by Mona Kasten
My eyes scanned the small brass nameplate on the door.
Duffy.
With a heavy heart I rang the doorbell. Almost immediately I heard steps coming down the hall. My heart was pounding like crazy. The door opened.
Nate’s gray eyes were wide with surprise.
“Hi,” I said, my voice trembling.
“Hello,” he replied just as faintly.
God, this was strange. Totally weird and somehow also embarrassing.
“What’re you doing here, Dawny?” Nate asked, frowning.
“I have to talk to you.”
For what seemed like an eternity, he just stared at me. Then he nodded slowly and opened the door wider. I stepped gingerly across the threshold and walked into the living room, keeping my jacket on.
The house had been decorated differently from what we’d planned. Apparently, Nate’s taste had changed. The décor was in gray and black, and the furniture elegant, not very cozy. It would be obvious to anyone that he didn’t live here alone: Photos of him and Rebecca were hanging on the wall.
There was also a feminine touch evident in the few colorful accents that softened the angular rigidity of the furniture.
“Looks nice,” I said somewhat awkwardly, and stopped in the middle of the room.
“Have a seat,” Nate said, indicating the couch.
But I ignored the invitation and sat instead on one of the chairs at the dining room table. It felt a little less… intimate.
“Want something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
He looked different. More grown up. He was wearing jeans and a button-up shirt, the top button left open. He’d cut his longish blonde hair—more suitable for an office, I guessed.
“I want to talk to you about your phone call, Nate,” I began.
He winced slightly and looked down at his hands, which he’d folded on the table.
“It took me a long time to get over what you did to me. You can’t just call me and say things like that. We’re finished, we’ve been finished for a long time.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“Judging by the furniture and pictures on the wall, you’re living with Rebecca. If that’s the case, it makes your call even worse. You can’t just get drunk and call me and tell me you still love me, for God’s sake,” I said. “Haven’t you learned anything from what happened?”
“That’s not what I said,” he countered.
I raised my eyebrows, stunned. “Maybe you were too shit-faced drunk and can’t remember, but your words are still ringing very clearly in my ear.”
He shook his head and not a single strand of hair moved. It was gelled. He’d never done that before. He looked kind of strange, like a statue. “What I said was that I miss you, Dawn. That we haven’t talked for a year and that I would always love you, but-”
The muscles in my jaw were twitching from clenching my teeth so hard, and Nate saw it.
“I made a mistake, maybe the biggest mistake of my life, screwing up our relationship. But I’ve changed. From now on, I’m taking responsibility for my mistakes.” He leaned back and rubbed his neck. “I called you because I wanted you to hear it from me and not through the grapevine. I…” He cleared his throat and his cheeks flushed.
“What is it?” I asked, frowning. Even though there was a huge gulf between us, I still knew Nate well enough to recognize that he had something serious to tell me.
He looked at me with an expression of deep regret in his eyes. “Rebecca and I are getting married.”
I waited.
And waited.
But I didn’t feel any pain.
“Well say something,” murmured Nate. He reached across the table for my hand and I wasn’t fast enough to pull back. He covered my fingers with his. And I didn’t feel any tingling. I felt… absolutely nothing. No resentment, no grief, and none of the fireworks that used to explode around us.
“Congratulations, Nate,” I answered softly and stared at my hand, which was almost completely covered by his. I’d always found his hands unbelievably attractive and beautiful. Now they were just… hands. Big, bulky mitts that were surprisingly motionless. Totally unlike the hands I now missed so much. Hands that could never hold still and were often decorated with splashes of paint or bits of glue.
“Is that all you have to say?” he asked, disbelieving.
“What were you expecting from me?”
His eyes grew wider. “I thought… after everything in our past, that you’d…” His words echoed in the huge living room.
“I’d do what? Throw myself onto the floor and scream?”
“You can scream at me, Dawny. You can do anything you like, if it means you’ll be a part of my life again,” Nate said, heatedly. As if for emphasis, he squeezed my hand.
“But I don’t want to be part of your life.”
“Dawny, please…” he begged.
“I came here today to tell you that I’m cutting you off for good. You can’t call me anymore, Nate, understand? I’ve built a life in Woodshill and I don’t want it to be spoiled by painful memories.”
A flicker of pain flashed in his eyes. “I just can’t imagine a life without you. We grew up together, Dawny. I don’t want to lose you forever. You’ll always have a place in my heart. That’s why I called you. Because I wanted… I thought maybe we could…”
“Be friends?” I asked and smiled sadly. “We’ll never be friends again.”
“You cut me out of your life, no hesitation!” It sounded like an accusation.
“Well, you made it pretty easy for me. What did you expect? That we could still be friends after everything that happened? That I could just watch you do this?” I waved my arm to indicate the house and everything it represented.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
He kept saying that like it meant something. “I accept your apology.” I returned the pressure on his hand. Once. Then I let go. Just at the right moment, because someone was coming down the stairs. The wooden staircase creaked loudly.
