by Jean Oram
He reached over and pinned down her hands. "Let's write."
They sat quietly, staring at blank pieces of paper. Nash flicked his pen back and forth between his fingers. "I'm not good at this writing stuff," he muttered.
"Just jot down what you love about me."
Beth tucked her head down, prepared to let her love flow onto the page. After thinking for a minute, her pen began scratching over the paper. She loved the fact that Nash helped people every day through his work and how his eyes became a lighter color when he was happy. Before his little revelation, she had admired his confidence and how he always seemed so certain about everything. Her pen hovered over the page. Was it all simply an act? Was he really as lost inside as everyone else?
Who was this man she was marrying?
Slowly, she began writing again. The man got things done. His refreshing efficiency never ceased to appeal to her. There were no hours of consultation with the guys or a two-hour trip to the hardware store, or even months of procrastination to change a faucet. He made his decision and got it done. It was that simple. Even though he usually hired someone else to do it.
Beth stretched her arms over her head and flexed her fingers. She peeked at Nash's piece of paper. One sentence. He frowned at her and covered his page with an arm.
Beth reread her notes. She kept thinking of Oz. Many of the things she loved about Nash, she had also loved about Oz. Yet, how could it be? The two men were so different. She read her list, bothered that majority of her vows could also work for marrying another man. She tapped her pen against the island and cleared her throat. "Ready?"
His eyebrows jumped up and pen stopped moving. "To share?"
"Yep." Originally she'd wanted her vows to be a surprise, but seeing how he seemed to be facing some kind of writer's block, she didn't want to go on and on about him if he was going to sum up his love in one sentence. "I'll go first."
Her cheeks warmed as self-consciousness crept in. "The way you look unguarded when you sleep. The way your whiskers are a different color than your hair color. The way you—"
"Wait. I look guarded?"
"What?"
"When I sleep. You said I look unguarded. Do I look guarded when I'm awake?"
"Um, no. It's just that you look innocent when you sleep." She consulted her list again. "The way you—"
"Innocent? What do I look like when I'm awake?" She glanced at Nash in irritation. "No, really," he insisted.
"Incorrigible." She flicked a hand at his list. "Did you want to go first?"
Nash furrowed his brow and cleared his throat. He ran a hand through his neat hair and began. "You're clean and don't have messy pets or friends. You're nice to people. You respect my space, and you have smooth skin."
Nash folded his paper, looking pleased with himself.
Oh.
He loved her because she was clean, nice, left him alone, and presented well.
This was not what she had in mind. At all.
Chapter 18
Beth groaned and handed Katie a cup of coffee. She sat in the chair across from her friend and banged her filing cabinet shut. "Keep on not believing in marriage, Katie. Wedding planning and details are complete hell."
"I thought Nash was taking care of most of it? At least that's what you were complaining about last month—that there was nothing for you to do."
"He has... it's just..." Beth buried her face in her hands and groaned again. "I need to find a way to magically make Nash's vows half decent."
Katie quirked her head. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, his vows suck and we have less than a week to try and find an appropriate vow. We shouldn't have put it off for this long. I had no idea he wasn't poetic. I just assumed he'd write an awesome vow."
"But all you have to do is make up some flowery gook and everybody gushes."
"According to Nash, I'm clean."
Katie burst out laughing and Beth scowled at her. "Not funny."
"But how Nash is that? It's perfect." Katie clapped her hands in glee and Beth contemplated kicking her in the shins. Her office was small enough she could get her without getting out of her chair.
"Okay. Sorry." Katie lowered her head in thought and Beth hoped she could come up with a good plan and fast. "Hang on." Katie jumped from her chair. "I've got an idea. Be right back."
Minutes later, Katie returned, looking triumphant.
"What've you got?" Beth asked, trying to see what was up with Katie's very worn piece of paper. She hoped it wasn't one of Will's super sappy love notes. Beth had made the mistake of peeking at one of the ones Katie had left lying around at her place a few months ago, and they were beyond gushy. She knew Will was romantic, but his letters were one-hundred percent, over-the-top romantic goop that had made her feel like a voyeur who had scooped out the sugar bowl.
