by Carrie Quest
I lean in to give him a hug. “Best news ever. What are you going to do?”
He and Piper look at each other again, but this time it’s not about me. Interesting.
“Not sure yet,” he says, his eyes still locked on hers. “I need to keep coming to therapy, though, so I’ll be close.”
I shoot Piper a questioning look, trying to figure out what’s going on, but her face is carefully blank.
“That’s awesome,” I say. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Funny you should ask,” he says. “Because I do.”
“Burrito delivery service to your new pad?”
“Yes. Naturally. I’ll always need that. But I was also wondering if you could pick me up when they let me out. My parents are back east, and I’ll need a ride.”
“Sure,” I say. “That’s easy. Let me know when and where and I’ll be there.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
Piper narrows her eyes at him and a little curl of doubt unfurls in my stomach. Maybe she wanted to pick him up. Or maybe she doesn’t think he’s ready to leave. Or maybe, knowing Adam, he’s planning a jailbreak and the doctors have no idea he’s even going.
I try to catch her eye, but she won’t look at me, and before I can push the issue, Adam is talking again.
“Nicely played, Natalie. Complimenting a man on his incredible body and cheetah-like speed while catching baked goods is always a good distraction technique, but you didn’t answer my question. Did you send the book to Ben?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Incredible body and cheetah-like speed?”
“Isn’t that what you said?”
“Not exactly.”
He shrugs. “Funny. It’s exactly what I heard. Now answer the question.”
“Adam…” Piper starts, but I cut her off.
“Yes.”
She turns to me, her mouth puckered into a perfect circle. “You did?”
“Yes, I did.”
They both stare at me and I feel my face heating up. “What?”
Piper recovers first. “Nothing. We just thought, after the way things ended, you wouldn’t have contacted him.”
“Glad you did, though,” Adam says. “Saves me the trouble of sending it to him.”
“You wouldn’t have,” I say.
“I would,” he says seriously. “I know he’d want to see it.”
My heart kicks up. “Has he said anything?”
I regret the words as soon as they escape from my mouth, because I swore I wouldn’t put Adam or Piper in the middle of this, and asking if Ben has been talking about me is pretty much the definition of putting them in the middle. Plus, it lacks dignity, and a girl with an entire dumpster full of Pringles tubes needs to hold onto the few scraps of dignity she has left.
“Forget I said that,” I say quickly. “I sent it because I thought he’d want to know I finished, that’s all.”
“Did he answer?” Piper asks softly.
I shake my head. “No. And I’d really rather not talk about it, okay?”
Adam opens his mouth to say something else, but this time Piper throws a pillow at him, and he takes the hint.
“Fine,” she says, glaring at Adam. “Sorry if we made you uncomfortable, and by ‘we’ I mean Adam.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Really. I’m fine.”
Adam studies me for a long minute, his dark eyes keen. “I’m sorry, Nat. Didn’t mean to be a dick.”
I hand him the last sopapilla. “You are forgiven. I’ve got to go, though. My parents have summoned me to a Skype call this afternoon. I’ll see you next week for the great escape.”
They both hug me goodbye and wish me luck, and I leave them there together, knowing they’re about to continue whatever conversation they were having about me when I walked in. That part doesn’t hurt, though. It’s not like they’re talking shit about me, they’re just worried.
The part that does hurt is remembering the looks they kept giving each other, like they were exchanging inside information. Having entire conversations without words. I miss that. When I figured out Piper’s boobs could sever the Adam/burrito bond, I looked around for Ben immediately, because I knew he’d find it as funny as I did.
But he’s not here.
I turn up some happy music on my drive back to Boulder because going home and curling up in a wallow nest to watch weepy movies and obsess about Ben is so attractive it’s embarrassing, but I don’t have time for that shit right now. My parents decided yesterday that they’ve left me on tenterhooks long enough. The silent treatment is over and they’re ready to deal with me.
Well, I’m ready to deal with them too. My parental disappointment Bingo card is long gone. In its place is a five-point plan, because I know exactly how I want this conversation to go, and I’m going to be the one in control this time.
I throw a cardigan over my tank top and brush my hair as a nod to respectability before I boot up my computer, but my ragged cut-offs stay put. My parents won’t see them. I will not allow frustration and anger to drive me out of my seat to pace around the room. I will stay calm, cool, and collected, even if I squeeze my stress ball so hard that it collapses in on itself and creates a miniature black hole under my desk.
My stomach clenches as the call connects and my parents’ faces flicker into view. They’re in my dad’s office at the hospital, and I run my eyes over the familiar diplomas and anatomical posters on the wall, avoiding eye contact for as long as possible.
The silence stretches on until my mother clears her throat, and I finally force my gaze over to her.
“We got your email about signing up for the wrong class,” she says, jumping right in. So much for working up to the hard stuff. “But it’s no excuse, Natalie. The agreement was that you took a class, received an exceptional grade, and got a letter of recommendation from your professor. You have broken every single condition we set out for you.”
I considered contacting Monique and asking for the letter. I know she would have written one, but at this point the whole agreement seems ridiculous. It was never about my major, not really, it was about me wanting my parents’ approval and my parents wanting to control my life. So I ignore her little rant and change the subject.
