One day, while very pissed off at everything around me, I thought of a story with a happy ending, surprisingly. One with real problems and real people, but they were in love regardless. The story nagged me constantly.
Months later, I sat down and started the first novel that I would publish. At first, I was still writing for fun, but this story was different. Everyone fell in love with it. I was obsessed with it. It took me over a year to finish my first novel and weeks to finish this one. I knew what that meant. I was a closet romantic, and I needed other people to have hope about what they could have. I didn’t want anyone to settle.
You see, now that I’ve made it in the book world, writing is a scary thing. It means pouring out your soul, only to have it ripped open by mean comments. However, my characters still want their stories told.
I am not talking about my new book a lot. I am not sure why...maybe I can't stand the pressure of talking about it while I wait impatiently to hear about my movie.
I will say that I started writing it last week, and I have written twenty thousand words since then. Its halfway done; the covers are ready. It could be out in weeks, but I know I need a break.
Success, no matter how big or small, can be addicting and it can be an ugly thing. So bear with me as I get these three stories out to you. Know that I am stressing. Know that I am going to have a heart attack early in life because I think of these characters as real people. But as always, I will get them out to you.
Sincerely from a panic attack,
Natalie
P.S.
My characters aren't crazy. I am.
I remember that day vividly. Things were changing, and I was a scared twenty-two-year-old that was about to marry my best friend. I kept reading, remembering all of the bad times I went through.
I quit writing today. I lied. I've quit more than once.
I know without a doubt in my mind I want to finish my book I am working on now. After that? I don't know. My baby was just shredded to pieces on the big screen, and I can’t stand to see another ugly review.
I've gone through phases where I can't write, but this feels different. I can't make myself put out a book that I don't think is up to its potential. So, I am holding off on it. But I promise I will get these books to you.
The book world is a tough place to be,
Natalie
I typed chapter one and began constructing my thoughts into what could be a complicated story of a girl on the journey to finding herself. She could be a writer; she could be me. I thought all night long.
“Did you ever think you would be back?” Jack asks me, grinning.
“I was hoping I wouldn’t,” I say, smiling. He drives past our old apartment complex, and I look at him, wondering if he did that on purpose. He doesn’t give me any indication that he did that on purpose.
“Remember Jensen’s?” He asks.
“That old café we used to go to?” I ask, scrunching my nose. College memories come flooding back to me. We used to go all the time because they had cheap drinks and didn’t ID.
“We’re going,” he says as he pulls into the parking space.
“Is this place still standing?” I ask, laughing nervously.
“I still come all the time with Ashlynn and Marcus.”
I nod. “I can’t wait to see them tomorrow.”
“They are a little different. They are married and have kids.”
“Am I different? I am married?” I ask, laughing.
He parks the car, looking at me. His eyes trail from my eyes to my lips. “No. You are still the same.”
I get out of his truck, and he offers me his hand. Hesitantly, I take it. The restaurant is exactly how I left it. We used to eat here everything Tuesday night. It was like our ritual. When we got inside, I chose a table at a back corner, and Jack excused himself. I looked over the menu, noting that they were still the exact same ones from years ago. Cringing, I set it down and find Jack walking to our table with drinks in his hand.
“Jack and coke for the lady,” he says, handing me the glass.
Laughing, “This is my college drink. I am a whino now.”
“This will have to do,” he says, shrugging.
This place doesn’t serve wine. In fact, this is probably the cheapest form of whiskey imaginable, and it is the only thing they serve. My throat burns from the thought of the assault it is about to get from the content. I palm my glass and glance at Jack, unsure.
He sits across from me, and I can’t hide my smile. His sandy blonde hair hangs in his forehead before he pushes it back. His eyes watch me in wonder. It is so weird being around him like this.
I glance around the wood-paneled room. Classic Coca-Cola signs hang on the wall, old wooden table with red plastic seats fill the floor.
“They don’t make these kinds of establishments in Dallas,” he says.
I laugh, “If they do, I’ve never come across one.”
“What do you do for fun now?”
“Do adults have fun?” I take a sip of my drinking, shrugging.
“You should never stop having fun. If you aren’t, you need to reevaluate your life,” he says.
When did he become so deep? I roll my eyes. I can’t help but wonder what exactly he is talking about. He’s so grown up and mature now. Everyone is. It makes me sick. I chug my whiskey and channel my inner child.
“I am serious. I don’t like to see you this way,” he says.
“What way?” I set my drink on the table and fold my arms across my chest.
“Unhappy,” he says. It is almost a whisper.
“I am not unhappy. I just needed a break,” I say, defiant. He knows I am lying, but he doesn’t have time to fight me on the issue.
A waitress appears from the back, walking in strides. Her stingy yellow hair is pulled in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a Jensen’s shirt paired with jeans. She grabs a tray and walks to our table.
“Welcome to Jensen’s. Are you ready to order?”
“Are you, Natalie?” Jack asks.
“Oh hey, cutie,” she says to Jack, and he grins. He really does come in here a lot. His boyish charm has the same effect on everyone.
