Where We Belong

by Shann McPherson

  Nash laughs, nodding and smiling between the two of us, and I can feel Harley glaring at me as I exhale a breath of relief, ignoring him. “Well,” I say with a weak smile. “Goodnight.” I step forward, placing a quick peck on Nash’s cheek. But as I go to move away, he holds me a little tighter, so close, and when I look into his eyes I find something I wasn’t expecting deep within his intense gaze.

  “Let’s do something tomorrow,” he whispers into my ear before pulling back and meeting my eyes with a knowing look. “Just the two of us.”

  Just the two of us? I can’t say that my heart doesn’t jump at the thought of being alone with him again after all this time. But why does he want to do something, just the two of us? Is he jealous? I nod, trying to keep the smug grin from claiming my entire face.

  Harley flashes me a confusing look, one I can’t read, before forcing a smile onto his face. Turning, he hesitates a moment, but then he grabs my hand, a little more roughly than necessary, and pulls me with him. Together, we walk in a silence so thick with tension, so overwrought with frustration, that I just know I’m in for it the moment we’re alone.

  Chapter 7

  The drive back from the club doesn’t take long. I only live on the other side of the pines behind the golf course but, with the tension reverberating throughout the silent cab of Harley’s truck, three minutes actually feels like an excruciating lifetime. When we pull up to the curb outside my house, I exhale a breath of relief. I thought he was going to blast me the moment we were alone, but he remained silent the whole way. The only thing that gave away the fact that he’s even remotely pissed off was the way his death-like grip on the steering wheel turned his strained knuckles a stark shade of white.

  “Well,” I say, reaching for the door handle. “Goodnight.”

  He doesn’t say anything, so I climb down from the truck and close the door behind me. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I continue up the steps to my porch and fumble through my purse for my house keys, which is when I hear the porch steps creak behind me.

  “Are you gonna tell me what the hell this is all about?”

  I startle, turning quickly to see Harley right there. I didn’t even hear him get out of his truck, let alone his footsteps approach on the path behind me. Yet, there he is, glaring at me, waiting impatiently for me to explain myself. Rolling my eyes, I push my glasses up my nose as I retrieve my keys from my purse. I unlock the door and continue inside, waiting for him to follow. I know he deserves at least some semblance of an apology, especially seeing as I can’t give him the explanation he needs.

  Harley walks inside like a man on a mission, pacing back and forth in the small foyer, his footsteps heavy on the cherrywood floorboards. I turn, watching him as I relax against the front door before pushing off and continuing past him and into the kitchen.

  “Do you want a drink?” I call over my shoulder.

  He follows me. “No, I don’t want no damn drink. I want an explanation, Murph!”

  I stop at the kitchen island, gripping the counter and taking a moment to collect myself. I’ve consumed far too much wine for such an intense conversation, and my head is already all over the place. To be honest, I really don’t even know where to begin.

  “Murph!” Harley presses, his gruff voice booming throughout the silence of my tiny house.

  I reluctantly meet his eyes, folding my arms over my chest, considering him for a moment. “Do you wanna know what I’ve been thinking about all night?”

  He stares at me, blinking once, offering an uncertain shrug.

  “I’ve been thinking if Momma never got sick, I never would’ve had to drop out of college. And if I never dropped out of college, then maybe I’d be the woman marrying Nash …” I shake my head at my own words, ashamed to have said them out loud.

  The hard look in Harley’s eyes softens a little, and he takes a tentative step forward, glancing away as if in serious thought, as if my confession really affects him, and I know it does, because it’s been his shoulders I’ve spent the last five years crying on.

  “Me and him were so happy together after we left for college. Our lives were perfect. Everything was working out just how we’d always planned,” I continue. “And then I get a phone call to tell me she has stage-four breast cancer?” I scoff, shaking my head once again at that memory. “I had to drop out, come home, look after her and the bakery, every damn thing. All for what? For nothing. Because she died anyway. Just like that.”