“I finished the revisions on my book yesterday,” I say, my voice reaching a tone of desperate cheerfulness that makes me sound like a Titanic passenger remarking on the beauty of the iceberg. “I sent it out to the agents last night.”
My dad looks mildly interested, but my mother rolls her eyes. “And that is what you spent your summer doing?”
“Yes.” My smile gets tight, and I crush the hell out of my stress ball. There’s no way it’s going to survive this conversation. Good thing I sprang for the family pack.
“When will you hear back from the agents?” Dad asks.
“Anytime from a few days to a few months,” I say. “Luckily, I’m all signed up for fall classes, so even if this book doesn’t work out, I’ll be working to make the next one better. My favorite author is even coming to CU to do a workshop. Isn’t that amazing?”
Mom lifts her eyebrow. “Are you sure you signed up for the right workshop?”
I rip my fingernails into the damn stress ball so hard that little pieces of foam flutter to the ground.
“I checked everything twice,” I say through gritted teeth. “Just like Santa.”
“And how are you planning on paying for these classes?” Mom asks. “We might be willing to fund one writing class, but we are not paying for you to fluff around with being a novelist, Natalie. We’ve made that very clear.”
“Crystal clear,” I say brightly. Look at that lovely iceberg! Such gorgeous shades of silver and blue! I wonder if it’s bigger underneath the water?
They both stare at me.
“It’s not too late for physics,” my dad offers. “I had a look online and there are still plenty of classes open.”
“I’m happy with my course selection,” I say. The stress b
all is totally shredded now, my bare legs covered in flakes of foam. I grab one of the other ones on my desk and get to work.
“If you won’t pay for it, I understand,” I say. “I’ve already applied for a student loan. It’s all set up.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Mom says. “We’re not going to allow you to do that.”
This is it. I keep my eyes on hers and reach out blindly with my left hand for yet another stress ball; double fisting is going to be necessary for what I have to say next.
“It’s not up to you,” I say. “I’ve declared my major. I’ve signed up for my classes and I’m going into this with a good understanding of what it will take to succeed in the business of writing. I’ve worked hard this summer, even if you don’t see it. Whether or not you support me is up to you, but I’m not changing my mind.”
Whew. I suck in a deep breath and stare at them, waiting for the explosion, but they’ve gone completely still and silent. Maybe they’re in shock.
Something digs into my fingers and I look down to see I’m not clutching a stress ball in my left hand at all. Instead, I’m slowly squashing the Treebeard figure Ben left for me. I unwrap my fingers from around its craggy body, and for the first time in weeks I think about Ben without feeling a hollow ache in my chest and the prick of tears. My parents may not believe in me, but he did. He knew I could do this.
I wonder if he read the book yet.
I wonder if he’ll email me back.
I wonder if 7,500 miles is an unreasonable distance to go for a sex-with-the-ex-type booty call.
“Natalie!” Mom snaps her fingers, trying to get my attention.
“Yes?”
“This is unacceptable,” she starts, but Dad puts his hand firmly on her arm and shakes his head.
“Natalie’s right,” he says. “It’s not up to us.”
She turns to him. “We already decided we wouldn’t pay for this.”
“I didn’t say we were paying for it,” he gently corrects her. “I said that it’s Natalie’s decision.”
Mom’s mouth flops open and shut a few times, but she keeps quiet. For once.
“You’ve given us a lot to think about, Natalie,” Dad says. “We’ll consider the tuition question, and I’ll put the money from the refunded summer school class into your account.”
“Okay.” I search for something else to say, but all I can come up with is “Bye.”
My dad waves and cuts the connection, leaving me staring at a blank screen.
I’m still sitting there ten minutes later when my inbox dings with a message from Felicity Burns. She’s offering me representation and wants me to call her the next day and talk about details. I stare at the message for an hour before my hands stop shaking enough for me to be able to type a response.
The next day Adam sends me flowers and Piper drives down to take me out on the town. Syd drags us to karaoke, we drink too many margaritas, and we run into the cute guy from the bakery, who asks for my number. I don’t give it to him. I also don’t look when we stumble past my favorite sushi place, and I certainly don’t remember Ben’s plan to take me there.
I don’t remember that at all.
30
Ben
I have to be up at the ass crack of dawn to call Adam, which isn’t really a hassle since I don’t sleep anyway. I toss and turn on a lumpy sofa, telling myself I should be thinking about training, about the runs I want to make the next day, about what I need to do to nail that fucking triple. I tell myself that, over and over again, but then I don’t think about any of that shit.
I think about Natalie.
I picture her hair, the little freckles on her arms, the way her lips curl when she smiles. If I do manage to drift off, I wake up with a start, remembering the way she woke me on our last night. On top of me in the dark, whispering that she loved me.
And then I’m tossing and turning on a lumpy sofa with a hard-on, which sucks, because even jerking off doesn’t make me feel better. It only makes me miss her more.
