by Liz Fenton
He’d taken her to the movies and to get ice cream after. She was home by nine. And it had been the best date of her life.
How things had changed.
She’d become tired of living two lives—the safe one she had with Nick, where he rubbed her feet after her shifts while guilt consumed her. And then there was the dangerous life she had with James—slippery and uncertain. But she had finally decided it was the one that she wanted.
She sat on the toilet seat lid and traced the word journal on the cover of her leather-wrapped volume with her fingernail. She’d spilled coffee on the corner and pages of the diary were stained a light caramel color, but that was one of the things she loved most about it. That it was flawed just like she was—just like the people she wrote about inside its pages.
She turned to the first entry, recorded just two days after she met Nick. She’d dashed into Laguna Beach Books and bought the journal, ready to write down everything about this man who was so different.
I’ve met someone. He’s so incredibly charming! He makes all the others look like amateurs. Boys who thought they were men. Now I know the difference. Nick is a real man. I never want to forget the way it feels when he strokes my bare arm with his finger, like an electric charge is rushing through my body. And I’m trying to memorize the way he looks at me. Like he will never let anyone hurt me. Like he will always love me. It’s little things, but they mean something so big—like when he takes my hand and guides me across the street. Or how he sprints in front so I never have to open my own door. I’ve never had a man do that for me before. I feel cherished.
She sighed at that memory. Feeling cherished had started out as something sweet because he always made her feel like the most important person in the world. But it had eventually turned to something more along the lines of compulsion or ownership. Like she belonged to him. A trinket that he polished then put away in a glass case so no one else could touch her.
To test the waters with James, she had recently thrown out the idea that she was considering ending things with Nick. She didn’t get into the whys—that slope was too slippery to climb. She knew if she told James she only wanted him, he’d get spooked. His eyes had sparked slightly, but he’d made sure to let her know not to do it for him. Only to end things if it was best for her. She’d smiled and said, “Of course,” in what she’d hoped was a tone used by a very confident woman dating a married man.
She turned to a fresh page in her diary. Maybe she couldn’t tell James the truth, but she needed to be honest with herself. She needed to remind herself why it wasn’t working with Nick. So she didn’t lose her courage. She knew she’d be catching him off guard. Nick was always so invincible—never worried about things. Never anxious. Always so confident. She knew he’d try to convince her to stay, and he was so good at that—at making her believe he could take better care of her than anyone else ever could. That he loved her more than anyone else could. And maybe that was true. But James . . . it always came back to James.
I need to break up with Nick. But I’m scared—I know it’s the right thing in my gut, but I don’t want to hurt him. I also don’t want to live this double life anymore, when it’s James that I love and want to be with. Not that I can tell either of them that. That truth could make me lose everything. Since the night James told me he wanted to take me away to Maui, something changed inside of me. And something also changed with Nick.
Nick had been waiting for me in my apartment that night, the lamp casting a weird shadow across his face that made him look creepy. And he asked me where I’d been like he already knew. Maybe I was being paranoid. But he’s been hounding me about wanting to meet this Katie that I’d been out with. And I’m out of excuses for why I can’t introduce them. And I’m too afraid to put Katie in a position where she’d have to lie to Nick in person.
It’s like Nick has tightened his grip ever since that night. He’s always been possessive. But lately it’s been different, more intense. He’s had so many questions—way more than usual. Wanting to know everything from my work schedule to what I had for lunch. And he’s been texting constantly. If I don’t answer within a minute or two, he calls. It’s to the point where I almost wish he’d ask me if I’m cheating on him.
I have to get out.
Dylan closed the journal and wedged it deep in the overnight bag she had brought to Nick’s. “It’s time,” she said to her reflection, and walked out of the bathroom.
She found Nick pouring a glass of orange juice. He leaned in to kiss her, but she moved away.
“What’s wrong—did you wake up grumpy?”
“I can’t do this anymore,” Dylan blurted.
“Do what?” he asked, drinking his juice.
“This,” she said, raising up her left hand and pointing to her ring.
Nick took a moment, as if registering what she was saying. Or rather what she wasn’t. She knew she needed to bring herself to say the words I can’t marry you, but they were stuck in her throat. The guilt from cheating on him with James was weighing on her. What if she’d never met James? Would she be perusing bridal magazines now?
“Are you breaking up with me?” Nick asked, setting his glass down on the counter with too much force, the juice slopping over the top.
Dylan nodded, but she couldn’t look at him. She stared at her bare feet.
“I don’t understand. This is so good. We are so good.” Nick said, and tugged on the cuff of her robe’s sleeve, forcing her to look up at him.
“It just doesn’t feel right anymore,” she finally said, tears perched in the back of her eyes.
“What doesn’t feel right?” He was still gripping the pink fleece.
You’re not James.
“Dylan, did I do something?” He tried again, his eyes pleading. She’d never seen him look so vulnerable. He had always been so strong and big—a broad chest, large biceps, the kind of man who protected you. In fact, she called him Paul Bunyan sometimes.
