by T. Bester
A light tap on my shoulder snaps me out of it, and when I look up, my Mom’s brows are furrowed, her ageless face lined with concern. Her brown eyes take me in and I know even my best efforts won’t hide what I’m feeling from her. She’s too perceptive. And she knows me well. What she doesn’t know, however, is how things changed between me and Nathan and then how they ended. I never told anyone, and to be honest, seeing the way my Dad enjoys his company, I was right not to. My parents adore him, completely taken in by his charm. I didn’t blame them, even though I wasn’t as taken by him the first time we met.
“Sweetheart, are you all right?” Her voice is so low I almost don’t hear her.
“Just tired,” I reply, pushing my bowl away. I barely touched it, and it’s one of my favorites, but my stomach is in knots and the idea of eating another bite makes it curl. “Can I go take a shower?”
My Mom looks between me and Nathan and her frown deepens. She doesn’t look a day over thirty-five and the only lines on her face are ones borne of laughter and happiness. She’s an exquisite woman with long, straight blonde hair, bangs that frame her heart-shaped face, and even after two kids, she’s maintained the hour-glass figure that Dad claims made him crazy when they met. But what I love most about my Mom is her temperament, which I’ve always likened to that of a saint. She’s always calm, and rational, but still so passionate about life — quite the combination. Too bad it was Griffin who got all that, while I inherited my Dad’s slight temper and lack of coordination.
“Of course, sweetheart. Be sure to take some extra blankets upstairs with you.” I ignore the worry in her voice.
“Won’t Nathan need them if he sleeps downstairs?”
I don’t realize that Nathan and my Dad have stopped talking until he butts in. “Don’t be silly, Savannah. You know we’re busy with renovations, and you can’t expect the poor boy to sleep on the sofa. He’ll freeze.”
My mouth falls open. “Wh-what…”
Crap. I completely forgot my parents’ inn was closed for the next two weeks while they had the flooring redone in every room except mine and theirs. I could kick myself — this was the very reason they wanted to come see me in Hudson. Dad was happy to let me use his clunker of a truck until they found time to come see me and Griffin for a night or two but I saw Nathan and ran like my ass was on fire. And look where it got me — up shit creek without a paddle. With the boy who broke my heart.
“I thought I told you when we got here,” says Mom. “You said it was fine.”
I snap my mouth closed because she’s right. I have a vague recollection of that conversation but obviously blocked the rest out. I was still shaken by being caught in this storm, my own stupidity for doing it in the first place and being saved by the last person I wanted to see while trying to make the world’s hastiest escape.
God, I’m a mess.
“But, you never allow boys into my room,” I add stupidly, racking my brain for something.
My Mom quirks a brow and my Dad snorts behind the rim pf his coffee cup. “Nathan’s a good man, Van, I trust him.”
You shouldn’t.
“Won’t lay a hand on her, Mr. Leigh.” Nathan lifts a hand to his chest. “Scouts honor.”
“Please,” scoffs Dad. “It’s not me you have to worry about, Nate. Van will have your balls before she lets you touch her.”
“Heath!” my Mom admonishes, glaring daggers at my Dad. My cheeks flame and my throat tightens. Silly, to react to such an arbitrary statement, but with my emotions running a riot I can’t seem to get a handle on myself. Until Nathan, that never happened - I’m always a rational person, sure to keep my emotions in check. But, I guess it’s true that people change and if we allow it, other people can make us change too. I just couldn’t tell if I had changed for the better, or if I was about to start man-hating while burning a bra.
“I’m going upstairs.” My voice catches, and my Dad stands, his face etched with remorse. He’s nowhere near as tall — or broad - as Nathan is but I always saw him as a mountain of a man, both in physical stature and heart. The fact that I was — and maybe still am to some point - a Daddy’s girl could be why he could do no wrong in my eyes as a child. But now he’s just embarrassed me, and I find that he’s no better than the schmuck he’s sitting next to.
