She doesn’t say anything but she presses her lips tightly together, and that’s enough to make me defensive. “Oh, don’t even. I know what you want to say. You’re off the clock. I don’t need to hear from my life coach right now.”
She slides her Kate Spade sunglasses down her nose to look at me. “Really? I doubt you know what I want to say. You get my coaching wrong ninety-nine percent of the time that you try to guess.”
“Are you saying I get it right one percent of the time?”
“No. I was being nice.”
I pout, but I’m also pretty sure she has enough evidence from the past to back up her statement. The truth hurts. Like everything else these days.
And since I’m in the mood to punish myself, I suppose another dose of the honesty stuff is just the thing I need. “Fine. Tell me your wise words, oh wise woman. Coach me into the light.”
“If it’s not going to be appreciated . . .” She trails off, her gaze moving back to her novel.
“I want to hear it. Put your book down and tell me, bitch.”
Without hesitation, she sets the book down and throws her feet over the side of the lounger to face me. When she takes her sunglasses off, I realize this is going to be serious, and I brace myself for the image in the mirror she’s about to hold up to me.
“I just have a question for you, Natalia, one that I want you to think carefully about answering. Why do you think you can’t help yourself around him?”
That wasn’t so bad. It’s a simple enough question, and I don’t even have to ponder to find the answer: The sex is good. So good, and I almost say it, but then Hadley puts a stern finger up and wags it back and forth. “Think carefully. Don’t just say what you’ve programmed yourself to say.”
I swallow my words and give the question another minute to percolate. If Nick was injured in a car accident today and no longer had the use of his amazing cock and if for some crazy reason I was no longer able to achieve orgasm, would I still miss him like I do? Would I still want to know what he does to fill every second of his day? Would I still dream about getting old with him and sitting on a rocking chair on the porch surrounded by grandkids?
I would. I definitely would.
And as long as I’m shooting honesty straight with no chaser, I probably always will dream of that, no matter the circumstance or distance.
And so I offer the real answer for Hadley, the one I’ve been storing in a secret locked compartment in my heart since before I even knew it was there. “Because I love him.”
Of course I’ve known for a while—I really have. But knowing it doesn’t help the circumstance, so I’ve kept the key turned firmly. So this is the first time I’ve said it to anyone, even myself. The sound of the words knocks the wind out of me, and I take a slow, deep breath and answer again. “I love him.”
“Right. You love him.”
The pride on her face says I got the answer right, and for a fleeting moment I feel the thrill of having had a momentous breakthrough.
But then reality catches up to me. “It doesn’t matter that I love him, Hadley. We’re on such totally different paths! I’m a dozen years older than him. I’m an adult with adult things on my mind. I’m settled, even though I haven’t acted like it the last several months.”
“You’ve acted like a happy woman the last few months. I don’t think that has any bearing at all on your status of adulthood.”
I glare at her for no other reason than because she’s not validating my argument. “If I let myself have a relationship with him, I’ll only get further behind in my life plans. By the time we finally break up, I might be too old to have my own family. And I don’t want to give up on the idea of children. Of having my own baby.”
She studies me, and I’m convinced she’s going to say something about following my heart and trusting in the future, neither of which ever gets you anything but bad roles and anxiety, in my experience.
But instead she asks, “Why are you so sure you’d break up? Can you not see yourself with Nick forever?”
Gee, I really am bad at guessing her advice.
Which doesn’t matter because what she’s asked is still unhelpful. “Sure, I can imagine a life with Nick. But he’s twenty-three. How many times do I have to say this to people? Do you remember what you were doing at twenty-three?”
I remember what I was doing. Working twenty-four-hour days to star in both an NBC hit sitcom and making movies on the side. I ran lines on planes, and read scripts in the back of cabs. I gave interviews on set while hair and makeup was doing their thing. I was establishing myself. I was exhausted and full of ambition and there was no room for anything else. No leftover scrap of my time to dedicate to another person. If I had been serious with someone back then, he would have had to take a backseat to my career or I would have had to give up some very important projects that got me where I am now.
I love Nick, but I don’t want to take a backseat to his life. I don’t want to give up my wants for him. I don’t want to end up resenting him, and I don’t want him to resent me. And I’ve certainly been around enough babies to know that everything takes a backseat to them.
As always, Hadley avoids my question in order to stay on her own agenda. “Are you saying a man can’t be a father in his twenties?”
“I’m saying why would a career-driven man want to be a father in his twenties?”
“Maybe because he loves you too,” Hadley says simply.
I clam up. I hadn’t yet told her that Nick said the L-word. Over and over. With feeling.
Turns out I don’t need to, because my face says it all. “He’s told you he loves you, hasn’t he?”
“I told you love doesn’t matter here, Hadley. It doesn’t fix everything. It doesn’t magically make our life goals line up. Didn’t you see La La Land? In Hollywood, becoming a star is the unicorn, not finding love.” Which probably explains why the majority of successful actors and actresses I know are lonely and childless.
We all make a devil’s bargain coming here.
