“Nate?” I say.
“What?” he says without looking back.
“Friends?”
To my relief, he gives me a smile. “Always,” he says. He takes my hand and kisses it before he vanishes into the cold evening.
I don’t know how long I remain in the same position staring at the door. It could be ten seconds or ten minutes. Life can be a blur. Gone before we even knew it was here.
What we think we become, according to Buddha. That’s depressing if you’re me. Maybe if you’re an astronaut or crusader that sounds good, but for me it just means I will sit in one place my whole life until my butt expands and I am as lonely as Buddha under his Bodhi tree.
Chapter 11
This is the first time I’ve slept in on a Sunday morning in a long time. Sunday mornings I usually meet with Aunt Claire for breakfast at IHOP. I called her last night and cancelled. I hate to miss a Sunday with her because it’s the only family time for both of us. Her two sons, my cousins Rex and Ollie, have married and moved off to other parts of the country.
I stay under the blankets watching the ceiling before my eyes wander off to the alarm clock. I repeat this simple ritual several times until the clock flashes eleven and my stomach starts to protest.
My neck feels stiff from having spent hours on the couch curled up and watching infomercials about kitchen gadgets. Someday I will have the kitchen of my dreams and my dishes will be called creations.
What a load of crap, I think, as I reluctantly get my feet on the floor. Cooking in a state of the art kitchen is the least of my concerns. The question that demands an answer right now is who the hell I am exactly and what I want from life.
Maybe Nate was right and what we both need is to start living again. Nate. I stare at the phone on the nightstand wondering if he will call or if he will ever show up at my door again. It’s doubtful. I think I might have managed to drive him away for good this time.
I could call him, of course. I could pick up the phone right now and dial his number and tell him I’d like to see him again. As simple as that. He can read anything he wants into my invitation and by the time we meet, it should be obvious if we’re on the same page or not.
Simple. Except nothing is ever simple with me. In the kitchen, I find the eggs and break two of them in a bowl. I add some milk, corn flour and salt and pepper before pouring the mixture in a small frying pan.
The omelet Nate prepared for me with only a handful of ingredients was so much tastier than any omelet I’ve ever cooked for myself. No matter how many times I asked, he refused to tell me his secret. Instead, he said if I ever wanted to taste his omelet again, I had to ask him over for the night. I’m sure we’d work up quite an appetite.
I sit down at the table with my omelet. I set an apple to my left and my phone to the right. My pulse rate increases simply by searching for Nate’s number. Pathetic. If only he knew he has me exactly where he wants me.
If he was really interested in me, wouldn’t he have just asked me out? This hyper urgency to sleep together is not the way to a girl’s heart. Can he really be such an amateur at getting a girl in bed? Maybe his otherworldly sexiness just overrides all the normal protocols for dating in his world. Women just drop their panties at the snap of his fingers.
It’s more than possible. Nate is that hot.
Nate needs to get out of my head. I need to finish my breakfast and meet up with Taylor so I can talk her ears off. Here I am, staring at his phone number anyway. I need to get out of this apartment pronto.
Taylor’s number rings and I’m sent straight to her voice mail. She’s either talking to someone or the phone’s off. In the latter case, she probably stayed up late and needs her rest. I decide to give her a break and let her wake without a message flashing at her.
With that option delayed, I scroll through my recent calls and realize I owe Jack a call. He hasn’t contacted me since I pretty much told him I couldn’t be there for him whenever he needed someone, especially not in the middle of the night.
It’s not only that I feel bad about last time. I really want to know how he’s doing and it would be good to have Jack as a friend if possible. He needs me and he was once my best friend in the world.
“Hey, Jack,” I say as soon as he picks up the phone.
“Grace,” he says, sounding genuinely surprised. “How’s it going?”
“It’s all good. What about you?”
“You know, hanging in there.”
I scratch behind my ear, not sure what to say next. “We’re still meeting up after Thanksgiving for your hospital appointment,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Yeah, about that... I changed my mind, Grace.”
“You changed your mind? Jack, you need to get this done.”
“It’s not that,” he says. “I mean I don’t need you to go with me.”
I’m not sure why, but I feel empty thinking he doesn’t need me. “Jack, if I did anything last time—”
“No, you were great,” he says. “This is about me. I need to start doing things for myself. I’m trying to turn a new page, Grace.”
I get it. I’m the page he’s turning. I know it’s good, but it still makes me incredibly sad. “Okay. Whatever you need. You’ll keep me posted, right?”
“Of course. If you want.”
“Jack, of course I want to know everything. I’m here.”
I wait for his voice. I feel us both aching in the silence. “Thanks, Grace. You’ve always been so good to me. Just be good to yourself. Take care.”
He hangs up before I can say bye. I’m left feeling flabbergasted. First time in a while that Jack’s showed that generous side I forgot he had. He’s taking responsibility for his life and he sounds serious about it. I wanted to tell him how much I am pulling for him and how much I love him, but I don’t want to lead him on. He’s like a brother to me now.