“Savannah, I'm-"
I turn my back on his apology and try not to bolt up the stairs. With my luck I’ll reach the landing, trip on some random piece of wood lying around for the new flooring and break my neck. The image in my head makes my eyes roll. I’m losing my mind.
As the voices in the kitchen drift away - I can still make out Mom’s tone while she scolds my Dad - I find refuge in my bedroom. I flick the lights on and almost smile because Mom has kept it exactly as I left it. I welcome the familiarity, savoring the sense of safety and happiness that blankets me. I should probably allow Mom and Dad to turn my room into an additional guest room, since I barely come home as it is, but right now, given the emotional mess I’ve gotten myself into, I’m grateful they haven’t. The walls are still the same bubblegum pink I chose when I was twelve-years-old, the colossal sleigh bed with a canopy I chose when I was sixteen on the far end against the wall and the matching white-wash dresser, bookshelf and desk on either side of the bay window that overlooks our backyard. The small patch of roof beside it was my favorite place growing up, I used to sneak out long after bedtime and get lost in a book. Unless it was winter, then I would build a fort beneath my bed and read there.
The memory makes me smile and takes away some of the dull ache in my chest. Life was so simple back then, and now it’s just messy.
Enough of that, I tell myself. Nathan is just a boy, after all.
Is he though? Anatomically speaking, yes-
God, make it stop. I rub a hand down my face, banishing all thoughts from my mind as I take out a clean pair of pajamas from the dresser and step into the en-suite bathroom. I’m about to turn the water on when my phone goes off with a text. I half expect it to be Griffin, but when I see who it is, smiling is unavoidable.
Zoey: I hate airports :( If it weren’t for this storm, I’d already be there!
Van: Ugh, still no info about when your flight is?
The blue bubbles pop up as my soon-to-be roommate Zoey types her response. Technically, we have never met but we text every day and FaceTime every other day if we can. Toby knows her though, that’s how I found out she was looking for a new roommate at the start of the new year, and after the horrendous experience I had spending my first semester in a dorm room I instantly grabbed the chance to live somewhere else. The rent is affordable and it’s only a 15 minute walk at most to campus. And from the way Toby spoke, Zoey sounds like someone who wouldn’t murder me in my sleep. So, I texted her. That was a month ago, maybe longer, and since then we’ve stayed in contact. I’m excited to finally see her in person, and a little nervous too. Talking on the phone every day is one thing, but living together, co-habitating a space? Completely different. But after all the hell I endured with my first roommate, anyone would be a step up.
Zoey: Nothing yet, but I have my pinky toes crossed that it’s soon! I can’t wait to squish you in person, Van-Van.
Van: Me too! I’m at my parents’ house tonight, stuck with an unwanted houseguest too. Since when do parents allow boys to sleep in our beds?
Zoey: Since we’re of age.
I snicker at her ‘proper’ language. She likes to whip out her love of English literature now and again.
But seriously, they’re letting a boy sleep in your bed?
Zoey: In the same bed?
Zoey: Under the covers?
I snort as I type back, imagining that her eyes have bugged out a little.
Van: Not if I have anything to say about it. I will smother him with a pillow if he touches me. I’m not above making him sleep on the floor.
Zoey: I’m all for fraternizing to keep warm though! *Thumbs up emoji*
I laugh to myself, and shake m
y head. For all her ‘properness’, Zoey is boy-crazy. I know this because she FaceTime’s with me after every date she’s had, even if it’s at buttfuck o’clock in the morning (her words, not mine!). Needless to say I think she’ll be hard pressed to find a guy that can handle all of her. She’s a spitfire in the flesh, while I’m a little more subdued. She’s the yin to my yang, as she likes to put it.
Van: Not going there!
I haven’t told Zoey about Nathan. It’s not the kind of thing I would talk about over the phone anyway, and I’m still deciding whether to tell her at all.
Van: Maybe I can sleep in my car? The garage should be warm enough, right?
