Temptation

by Smeltzer, Micalea

  “Isn’t he good looking?” my mom hisses quietly like she’s afraid to be overheard. Which is absurd since the door is closed and he’s outside.

  “Yeah,” I say slowly, “but Mom, I have a boyfriend.”

  My mom pretends to look around. “I don’t see him. How do I know he’s even real?”

  “Ugh … Mom,” I whine.

  “Oh, shush,” she admonishes. “He’s a nice boy.”

  “I don’t care, Mom. I have Siva …” I think. I’m so confused.

  Nate comes back inside, his longish brown hair falling in his face. He brushes it back before giving me a blinding smile.

  “All taken care of Mrs. C,” he calls, coming back inside and dusting off his hands.

  “Nate,” she scolds. “I tell you all the time. Call me Tammi.”

  “Tammi,” he chuckles. He turns to me, his hands in his pockets, and says, “Sloane, it’s good to see. How long are you home for?”

  “I leave Sunday.” I want to push him out the door, which is rude of me since it’s a basic question.

  “Maybe we could do dinner before you leave?” he suggests.

  “No,” I say at the same time my mother answers, “She’d love to.”

  Nate takes my mother’s answer, “Good, how about tomorrow? Six o’ clock?”

  “She’ll be ready,” Mom says and I want to hit her.

  I look at Nate and shrug my shoulders. “I really can’t. I have a boyfriend.”

  His smile falters, but he blunders forward anyway. “Just as friends. It doesn’t have to be date.”

  “But we’re not friends,” I state the obvious.

  “Sloane,” my mom scolds in her voice that brooks no argument. It’s amazing how even once you’re a legal adult parents still manage to make you feel like a child being put in the corner.

  “Dinner will be lovely,” I say and feel like a sixteen-year-old girl living at home again.

  “Great,” he says, undeterred. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then thankfully he leaves.

  “Mom,” I hiss.

  “Sloane, he’s a nice guy. Just give him a shot.”

  “Mom, I don’t live here. I live across the ocean and I have a boyfriend,” I explain, with my hands on my hips, tapping my foot.

  “So?”

  “I love him, Mom,” I plead with her to understand.

  “Just pacify me,” she begs.

  “You’re crazy,” I mumble, shaking my head and heading to the guest room.

  I see what she’s up to. She thinks if she can set me up and I fall in love then I’ll have to come back. She’s lived here her whole life and can’t understand why I don’t want to. It’s not that I don’t like it here, it’s beautiful, but I’ve never felt like I belong here and she doesn’t get it.

  I stop outside the door to my old room.

  My childhood room is … well, no longer my childhood room. My pale purple walls are now green. My white dresser is gone and replaced by a bright yellow one. The quilt on the bed is white with green flowers stitched on it. Everything was bright. I feel like I need sunglasses to stand in its presence.

  I set my suitcase on the bed and flip it open, before running my fingers roughly through my hair. My phone chimes with a text.

  Did you get in safe? Siva.

  Yes, I type back.

  Call me later… That is… if you want to.

  I hold my breath and finally answer. Maybe.

  Maybe is better than no, he responds.

  I guess it is.

  But maybe hardly ever feels good enough.

  “I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” I hiss at my mother. “I came here to spend time with you.”

  She rolls her hazel eyes at me. “Sloanie, it’s only a date.”

  “And I have a boyfriend.” I glare at her. I’m not really mad at her, just a little perturbed. I’m not here long and I’d much rather spend time with her than go out with a guy I don’t even remember. I’m sure he’s nice enough, but I’m not interested.

  She shakes her head. “Just put the dress on,” she scolds lightly.

  “Mom,” I whine. I don’t care if I sound like a petulant little child. Right now I’m being treated like one. Sometimes I think my mother forgets I’m twenty-three and not three.

  “Sloanie, please, for your mother?” She pouts her lips and bats her eyes at me. Growing up, I’d been the responsible one, always taking care of my mother. The only things in life my mother stuck by were my dad, gardening, and unfortunately in this moment, me.