“Who was at the door?” came Rebecca’s voice from the hall.
Then she appeared in the doorway to the living room and stopped when she saw me sitting at the table. Her face paled. Her shock reflected my own. Looking down, I saw her swollen belly. Either she’d eaten an entire turkey, or more congratulations were due.
Nate cleared his throat. “That’s the second thing I wanted to tell you.”
So that was the mistake for which he was taking responsibility. That was the reason for his hasty wedding, the purchase of the house, and his depressed phone call. He’d meant it when he said he was going to take responsibility.
“Congratulations,” I said. Then I stood up slowly, returned Rebecca’s nod, and walked out of the living room to the hall.
“Dawn, wait!” Nate was right behind me but I didn’t pay attention.
As fast as I could, I got out of there. Past the plants and bushes, I hurried to Allie’s car. I could see my friend already, and sighed in relief. But footsteps were following behind me, and a hand grabbed my arm.
“Dawn, please, listen to me,” Nate insisted. “You can…”
I swung around. “No!”
He blinked, stunned.
I took a deep breath. “I spent six years of my life with you only to be thrown away like trash. I’ve spent the last year getting over it. I’m done with us. And for the sake of Rebecca and your unborn child you should do the same.”
He refused to let go. His grip only tightened, as if he were desperately clinging to some last hope.
“Let go, Nate.”
He shook his head. “But…”
“She told you to let go, asshole,” came Allie’s voice from behind me. He let go.
“Who’s that?” he asked, keeping his e
yes on Allie.
“I’m Allie. Pleasure to meet you.”
Before he could blink, her fist shot out and delivered a right hook to his chin. Nate yelped and held his jaw, cursing loudly.
I stared at Allie, my mouth hanging open. She clenched her teeth and shook out her hand. “You ready?” she asked.
I nodded silently. Allie linked arms with me and led me to the car. Away from the house that used to symbolize my future—along with the man who now stood on the sidewalk muttering to himself. I took one look back over my shoulder. When our eyes met, the goodbye was final.
Chapter 35
That same day, I went back with Allie to Woodshill. We stopped at Best Buy so I could pick up a new phone. I also registered a new number in case Nate didn’t take my demand seriously, and I sent Sawyer a message immediately, telling her my self-imposed exile was over. She responded with a middle finger emoji. Apparently, nothing had changed.
“How is your hand not broken right now?” I asked Allie when we pulled up in front of the dorm.
“Kaden gave me a couple lessons at the gym. With a punching bag,” Allie said cheerfully.
“That’s a great idea—I should do it, too. Then I can defend myself without relying on my friend to be a badass.”
“Let me teach you,” she said as we took my bags out of the trunk.
When we arrived at my room, the door flew open before I could even reach for the handle. A whirlwind of blonde hair almost knocked me down. The hug lasted a second; then Sawyer broke away from me. Before I knew it, she’d flicked me in the forehead with her finger.
“Don’t do that again, you stupid piece of shit.” For a moment she glared at me, her eyes throwing sparks. Then she went back into our room.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch—I just forgot,” I said, kicking off my shoes. My side of the room looked as colorful and chaotic as it had a week ago, when I’d taken off. Except for a cardboard tube on my bed that I definitely hadn’t left there.
“What’s that?” I asked Sawyer, who was now perched on her desk with her laptop.
“Look at it.”
Allie followed me to the bed and joined me on the patchwork quilt. Picking up the tube, I pried off its round plastic cover and shook it to get out whatever was inside.
It was one of the pictures Sawyer had taken of me as part of her photography project. There I was on the bench where we’d spent a good many mornings together. Behind me, the lawn and trees on campus were slightly out of focus. My pink blouse contrasted nicely with the background. And my face… Wow. Sawyer had been taking pictures even when I wasn’t posing. Here, she caught me laughing in earnest.
“What a beautiful photo,” Allie gushed.
“Originally, the assignment was to capture various emotions. This image wasn’t in the series, but it was too good to throw away,” Sawyer said, without looking up from her computer.
“Thanks,” I whispered, barely able to get the word out.
“Maybe you can use it someday. As an author’s head shot. In case you ever feel confident enough to show your face on the Internet,” my roommate continued.
“I will.”
“Really?” Allie and Sawyer asked together.
Tracing the image of my face with my fingertip, I admitted: “I think I’ve hidden myself long enough.”
“Totally,” said Sawyer, closing her laptop. “Oh, and by the way, my instructor was pretty impressed by the rest of the photos.”
“Fantastic,” I said.
“She liked them so much that we put them on display.”
I blinked. “What?”
She smiled deviously. “Since you weren’t available for consultation, I agreed.”
“Where are they hanging?” I asked, taken aback.
“Oh, just in the western wing of the hall where my class is held. Not many people pass by there, don’t worry.”
“So why do you look like a cat who just drank a whole carton of milk while no one was watching?” Allie pushed her.