  I look down at the floor as sadness overwhelms me, but I don’t cry. I cried all my tears for Momma when she left me. And, I’m not even sad anymore. I’m angry. Angry that I was left all alone. Angry that I got stuck with the mortgage and the doctor bills I couldn’t afford. Angry that I lost everything I worked so hard for. College is all I ever wanted, but it was taken away from me, and now it’s nothing more than a distant memory. Something I almost had. Of course, I miss my mother. I always will. I’m just angry. I have been for five long years.

  A heavy silence ensues, settling thick in the air between us.

  “You know,” Harley starts, his voice a little softer. “I lost everything, too. I was All-American. A five-star recruit. Hell, I was the nation’s number-one high school quarterback, for God’s sake. I had it all. I was a sure shot for the NFL draft …” He exhales a heavy breath, his shoulders sagging in defeat as he looks down at his hands. “Then I had to go and blow not one, but both my damn knees during the season opener of sophomore year.” He shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “I couldn’t afford tuition on my own, so I had to drop out of college, too. I know all about losing everything, Murph, and it sure does hurt like a kick to the teeth.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek, watching him as he continues.

  “Life is nothing more than eighty, maybe ninety years of shitty circumstances all tied in together.” He stares into my eyes. “But I still don’t understand why the hell I’m suddenly your boyfriend!” He throws his hands in the air with an exasperated sigh.

  “You really think I want Nash knowing I spent the last five years of my life stuck in this godforsaken town, just waiting for him to come back to me?” I’m laughing now, but my laugh is void of any humor. If I don’t laugh I might cry, and I can’t risk letting him see me break down. Not tonight. “You really think I want him knowing I’ve been waiting around for him to realize he’s supposed to be with me?”

  “Huh …” Harley seems to realize something at that point, looking at me a moment as he slowly nods. “So, that’s what this is all about?”

  I stare at him, snapping my mouth shut, realizing I’ve said too much.

  “You’re using me to—what? To try to make him jealous?” His eyes are wide with disbelief.

  “It’s not … it isn’t like that. I—” I begin to try and explain myself, but he interrupts my useless stammering.

  “God, I can’t believe you!” He rakes his fingers through his hair, tearing at the ends as he glances up to the ceiling.

  “What?” I snap, offended by his reaction.

  “We’re supposed to be best friends.” He laughs under his breath. “I never even knew you were—”

  This time, it’s me who interrupts him. “We are not best friends, Harley.” It’s totally the wine talking.

  He gapes at me, hurt evident in his green eyes. “We’re not best friends?”

  “No.” I scoff. “You and me, we’re friends by default. Nothing more.”

  Shut up, Murph, I think to myself. Just shut up.

  For a moment he looks a little flummoxed, like he can’t possibly believe what I’m saying.

  “Harley, you were quarterback of our high school football team,” I say, as if it’s brand-new information. “I … I volunteered at the school library on weekends, for Christ’s sake!”

  His brows pull together as he gauges me.

  “If it weren’t for Nash, I doubt you and me would’ve even crossed paths, let alone be friends.” Another silence is left in the wake of my words, on
ly this time it’s different. It’s thick with something I’ve never experienced before, and suddenly I feel terrible. I don’t even know why I’m saying what I’m saying. I know it’s a defense mechanism. But who the hell am I defending myself from? Harley? Why, when he’s the only friend I have?

  Harley finally nods, pressing his lips into a thin line as he continues looking into my eyes, his gaze imploring. I’m not sure what more he expects me to say—if anything—so I turn, ending our conversation and busying myself with filling the kettle with water.

  “Well, I mean, if that’s how you feel …” he finally says, pulling my attention back to him.

  I turn, watching him linger in the doorway, wishing I could tell him it isn’t how I feel.

  “But, Murph, you better tell Nash the truth, or I will,” he warns. “I won’t lie to him. He’s my best friend.” He pauses on his way out, adding, “I thought he was yours, too.” He offers me a look that speaks volumes, one that makes me feel about three inches tall, before turning and walking out. And as I remain standing there all alone in the kitchen, listening to the front door slam shut, my thoughts drift a mile away, back to the day my entire world as I knew it came crashing down around me.