Katie folded down the top of the tattered note. "Inspiration. It was written for me, but maybe Nash could borrow an idea or two."
Beth scrunched her nose but Katie failed to notice. Katie cleared her throat and stood by the closed door. "She can make any moment feel intimate."
Beth raised an eyebrow. She knew Will was a sap, but seriously. And Katie carrying this thing around with her all the time? She was just as bad. Maybe even more so since she felt the need to keep it hidden all the time.
"Yeah, maybe not that one," Katie said quickly. "It sounds too personal. You don't want everyone in attendance getting frisky with each other."
Beth snorted a laugh and indicated that Katie should continue reading.
"She smells like rain." Katie paused to consider it. "That's pretty good, don't you think? He could borrow that one. It's creative and sweet. We could somehow make him think that it's his idea to say that about you."
Beth frowned. Something about that last line seemed familiar. It was like a faint call on the wind. Familiar and fleeting, yet undefined.
"Oh, here's a good one." Katie looked up. "What?"
Beth deftly snatched the note. Katie tried to retrieve it, but Beth was already reading it under her breath. She held her friend off with one hand, her mind furiously taking in the tight printing, the words, the meaning, the emotions.
She unfolded the top of the note and glared at Katie. "Reasons I Love Beth? Really?" She read a few of the lines, loudly. "She smells better than rain. Her skin glows when she is happy. Her smile lights up my gray life. Her kindness makes me want to be a better person. Her voice wavers when she is trying to hide her emotions. She has faith in everyone. She is forgiving." Beth's voice shook, but she continued on, her tone growing softer. She needed to keep reading. To make him real. To solidify her thoughts and feelings. The note was like an oasis. An oasis she wasn't sure she was looking for, but couldn't help torturing herself with nevertheless. "She is tender and softly independent and strong. I want to wrap my fingers in her delicate brown curls and snuggle up in her trusting, warm, brown eyes."
Tears trickled down Beth's flushed cheeks. Katie tried again to take possession of the note. Beth stomped a foot and held the paper behind her back.
How was it that Oz wrote lovely, appropriate words and Nash couldn't rise to the occasion? And why did it matter to her so much?
"Damn that Oz!" Beth snapped. "Did he put you up to this?" Maybe there was more to the so-called threat of Oz than Nash had let on. Maybe he had been the one quietly sabotaging things in the background just like his mom did when she'd tried to move out of Katie's place. It didn't seem like Oz to do something like this, but then again neither had many of his actions over the past year.
Katie shook her head and lunged for the note. "No. I'm just an impulsive mental case, okay? Give it back and we'll pretend I never showed it to you. He'll kill me if he finds out I have it. I shouldn't have taken it. I shouldn't have even read it."
Beth grabbed her purse and shoved her office chair out of the way. "Move!"
Katie leapt from her spot in front of the door and Beth blew past.
"Wait! Beth! It was me,
it was me!"
Beth rounded a corner at the end of the hospital corridor and could hear Katie in her soft-soled shoes scurrying to catch up. She moved faster.
"Wait!"
Nurses turned in alarm as they blasted by the station. In the atrium, she slowed to a fast walk, fake smiling at patients and guests who were engrossed in the news before storming ahead, finally reaching the exit near her car.
"You can't tell him you read it," Katie said, reaching to grab Beth's arm.
Beth whirled and just about beaned Katie upside the head with her swinging purse. "He can't screw with my emotions, Katie. Not without consequences." She resumed her march, exiting through the large emergency doors and into the blaring spring sunshine.
"Wait! He wasn't involved. I swear!" Katie called after her.
Beth gunned the Volvo's engine and tore out of the parking lot. Less than a week until her wedding and Oz dared pull this crap? He had to be off his rocker if he thought he could get away with trying to sabotage her future happiness. He'd given her up and she was going to remind him of that small fact right now.
