"Natalie Renee." Her mom's voice was stricken. She was making her mom cry at nine forty-five on a Monday morning. "Why?"
"I'm okay," she said, as if that answered what she'd been asked.
"Everything was going so well."
"We just want different things. It's nothing against Evan."
"Well, of course not! A banker, Natalie. He could take such good care of you."
She rolled her shoulders, her neck. Leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window overlooking her neighbor's driveway. "I'm not looking for someone to take care of me."
Now Elaine was snappish. "So you've said. You're always telling me you don't need someone to take care of you, but here you go again, not taking care of yourself. You and Evan are a good match, and just because I'm happy to see you together, you ended it. How is that being sensible? How is that looking out for your own best interests?"
Her mouth was dryer than the azaleas below her, withering in the August sun. After swallowing, she said, "I didn't end it because you were happy. We started dating to make you happy, you and Marisa and Koray. But we aren't going to stick together when it's not working, just for your benefit. You don't have the right to dictate who I see, or for how long, or if I want to never date again, for that matter. And that's how I'm looking out for my own best interests: by recognizing that even though it upsets you, the time had come for us to separate."
She turned from the window, depressed by the browning greenery. Her gaze landed on the row of houses from Evan, a mishmash of sizes and styles and materials, nestled between Principles of Real Estate and Promulgated Contracts. Four little houses, barely enough for a cul-de-sac. If Chris had done the same--if Chris was the kind of man to give ridiculous, useless throwaway toys as if they were trophies--she would have an entire subdivision to commemorate their relationship. The four she did have blurred in her vision as she waited for her mom to say something.
Elaine sighed. She was back to being quiet and teary. "Well. I thought I'd managed to raise you not to be deliberately hurtful, even when you need to lash out. I suppose that's just one more thing I'm wrong about."
"Mom." She closed her eyes to shut out the houses. "Please. I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear I didn't. But I mean what I said. You have to let me make my own choices."
When she didn't get a reply, she glanced at the screen. Her mom had ended the call.
Monday afternoon, while she was out shooting interiors on her new listing, Evan stopped in to pack up the rest of his stuff. Not that it took long. A few armloads of suits, his gym bag overflowing with t-shirts, a box of toiletries. When he'd moved in, with his parents to transport, he'd had to make a couple of trips. His car fit everything, now he was going solo.
Tuesday morning he woke with a crick in his neck. Probably more to do with lifting something wrong than with a night spent trying to punch his hard pillows into the kind of plump restful softness he'd gotten used to in Natalie's bed.
He pulled into his parking space before it occurred to him it was Wednesday, and he'd forgotten the bakery treats. Thanks to the bad signal in the garage, it was easier to get Crave Cupcake's number by scrolling up through his text conversations with Natalie than by searching the web. And if his eye caught on a few of their goofier exchanges, it only reminded him that she thought he was a clown of a man, not of the times they'd laughed together.
By Thursday, when Chloe's photographer friend had their family photos uploaded, it was no challenge to his dexterity to type, "No need--we broke up," to Ben's request for Nat's info. He was headed into a meeting, which was a great excuse to leave his personal cell shut in his desk and not think about the number of texts and missed calls he'd have waiting next time he picked it up. The only message that irritated him, in the end, was Chloe's patently false hope that his status change wasn't due to what she'd said. She didn't know it had been a fake relationship all along, so her cavalier attitude towards fucking up her baby brother's life meant she was more of a jerk than he'd ever suspected.
The photographer had taken a lot of candid shots in addition to the posed ones. He recognized the shiny straps across the curves of Natalie's shoulders as she walked out of one frame, only to reemerge a few clicks later, standing beside Ben but looking towards Evan as he joined their group. Her lips were parted, which might have made her expression indeterminate, but the profile shot caught the glint of her upturned eye. She was radiant.
At Friday's happy hour, Leticia's and Luke's startled expressions were so similar on their dissimilar faces that he had to swallow a laugh. It would have morphed their faces into confusion or disgust, given that he was in the midst of telling them about the end of his relationship. "It's okay. We weren't ever as serious as you two."