“I’ll have what you are having,” I say. I have never been able to make a decision.
Jack nods, “Two bacon cheeseburgers. Hold the onions.”
She scribbles the order down on her notepad before shoving it into her black apron. She smiles before disappearing into the back. My favorite thing about him is that he doesn’t mind eating unhealthy, and yet, it still looks like he cares about his appearance.
“What’s your favorite thing about teaching?” I ask.
He taps his chin, pretending to think. I lay face on top of my interlaced hands, watching him. I can’t imagine what he’s like in the classroom. He was always so fun and carefree. I can’t imagine him standing at the front of a room full of children, commanding their attention. It is more likely that he would be the worst behaved one in the classroom.
“The improvement; I like a challenge…a strong, defiant kid that I can win over and teach them how to love math.”
“Wow,” I say because that’s the only thing I can think of.
“What about you? What do you like about writing?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Creating and escaping.”
“That’s deep,” he says, winking at me. Typical answer, I know, but it isn’t a lie.
He finishes off his beer and walks to the bar to get another one. He’s grinning from ear to ear as he talks with the bartender. He was always so fun. Well, around others. Most of the time we were fighting with each other. That’s because we were too much alike to be together. He didn’t see that, but I always did. His charm made me say yes to marrying him even though I knew it was a bad idea. I thought I walked away before I could do too much harm. The more I am around him, the more I wonder if I was too late.
“Are you going to babysit that drink all night?” He asks, appearing on cue.
“I am twenty- eight years old, Jack. I don’t drink to black out,” I say, rolling my eyes. Although that’s a lie; it happens more than I would ever admit.
“That’s too bad,” he says, smirking.
Some country song blasts through the jukebox, and I cringe. The music is the worst part of this town. I turn, finding a group of college kids had come in and they filled the opposite side of the restaurant. Jack was dancing beside the table. When I laughed, he stopped and held out his hand.
“No! I hate dancing!” I protest to my horror.
“I remember…and you are a shit dancer, by the way,” he says. I pout, thinking of a comeback. I don’t have one; he is correct about my dancing skills. I bite my lip and look at him one last time.
Despite every fiber of my being telling me no, I took his outstretched hand and let him pull me on the empty floor. This wasn’t a place to dance, and no one ever did it, but Jack always managed to talk me into it. Five years later, I still couldn’t say no.
He spun me in circles, and I stomped his feet with my clumsiness. He didn’t care; he never did. He sang along to the words, and I tried to hide my smile.
I wrapped my fist in his shirt and squeezed his hand as he pulled me in every direction he wanted. He knew I was an awful dancer, but he knew how to make me look like I knew what I was doing. I loved his attitude from day one.
When the song ended, the tables around us cheered. Embarrassed, I shoved my face in his chest. I could feel his body vibrating with laughter.
“Again?” He asks as another song blasted through the speakers.
I glanced at our table; seeing our food was there, I tugged on his shirt. “I need food.”
I slid into my chair and chugged the rest of my drink. My cheeks were on fire with embarrassment. Well, that’s what I was telling myself. Jack came back with two shots and a refill for me.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Mathis?”
“If I was, I think I already succeeded.”
I giggled, knowing he was right. He lifted his shot and held it up to me. I took mine and clinked it against his before throwing it down the back of my mouth. I was confident my face looked ridiculous after taking that. The taste was bitter, and I wondered why I agreed to that.
“I’ve always hated those,” I say.
“But they get the job done.”
I laugh at him, and his face explodes with delight. “I haven’t had this much fun since…”
“Since what?” He asks, holding my gaze.
“It has been a while.”
He nods knowingly. I take a bite of my burger, remembering how good this place is. A couple of the college kids took our place and started dancing in the center of the café. We watched them, smiling, as we finished our food. They reminded me of us when we were that age. So carefree and fun.
Jack looked at me, smiling. He was thinking the same thing. My only hope is that they had their lives together more than we did at that age.
“Want anything else to drink?”
“I am good,” I say.
When we finished, Jack paid, and I walked to the truck. My head was spinning from the night. It was like nothing had changed since I was at the café all of those years ago. Jack walked out and helped me in the truck before driving off.
When we got to his house, he looked at the door and then at me. “Wanna come inside?”
Honestly, I didn’t want the night to end. I was having too much fun with him. “Sure.”
I followed behind him to the house, exhaling. I was on a high from having a good night with him, but I needed to remind myself that I needed to be a little distant. I have unfished business in Dallas that I need to address before anything else happens.
“You need to work on your dancing skills,” he says as we walk inside.
I collapse on a recliner and kick my shoes off. “I dance just fine. Thank you.”
“I make you look good. Just think, if we would’ve been practicing the last five years, you’d be an expert.”
“I am still pretty damn good,” I say, laughing. I want to change the subject.
“Why did you leave?” He asks, and I die inside.
He walks over to me and pulls me out of the chair. Are we dancing again? He pushes my hair behind my ears and waits for my answer. My cheeks heat with embarrassment.