“You didn’t ask how big the prints are.”
That was all she had to say. I jumped up, grabbed Allie and dragged her with me.
My face was enormous.
The pictures covered an entire wall, lengthwise. Half the hallway was plastered with my face. Each print was the size of a movie poster. Angry, grimacing, blissful with closed eyes, squinting, and there was even a picture of me leaping with my hand outstretched.
In disbelief, I stared at the images and walked stiffly to the first one, which showed me enraptured, as if the best chocolate in the world was melting in my mouth. A little card was mounted next to the photograph.
Erotic dream, by Sawyer Dixon.
“I’m gong to kill her,” I mumbled as my heart began to pound.
“I’ll help you hide the body,” Allie offered, though I couldn’t help but notice that her mouth was twitching.
“Dawn!”
I turned around to see who’d called my name.
No, no, no, shit.
Nolan was walking down the hall toward me, wearing a shirt with the slogan “Who run the world? (Girls)”… He was moving so fast that his coat was flowing behind him like a superhero’s cape. “Nice photos,” he said, nodding at the wall.
“Um… thanks.” I was shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
“Whatever your reason for coming down here, I wanted to repeat my offer to read the next chapters of your novel. Only if you want the feedback.”
I swallowed hard. The fact that I’d accidentally sent him the first chapters of About Us had already slipped my mind.
“No pressure! I was just so taken by Tristan and Mackenzie and wanted to know how things turn out for them. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding a publisher or at least an agent. So if you need a reader, just let me know.” He nodded again at Allie and me, and continued on his way down the hall.
“Thanks, Nolan!” I called out after him.
He just waved.
“That’s your instructor?” Allie asked.
“He’s cool, right?”
Allie fanned herself with her hand. “He looks like Chris Hemsworth. That’s crazy! How could you have kept this from me?”
I thought it over. “Well, I hadn’t noticed.”
Allie shook her head and we hooked arms.
“What are you going to do?”
I shrugged. “Probably nothing. This is a big opportunity for Sawyer, I don’t want to ruin that.”
“You really like her, don’t you?” Allie asked, surprised.
Without skipping a beat, I nodded. “She’s reliable, even if she can be pretty horrible at times.”
“Okay. Then we’ll be nice to each other from now on.”
I laughed. “That’d be perfect.”
Chapter 36
I spent Sunday in bed, staring at the world map on the ceiling. My head was pounding and my body felt heavy and cumbersome. The heartache wouldn’t go away. No matter how hard Allie tried to distract me, it just didn’t work. Eventually she understood how serious my fight with Spencer had been. And she realized I needed some time alone. It was all too fresh.
On Monday I went back to my classes, having spent the previous day in that in-between world of feeling either nothing or much too much. This drifting between numbness and unbearable pain was driving me crazy. So I buried myself in my classwork and studied. I spent afternoons in the library and I spent evenings with Watson at my desk, working on About Us until my wrists ached. The story helped me process everything I’d gone through: Mackenzie felt what I felt, and it was both painful and a relief at the same time. In the story, she finally moves on from her ex-boyfriend and is able to give Tristan a chance. She realizes that her feelings for him are deeper than anything she’s ever felt, that it no longer matters what her ex did, and she realiz
es how small all her old plans were. I wrote about how she spent weeks aching for Tristan, trying to distract herself with work and study.
And then something happened to me for the first time ever.
I got writer’s block.
It was the following Sunday morning and suddenly my fingers stopped typing. The fount, from which my inner feelings usually sprang, the source of my words and stories, just ran dry. Nothing came out.
Nothing.
Tristan and Mackenzie had hurt each other badly and now there was radio silence between them. They loved each other, but it was impossible for me to bring them back together. Whatever I tried, the two of them wouldn’t cooperate. Every sentence I wrote felt terribly wrong. It took me a whole day to write what normally took a few minutes.
That’s what I got for trying to use Spencer’s and my story. There was always a happy ending in my books, but it wasn’t working this time.
Fucking hell.
Tristan and Mackenzie deserved that happy ending. It didn’t feel right to end their story without trying everything. And I knew I couldn’t start a new story until this one was finished.
Frustrated, I opened my email and started to write.
Dear Nolan,
How do I get over writer’s block?
I’ve been sitting here, trying to write the conclusion of About Us, and I don’t know any more. My head is completely empty. I think my muse has left me. Do you have any suggestions?
Thanks a lot,
Dawn
I sent off the email and opened About Us again on my computer, reading and reworking the first chapter. My stomach still tingled when I read about the two of them. This story was something special, I was certain. When I reached chapter five, my email inbox flashed.
Dear Dawn,
First of all, strike the word “muse” from your vocabulary—it only discourages you.
As far as writer’s block goes: look at the story from another angle. Go back to the beginning and see where your characters might have made a wrong turn. Sometimes a little intervention can lead to big changes that help the plot along.