by Mary Whitney
“You’ve been fine with us breaking up all along. You just don’t want to be the asshole,” she spat.
“Yeah, you’re absolutely right. I am an arsehole. But, Jesus Christ, you’re wrong that I want to split up. I’ve never wanted that. Not today…not ever.”
She didn’t even speak to what I’d said. She only shook her head, rejecting me outright.
That scared the shit out of me so much I got mad. “Goddamn it. I love you. I’m never going to forget you. I—”
“You’re never going to forget about me?”
“No, of course not. I—”
“Well, you already did forget me…when you were with her. You forgot about me then, and you’ll do it again.”
That was where she’d been wrong. I would never do it again, but she hadn’t known that then.
Whether it was pity or a bit of forgiveness, a month later Nicki had reached out to me. We’d only had two weeks left before I had to go back to the UK. Our last weeks together had been wonderful; we’d even had sex our final night. It was great, but it had made our goodbye that much worse.
To me, Nicki’s silence was excruciating, whilst the rest of the reporters just found it annoying. Lydia finally begged, “Please, Nicole. It’s not like we know the guy. It’s just for fun.”
Nicki turned away and faked a smile for Dan before calmly declaring, “At the beach.”
Lydia and others approved with their coos, but it wasn’t enough information for Dan. He was like a dog with a bone as he banged on at Nicki. “So how was it? Were you in high school? Was it any good?”
My stomach clenched. Oh God. What is she going to say? When I thought back to that day at the beach, I remembered being a boy consumed with love and lust and not executing either one very well. I’d given her some corny piece of heart-shaped jewelry and then took her virginity as I came in record time—even for a seventeen-year-old boy. It was embarrassing to think about, especially with Kate’s name in the air, reminding both of us of the eventual demise of our relationship.
“No more information,” Nicki said.
“Come on, Johnson,” Dan said. “‘At the beach’ tells us almost nothing. We’re reporters. You know you’ve got to give us something more than that.”
I braced myself for whatever terrible thing I might hear from Nicki, but she was quiet. Without acknowledging me at all, she said, “Fine,” and crossed her arms. “I was seventeen. It was Valentine’s Day. That’s all—”
“Were you in love?” asked Lydia.
“Yes,” Nicki said decisively.
Her expression was placid, but her one word made a grin erupt on my face so wide that I probably looked like a complete idiot. I couldn’t help it. Hearing Nicki loved me always made me happy. She didn’t dwell on it, though. She immediately brought the subject back to work.
“Now that I’ve disclosed that bit of personal information, maybe you won’t be too upset when I tell you the president won’t take formal questions from the media until the joint press conference tomorrow.”
I was still a happy fool, but the rest of the press corps complained about being shut out.
“Don’t worry,” Nicki said, giving everyone a reassuring nod. “You’ll have more opportunities. Thanks, y’all.” Her eyes then darted over to me but communicated nothing before she walked up the aisle and out of our cabin.
For the next few days, Nicki and I had no interaction, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about her. I wondered if the incident on the plane had dredged up memories for her as well—good or bad. Regardless, I was sure I wouldn’t know until we got back to the States.
The final afternoon of our time in Berlin, we’d just finished a short photo opportunity at the Bundestag’s rooftop garden for President Logan and other European leaders at the summit. It was an impressive setting with the modern dome behind the leaders. Private meetings were to be held for the rest of the day before the president flew on to Nigeria. I planned on finishing my reporting on the summit and taking the next flight to London to see my dad.
Before I headed over to the BBC’s Berlin bureau, I took a minute to enjoy the nice view when I felt my phone vibrate at the arrival of a text message. There was no name attached to the message, only a number I didn’t recognize. Who is it? At once, I tapped the keys to get to the message.
Hi. It’s Nicki. Any interest in catching a museum with me?
I’ll be at the Museum Berggruen at 3. It’s across from the Charlottenberg Palace. I understand if you can’t.
I searched the large group of people mingling on the roof but didn’t see Nicki. Rereading her text, I chuckled. She understands if I can’t make it. She thought I might not want to come. Such a capable and accomplished woman was still unsure of herself and of me. I pondered on that. Am I going too slowly? Do I need to open up more to her? She invited me, after all. What does that mean? I didn’t have time to think. I checked my watch and saw I only had two hours to file a story, book the last flight of the night to London, and catch a cab across the city. I replied that I’d be there.
When I walked up to the museum at three, Nicki stood outside the front door, typing away on her phone. She was surprised when I greeted her.
“Hello, Nicki.”
“What? Oh. Sorry. I was just sending something.” A flustered smile grew on her face. “Thanks for coming. I know it’s out of the way, but Sylvia told me it’s a great collection. Not many people come out here.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” I couldn’t have cared less that it was a great collection. It could’ve been a museum of bad cartoons. I just wanted to be with her.
We spent the next half-hour strolling through a wonderfully intimate museum with an expansive spiral staircase and works of Picasso, Klee, and Matisse in room after room. Nicki was right that there were few people around, and I wondered if she’d chosen the museum for that reason. We weren’t likely to run into any of our coworkers there.