  Walking out of my Literature class, I smiled as the sun’s rays finally managed to break through the heavily looming snow clouds. New York City had been shrouded in a gloomy gray blanket and, in turn, doused with snow for what felt like the entire month of February. So, the warmth of the sun was almost magical as I walked through Washington Square to meet Nash for a bite to eat before our afternoon classes. The moment I saw him sitting there by the fountain, my heart skipped a beat. He looked incredible and warm, dressed in his NYU sweater with his pea coat over the top, as he stared down at the textbook on his lap, rapt with whatever it was he was reading.

  God, I love that boy, I thought to myself as I stopped a moment just to stare at him, appreciate him. I was still completely enamored even after all these years.

  “Nash?” I waved, continuing toward him through the throng of students, tourists, and office workers from the nearby buildings taking advantage of the sun during their lunch breaks.

  He looked up from his book, his blue eyes lighting up with his grin as he found me through the crowd. As I approached him, he stood, but I was interrupted by my cell phone vibrating in the pocket of my jeans. Pulling it out, I looked down to see my mother’s beautiful face flashing on the illuminated screen. My eyebrows pulled together instinctively. She never called me during the day. She only ever called at night to see how my day went.

  “How was your morning?” Nash asked, leaning in to place a kiss to my cheek.

  “Hold on just a sec.” I turned away from him, answering the call. “Momma? Is everything okay?” I asked before she could speak.

  “Hi, darlin’.” Her voice sounded different, strange, like it wasn’t really her.

  I shoved my index finger into my ear in an attempt to hear her a little better over the city noise, walking away from the three girls sitting by the fountain laughing loudly together.

  “Hi, Momma,” I said with a tight smile, my heart climbing higher and higher toward the back of my throat. Deep down, I knew something was wrong. “Is everything okay?”

  “Sweetheart,” Momma began, her voice soft and a little broken. “I’m afraid I have some bad news …”

  As I strained to hear her soft voice over the noise I’d become so accustomed to, I glanced back over my shoulder to see Nash watching on with interest, his eyebrows knitted together as he watched me intently while I listened to my mother. But then, when everything around me began to go dark, when the beat of my heart became so deafening it was all I could hear, I watched as Nash dropped his textbook to the ground, running toward me with a look of fear in his eyes. I didn’t even realize I’d fallen into a heap on the cold concrete until Nash dropped to his knees, pulling me into his arms.

  It looked as if his mouth was trying to say something, screaming something, a vein in his neck protruding against his smooth skin. I couldn’t hear him. All I could hear was those same words repeating over and over and over in my head. “Stage-four cancer … Too late … I’m dying …”

  The whistling of the kettle brings me back from those heartbreaking memories haunting my mind, and I shake my head, collecting myself as best I can. That was the day it all ended. Everything. That was the day I lost my mom. Although she didn’t pass away until about six months later, I lost her that day. In fact, with that one phone call, I lost everything. College. Momma. That was even the day I started losing Nash. Everything I loved was just snatched out from underneath me without warning, with one simple call.

  It’s funny how your life can go from exceptional to devastating within the flash of an unexpected minute, and there’s nothing you can do about it when it happens.

  Chapter 8

  With the smell of cinnamon and sugar hanging in the air throughout the bakery, I have a little kick in my step, some gusto in my belly and a smile on my face as I open up the store for the after-church rush. I’ve been up since four o’clock, baking test batches for Nash and Anna’s wedding cake for them to try tomorrow and, if I wasn’t so excited, I’d probably be exhausted. But Nash wants to hang out today. Just the two of us. He said so himself, last night. There has to be a reason behind it. I know I wasn’t imagining it when I saw the flash of jealousy in his blue eyes as he watched Harley take my hand when we were leaving the country club. I saw it with my own damn eyes.