But those are the facts. “I already have a unicorn career,” I continue when it seems like more needs to be explained. “And I don’t want to end up lonely and childless, so now that I’ve worked through my rebellious phase of dirty, fun sex with Nick, I’m making it a priority to find the right guy with the right goals at the right age and that’s that.” I pick up my discarded script and hope my pretense of reading it will end this counseling session.
It doesn’t. “You want to know what I think?” Hadley asks. “I think you’re scared.”
That word again, the same one Nick used. It wrinkles my ego just enough to make me re-engage. “Scared of what, exactly?” I ask, dropping the script to stare at her. “My reputation has already been spun on its head. The good girl is gone. And I’m still standing. There’s nothing left to be scared of.”
“Exactly. There’s nothing to be scared of, and yet you are. You’re running. And from the look on your face, Nick has made it clear he wants to be with you. There is literally nothing keeping you apart except some imaginary conflict in your head.”
No. Not imaginary. The years between us are real. The tick-tock of my baby-clock is real. The fact that he isn’t ready to settle down with me is . . . well, I guess it isn’t actually based on anything he’s really said. But it has to be real.
Or is that true? Is this really a non-issue that I’m making too big of a deal about? Am I really running for no reason except fear?
Fear that once I have the ring, once I have the baby, I’ll lose my shine. Fear that once I have the things I’ve longed for, I’ll lose the man who gave them to me. I told Hadley the career was the unicorn, but we both know love is too. And setting aside my fear to be with Nick would mean trusting that unicorn not to drop me mid-flight across the rainbow.
It’s petrifying.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a text coming in. I pick it up quickly, eager for any escape from this conversation and the turn it’
s taken.
It’s from Nick. R u still doing my video?
Nat: Of course I’ll still do it.
I’m professional. I’ve worked with exes before.
Nick: I need 2 see u 2 talk about the script.
Nat: You can email it.
After it’s sent, I rethink my last response. Do I not want to see him because it’s best for our breakup or am I scared to see him? And if it’s the latter, then why?
Because I know if I do, I’ll fall back into his arms. I’ll give everything of myself to him, all over again. We’ll kick the can down the road for a little longer and we’ll be happy, but for how long?
How long until I try to outrun heartbreak again?
Another text comes in from Nick. It needs 2 be in person.
My breath feels shaky as I inhale. I stare at my phone, not focusing. “He could really hurt me,” I confess to Hadley. “Without meaning to. He could break my heart into so many pieces. He’s still so young, and he might not realize that I’m not the person he wants until he’s already stuck with two kids and a wife who’s playing grandma roles before he even hits thirty.”
She laughs out loud at my dramatics, startling me. I’m pouring out my deepest fears, and she’s laughing? I’m stung, but she continues, leaning over and placing a hand on my arm to convey her sincerity.
“Or, my friend, he might know exactly what he wants, and right now you’re the one breaking his heart into so many pieces. As well as your own by denying yourself this chance to be happy.”
Hadley stands and moves to sit on the edge of my lounger, facing me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, shifting my legs to make room for her.
“Giving you hard words.”
“You can’t do that from over there?” It feels like she’s been giving me hard words for a while now, and the short distance between us is the only thing holding me together. If she hugs me, I swear I’m going to lose it. And if I let myself start crying now, I could very well end the California drought with the torrent it would unleash.
“Shut up, grumpy cat, and listen to me.” She takes my hands in hers and squeezes them both comfortingly. “Do you really think you’re the first person to have this fear? That it doesn’t exist even without an age difference, or a fast-paced career? Every relationship is scary, girl. Every relationship is a leap of faith. Even when there’s not a swarm of cameras trying to record every up and down and throwing it back in your face; it’s always a roller coaster of unpredictability. There’s no money-back guarantee. There’s no such thing as risk-free love. But that’s what makes love worth it.
“If Nick is the guy who treats you better than any other guy, loves you for who you are, and cares about your happiness more than his own, then he’s the best shot you have at making something last. Don’t throw it away because you’re too worried about what might happen or what people might say or what you’ve decided for him. Write your own story, remember? That means write the story you want to read, not the one you think everyone wants to hear. And while you’re at it, stop trying to write his for him. He has the same right that you do to be free from other people’s perceptions.”
The truth bomb she’s just dropped blows me wide open.
It takes me a minute to respond because I’m too busy trying to sniffle back tears. I fail epically. “I hate you right now,” I say, pulling my hands away to wipe my cheeks.
She leans over to reach in her bag. A second later she hands me a tissue. “Because I made you cry?”
“Because you make me a better person.” I dab at my eyes then noisily blow my nose, sending Hadley back to her own lounger.
When I’m sufficiently calmed down, which shockingly takes only a few minutes, I take a deep breath and resolve to be brave. “I should see him, I think.”
“And talk to him. Yes, I agree.”
“All right. Here goes,” I say with a confidence I’m not feeling. If this doesn’t work, if I’ve lost my only chance and the reason he wants to see me is simply to tell me he’s finished, then I can fall apart. Will fall apart. I pick up my phone and respond to Nick’s last text.