  “Just hand me the dress,” I snap, leaving out a few choice words. Siva’s bad language is starting to rub off on me.

  My mom went out today, “to pick up some more plants,” and came back with a dress. A very tight, little black dress that shows way more cleavage than I’m comfortable with. I think she’s trying to kill me.

  I slip the dress on while she watches. She’s probably afraid I’ll attack it with scissors and ruin it if she turns her back.

  “Happy?” I ask, my tone sharp.

  “Not yet,” she replies. “Let me do your makeup.”

  “Mom!” I complain but she’s already towing me to the bathroom where an assortment of cosmetics litters the top. She closes the toilet lid and plunks me down with a shove to my shoulders. “Mom, I can do my own makeup.”

  “Oh, please,” she says lightly, “if it’s left up to you, you’ll wear no makeup.”

  “That would be preferable,” I admit. “You know, since I didn’t agree to this date in the first place.”

  “Hold still,” she commands, grabbing my chin with her fingers.

  “Mom,” I wiggle, trying to get loose.

  “Sloanie,” she admonishes. “The less you wiggle the quicker this will be done.”

  “This is torture,” I complain.

  “Oh please, most women think this is fun.”

  “Well, not me,” I groan.

  Her grip on my chin tightens. She swipes some red lipstick across my lips and a smoky gray shadow across my lids.

  “Hold still,” she commands, coming at me with a mascara wand. I hold very still. She swipes the black goo onto my lashes, being very careful not to get any transfer on my lids or under my eyes.

  “Am I done?” I ask, daring to let hope color my words.

  “Not even close.” She smiles goadingly at me.

  She adds bronzer to my cheeks and temples and adds a hint of blush to my cheeks. Then she gets a look at my hands. “Sloanie! Your nails!” she cries like my nails have personally offended her. “Can’t you get a manicure in London?” my mom inquires.

  “I don’t like people touching my nails,” I defend.

  “Well, I’m about to,” she warns, grabbing a bottle of nail polish from her cosmetics bag. What else does she have in there?

  Before I can protest she’s swiping a gray polish onto my naked nails. She disappears from the bathroom and goes down the hall returning a moment later with a little fan to dry my nails.

  The doorbell rings.

  “Ooh that’s him!” my mom cries, jumping up and down. She’s way too excited about this.

  “Why don’t you date him, Mom? You seem to really like him.” I smile mockingly. Maybe if she had a boyfriend of her own she wouldn’t be so interested in my love life—especially since I actually have one so there’s nothing to meddle in.

  She stops jumping. “Oh, I couldn’t. He’s much too young for me.” She laughs wickedly and goes to get the door.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of cougars!” I yell after her. I don’t care if Nate hears me. Let him.

  I keep my fingers drying in front of the fan, stalling for a few more minutes. If I could stall until the date’s over that’d be great, but I know it won’t happen.

  Please let this awful night end before it starts, I pray. But I have no such luck.

  “Sloane!” calls my mom, and her tone tells me I better get my ass in gear.

  Showtime.

  Nate stands in
the living room talking to my mother. He smiles when he sees me. He has a nice smile but it’s nothing compared to Siva’s megawatt smile. It might be rare but when he smiles it’s everything. Nate hugs me and kisses my cheek. I try not to show my annoyance.

  “These are for you,” he says, handing me a bouquet of lilies.

  “Thanks,” I say and try to muster some sort of exuberance but it falls completely flat.

  “And these are for you,” he says, handing my mom a bouquet of sunflowers.

  “Oh they’re lovely, Nate. You’re such a gentleman,” she swoons.

  I roll my eyes and Nate sees me. Color floods my cheeks and Nate winks. “She’s crazy,” I mouth to cover myself.

  “We better get going,” Nate says.

  “Oh, of course,” says my mom, snapping out of her daze. “Sloane, hand me those and I’ll put them in some water.” I hand her the flowers. “Haaaave fuuuuuun,” she drawls out the words.

  “Bye, Tammi,” chuckles Nate, clearly amused at her antics.