Zoey: Don’t be silly. Just sucker-punch the butthead if he touches you. Straight for the sack!
So much for ‘properness’.
I snicker again.
Van: I will channel my inner Zo-Zo, okay? Still think I should make him sleep on the floor though.
Van: Anyway, it’s late, need a hot bath and SLEEP. I don’t mention what kind of afternoon I had. Text me when you have a flight!! X
Zoey: Just remember what I said - FRATERNIZING = WARMTH!
Zoey: Okay fine. I forgot you go to bed like an old person *eyeroll emoji*.
Zoey: There’s a really hot guy here in a suit that I think can help me tick ‘hot, stranger airport sex’ off my bucket list ;) Call ya later babycakes. *Kissyface**Kissyface**Kissyface*
I toss my phone on the bed, feeling better after speaking to Zoey, and tie my hair in a knot atop my head. I chuck my clothes on the bathroom floor and then step under the hot spray, welcoming the silence and the relief after such a hellish day.
WHEN I EMERGE from my bathroom, Nathan is sitting on my bed, his elbows on his knees while he holds his head. Even hunched forward he looks Herculean. He looks up and straightens.
“Hey.” He sighs. When I don’t respond, he stands. “I’m going to sleep downstairs.”
I meet his eyes with mine, my heart lurching woefully between my ribs. “Why? My Dad was right, it’s too cold.”
“You know I’m like a furnace…” his words trail off when he realizes his mistake. It doesn’t escape me either.
Guilt has a breath catching in my throat. I might hate him right now, but…
“It’s fine, you can sleep with me.”
I snap my mouth shut when the words register in my head, and wait for Nathan’s witty retort about how I’ve asked him to sleep with me. When it doesn’t come a weird sense of disappointment fills me, somewhat nostalgic for the times we used to tease each other mercilessly, laughing at our mutual love of really dumb jokes. For a long time, I felt as though no one got me the way Nathan does — did — but I was wrong. I feel like we’re complete strangers now.
And it tugs at my heartstrings, pulling so hard I’m afraid they’ll snap.
The silence grows, becoming more strained and more awkward with everything we want to say but won’t. Nathan rubs the back of his neck, his gaze falling to the plush beige carpeting.
“I, uh, I’m gonna take a shower.”
I swallow, and side-step past him. He closes the door, and the click makes me release a deep breath. It’s difficult not to think about the last time Nathan was here with me. It was the only time I’d brought him home and it only happened because we had a weekend off and I was missing my parents. He made himself at home the moment we stepped through the front door, and I remember the absolute rightness that took over me when I saw him with my parents. We’d only been friends for a few weeks, but somewhere along the way he had become important, more important than I wanted to admit.
It was nothing like tonight though, and I’d be stupid to assume Nathan was impervious to it. Mom knew something was up, while Dad was as happy-go-lucky as he always is. In a lame attempt to thwart the collision of emotions at war in my head, I pull back the covers and climb into bed, flicking the bedside lamp off. I can hear the water on the other side of the door, so I roll over and try to block it out as if it’s Nathan’s presence. But like the man himself, his presence won’t be ignored and before I can stop it, an overwhelming sense of loss takes root in my stomach, and seeps into my bones. My eyes burn, and I cover my mouth to hide the ungodly sound that still manages to escape. I’ve cried over the loss of our friendship many times, and each time I’ve told myself it will be the last. But being so close to Nathan again, having him in my space like this makes me realize that I was only kidding myself into thinking I’d moved on. That I’ve forgiven him.
I wipe furiously at my face, brushing away the evidence that I miss him. Miss our late-night conversations when he couldn’t sleep, or the stupid conversations we had about life, the ones that crept in and made themselves matter. The memories are a sharp stab to my gut, and suddenly, with him on the side of my bathroom door, I allow the pure longing to wash over me. It’s both a torture and a relief, to concede to the feelings that have held me captive for weeks. I roll over, and stare out the window, the waves crashing lightly on the shore. I don’t know what makes me want to think about the past, but I do.
