?
I pulled into the driveway and put the car in park, but didn't turn off the engine.
Emme looked over at me. "You okay?"
"Yeah.” I cleared my throat, which felt tight and scratchy all of a sudden. “Coming here is sometimes difficult."
"I get it."
Of course you do. My throat tightened even more. Why did I feel like I owed her an apology?
Maybe it was the house messing with me. I
looked at it through the driver side window, a red brick center entrance colonial with black shutters and white trim. The hydrangea bushes on either side of the front door still had dead brown leaves, but I knew they would bloom bright pink and blue this summer. If I squinted, I could still see my mother cutting them back, my dad mowing the front lawn, my brother and I racing down the driveway on our bikes, our capes flying behind us.
My mother appeared in the living room window. She'd moved the curtain aside and was peering out intently, like a lonely old lady looking for some neighborhood gossip. I couldn't tell if she was wearing gloves or not.
I unbuckled my seatbelt. "Might as well go in.”
Emme covered my hand with hers for a moment but didn't say anything, and I felt a rush of gratitude.
I looked at our hands. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me too. Do I get to see your old bedroom? Are there, like, posters of Cindy Crawford on the walls?”
Laughing, I shook my head. “You’d be more likely to see nineties movie posters, but I’m pretty sure my mother has taken them all down.”
A few minutes later we approached the front door, which opened before we even stepped onto the porch. My mother stood twisting her hands together, her expression a bit anxious, but at least she wasn’t wearing gloves. She was dressed in jeans and a turtleneck sweater, and her hair was shorter than the last time I’d seen her, which had been about two months ago. It used to be dark and thick and she’d worn it long when I was a kid, but now it was much thinner, almost entirely gray, and barely covered her ears.
Only You Page 18