  Finally, we escape the house and my crazy mother.

  Nate puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me. I flinch and he drops his hand.

  He holds the passenger door of his truck open for me. It’s tall and it takes me a moment to climb in.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, trying to be polite.

  He climbs into the truck and starts it. The radio blares a country song. “Sorry,” he grimaces, and turns the volume down.

  Neither one of us says anything the entire ride to the restaurant. Nate awkwardly clears his throat several times like he’s about to say something but always decides against it. He pulls into the lot of a local family owned restaurant.

  Finally, I have something to say, “Do Ginger and Fred still own this?”

  He smiles, obviously relieved to have the silence broken. “Of course. I don’t think they’ll ever give it up.”

  “I haven’t seen them in forever,” I remark.

  “Well come on then.”

  We walk into the restaurant and this time Nate doesn’t touch me. Ever since the incident with Mac I won’t let any man except Siva touch me. Just a passing brush of shoulders, by accident, will send me spiraling.

  The restaurant is loud and boisterous like it always is. A game of pool is going on in the corner.

  “Cory! Samantha!” I cry, recognizing two of the people playing.

  “Sloane Campbell in the flesh! It can’t be!” cries Samantha, abandoning the game and hugging me. “How have you been?” she asks, slightly breathless and her cheeks flushed, probably from a beer or two.

  “I’m good,” I say with a nod. “London’s great.”

  “Oh, Sloane, you always were too good for this place.” Samantha sighs, pulling away.

  “How are you, Samantha? You and Cory still together?” I ask, peeking over my shoulder at the slight guy leaning against the pool table.

  “I’m great,” she says. She motions Cory over and laces their hands together. “We’ve been married for almost a year now,” she says, glowingly.

  “Oh, my God!” I cry happily. “I can’t believe it! I mean I always knew you two would end up married but this young? Wow,” I breathe.

  “We’re not that young,” she chortles.

  I roll my eyes. “Twenty-three is young, Samantha.”

  “Oh, Sloane, I see you’re still set in your ways. I’ve missed you. Are you back home for good?” she asks excitedly.

  “Just a visit,” I say with a shake of my head. “I go back to London on Sunday.”

  “I’m going to grab us a table,” Nate whispers in my ear.

  “Okay,” I say, and turn back to Samantha.

  She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Sloane,” she scolds, “you dirty little girl. Nate Harrelson? I had the biggest crush on him in high school.”

  “Hey,” says Cory walking over and throwing an arm around her shoulders. “I thought you only had eyes for me.” He grins so we know he’s joking.

  “I can look,” she defends, “but I can’t touch. Same goes for you.” She turns back to me. “So are you two on a date?”

  “Kind of. Not really. No,” I mutter. “I have a boyfriend back in London but my mom … You know how she is. When she wants something she gets it.”

  “Except for you to move back here,” Samantha jokes.

  “Except for that,” I agree. “I love London. But … I don’t know how happy I am with my job.”

  Samantha clucks her tongue. “Maybe you should quit. Do something new, exciting.”

  “Maybe I will,” I say in agreement.

  “Sloane!” Nate calls out. “I’ve got a table.”

  I wince and look at Samantha. “That’s my cue to leave,” I say sadly. “Wish me luck.”

  Nate waves me over to the table. He pulls out my chair and I slide into the table.

  I look over the menu and decide on fried chicken. I don’t care if it isn’t proper date food. This is, after all, far from a proper date. In fact, in my eyes, it’s not a date at all.

  I order and turn to Nate. He seems relaxed, completely at ease, despite my obvious reluctance to be here. I can’t help but envy him for that.

  The waitress comes back with our glasses of water and I rack my brain for something, anything, to ask Nate.

  “So … you own your parents’ nursery now?” I ask, trying to make small talk.

  And he’s off. “Yeah,” he says, straightening. “It wasn’t my plan. I wanted to be a lawyer but when they decided to sell it ... Well” —he shrugs his broad shoulders— “I hated to see it go. So I dropped out of college and here I am.”

