Always Something There to Remind Me

by Beth Harbison

  And we’d already done that.

  I envied Roxanne and her stage in life. She had no idea how good she had it. She had no idea how many options were still open to her. Hell, if she played her cards right she could probably even still get that dimwit Justin back, though I didn’t see her playing her cards right … or caring in a few months. They’d dated for all of a few weeks and, as far as I could tell, he had nothing to make him memorable apart from his complete asshole-ness. It was hard to imagine that even someone as shallow as Roxanne would miss that for very long.

  God, I was such an old fogy. Sitting here thinking that youth was wasted on the young.

  Rick drove up just when I was about to launch into a mental lecture about how far I had to walk to school as a child.

  “I called Triple A,” he said, getting out of the car and coming to me. He put his hands on my arms. “Are you okay?”

  I frowned. “Well … yeah, it’s just a flat tire. I didn’t have an accident, you know.”

  “Well, it can be very dangerous to drive on a flat.”

  “I know. That’s why I called you instead of driving on it.” I considered for a minute. “Why did you call Triple A?”

  “To change the tire.”

  “You can’t change a tire?” This felt like something I should have already known.

  He must have known his masculinity was slipping in my eyes because he said, “Can you?”

  “Well, no, but I’m not a guy.”

  He was instantly defensive, of course. “Obviously I can change a tire, but I’m not exactly dressed for it. I came right from work.”

  He was right. He was in a two-thousand-dollar suit, it would have been insane for him to change the tire. But still … it seemed so fussy for a man to call Triple A for a tire change.

  “They should be here in about an hour,” Rick said.

  “An hour!” I went to the trunk and opened it. “I’m going to try this myself.”

  He stood back, looking bemused. “You’re going to try what?”

  “Changing the tire.” I flipped back the carpet and saw the spare tire pinned in by the jack. “I’ve seen it done before.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” He took off his jacket and loosened his tie.

  I pulled the jack out and went to the tire to unscrew the bolts. “No, Rick, just go on. I’ve got this covered. I wouldn’t want you to get your hands dirty.” Okay, that was obnoxious. I really was kind of attacking his masculinity.

  Fortunately, he had a pretty healthy ego and an even healthier sense of humor. “Okay. Let’s see how you do, then,” he said with a laugh, and he leaned on his BMW to watch me.

  You know what’s not self-explanatory? Assembling a jack. I was trying to get the pump thingy into the notch.

  “Need help?” Rick asked.

  “No!”

  “That’s the wrong end you’re trying to fit in there.”

  “But the other end won’t fit in this tiny hole!”

  He came to me and turned the jack around. “No, but it will fit there.” He indicated a bigger hole that suddenly seemed like the obvious place for the pump. “Here, let me do this.”

  It was immediately obvious that I wasn’t able to do this myself and that I had made a big stupid ass of myself by suggesting I could. “I don’t want you to get all messy.”

  He rolled up his sleeve. “It’s fine. Call Triple A on my phone and cancel.”

  “Okay.” I stepped back. No need for me to stand on pride. Within five minutes, he had the tire changed and the old one put back in the trunk.

  And there was just enough grease on his two-hundred-dollar shirt that I knew it would never be the same.

  I felt like such an asshole.

  “You’re lucky this is a full-sized spare,” Rick said. “But we should still replace it.”

  I nodded. “Right. So, it’s safe now? I can drive on it?”

  He turned the corners of his mouth down, looked the car over, and nodded. “Yes.”

  “Wow. Thanks. I really appreciate it. Sorry I…” What? Goaded you? “I should have just waited for Triple A.”

  “Forget it,” he said, in a way that made it obvious to me and anyone listening that I totally should have waited. “Look, it’s been a long day, so I’m going to go on home. The girls could probably use some supervision anyway.”

  I nodded. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

  “Sure.” He got in his car and drove off.

  And for the first time I really realized that I didn’t have forever to make a decision about him and that, if I didn’t straighten up, I might not be the one to make the decision at all.

  Chapter 22

  “Okay, Roxanne. Pick your fake boyfriend.” I laid three eight-by-ten glossy head shots on the desk in front of her, each guy more gorgeous than the last, in that teen-movie sort of way.

  She looked at them wide-eyed, then up at me. “Can I keep one?”

  “Picture? Yes. Guy? No. You don’t have that kind of budget.”

  “You’ve got good taste,” she said, her eyes scanning the pictures. “I’m surprised.”

  I sighed. “Well, yes, I can vaguely remember what hot was way back when I was your age.”

  She nodded. She didn’t get it at all. “I think this one.” She pointed to Troy, who, I thought, was the least attractive of them all, thanks to his girlishly long eyelashes and full lips, but I knew that was in right now so I’d added him to the choices.

  “You got it.” I picked up the phone to call the modeling agency.

  “But wait!”

  I hung up.

  “No, go ahead. That one.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, my hand on the receiver.

  “Yes.” She said it impatiently, like I was the one holding things up. “God!” She pronounced it goiy-d. I was so sick of hearing it come out of her mouth over the past few weeks I could scream.