She skidded down her old street sending a cat that looked a lot like Fluffy scuttling out of the way. Beth slammed her car into park outside Oz's trailer, jolting her seatbelt into its locked position. She tried to exit the car, and nearly strangled herself when her seatbelt refused to release for her fumbling fingers.
"For heaven's sake!" She threw herself back in her seat and impatiently tried again. Finally, she stumbled toward the front steps, tripping over a cedar whirligig, its bitter scent stinging her nostrils.
She was going to tell that delusional man a thing or two. There was no way she'd allow him to illuminate Nash's poetic shortcomings and come out unscathed. He was the one who messed up. He had his chance and he blew it. Big time.
She stomped up the steps, yanked on the protesting screen door, and thumped on the inner wood door with a heavy fist. She continued to bang until her fist stung and the door swung inward, just about depositing her against a shirtless Oz.
Beth gaped at Oz's midsection, specifically, the faint outline of a six pack. And she was not referring to beer. She was talking stomach muscles. Big lumps of firm stomach muscles. More than she'd imagined when he'd smoothed his hand over his midriff at her sister's wedding.
Unable to tear her eyes off his gut, other than to make a quick visual to ensure that it was indeed Oz, she continued to gape. Lines of muscle ran down either side of his stomach region, narrowing to form an unfinished arrow. A trail of dark hair marched south from his belly button, drawing her eye to the top of his faded 501s. She lost visual contact with the line, but knew exactly how and where it ended.
Self-preservation kicked in and she sucked in a breath, combatting the lightheadedness that had taken over. Clutching the doorframe, she tried to recall why she had come and why she thought she should be angry.
Oz broke the silence. "I've been working out."
She blinked hard, turning her head so she'd stop staring at his midriff. She cautiously allowed herself to check his face. His eyes were crisp and bright. He looked healthy. Hot. Just like at the wedding. Only... better. Lots better.
Sadness gripped her core with its freezing hand. Inside she screamed, It's not fair! He wasn't allowed to look this good when he wasn't hers. And he most certainly was not supposed to know it was affecting her.
Comforting anger returned. She whipped out the love note and waved it in Oz's face. "What the hell do you think you're trying to pull?" She leaned forward and in the process caught a whiff of his sweet, memory-laden cologne. She steeled herself so she wouldn't sway, her breathing jagged. Why was he wearing it? It was for special occasions. This was most definitely not a special occasion.
Oz rested a shoulder against the edge of the inner door. Beth's indignation flagged as Oz's brow scrunched in confusion, a lock of hair falling into his eyes.
She waved the note again and stepped forward, the screen door banging against her butt. Oz grabbed her waving hand and plucked the paper from her grasp. His expression slowly closed as he unfolded the sheet.
The world felt as though it was turning. Something had changed.
"How did you get this?" he asked, a hard edge to his voice.
"What are you trying to do to me, Oz?" She watched as his gaze took her in, leaving her feeling small and strangely guilty. "You're intentionally trying to sabotage my relationship with Nash."
Oz's eyebrows rose. "Wait a second, I—"
"Don't play games with me." She jabbed a finger at his chest. "I am not dumb. You're making everything difficult on purpose. You're being the old Oz and it's not fair! It's wrong. It's all wrong." She faltered, unsure whether to run or keep yelling.
Oz's expression softened, and her anger took over. She stepped forward, forcing him to back up as she went in for another verbal blow.
"You set me up. Me, Oz! Me! Quit interfering." She swiped at sliding tears. She sliced her pointer finger through the air, first at Oz and then at herself. "You and me? We're done!"
"Wait." Oz took a step forward, closing the space between them. "I don't know how you got this from my wallet, but I didn't set you up. You know me better than that, Little B."
The nickname cut through her core and she stumbled. "What?" She glanced beyond the entry and into the living room. Like a tease, it had transformed itself back into its former warmth and familiarity. The room was clean, the plants green and healthy, the picture frames propped up. Her favorite video game was paused on the TV. It was as though the past had never happened—except she was standing on the outside.