“I had to,” I say.
“But you came back,” he says, and I nod in agreement.
He pushes his lips against mine, and I freeze. His hand snakes to the back of my neck, holding me in place. For a minute, I lose control. I let my tongue follow him, the way I used to. His kiss is familiar yet ancient. He moans against my mouth, and I snap out of it. This is wrong.
I push on his chest, surprised that he would try to make a move on me. He looks confused, and I look every bit angry.
“I am married!” I yell, and he flinches. He quickly recovers.
“And yet here we are,” he says. His grin is wicked, and suddenly we’re in the same place we were all of those years ago. He got under my skin more than anyone in this world.
“You asked why I left before…” I say. I am pissed, and I want him to be also.
“Yeah?”
“Because of you!”
He threw his head back, laughing at me. “You were scared…you panicked. Now you’re back for more.”
“I left because I knew there had to be another way. I knew I couldn’t spend my life crying after a screaming match every day. We would’ve ended up divorced.”
“We’ll never know now, will we?” He taunts me.
For a second, I want to slap that look off of his face. He’s always so sure of himself, and that’s how he treated our relationship. He thought I couldn’t resist him. And maybe I couldn’t; maybe that’s why we were so bad for each other.
“Why does it matter, Jack? It has been five years…it wasn’t going to work.”
“Your current marriage isn’t going to work,” he says, throwing a grin at me. “You came all the way back here to see me. That’s why it matters!”
“I didn’t come here to see you!”
“Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?”
“We bring out the worst in each other,” I say, seething. We were the people we were five years ago. We were never going to change.
“We also bring out the best.”
I couldn’t stop the laughter that escaped from my lips. He’s delusional if he thinks that.
“You are bored, Natalie. You think about what it was like. I know you do.”
“I have to go, Jack,” I say, pushing past him for the final time.
“Natalie!” I run to my car, and I can hear him chasing after me. When I reach the car, I jump inside and lock the doors. I start my car and speed off.
He slaps the side of my car, wanting me to stop. “Natalie! Wait!”
The further I drive; the car drowns out the sound of him running after me. Coming here was a mistake. He was a mistake.
When I get to my moms, I look at my phone for the first time.
C: How are you?
J: I am sorry.
J: Will you at least come tomorrow? I’ll make it up to you.
N: I’ll be there tomorrow.
I power off my phone, needing to be away from everyone. My mom is asleep for the night. I walked inside, feeling the same as I had years before. I spent the night in my childhood room, frustrated with Jack Mathis. It is déjà vu.
I open my laptop, deciding to let my words make up my confused mind. My thoughts, although they range from rants to pitying myself, have started to form a story. I exhale a long breath and begin reading from the start, hoping my inner voice will give me guidance.
I saw her untamed, red hair before I saw her face. Ashlynn walked ahead of Marcus, searching the room until she saw me. When she came into view, I grew uncomfortable. I looked down at my old jeans and wondered what my hair must look like piled on top of my head. She was dressed in a strapless, black jumpsuit. Her wed
ges sent her over six foot tall. Marcus trailed behind her, holding her hand. They were exactly how they were in college.
I stood and hugged her. Squealing, she took a seat by me.
“Sorry, we’re late. It is unimaginable the lengths you go to get out of your house with kids.”
“I can imagine,” I say. I pinch my straw between my teeth, taking a drink.
“You have a kid, right? Where’s your husband? I’ve heard all about him,” she says. She looks behind me, frowning.
“He didn’t come in with me.”
“Sorry,” she says, smiling. She doesn’t look very sorry. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“So, how old are the kids?”
“Oh my god,” she says. Grabbing her phone from her purse, she shows me photos of their two kids. Their daughter has her mother’s bright red hair, and their son looks just like Marcus.
“Lilly is eighteen months, and Rance just turned four.” I hate math equations. Your child is a year and a half. I smile at her pictures.
“You have your hands full I bet.”
“Oh no. They are perfect. Rance does so much for Lilly. We’re so lucky,” she says, gushing.
I want to roll my eyes. Is anything in her life not perfect? Fake people are the most difficult for me to be around. I am scared to be myself, so I paint an untrue portrait of my life. The webs of lies we weave don’t allow us to honestly know each other. Maybe that’s why we are all so troubled on the inside.
“Why are we lucky?” Marcus asks, poking his head in our direction.
“I was just telling Natalie about the kids and how wonderful they are.”
Jack looks at me and lifts his eyebrows. I give him a thumb up, faking my happiness.
“Do you have any kids, Natalie?” Marcus asks.
“No, it is just my husband and me.” It is just me.
“You are planning to have them, right? You seriously don’t know love until you have kids with your husband. It is the best feeling in the world,” Ashlynn says, grinning at Marcus.
Okay, seriously? Did they just get back from their honeymoon? I hate these kinds of questions. If people knew what we had been through, they wouldn’t ask us when we are planning to have kids.
The Lies We Tell Page 6