  I’d sent him a text earlier to see what we were doing, where he wanted me to meet him, but that was forty-five minutes ago. Now, I keep finding myself checking the time in between customers, wondering what the hell is even going on. It’s almost eleven when I finally get to catch a break from the morning rush. With a heavy sigh, I take a sip from my glass of iced tea, drumming my fingers against the countertop, watching the clock on the far wall tick so excruciatingly slowly, it’s as if each second is mocking me. When I’m just about to give up and resign myself to the tray of freshly baked éclairs out back in the kitchen, my cell begins to ring, and I almost dislocate my shoulder trying to reach into my back pocket in time to answer it.

  Nash.

  “Hey!” I smile through the phone, trying not to give away my relief.

  “Hey, Murph.” He chuckles from the other end as if he knows I’m more than excited to speak to him. “I got your text,” he continues. “Sorry, Anna and I got stuck talking to my grandma at brunch.”

  My smile falls at the mention of her. Not his grandma. I’ve always loved Nash’s grandma. My smile falls at the mention of Anna. But I force myself to cheer up, remembering that look of jealousy in his eyes last night. “Okay … So, did you still wanna hang out today?”

  “Well, that’s why I’m calling you,” Nash says, and I can tell by the tone in his voice that our plans have been canceled. My shoulders sag involuntarily. “I’m surprised you didn’t know, actually—”

  “Know what?” My brows pull together in confusion.

  “Harley called me this morning,” he begins and, at the mention of Harley, my heart stops dead in the center of my chest. Oh God. Did he tell Nash the truth about my lie like he threatened he would last night? I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I almost miss it when he says, “He said he’s having a barbecue at his house. You didn’t know about it?”

  My thoughts come to a crashing halt in the back of my mind. A barbecue? My eyes narrow into slits as I glare straight ahead at the glass cake display, as if it alone has done me some sort of an injustice. My jaw clenches at the thought of Harley. He knew Nash and I were supposed to hang out today, and he’s gone and fabricated a stupid barbecue as some kind of a diversion. What a jerk.

  “Murph?” Nash’s voice interjects my thoughts. “You there?”

  “Yeah.” I manage a smile despite my anger, exhaling the breath I’ve been holding. “I forgot all about the … barbecue,” I lie.

  “So, I guess I’ll just see you there, then?�
��

  “Yeah.” I nod to myself, pressing my lips together to contain the profanities threatening my composure. “I’ll see you there, Nash.”

  Our call ends, and it takes everything I have not to throw my phone across the store in frustration, but my moment of anger is interrupted by Mrs. Wilcox, the sweet 82-year-old wife of Reverend Wilcox, walking into the bakery with a beaming smile mostly hidden beneath the wide brim of her church hat, and I can just tell she’s bursting at the seams to collect her weekly apple and custard turnover to have after her Sunday lunch.

  “Mrs. Wilcox.” I smile through gritted teeth, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Just the usual for you on this fine Sunday?”

  “Oh yes, please, Alice, darling.” She nods, looking through the glass at all the sweets, her eyes lighting up.

  I haven’t been to church in a long time. Ever since Momma passed. When she was taken from me, I wondered what the point was, going to church and sitting through an hour-and-a-half sermon while Reverend Wilcox blathered on and on about our Lord and savior. Momma went to church every single Sunday, rain or shine, and a fat lot of good it did her. After Momma’s death, I began to wonder what the point was of anything, really. So, I haven’t been back. The reverend visits me here at the bakery every Thursday morning. He pretends he’s just here for one of my famous peach muffins, but his efforts to try to convince me to come back aren’t as stealthy as he believes them to be. Maybe one day I will go back to church. Harley’s always trying to tag me along with him. But I just can’t. For now, I just don’t see the point.

  “Oh Alice, sweetheart, I heard Nash Harris is back in town.” Mrs. Wilcox flashes me a knowing look. “Marrying a woman from New York City.”

  I can’t help but bite back my laughter. The way she refers to Anna as the woman from New York suggests she’s some scandalous harlot. I press my lips together, nodding as I carefully wrap up the turnover.