And I remember everything as though it happened yesterday.
I glare at the giant printer and wish for a second that I could kick it. Unfortunately, I think abusing office equipment is against the newspaper’s policy, not to mention that I’d hate to get fired on my first day. I woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, walked to campus with a pep in my step ready to tackle my first day as the new Hudson University Press Intern. I had elaborate plans to kick ass too, but when I got to the office and got shown the ropes, I ended up doing more coffee runs than anything else. Granted, I’m lucky to have gotten the job, and my brother’s boyfriend Toby, who is also the editor, warned me that it wasn’t at all a glamorous position. I didn’t care, but I didn’t imagine that being an intern would be this frustrating.
And that’s how I feel.
Frustrated.
I press a button, and place the paperwork Toby asked me to photocopy into the feeder, but when nothing happens, I throw my hands up and scowl at the stupid machine. And then my agitation gets the better of me. Screw company policy! I lift my foot and kick it. Then I kick it again, because the damn thing just won’t work!
I hear a chuckle behind me, and then feel the warmth of another body beside me. I look up. And up and up and up.
It’s not a man.
It’s a mountain of a man.
And he’s laughing at me.
“Need some help?”
His voice rumbles, timber rich and smooth, and his grin stretches beneath the light stubble lining his jaw.
“It won’t work,” I tell him, feeling silly for losing my shit with a machine of all things and being caught by a complete stranger.
“Maybe,” he leans past me, and presses something against the wall. I shift away, only to allow his big frame some space to move, “you should switch it on.”
He straightens and the traitorous printer whirs to life.
I huff out a breath, and then photocopy what I need to before I break anything else.
I look up again, aware that Mountain Man’s attention is fixed on me, his expression a mixture of amusement and open curiosity. I resist the urge to make sure I haven’t spilled anything on my new shirt. It would serve me right for wearing white.
“Thank you.” I don’t sound grateful. I sound huffy. And rude.
“You’re welcome.”
Mountain Man hovers, and I sneak a peek at him out of the corner of my eye. His shoulders are impossibly broad, covered by a plain navy t-shirt that shows off every dent and curve of his torso. Beige shorts hug his thick thighs, ending at the knees, and he’s wearing a pair of sneakers. He looks like the quintessential college guy and with his size, is probably an athlete. His eyes glint when he catches me staring.
“Savannah, right?”
My head whips up. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
His gaze travels the length of me — which isn’t a whole lot, at a little over five feet — and then he’
s smiling again. “You’re dressed like an intern.”
I look down at myself and realize that what he means is I’m overdressed. Which I am, but having someone else point it out is embarrassing.
“Great,” I mutter, turning my attention back to the printer as it spits out the copies I need.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Why is he still here?
“It’s fine.” I hold up the papers. “Thanks again.”
I walk out the small copy room and into the sprawling, open-plan office space. Desks line the far wall, donned with the latest in Apple technology courtesy of Toby’s Dad, and on the other side, glass walls encase the conference room used for staff meetings and in-house interviews. Bright colored couches make up the staff room, and kitchenette, and the walls are covered with various pieces of artwork. It reminds me a miniature version of Google’s offices in California, and can see why Toby wanted to recreate the creative atmosphere. Now though, the office is quiet, most of the journalists already out with their new assignments.
Toby is leaning over my desk, shuffling through papers when I approach him. He looks up.
“There you are. I’ve been waiting for those photocopies.”
“I’m so-"
“It’s my fault.” Mountain Man cuts me off. I hadn’t even realized that he’d followed me.
“Nathan, I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” replies Toby.
Nathan. Mountain Man’s name is Nathan.
“Had some stuff to do,” he says easily, “It’s my fault Savannah took so long. I was hogging the printer.”
I shoot him a look. Why is he covering for me?
“Right.” Toby looks down at the papers in his hand and frowns before glancing at Nathan. “I need to take care of this. You all set for your first assignment?”