I drag my feet to the living room in a state of semi-stupor. I am cold and tired, despite having stayed in bed for almost seven hours. The room seems oddly sad and dark. It unnerves me because I’ve always thought of my living room as my sanctuary. I’ve invested a lot of time and a small amount of money to turn it into a cozy retreat with the proper lighting, ambience and scents.
Clouds hang low outside the window, smelling of a distant rainfall. I decide to stay in, even though at some point I was planning a trip to the library. I’ll probably go grocery shopping in the late afternoon, but for now I will settle down on the couch with a good book and some cognac.
Alcohol is not my thing. It doesn’t sit well with me and I don’t even like the way most of it tastes but this Ansac Cognac came straight from France, a gift to Aunt Claire who then passed it on to me, oblivious to the virtues of the dark honey colored liquor. Aunt Claire is a beer person and proud of it.
As I take a small sip with a book open on my lap, I recall a day nine years ago when I was only sixteen and Jack seventeen. We had walked to the park behind the Middle School one evening after having spent some time at Starbucks with Taylor, Cody and a few other kids.
Jack produced a small bottle out of the pocket of his jacket and held it under the street light.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s cognac. I stole it from my Dad’s bar.”
“Won’t he miss it?”
Jack shrugged. “By the time he realizes it’s missing, the evidence will already be consumed.”
“Isn’t that strong stuff? It’s not exactly a wine cooler.”
“It’s the real deal,” he said taking off the bottle cap. “Here,” he said offering me the bottle. “You go first.”
I stare at the bottle. “I don’t know, Jack. I’m not supposed to drink booze.”
“Nobody will know,” he reassured me pressing the bottle against my lips. “C’mon, Grace, you can’t be a perfect little girl all the time.”
His face beamed with confidence. His eyes teased and challenged me at the same time. It didn’t take long to convince m
e. I took the bottle from his hands and took a sip. My tongue and throat burned instantly and I removed the bottle from my lips, handing it back to Jack. “Jesus, that’s awful.”
He laughed as he raised the bottle and took three hungry gulps.
“You’re crazy,” I protested. “They’ll smell it on your breath back home.”
“I don’t care,” he said with a wide smile that revealed almost every single tooth in his mouth. “I’m writing a song for you,” he went on as he pulled my face closer and kissed me for the first time.
Everything started spinning then, the world turning into a big, magic sphere with silver lights and pink cotton candy washing away the descending night in the silent school yard. My first kiss and my first love sealed with the taste of cognac on my lips.
Back in the present it’s my turn to take a big gulp of cognac. I shiver from the effects. My eyes water from the alcohol hitting my blood. I relax and stare out the window at the first raindrops dancing away with the wind.
Now I recall another first kiss and I wrap a blanket around me wishing it was Nate’s strong embrace. The library kiss washes through my mind and body as I let the alcohol make the memory more real. His lips like raindrops of tenderness in my dream buzzing softly as the cognac washes over my lips.
I miss that moment at the library more than I miss anyone, more than I miss Nate himself. I know I am doomed to spend a lifetime haunted by first kisses. Every library I ever enter will contain his blue-eyed ghost.
As the hours go by, I feel the distance between us growing. No one will knock on my door tonight. My heart shrinks and pulses in my chest while my fingers search my lips for the place his once landed.
Chapter 12
I slept badly and not nearly long enough to feel rested but I manage to get to work on time. I walk to the back to hang my coat and make myself a cup of tea using one of Taylor’s exotic blends when I hear her voice coming from the small office she keeps back here.
I’m about to knock on the door but realize she’s speaking on the phone.
“You know I’m good for it,” she says.
It’s best I give her some privacy so I turn to go when her next sentence grabs my attention. “You’ll get your money before Christmas, you have my word. The more products in the store, the faster I’ll recover.” There’s a long pause before she adds, “C’mon, Brett, times are hard, give me a break here.”
Brett. She must be talking to Brett Anderson, the main supplier for the store. I had no idea Taylor was having financial difficulties. Questions fill up my head highlighted by the obvious one. Can Taylor even afford to pay my wages? That would be just like Taylor to take care of me even when her world is crumbling down. Suddenly my problems seem small in comparison.
I rush away from the door as she tells Brett she’ll call him back after Thanksgiving. She can’t know I overheard her conversation but I have to come up with a creative way to get her to open up to me. I thought her strange, absentminded behavior of late was attached to Cody and nothing else.
When we meet at the front counter a few minutes later, she has her best smile on, showing no signs of distress or worry. “Sorry for not calling back yesterday,” she says. “Things got a bit crazy.”
“That’s okay. I didn’t have much to say,” I tell her, trying to act casual. “What kind of crazy?”
“Eileen had a big fight with her boyfriend and took my ears off about it. Huge drama over nothing as usual.”
If ever two sisters were polar opposites, it’s Eileen and Taylor. Eileen is as uptight as Taylor is carefree. I still think it’s nice to have a sister, though, even if that sister happens to be the ever-complaining Eileen.
“Well, let’s hear it. What was their fight about?”
“Guess.”
“Let me see, her boyfriend has decided to have a sex change operation.”