I gave up the condo I reserved when I thought Nat was coming with me. Figured it would be too tough to be alone, that maybe some company would help. But couch surfing in the same group house I stayed in last year sucks. Too many parties and no privacy. The first night I was here, Autumn offered to let me share her room, but the thought of it just made me sad. I don’t want anybody else.
Adam told me to call him at exactly noon his time, said he wanted to be talking to me at the exact moment he left the hospital. That’s six a.m. for me, and I’ve got half an hour to wait. The house it totally silent, which is rare. I should probably get up and snag one of the showers while it’s free, but instead, I’m indulging in my favorite new hobby: typing shittty responses to Nat’s email and then erasing them.
It’s more fun than a barrel of porn stars.
I read the new draft as soon as she sent it, and it’s so fucking good I wanted to get back on the plane and fly home to give her a hug, tell her how proud I am. But I’m not even supposed to call her, so that plan was obviously out.
Truth be told, I’m actually a little pissed she emailed me at all. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? She told me she regretted getting involved with me and that I shouldn’t contact her, then she fucked me all night long, hugged me goodbye, and ghosted. I have no idea where the boundaries are anymore.
Her message was short. It’s not like she got all flowery or emotional. She didn’t beg me to come back or tell me she changed her mind or anything like that. Three sentences was all I got. She wanted me to see the book. She misses me. She’s sorry.
She didn’t say what she’s sorry for, though.
She signed it Love, Natalie, and let me tell you, a squad of middle school cheerleaders couldn’t have spent more time and energy than I have trying to decipher the exact nuance of that signature.
It’s three sentences for fuck’s sake. I should just email her back and say the book looks great and good luck, but instead, I’ve been typing and deleting responses for two days, and I’m not getting any closer to pressing send.
Maybe because once I reply, that’s it. School will be starting for her soon. Piper will move back, and Nat will have her friends and her classes to keep her busy. Her life will go on, and as soon as I send this email, I will officially no longer be a part of it.
I’m not ready for that. She broke my fucking heart, but the thought of not ever seeing her again breaks the rest of me.
Maybe I’ll send it tomorrow. Five minutes left so I drag myself up and pull on my clothes. The van’ll be here soon, and I need to be ready.
Adam answers on the first ring.
“Benny boy! Good to hear your voice, man.”
His voice is happier than it’s been since the accident, and I feel a twinge of regret that I’m not there, helping him pack up the room and walking him out the door. The guilt is still there too. I know he’s not mad at me. I understand that what happened wasn’t my fault, not really, but it’s still there between us. Shit like that takes a long time to go away.
“You sound great,” I say.
“I know. You, on the other hand, sound like shit.”
“Yeah, well, it’s early here.”
“Plus, you’re a gloomy motherfucker these days,” he points out. “Which could also be a contributing factor.”
I have to laugh. “Tell me again why I got my ass up this early to call you?”
“Because I’m a fucking delight, Ben.” He clears his throat. “And because you’re a damn good friend. I’ve been an angry asshole for most of the last few months, but you stuck around anyway and made me do the hard shit, even when I didn’t want to. I won’t forget it.”
“You’d do the same for me.”
“Oh, I definitely will, my brother.”
Loneliness slices through me, a physical pain that leaves me hollow. It’s not only Nat I miss: it’s Adam and Piper and Thor. Everything. When I’m out on the hill, it’s okay. I’m too focused to t
hink. My body is working hard, and my mind is at peace. But moments like this bring back what I’m giving up, and man do they hurt.
“Are you psyched?” I push the cheer into my voice because this is his day and I don’t want to bring him down.
“As a grommet at a Burton factory sale,” he says. “But enough about me. Have you heard our girl’s big news?”
“Piper? Did she get her internship extended?” I’ve talked to my sister a few times, but it’s been awkward as fuck. We’re pretty much reduced to texting each other pictures back and forth since it’s hard to have a conversation right now without mentioning Nat or Adam. I send her mountain shots and she sends me pictures of my dog. Last night it was Thor on the sofa, cuddled up in a blanket with his head on Natalie’s feet.
One look at her toes and it was like I’d flipped and landed flat on my back. The air rushed out of my lungs and I couldn’t get it back. From a glimpse of her fucking feet. If Thor had been resting his head on her chest, I probably would’ve had a heart attack.
“Not Piper,” Adam says easily. “Our other girl.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and all of a sudden I’m hyperaware of everything I can hear on his end of the line, noticing the scuffles and muffled voices that I was filtering out before. Adam is definitely not alone.
And he’s definitely up to something.
“She got an agent,” he continues, as if I’d answered him. As if I’m actually participating in this conversation instead of just standing here, staring out the window at the first timid rays of winter sun coming up over the mountains, frozen in place as I wonder who else is in that hospital room.
“She ended up with four offers. Girl’s a star.”
Of course, she is. I close my eyes and let myself drift for a minute, picturing her face when she read that first email and knew she’d made it.
“Yeah, actually, she’s right here,” he says. “Cool, I’ll pass you over. It’s big of you to take the first step and ask to talk to her. You two have been abso-fucking-ridiculous for the last few weeks. I’ve gotta head out and say goodbye to Dawn anyway. Whip a couple of beanbags at her head or something. It’ll probably take a while.”