"You moved in with her," Luke said. Poor guy sounded strangled, as if cohabitation meant the world to him, and he couldn't fathom Evan's attitude.
He waved his longneck negligently, playing devil-may-care for all he was worth. "That was fun, but our parents were so eager, we let them jump the gun for us a bit. Bad move on our part, probably hastened the end. I still had my lease, though, so moving out was no big deal."
He'd replaced his pillows, and was sleeping just fine without her luxurious bed. He was dozing his Saturday morning hours away when his mom called. She'd been unusually silent while the rest of the family texted and emailed all their nosy questions and advice and speculation and sarcasm and sympathy.
"I love your sister, but I get the impression she was less than gracious to our Natalie in New Orleans. I told Elaine, I'm happy to apologize on Chloe's behalf, so Natalie understands that we don't agree with her."
He propped a couple of the good pillows under his neck and sat up higher. "Come on. I'm thirty-one. I don't need my mommy to handle my correspondence anymore."
"That was only the one time, and Mr. Daniels was wrong to complain. If he'd spoken to the den leader, he would have known you were following instructions."
"Well, I might have taken advantage of the letter of the law instead of paying attention to the spirit."
She snorted. "I never doubted it. But it was the troop's job to set up the relay race, and I wasn't making you write the apology letter when it wasn't your fault. Still, Abraham Daniels was such a jar of sour pickles it was better to placate him. And I'm not letting you sidetrack me. I'm calling Natalie anyway, to wish her luck on her interview, so telling her to disregard my rude daughter while I've got her is no problem."
He sat forward. "What interview?"
"With Houston Health and Housing, for the housing counselor position. They called her in for Monday."
"She got the interview?" The grin on his face translated to his voice. "Damn, that's excellent."
Mom sounded smug. "I'll tell her you said so."
The pillows cushioned his fall. "No. Don't. She doesn't need my approval to know she's going to get the job. And it's not appropriate."
"Evan, your dad and I want you to be happy."
"I am," he said, vainly hoping to forestall more.
"And you were happy with Natalie. Whatever your sister did, whatever fight you had, you can resolve it. Get back together."
"Mom. It wasn't Chloe, okay? Yes, she was deliberately mean, but we don't--didn't--care about what she said. We knew when we headed to Louisiana Chloe had issues with us. Things fell apart independent of her." He was never going to sink back into sleep when the call ended. He kicked the covers away and stood.
"I don't understand, then. You were living together. You were having a nice time. How did you go from that, to this?"
"We're looking for different things in life." It was the break-up line they'd agreed on.
"What things?"
They hadn't scripted that out. He fumbled. "I don't know. Long-term things. She's more of a settling down type than me. House and dog and all."
"But you were doing house and dog and all. Or joking about the dog, anyway."
He was pacing, and not meeting his own eyes in the b
ig mirrored doors of his closet. "Well, that was a mistake. We rushed into it. You guys were all so excited, you and Dad and Elaine, and we got caught up, and maybe that put too much pressure on the relationship. Like it had to work, since if it didn't, our parents would be upset. And we're obedient children. We wanted to make you happy, but that's not enough material to build a whole relationship."
He heard her swallow before answering. "Oh. I had no idea you were blaming me instead of your sister."
"That's--I'm not blaming you, Mom. I'm not blaming anyone. It happened, and I'm trying to explain it, since you like everything all categorized. But it hadn't even been a week yet, so my hindsight isn't quite in focus. Ask me in a month or two. Or three. That's as long as I've known Natalie, so it should be plenty of time for me to sort out who's to blame for not knowing her anymore."
Natalie snapped, sharp and loud. "You know who he reminds me of?"
Her friends, lined up on her sofa to watch her pace and rant, shook their heads. Rachel's daughter was with her ex for the weekend, and they'd come over to help her pick her interview attire. And to get the details about her and Evan.
"Duncan."