She eased away from his grip and watched his arms tense, the veins in his forearms bulging. “Nick, it’s not just one thing—it’s just the way I feel. Getting married is a huge commitment. We need to be sure. I’m not sure.”
“I guess I don’t understand what’s changed. Dyl, we don’t even argue! Did something happen? Because this doesn’t make sense at all.”
“I don’t know how to explain it.” And I don’t want to explain it.
“Dyl, don’t do this to me. I want you to marry me.”
Dylan looked down at the ring. “I shouldn’t have said yes.” She flinched as she tried to slide the band over her knuckle. It was still too tight. She’d never gotten it resized. It was like deep down she’d known it wasn’t just the ring that didn’t fit.
The look on his face crushed her, and she almost reached out and hugged him. She almost changed her mind, told herself James was never going to leave his wife anyway. And would eventually end things with her. That was what married guys usually did. Got tired of the mistress. Figured out the wife wasn’t so bad after all. But she stayed strong. She decided that James would see this as sign of loyalty. Maybe not at first. But eventually.
“I thought you loved me the same way I loved you . . .” He paused, and she knew he was waiting for her to say that she did love him that way—but she couldn’t. Even as she eyed her ring and thought of his proposal, she didn’t think she ever had—loved him the way he needed her to, anyway. “Is there someone else?”
Dylan’s head shot up, and she locked eyes with Nick. She knew she could tell him right then. That it would be out in the open finally. But there was something about the way he was looking at her . . . she knew he wasn’t ready to hear it. And she didn’t want to be cruel.
“No.”
He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together. And she wondered again if he already knew. If he’d known all along, since the night he’d waited for her in her apartment—or even before.
“You have to give me something here. If I’ve don
e nothing wrong and there’s no one else, then what?” He threw his hands up in the air.
Dylan decided she had to say it. The words she knew would devastate him.
“We don’t fit together.” She took a deep breath and didn’t stop until she’d said it all. That she didn’t love him the way he loved her. That she was doing him a favor, that he deserved someone who would love him more. She told him he deserved passion. But she stopped there. She didn’t say that what she had with James was thrilling, exhilarating, spontaneous. That she felt more passion in her fingertip for James than she did in her entire body for Nick.
But then he started crying—giant tears that didn’t look right streaming out of his eyes. “You’re wrong, Dyl,” he said through his sobs.
“I’m sorry.” She reached for his hand, but he stepped backward.
“So that’s it then?” he asked.
She didn’t know what to say.
“This isn’t you, Dylan. You’re fragile. Delicate. You need to be taken care of. Remember how lonely you were when I met you? You’ll never find anyone who will take care of you better than I do.”
She didn’t know if James would be that person, but she wanted to find out.
After that, he refused to talk to her. Became sullen. She decided she should go. She worked the ring off with some Vaseline and set it next to her set of keys to his condo. Then she grabbed her bag and walked out the door. She knew she needed to start looking for another place, that it would be awkward to run into him. She hoped eventually he’d come to realize this was for the best and that they could be friends.
But Nick didn’t let go. He didn’t give up. The calls started. The emails. The texts. One day she had fifty-six missed calls from him, and twice as many text messages. He said he wanted her back. That he would do anything. The way he said anything into her voice mail made her heart hurt. She had to change her phone number.
Then he confronted her in their building. Once when she was getting her mail. Another time as she was stepping out of her car. She screamed that time because he scared the hell out of her. He came out of nowhere. The look on his face made her feel so bad. “It’s just me, Dylan,” he said.
This behavior went on for over a month. Jimmy from work offered her his couch, but she didn’t know how to explain to James why she was sleeping at some guy’s apartment. She worried he’d see it as baggage. And then he might never leave his wife. So Dylan started to do everything she could to avoid running into Nick, leaving her place super early and coming home late.
When she didn’t see or hear from him for almost a week, she started to breathe easy again. She was leaving for Maui the next morning and was lost in thought about the trip. As she pushed through the back door of her restaurant, she was going over her packing list, remembering that on the way home, she needed to stop at Walgreens for some travel-size bottles for her shampoo and conditioner.
“Dylan.”
She jerked her head to the side and saw Nick leaning against the wall by the dumpster.
“Hi,” he said when their eyes locked.
But Dylan’s lips wouldn’t move; her feet were frozen in place. He smiled at her, and she felt her arms prick with goose bumps. It was his flashy grin, as she always called it. The one that could charm anyone from a baby to an eighty-year-old woman. Why was he smiling at her like that? Like nothing had happened? Something didn’t feel right. She wanted to call out, to race back inside, but she was worried he would get angry. Chase her. Cause a scene. But she was just as scared to stand there.
“Dylan, why won’t you say something, my beautiful girl?” He laughed—it was the one she’d heard when they were watching The Tonight Show or he was telling her his latest firefighter joke. But he looked different—his facial features contorted by the shadows. “Dylan?” Nick tried again.
“What are you doing here?” Dylan tried to keep her voice from shaking, her car keys making an indentation in her palm.