Okay. Come over when you can. I’m home all day.
Nick: I’ll be there in twenty.
I sit up in alarm. “He’s coming over now!” I didn’t expect it would be so soon. “I’m not dressed to see him! Do I look okay? Shit, I’ve been crying. My face probably looks like a blown-up raspberry. And I can’t remember the last time I showered. God, why did I say he could come over now? Do you have any concealer in here?” I start digging through her bag before she answers.
I’ve only managed to find a tube of mascara when she stops me. “He’s going to think you look perfect, Nat. Because you are. But let’s go in the house together. You’re going to need some help with your face.”
And that’s the reason she’s my life coach and my friend—she knows when to rip me apart, and how to put me back together with lipstick.
I just hope the rest of me isn’t too broken to repair.
Chapter Twenty
I Can Love You Right
Nick
I knew the minute she walked out my door that I wasn’t done fighting for her. I wasn’t giving up that easily. I meant it when I said I wanted more, that I wanted forever, and the way to prove that isn’t just to throw in the towel at the first sign of conflict.
On the other hand, relentless harassment isn’t going to work either, so I’ve settled for text messages, and for obsessively checking my Google alert to see if she’s out and about to see how she looks. I go to her coffee shop every morning, but either she isn’t coming or she’s going somewhere else.
Six nights without her is too many.
So six days later, I’ve come up with a million ideas to win her back. I’ve also shot down a million ideas. Many were grand, expensive, no-holds-barred schemes demonstrating my affection. But nothing seemed like the gesture she needs. She has money of her own. She has people who make a fuss over her all the time. She doesn’t need more of that.
The only thing she needs, really, is me.
After I figure that out, I realize I already have a script for what to say to her. Literally. It’s all in the video we’re shooting, all the things I want her to know. I wanted to wait until we shot it for her to see it unfold, but that plan has been nixed. Call me impatient, but I can’t live without her like this anymore.
It’s like a line from one of those old eighties movies we used to watch on the Ryder Brothers tour bus while we were all too young to understand the significance of the words. “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”
I want to start the rest of my life right now. And I want to start it with her.
I park my car in the middle of her circle drive, grab the pages I’ve brought, and head to her front door. It’s the first time I’ve been to her house, and that seems crazy when I think about it. Natalia is so much a part of my world that it feels like there can’t be any parts of her life I don’t know. In truth, there really aren’t. We’ve shared every important story during our phone calls. We’ve confessed silly secrets and bold ones as well, and just because the pathway to her home is foreign to my feet doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly the kind of furniture she’s filled the place with and that there are shelves and shelves of books.
It turns out I never needed to see that magazine spread about it, because Natalia painted me pictures with her voice, told me why she chose certain pieces, listed the tangible things that bring her back to herself when she gets too lost in a role.
Those are the things that matter between two people, aren’t they? Knowing each other. Loving each other. Harmony and melody. All the rest is just . . . noise.
Before I get all the way there, the front door opens as if she’s been watching for me.
Except it isn’t Nat standing there, but another woman whom I’ve never met. I’ve seen her before, though. S
he was there that night at the dance club, and based on the descriptions Nat has given me, I’d guess that this is her best friend.
“Hadley?” I ask to be sure.
“I suppose it’s not fair that I already know for certain you’re Nick.” She winks at me, and I can already tell why Nat likes her. “She’s in the living room. Pacing.”
I glance at the still half-open door, but I can’t see Nat from this angle. It bothers me that she’s nervous about seeing me. At the same time, I take it as a good sign. If she was really, truly done with me, she wouldn’t be feeling anything about my arrival.
“How is she?” I ask Hadley, as though I have a right to her guidance.
“She’s going to be fine . . . now that you’re here.” She pats me on my upper arm, a friendly gesture that feels more intimate than it looks because of who she is and what’s going on. “Go convince her of that, okay?”
“That’s the plan,” I say, grateful for this vote of confidence. “Oh, and nice to meet you.”
She shrugs. “It’s kind of like we’ve already met. Don’t you think?”
She gets us, and that makes me smile for the first time in nearly a week. “Yeah. I think that’s exactly true.”
“Just inside. Keep going straight, you’ll find her.” Then she gives a wave and takes off toward one of the cars in the driveway.
I step up to the door and push it the rest of the way open. After shutting it quietly behind me, I walk leisurely toward the great room ahead of me, noticing my surroundings as I go. Her art, her furniture—it’s all exactly right, more so now that I can feel the textures of the fabric, see the quality of light glinting off her tiled floors. Everything is as soft and diffused and comforting as her presence. The house is Natalia distilled. So much her that I already feel her nearness before I’ve reached the living room at the back of the house.
Then I get there, and I see her, walking the length of her couch, back and forth, back and forth. She’s beautiful, like she always is. Dressed down or up or dressed in nothing at all, she’s always so beautiful. Today she’s in yoga pants that come to mid-calf and a top that moves with her body so well I suspect it’s a runner’s shirt. Her hair is in a ponytail, wild strands falling down around her shoulders.
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