"Wait, Serena's dad Duncan?" Rachel asked.
"Yes, him. Exactly. He's all sweet smiles and charm and before you know it, you find yourself loving him, and as soon as you love him he turns out to be only in surface deep. He's Duncan Colby reincarnated, except for the serial marriages problem."
"Also except for the fact my dad's still alive," Serena put in drily.
Natalie dismissed that point with a wave of her hand. "Well, the reincarnation of whoever first set the pattern to become the Duncan Colbys and Evan Lees of this world."
Gillian tapped her chin. "I think it was Genghis Khan, if we're talking origin stories here."
"I thought Genghis Khan was the common ancestor for like eighty percent of humans," Rachel said.
"Well, then, eighty percent of humans are Casanovas." Natalie plopped down on the armchair.
"Eighty percent of men, anyway," Gillian agreed solemnly.
"Is Casanova one of Genghis Khan's descendants?" Serena asked. "I thought he was fictional."
Rachel shushed her. "Can we go back to the part where you love Evan?"
Natalie could feel the blush, and it just made her mad, which probably made her face even redder. "No."
"Oh, I think we can," persisted Rachel. "Last thing I heard, you and Evan were just fuck buddies."
"Friends with benefits," Natalie said. "Which is beside the point."
"The point of love?" Serena asked, all sweet innocence. "Poor Natalie. All that time spent forcing me to find a man to share my house with and you've already forgotten the point of love? Shall I quote your own words back at you?"
"Your Rocket Man is an exception. He must be part of the twenty percent not related to Casanova."
Serena's smile went irritating. "Don't you worry about Dillon's relationship to Casanova."
Gillian gave Serena a little shove, saving Natalie the trouble of getting up. But then she unleashed her most cynical eyebrow raise on Natalie. "You fell in love with your tiger."
"I did not. I didn't mean to say love."
"You did. All this time you pretended you weren't going there, but you did."
"I didn't. And even if I did--which I didn't--it doesn't matter. Remember the part about how he threw in the towel?"
Serena sat forward. "Wait, at what point was there a towel to throw in? And who was wearing said towel when it was thrown?"
"Evan. It was Evan's towel." Natalie grimaced, and admitted. "He stopped wearing it, though. Before the throwing."
It took her a good minute to stop staring into the middle distance and look at her friends again. They were wordless, with faces more than expressive enough. Serena's smugness, Gillian's disbelief, Rachel's wonder. Still, all of their faces told Natalie the same thing: she was going to have to come clean about how she and Evan came while clean.
She reached for her glass, captivated by the bruised purple hue of the wine. "After we both were home last Sunday, I thought we could just fix everything with sex. The whole thing between us was about sex, right?"
No one was nodding.
"Friends with benefits," she insisted. "Sex was the benefit. The only reason we had a problem was that I let myself forget that, and got my feelings involved. Not love. Not in love type love, I mean. Platonic, friendly love, okay. That's all. And it was enough to hurt me, so I figured if we could go back to our, you know, core values or whatever, we could be back on track. So I..."
"Hang on, let's go back a few steps," Gillian said. "See if I got the sequence right. You flew to New Orleans with him, hung out with his family. Overheard his sister being a jerk. He stood up for you?"
She nodded. "Basically. Yeah."
"And you blew him off and ran off to hide from everyone."
If she tilted the wine glass away from her fireplace, it caught a gold glint from the chunky brooch she'd pinned to the lapel of her cobalt blazer. Her friends had deemed it too matronly for the interview, but it was hanging from her mantle with all the other outfits she'd brought down.
Gillian exchanged a look with Rachel. Serena opened her mouth, but Gillian was relentless. "And you hid from him more by leaving Sunday first thing, and spent all Sunday with clients who were wasting your time--"
"They put in an offer on the Tudor I showed them Thursday," Natalie said, without much enthusiasm. She and the Bucks had worked up a reply to the counteroffer that morning, before her friends showed up. Her cell failed to ring. No deal-finalizing work interrupted this interrogation.