“I’ve been so lonely, Dyl. My life is empty without you in it. And you’re lonely too, I know it. I can see it in your eyes. That’s how we both felt when we met, remember?”
He took a step toward her, and she stiffened.
“We’ve already talked, Nick. There’s nothing more to say.”
“You look upset. Don’t be upset with me.”
“I’m not,” she lied, hoping the shadows were concealing her racing heartbeat. She was sure it was visible through her T-shirt.
“Good answer.” He grinned. “Because this can all be resolved right now. Now that you’ve had some time to process everything—to realize you do want to be with me.” Dylan watched with disbelief as he dug into his pocket and pulled out her engagement ring. The diamond caught the light behind him. “Here, put it back on.” He held it out to her. “You’re my soul mate.”
“Nick—”
He put his hand up as if to stop her from disagreeing. “You are, Dyl. You are.”
She took a small step backward, slipping slightly on a puddle of oil. She tried to calculate how far she was from the door. Maybe she could reach it, then lock it before he followed her inside. But then what? She willed one of her coworkers to walk out. Where was Margo with her cigarette or Eric with the trash?
“Take it, Dyl, and we’ll put all this behind us. We’ll fly somewhere—anywhere—and get married tonight!”
Why was he acting as if she could be so wrong about her own feelings? As if they could just pick up and move forward? She stared at the ring—the one he knew didn’t fit her. Didn’t he?
She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in her gut, her instincts telling her something was seriously off with Nick.
Why hadn’t she seen it before now?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
JACKS—AFTER
As I drive home, Briana’s accusations about Nick are trying to clog my thoughts. But I’m choosing to think of the Nick I know—the one I’ve known for months—instead of the man presented to me by a woman I met one day ago. I’m focused on the Nick with the perpetually mussy hair, the scuffed cowboy boots he wears rain or shine, the dozen different smiles. That’s the Nick I spent last night with. The one who made me laugh so hard when he told me a joke about a firefighter’s hose that I nearly spit out my ice cream. The one who told me he was proud of me.
The one who told me he loved me.
I pull into my driveway and try calling Beth for the second time, but she doesn’t pick up. I send her a text that I need to talk ASAP, but I already know what she’ll say because it’s what I’m feeling too. That this roommate is just angry. Grieving. Jealous. Whatever it is. That she’s trying to hurt me the way she’s been hurt. What other objective would she have in telling me these crazy things about Nick?
I chew my cuticle as I stare at the screen of my phone, trying to push Briana’s image out of my mind. The way she didn’t blink when she said she’d taken a risk coming there.
Hi, beautiful. What are you doing?
Nick’s text pops up, and I smile.
A sign. Take that, Briana!
Hi! I just got back to my place.
I see the bubble that he’s responding and wait, my stomach fluttering.
Miss you! Do you miss me?
Of course!
Ok just wanted to say hi! Gtg—cat stuck in a tree ;)
When Beth’s text comes in next, I start to feel silly for trying to get hold of her so many times.
You ok? Saw two missed calls from u. I’m in lame-ass PTA meeting with horrible reception. Will be done here in 15. Can we talk then? Or is this a 911?
All ok! Meet you at your place in thirty?
Perfect!
I decide to walk to Beth’s. The fresh air will do me good—the best way to put this crazy morning behind me. To focus on what I want to focus on—that I feel happy. Finally. Thankfully. It’s late morning, and there’s still a cloud cover, so I open the closet for something with long sleeves to put on over my tank top and jeans. I stop when I see James’s sweatshirt
. I forgot it was in here. Slowly I reach out and finger the gray cotton fabric, remembering the first time I wore it. We were watching fireworks on the Balboa Peninsula, and he gave it to me when I started shivering. He didn’t have a shirt on underneath it, but he didn’t care. He stood there shirtless in the sand as the sky blazed with light. He explained that he’d had it since college, hence the tiny holes in the sleeve and the frayed band around the waist. And somewhere along the way, it became mine. I’d claim it before he could, and he’d just laugh and shake his head, not understanding I loved it because it was his.
I step closer and bury my nose in it, hoping for a trace of his smell, of him. I tug it off the hanger, and something falls out of the pocket and slides under the sofa. I pull the shirt over my head, feeling instantly better to have a piece of James wrapped around me, and bend down, slipping my hand under the couch until I touch what feels like a credit card.
I pull it toward me, and for a moment, everything around me is hazy—the edges of my thoughts blurry as my mind tries to rationalize what I’m looking at: Dylan’s face.
In the palm of my hand is her driver’s license.
Instantly I recall the thing that bothered me when I dropped my own driver’s license at the airport. The piece of information I couldn’t remember. It was this. Her ID. It had been in this pocket since the day I ran to Beth’s house and showed it to her. I forgot all about it.
I study it, remembering the day I first met Nick. I see his scuffed cowboy boots. His shiny motorcycle. His gray eyes squinting at me as he waited for me to process who he was. Then his calloused hand as he handed me this. As proof that he was her fiancé.
But had he been?
If he wasn’t her fiancé, he would have never been the one to receive her personal things.