  “Here you are,” I repeat. “Lawyer? Plant man?” I weigh my hands for emphasis. “That’s quite a difference.” I laugh, and it’s genuine.

  “It is,” he says with a casual laugh. “But you do what you’ve got to do. I grew up working there. I hated to see a stranger own it.”

  “No girlfriend?” I ask. The answer seems obvious, but I decide to ask anyway.

  “Nope, no girlfriend,” he says, shaking his head.

  “Why not? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Just haven’t met the right girl yet. Someday.” He leans toward me. “I’m sorry you got pushed into this.”

  I flick my hand to show him it’s no big deal even though it had been. “My mom … she’s desperate to get me to move back here. God knows I love her but I wish she wouldn’t meddle.”

  Nate laughs. “My mom won’t stop meddling in my love life. She’s always mumbling about grandkids and how she’ll be dead before I’m married. I’m twenty-four,” he chortles, “I’m still young.”

  “My mom says the same thing. I guess we better get used to it.”

  “So, Sloane,” he starts, “why on earth did you want to move to London to be a journalist? Couldn’t you have done the same thing here?”

  “I could have,” I hedge, “but … it wouldn’t have been the same. I needed to get away. My dad was from London. He always talked about taking me there and when he died …” I shrug. “It seemed like a good way to keep a part of him.”

  “That makes sense,” he agrees. “But don’t you miss your mom?”

  “Yeah, of course I do. But even if I lived here I wouldn’t be living with my mother. I still wouldn’t see her every day.”

  “But you would see her more than once a year.”

  “Touché,” I laugh. “I really should visit more,” I whisper under my breath.

  “I’m sorry,” Nate winces. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. This is probably why I don’t have a girlfriend. I never say the right thing.”

  “It’s okay,” I rush to tell him. “You only voiced my own thoughts. I don’t know why I don’t visit more. Maybe it’s because I’m scared I might get stuck here and never leave.”

  “Why would that happen?” he asks, sitting back so the waitress can put our plates on the table.

  “I don’t know. My mom’s the only family I have left and she’s her
e.”

  “You have to make your own way.”

  “Then why aren’t you a lawyer?” I ask with a quirk of my brow.

  He smirks. “I’m happy where I’m at in my life. Maybe fate intervened for a reason?”

  “Do you think that happens?” I ask. “Do you really believe fate controls everything?”

  “Maybe not everything but I do believes it plays a part in all our lives. If not I’d be wearing a suit right now, barking into my cell phone, and not here with you,” he reasons. “I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I’m doing what I’m doing. I would’ve been miserable as a lawyer.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “As friends,” he adds with a laugh.

  “Fate,” I repeat. “Do you think maybe … Oh, God I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you but, well, you’re a guy. I went back to Siva’s, my boyfriend,” I add for clarification, “flat before my flight and I caught him with another woman. He … well actually I found him at the airport and he swears nothing happened. I believe him but … if what you say about fate is true do you think maybe it’s telling me we aren’t meant to be together?” Hopefully he understands my point through all my rambling and pauses to gather my thoughts.

  Nate swallows a bite of mashed potatoes before leaning toward me. “I think it’s for you to decide. Do you love him?”

  “More than I ever thought it was possible. It scares me how much I love him.”

  “You have your answer then,” he replies, “this is a speed bump. You move on from it. Your eyes light up when you say his name. That’s rare, really rare. I hope I feel that way about someone someday.”

  “No, you don’t,” I say honestly, shaking my head and taking a sip of my water. “It’s miserable loving someone like this. Especially loving Siva. He’s complicated.”

  Nate snorts. “Everyone’s complicated, don’t forget.”

  We finish our meal, I insist on paying my own even though Nate protests, and then join Samantha and Cory for a game of pool. I feel like I’m in high school again. Just laughing and hanging out with my friends. Samantha has been a good friend of mine since middle school but we fell out of touch when I moved to London. She and Cory dated off and on but I always figured they would end up together. They’re perfect for each other. Samantha is loud and boisterous and Cory is quiet and thoughtful.