“I wish,” Taylor says. “I could listen to that story for an hour. In reality her boyfriend went to the movies with some friends and forgot to tell her.”
“Your sister is really cool.”
“Isn’t she? Apparently, she’s given Tony this phone that he’s supposed to have on him at all times in case she needs him. Well, it turns out he shut it off in the theater while Eileen was trying to call.”
“And how long did you have to listen to this?” I say, sympathetically.
“Three soul-crushing hours of whining and plotting retaliation.”
“Retaliation?” I say, interested in what that might be.
“No, don’t get excited. All her revenge plans are of the passive aggressive nature. She won’t talk to him for two days or she’ll burn his favorite food after he’s smelled it cooking, some weird shit like that.”
I can’t help but laugh again. “How murderous,” I say.
“She’s wicked, that sister of mine. Anyway, what’s up with you? How did you spend your weekend after our lunch?”
I’m not sure how much I should tell her. I run the risk of being as mind numbing as Eileen. I would be another annoying woman making up problems that don’t exist and torturing poor Taylor who actually has real problems.
“Nothing much,” I say.
“Did google boy show up?”
I swear this woman lives in my head. “It’s not worth your time.”
“So he did show,” she says, excited.
I told her he might come back. Taylor never forgets anything. Even though she seems excited, I decide to spare her the details.
“I sent him on his way,” I tell her.
“You didn’t?” she says, disappointed. “Not only do you have a vagina, Grace Marie, but you could even use it sometime. As it is now, you are being very neglectful of her.”
“Thanks for the anatomy lesson,” I say.
“Someone had to give it you, my lord,” she says losing interest.
Ashley arrives in a puffy white winter coat.
“Look at you,” Taylor tells her. “Did you make it to Big Bear as planned?”
“Big Bear rocked,” she says. “Why is the store empty?”
“Oh, you know,” Taylor says, “a little rain scares off the Californians.”
It stopped raining at five this morning. The streets are all but dry and still we haven’t had a single customer. I have to find a way to help Taylor.
*
By the time I get back home, it’s already dark. Despite not having a shift this week, I visited the shelter and ended up helping with the washing and grooming of the eighteen cats in residence. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that the secret hope I carried all afternoon was that Nate would show up.
I park the car and when I walk to my door, I find a note half-hiding under the mat. I pull it out and read, I’ll be whatever you want me to be as long as you see me. If I don’t hear from you I will stay away forever. Nathan.
My heart starts racing in my chest. The handwriting is surprisingly fanciful, even pretty, putting a smile on my face. The smile fades quickly. Why does he have to put me on the spot like that? Suddenly our entire future depends on what I will do next.
I’ve barely been in the apartment for five minutes, enough time to take off my jacket and shoes and turn on my laptop, when there’s a knock on the door.
Nate stands there grinning when I open the door. He’s dressed in a dark burgundy T-shirt and black jeans, looking ridiculously delicious. He’s making my head spin for all the right reasons but all the wrong reasons, too.
“I know what I wrote,” he says pointing at the note which apparently I’m still holding, “but I couldn’t wait any longer.”
At this point, I have no option but to assume that he’s either madly, compulsively in love with me or that he’s completely bat shit crazy. In either case, he’s adorable right now.
“You’ve been watching the apartment,” I say, not bothered at all.
“Not exactly. I’ve come and gone three times hoping to find you.”
I shrug and let him in, watching his strong back and per
fect butt saunter into the living room.
“You’re not going to strip again, are you?” I can’t help myself. I always sound more condescending than I mean to whenever he’s around.
“Would you like me to?” he says without smiling.
“I’ll take a rain check.”
“Should I come back when it rains?” he says, still humorless.
I stand facing him but keep my distance. “Why do you talk like that?”
He exhales. Maybe he’s finally losing patience with me. “I don’t know, Grace. Why do you assume the worst of me?”
He moves a little closer. We’re standing a foot apart, facing each other, completely awkward in our mutual confusion as to the other’s intentions. Being so close to him causes my vital signs to alter noticeably.
“Nate, I don’t mean to,” I start to say but he stops me, putting a finger on his lips, signaling me to stop talking. I stop.
“The past is gone,” he urges. “We’re friends, let’s do what friends do.”
We were never friends. We’ve been friendly but up until a couple weeks ago, we never met or even called each other unless it was about something related to the animal shelter.
I take a couple steps back. “Nate, if you told me what it is that you want from me and why you’ve been acting so strange since the night you showed up at my doorstep injured, I might be able to do the friend thing.”
Nice try, Grace. Being friends is the last thing I want.
“Fuck that,” he says. “All that other stuff is bullshit. What do I want? I want to make love to you. I thought it was obvious.”
Same thing over and over. He doesn’t say that he’s falling in love with me or that he wants to date me. Hell, he won’t even say that he finds me attractive. All he’s willing to concede is that he wants to have sex with me.
“Do you even realize how this sounds?” I ask him.
“I imagine you mean it doesn’t sound good?”
I just about slap him. “What game are you playing, Nate? I won’t answer that door the next time.”
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