Ironically, we didn’t discuss anything personal the entire time. We spoke only of the art and work, and the work conversation was as dry as could be. Any of my colleagues would’ve killed to have that much access to someone so close to the president, but really all I got was background that could be used for color. Still, all the work talk did make things easy between us, which kept away any awkwardness. It also stopped me from continually thinking about touching her arse, which looked nice in her striped trousers.
We were done too soon for my liking, so when we got outside again, I asked if she wanted to sit in the park. She agreed, and I thanked God for my luck. Before we found a spot in front of the stately palace, I grabbed a couple of drinks from a street seller.
Nicki thanked me for the drinks, and I wanted to thank her as well—with a kiss. She was clearly tired from all the travel and the long days, yet the dark circles under her eyes only made her look more sincere and sweet. I stopped myself, however, and told her, “It’s the least I can do. Thank you for inviting me today. It was very interesting. I haven’t seen that many Picassos, except in the museum in Paris.”
“Same with me.”
“When were you in Paris last? With Logan?”
Nicki gave me a quick smile and shrugged. “No. New Year’s.” She took a sip of her Orangina then waited a beat before adding, “With Juan Carlos.”
“New Year’s in Paris. Nice.” Fuck him. Why does he get to go to Paris with her? I bitterly said under my breath, “Why him?”
The words were out of my mouth before I’d even decided to say them. My subconscious was at work. Had Dan’s questioning made me wonder, too? Was my curiosity finally getting the best of me? Or was I realizing that the more information I had, the better?
She didn’t seem to have heard me, so I acted nonchalant by stretching my legs out. More casually, I said, “So tell me about Juan Carlos.”
“You really want to talk about him?” Her brow furrowed.
“Sure. He’s important to you, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then get on with it.” My patience began to fray, fearing she might be toying with me.
“Well…you probably know a lot. His family was part of the Mariel Boatlift from Cuba when he was a boy. They came here with nothing and became prosperous. He’s been in politics for forever. He—”
“No. Tell me about him.” I sounded frustrated, so when she hesitantly asked what I wanted to know, I played the friends card. “We’re friends. You can tell me. What do you like about him?”
“What do I like about him?” She gave me a quizzical glare, likely wondering if I really wanted to hear everything.
“Yes.” Why are you with that short bastard and not me?
When I didn’t back down from her gaze, she continued, “Well…he’s very charismatic, very personable. People just want to be around him.”
“That’s often said.”
“It’s true, though. He’s not a very big guy, but he’s got a giant personality. He’s very endearing.”
So far he sounded like he had the same qualities as a puppy. I smiled at my private joke and asked, “What else?”
“Well, we care about the same things. You know, have the same politics.”
Check. I’d spent enough time with Nicki in the last couple of months to know we also had similar politics; she had to have noticed that, too. I prompted her. “And?”
She again gave me a wary look. “And he’s a very passionate person. He couldn’t be as dedicated to his work without that drive. It’s one of the things that we have most in common.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I work long hours. I miss a lot of personal stuff in life. Most guys don’t understand that—even some political types don’t get it.”
But I got it. Nicki’s commitment to her job—to her ideals—was one of the things that I found so compelling about her now. I also understood it because I worked hard, too.
I was quiet for a moment, wondering how I could show her that I was all of those things that she liked. I commented, “You do need someone understanding of that.”
“I love his family, too,” she said, her voice more energized. “It’s big and friendly. Even though I’m not Cuban, they’ve been incredibly welcoming to me. I suppose knowing Spanish helped with that. His mom is great, and his father kind of dotes on me. He calls me Blanquita—like I’m Snow White because I’m so pale. It’s really sweet.”
My heart sank. Juan Carlos’s dad had taken to her, but what had my father fucking done? When he’d known her, Dad had spent his time trying to tell me she was nothing special. Because he had always been cordial with her, though, she didn’t know exactly what he’d said—but maybe she’d guessed it. Not really thinking, I mumbled, “A big family is nice.”
“It is.” She played with the cap on her drink and added, “Sometimes I feel very alone. It feels good to be around them.”
“Do you want a big family?” I wanted to hit myself on the head for asking such a question, but Nicki didn’t seem to find it intrusive.
“Yeah. Actually, I do. Not too big, but I’d like to have three kids.” She took a long breath. “After Lauren died, I was by myself. I was the only child, and my sister—my friend—was gone, and I felt a lot of responsibility for my parents. I think with three kids, if something happens to one of them, you still have someone.”
I smiled, wanting her to feel comfortable. “I feel lucky to have David. He’s like a brother to me and Sylvia.”
“I don’t know, though,” she said with a sigh. “I turn thirty-four this year, and I don’t see kids on the horizon anytime soon.”
Normally, when a woman over the age of twenty-seven mentioned her biological clock, it was time to run. It felt like entrapment. Yet when Nicki remarked on her age and kids in the same breath, I wanted to grab her and say, “Well, let’s get on with it.”
My biology was at work, too. Hormones and instinct told me she was perfect to bear my children. I wanted to fuck her on the grass and pass on my genetic code right then and there. I turned to her, thinking maybe now was the time to snatch that kiss…to let her know what I felt, but she leaned back and crossed her arms.