She closed her eyes against the stinging flood of loss. She felt like a kite fluttering without its string, drifting and spinning on a breeze, unsure where the wind would set her down and in what condition.
Had all of this been simply to get her out of his hair? No. She shook her head. It was something else. She leaned over and breathed deeply. Her Oz. Her chin crinkled and she tried to keep her lips from trembling.
He crouched so they were face to face. "I'm sorry, I don't know who's doing this to you."
She closed her eyes. Neither man was perfect. It was as though she had been idolizing rock stars only to find they had drug addictions, cheated on their taxes as well as their wives, and synthesizers had been making their voices falsely perfect and deep. But they were close. So close. And Oz felt like the closest even though he was the furthest. How could that be? How could she still think he was the one?
He slowly refolded the note over its creases and ignored the phone which had begun to ring. "I wrote this years ago. After the first time we slept together." His face flushed and he slid the note into his back pocket. Still keeping his eyes cast down, he continued, "I still carry it." His brown eyes, flecked with amber, met hers and took her in. "It grounds me."
Beth resisted the potent urge to fold herself into Oz's arms. She stood on the step, emotions roaring through her like a late summer storm. "We're over, Oz. Remember that. OVER!" She stumbled against the screen door, pushing her way out.
***
How could she still have feelings for Oz?
How could she betray Nash by loving him and loving Oz?
And why couldn't she shove Oz out of her heart the way she wanted to? Why wouldn't he leave?
Beth folded her hands around her head, letting tears drip onto her denimed thighs. She checked the clock to make sure Nash would still be at the hospital and called her sister on the bedside phone.
"Yo, what's up bride-to-be?"
Beth sniffed, wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, and sighed.
"What's wrong?" Cynthia asked. "Is this about Nash's bachelor party in the city? He let the stripper give him a blow job, didn't he? A blow job is a blow job, Beth. No matter who performs it or under what circumstances. Don't let him convince you otherwise."
Panic seized her mind. "He got a blow job from a stripper?"
"Well, I don't know. Did he?" her sister asked in a curious v
oice.
"What? No. I mean, I don't—you just said he did!"
"No, I didn't. But it seemed a likely explanation for your apparent distress. So, what has he done?"
"I hate you."
Cynthia laughed. "You get so wound up about men."
Beth took a deep breath and tried to relax. "I still hate you."
"So? What did he do? The Greatest Couple in Blueberry Springs has a date tonight. Can you make it snappy, or should I reschedule our public appearance?"
"It'll be snappy," Beth said with a sigh. "And he hasn't done anything. Not really."
"Not really? Or not at all? There's a big difference, especially when we're talking about men and upcoming nuptials."
"Not really." Beth let out a defeated sigh. Why did she bother calling Cynthia? Her sister couldn't figure this out for her. It was her problem. Her consequences.
"Spill."
Beth let out a painful hiccup. "We were writing our vows and they sucked."
"They sucked how?"
"He thinks I'm clean!" Renewed hurt washed over her and she chucked one of the throw pillows across the room, knocking over the laundry hamper.
Cynthia snorted as if holding back laughter.
Beth continued, "He says I've got nice skin and that my friends and I are clean. And that I give him his own space."
"And let me guess, you said some really nice things? Romantic things?"
"Uh, huh."
"Well, Beth, I hate to break it to you, but he's a guy. That's why there's a dozen women locked up in a Hallmark factory writing sappy cards for useless, unromantic men. Guys don't think all lovey-dovey. It's not natural."
"For some of them, it is."
"For the ones limp in the wrist. Nash is an acquired taste, like champagne. Not everyone likes champagne, but it gives an elegant impression and gets the job done. Nash is ready to go, right out of the bottle. You don't have to wait for him to figure out who he is in order to see if he wants a life with you. Vows are hollow, meaningless, Hallmark nothings."