  But the party was in three days now, and then it would be over.

  “All right, stand by.” I picked up the phone again and made the call, securing Troy for the party and arranging for him to arrive early so he could make his grand entrance with Roxanne. “It’s done,” I said when I hung up.

  “Thanks.” She did look delighted. “So I can keep the picture?”

  “Of course.” I was glad this had worked out, I have to say. There were times when I would have given anything to have a person like me there to create every illusion I wanted to present to the world. “Here’s the story. You guys met at a baseball game a couple of weeks ago. You went with a friend, maybe from another school. Troy was playing, you caught the foul ball, and the rest … is history.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Did you come up with that?”

  I nodded. “Not bad, huh?”

  “It’s perfect! My friend Denise in Delaware invited me to a minor league game just last week!”

  “Well.” I picked up the pictures of the other two boys. “Good that you went, then.”

  “Does he know the story?”

  “He will. Troy hopes to be an actor someday”—like every pretty boy who looks like him and does musical theater—“so he’s looking forward to the chance to use his acting chops.”

  “Oh, my God!” she squealed, and jumped up to shuffle around the desk in her stilettos and give me a hug. “You’re so good at this! I’m so sorry I told everyone you suck.”

  “You told everyone I suck?”

  She didn’t even look embarrassed. “Well, when you couldn’t get Justin to come…”

  “Hm. That’s the other thing. Justin is coming.”

  “What?” She started jumping up and down. Visions of broken ankles danced in my head. “Are you being completely serious with me right now?”

  “Yes, but here’s the thing, Roxanne. Don’t throw yourself at him. You have to trust me on this. He’ll be jealous when he sees you with Troy.” Because he’s a total douche canoe who only wants what he can’t have. “You’ll have your chance then to get him back, I think. Though I do
n’t recommend it.”

  “Ooohh!” She squeezed me around the neck again. “This is so awesome! This is like the best party ever!”

  “Good!”

  “Where’s the camera crew?” she wanted to know. “I have to go tell them you kick ass after all.”

  “They’re out back getting more establishing shots and talking to Jeremy. And actually…” I took a breath and said what I had to. “Jeremy had a lot to do with this. He’s the one you need to thank, not me.” I am no saint. I really hated giving credit for what I’d done to someone else, but if I let her go out there and credit me, they were going to want to interview me for the camera, and that was the last thing I wanted. Better to let Jeremy take the credit.

  He was the one who needed to know I’d done a good job. He’d get it once Roxanne started talking.

  “Okay!” She shuffled out of my office and I got up and closed the door behind her.

  I couldn’t wait until this damn party was over.

  * * *

  Instead of going home that evening, I found myself turning toward Palisades. Toward Nate’s house.

  Okay, Nate and Theresa’s house.

  Why was it that I had such a continuously hard time factoring her into the equation? The fact of her should have been so troubling that she was never far from my mind, but somehow that was so big, or so bad, or so crazy that I just couldn’t add it to the equation.

  And that was where my wrong thinking began.

  Because what equation was this? The equation to getting back with Nate? For one thing, he hadn’t offered, and for another, we hadn’t known each other in a long, long time.

  But, you know, there had been an ease to being around him that I found surprising. I hadn’t even realized I’d missed that in other relationships until I was with Nate. And I don’t just mean when I was naked—though that was certainly a good example—it was also when we were at his house and he just got it.

  I’ve found it’s hard to find people who get it. I could put a Journey song on and he’d know the words; I could make a Good Times reference and he’d know the mom’s name was Florida; I could say On Golden Pond and he’d remember the same scene I was thinking of; and I could recall the time Jordan was catsitting and we all took over the apartment and the cat fell off the balcony and he’d remember the name of the maintenance man who broke the news.

  He’d been there for so much of the stuff that formed me.

  And that compelled me on as I steered onto MacArthur Boulevard, and then onto Keating, and—it’s awful to admit this—past his house. Seriously, it was like being sixteen again. Driving past my ex-boyfriend’s house. Maybe hoping to spot him in the window.

  Unless spotting him meant spotting him and Theresa. Together in some way.

  The lights were out, thank goodness. Nothing to see there. No reason to stop or even slow down.

  No way to get myself into trouble.

  Shamed, I accelerated out of his neighborhood and got back onto the anonymous safety of MacArthur. My heart was pounding, my hands were shaking, my mouth was dry.

  This was too much emotion for something so long dead.

  Something so clearly hopeless.

  I saw a CVS ahead on the left and pulled into the parking lot. For a moment I sat in the car and flogged myself mentally for the stalker I’d become. This was crazy. I hated it.

  I wasn’t the kind of woman who sat up drinking wine and reading old love letters from a high school boyfriend. I wasn’t the kind of woman who then obsessed over that old boyfriend to the point of driving miles out of the way to pass his house.

  What was happening to me?

  How had I unraveled so quickly, so completely?

  I got out of the car and strode purposefully into CVS, determined to shake this budding obsession. I found a Vitaminwater in the refrigerator section, paid for it, then paused outside the door to take the lid off and throw the protective plastic away.