“What about you?” she asked. “Do you want to have kids?”
Never having really thought about it much until that moment, I was baffled at first. I’d always taken it for granted. Yet thinking about children with Nicki made me happy. “Well, of course. I’d love a family.”
She remained quiet and lost in her own thoughts until she spoke as if thinking aloud. “Yeah, Juan Carlos is a really, really good guy, and he’s good to me. And he’s incredibly loyal. I mean…he works in politics…he’s got pretty interns flirting with him all the time, but I trust him completely.”
I froze. In a roundabout way, she’d brought it up—that I had cheated on her. And that she’d mentioned it in relation to how her new boyfriend would never hurt her made it all the more painful. She could trust him, but long ago she’d decided she couldn’t be with me. She didn’t trust me.
Panic struck her face as her whole body tensed. She became even more horrified when she saw the look on my face. “Oh, Adam. I wasn’t bringing that up…I didn’t mean anything by it.”
She might’ve been thirty-three at that moment, with sixteen years behind her since we’d last talked about it, but I wasn’t. I was seventeen again, begging for forgiveness. “Nicki, you have to know how sorry I was…how sorry I am. I’ve carried guilt and regret with me for the last—”
“No. Don’t say that. I have my own guilt…my own regrets—so many.” Shaking her head, she said, “God. Please, let’s not talk about it. It was years ago. It’s not a big deal.”
Her speech was rushed, almost frantic, but I caught every word. She had her own regrets. She probably regretted ever being with me, and it didn’t matter that it was a long time ago, because it clearly still was a big deal. Otherwise, a man’s loyalty wouldn’t be such a priority for her. I’d really done a number on her. I was an arse.
“Nicki, I want to talk, even if we’re just going to be—”
“No. It’s not necessary. We don’t have to go there. I’m so sorry.” She shrugged. “Let’s let the past be the past and focus on the present.”
“Okay.”
What a chump I was. I couldn’t even tell her how I really felt. Neither of us spoke, and things felt so tense that I checked my watch just for something to do. Unfortunately, the time told me we were going to leave each other that day on a sad note. “I’m sorry, Nicki, but I’ve got to run. I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Oh. That’s right. You’re going to see your dad.”
“Just for a few days.”
“Will you tell your mom hello for me?” She smiled. “And your dad.”
“Certainly. I know they’ll be happy to hear from you. They watch you on the news.”
“That’s nice of them. Yet so…odd. Do you know what I mean?”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
She sighed, looking at her own watch. “I suppose I need to leave, too. We’re off to Nigeria tomorrow.”
“I’ll be back in DC by the time you arrive in the States on Sunday.”
Biting her lip, she timidly said, “Maybe we can talk again then.”
“I’d like that,” I said with a smile. “I’d like that very much.”
Chapter Seven
EVER SINCE DAD had become really ill, my family home hadn’t been the same. It was still the home I grew up in, but the smell—the smell was awful. It smelled like a nursing home or hospital, and the scent only worsened the more he declined. With every new medical device or walking apparatus or nurse’s visit, the odor intensified.
When I finally made it to Cambridge late that night, the smell was overpowering. Dad was sleeping, but Mum was waiting for me. Normally, she picked me up at the railway station, but my flight had been so late that I’d taken a taxi. Despite the late hour, Mum had a meal sitting on the table for me when I walked in.
After our gr
eetings, she eagerly asked, “So tell me all about your trip with the president.”
“It’s been tiring. Frankly, I’m happy to have a break, though the trip to Nigeria would have been interesting.”
“Why is he going to Nigeria?”
“Logan is just doing things differently. He needed to meet with European leaders first to show his allegiance to longtime allies and then go to Africa to show his interest in the developing world.” I sniggered after saying it.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. It’s just something Nicki said.”
“Nicki?” Mum’s voice lilted with interest. “She’s been on the trip with you, hasn’t she?”
“Yes, she has, and we’ve talked. She’d made a joke about Americans calling countries ‘developing nations’ when their cultures have been around thousands of years longer than that of the United States.”
“Oh, she’s a sharp one. It’s obvious when she speaks on the telly, but there’s also something sweet about her that comes through.”
A deep conversation about Nicki with my shrink mum was not what I wanted so late at night. I fiddled with my fork, signaling I was bored, but Mum pressed on. “So do you two talk often? Sylvia told me about the day you three spent together. It sounded like you had a lovely time.”
“We did. She says hello to you and dad.”
I could’ve also told her a little about my afternoon with Nicki earlier that day, but I didn’t want to. I was trying to sort it out. Nicki was confusing. Over the course of the conversation, I’d been heartbrokenly depressed, yet at times still sensed the same promise I’d felt since our snowy day together. Her asking to talk with me again gave me a great bit of hope. She wouldn’t do so if some part of her wasn’t interested.
Mum beamed. “Oh, it’s so nice of her to remember me—such a pleasant girl. It’s wonderful that you get to spend time with her again.”
That was a warning that I needed to retreat. Changing the subject, I asked, “So how’s Dad?”
“All right. He’s chipper, but…we’ll see if his mood changes when we get the test results tomorrow.”