"With clients who were wasting your time," Gillian repeated. "And when you finally faced him again, you kept hiding from Evan by ripping a towel from his delight-filled body and engaging in what we presume was rambunctious sex. And it was only when you were done having your way with him that you told him it was over and to get out of your house?"
Natalie's voice was resigned. "You make it sound worse than it was."
"There's a way to make it sound good?"
She shrugged. "We did talk. It's just that it was obvious neither of us was in for the long haul. And if I let it go on, I was going to get. You know. Hurt."
Rachel moved to sit on the arm of Natalie's chair. Serena stretched her legs out and tangled her feet with Natalie's on the ottoman. After a minute, Gillian huffed and sat on the other side, sliding her arm around Nat's shoulder.
She dropped her head back into the warmth of her friend's embrace. "Yeah. So. This way, you know. It's better. No one's hurt."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alice, savvy as always, called him at six-thirty, before even Bovespa was trading. He couldn't hang up on her and blame the markets.
"What's up?"
"Up? 'What's up', he asks. Well, not your oldest niece's mood, that's for sure."
"Something wrong with Lizzy?" His sister sounded mad, but not in the Mama Bear way she could get about the world coming for her girls. She sounded mad at Evan. "She got my email, didn't she?"
One of his earliest memories--he was four or thereabouts--was giggling like crazy while Alice practiced her disdainful sneers in front of the mirror in the dining room. She was on the verge of heading to college, and could spend hours blasting Bratmobile and Sleater-Kinney while she posed. Evan would sit on top of the dining table singing choruses along with her, until their mom came home from work and told them to take their feminist rebellion elsewhere while the boys set the table for dinner.
So he could imagine the look on her face when she said, "Yes, you were very generous. She'll send a proper thank-you note, I'm sure."
"Was there something specific I was supposed to get her?" He'd figured, at twelve, she'd like the economic power of spending the gift card on whatever she wanted. Also, he'd stopped paying much attention to his now-empty personal calendar and had missed the notification about Lizzy's birthday until it was almost too late.
"No. Chloe sent
her Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and a toolbox full of face painting supplies so she can return herself from the dead. No one's competing with that. She'll use your gift card to buy fright wigs, I'm sure."
Damn. That was a killer gift. He wished he'd thought of it. "So, why are you tearing me a new one?"
"You know what she said, the other night?"
"How would I know if you haven't told me?" It was too early for armed combat with his sister. He should send the new intern to Black Gold for a Cubano.
"She said, 'I wonder what Uncle Evan will write for my birthday.' They started off the year with a poetry unit, and here she is, first week of middle school, bragging about how many kinds of verse her uncle has written for her over the years. She had a collection of them all ready to go--haiku and sonnets and I don't know what--and a plan to bring them all in to show her teacher today, with her twelve-year birthday poem."
He shut his eyes. "Shit."
"Know where her binder full of poems is now, Evan?"
He imagined it, crumpled and covered with coffee grounds and slimy cereal dregs in Alice's kitchen bin. "No?"
She left him hanging.
Sighing, he said, "Come on, A, you didn't tell me she saved all those cards. You didn't say she was looking out for it this year."
"Why should I have to? You've been entertaining the kids all her life, why should I prepare Lizzy for you flaking out on her? It won't be the last time some man lets her down, after all. Better she gets used to it young."
"Jesus." He ran a hand through his hair. "A dozen years I've been writing dumb poems for your daughters, and never once have you thought to mention she liked them? I'm sorry, okay? I really am. It shatters me that she was upset today. I just wish you'd told me."
Alice backed off, probably appeased by his genuine remorse. "I should have said. The girls are both really proud of having personalized verse."
A handful more disclosures like that and he wouldn't need to send the intern on a coffee run. It was cute, thinking of them stacking his poems in a shoe box or something. He glanced at the computer's clock. "Listen, just give me ten minutes. I'll text her a limerick. I know it's no good without the others for her class, but I swear I'll write them every year from now on."
Eye of the Tiger Page 21