  When I looked up I saw him.

  Seriously. There he was. Right in front of me.

  His face reflected the same surprise I felt.

  “Nate.”

  He shook his head and looked down for a minute before meeting my eye. “A little far from your neighborhood, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” I nodded, holding his gaze. “I was stalking you by driving past your house.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nodded again. “I’m about one tequila shot away from making you a mix tape.”

  He laughed. “And what would be on it?”

  I swallowed, then remembered my water and took a sip before saying, “A whole bunch of songs that say what I can’t.”

  His gaze traveled from my eyes to my mouth and back again. “Like what?”

  “Like nothing that would be appropriate for me to say now.”

  Our eyes locked for what felt like a long time.

  “Come here.” He came to me, took me by the arm, and led me to his car. “Get in.”

  I did. Why? I don’t know. I should have argued, stood my ground, refused to be manhandled, pointed out that we had other people and other obligations; in short, I should have been some sort of grown-up, I don’t know.

  But instead I willingly—eagerly—got in and sat in the passenger seat next to him.

  Okay, actually I do know why. I wanted to know what he had to say. Standing my ground on some stupid principle would have deprived me of the one thing I wanted.

  I wanted him to say something that would make me feel better.

  He got in, closed the door, and turned to me. “I had no idea this would ever matter again.”

  “You had no idea what would matter?”

  He shrugged. “Anything I did. As far as you’re concerned, I mean. You were gone and I was the one who’d sent you away and by the time I got back it was too late. After that, I never even imagined our paths would cross again.”

  “We live within twenty-five miles of each other and of where we grew up!”

  “In the capital of the free world! A metro area in excess of six million people! Look how long we’ve gone without running into each other at all!”

  I nodded slowly. And if I hadn’t actually walked past his mother’s house on a holiday weekend, we might not have seen each other at all, possibly even for the rest of our lives.

  Yet here we were.

  “It’s a big place,” I agreed. “And it’s been a long time.”

  “And for things to go … the way they did when you came by the house…” He shook his head. “I don’t regret it.” He met my eyes defiantly. “I’d do it again. But I wouldn’t have anticipated it.”

  “Me neither.” It was all I could say. Once upon a time I’d dreamed about it. A lot. Of course, Theresa knew that. Jordan knew that. Hell, even Nate probably knew that.

  But I had long ago given up hope of ever having that particular brand of satisfaction.

  “Erin.” His hand moved toward me, but he didn’t touch me. Still, the heat came at me as surely as if he had. “I made a huge mistake.”

  “Me too.”

  “Not as big as mine.” He closed his eyes for a second, then looked at me. “When we broke up it hurt. A lot. But I had no idea how minor the stuff with Todd was compared to what happens in the real world. At the time it felt like everything. Only later I realized it was nothing. And then”—he shrugged—“it was too late.”

  “Why?” I had to ask. “Why was it too late?”

  “Because you’d moved on.”

  “There was a lot of time between us breaking up and me getting pregnant,” I pointed out. But how stupid, really. Quibbling about the years between major events, and who should have done what when.

  This was an argument better suited to sixteen-year-olds than adults.

  And that was exactly what I felt like: a sixteen-year-old, facing the boy who broke her heart and wanting to know why.

  “I didn’t want feelings to get in the way of what we needed to do with our lives.”

  “What
the hell does that mean? What matters more than feelings?”

  “That’s exactly what I didn’t want to think.”

  “What, the truth? We loved each other. How lucky were we for that? How stupid to let that go!”

  “It didn’t make sense to hold on to it just for its own sake,” he said. “There were so many other things to do before either of us could settle down.”

  “Couldn’t logistics have been figured out later?”

  He met my gaze. “I couldn’t go halfway with you.”

  Maybe I couldn’t have either. Unless it was the only alternative to nothing. “It was better to be without me?”

  He tightened his jaw. “I kept thinking it wouldn’t matter soon. I just kept thinking that.”

  “How long did that take?”

  A long tense moment passed between us.

  “I’m still waiting.”

  My heart throbbed. Might as well go all the way with this. “Tell me about Theresa.” I swallowed hard. “Tell me about you and Theresa.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “You know what I want to know.” Everything.

  He braced his hands against the steering wheel. “It wasn’t…” He paused and tried again. “We were both living in Phoenix—”

  “You were? Both of you? By coincidence?” Or was it fate?

  He nodded. “Well, she was in Phoenix, and I was just outside, but we ended up having mutual friends and running into each other at a party. It was a lonely time in my life. I was working all the time, didn’t know anyone outside of work, felt like a stranger in a strange land.…” He shrugged. “When I saw her, there was something so … familiar about it that I couldn’t resist. We started seeing each other and even though it never reached that point of really being in love I just never got around to ending things.”

  “Never got around to it?” It was unfair to be so angry now, to be mad at fate or whatever had brought them together in addition to holding it against him, but I couldn’t help it. “Wow, you wasted no time with me.”

  He winced. “It’s not the same. This didn’t matter as much. In the same way. And pushing her away would have felt a little like pushing you away too. Again.”