by Jean Oram
Oz unwrapped the clinking bundle of metal handles, lining them up on his palm. "Which handle would be best?"
Katie poked at the variety, choosing an ornate one for further inspection.
"You don't need a handle," Beth said, drawing closer. She leaned over, admiring the craftsmanship in the carving despite herself. Not only was he building magnificent pieces, he was carving. The man had surprisingly artistic talent. Despite what it had cost her, she was glad he was honing his abilities and developing his raw talent.
Oz looked up at her—eye level and closer than they'd been since Cynthia's wedding. His warm eyes rested on hers and making it impossible to look away. She leaned back, horrified that she'd been surreptitiously sucking in deep breaths of his aftershave. She took several steps toward the door. "The lid overhangs. You don't need a handle." She tried to say something about Nash waiting for her at home and that she needed to go, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words.
Will caught up with her. "No."
Everyone looked at him in surprise.
"No," he repeated, he pulled Beth back into the room. "Katie and I are going for a walk." He released Beth and took Katie's hand in his. He pointed at Oz. "You need to talk to Beth." He turned to Beth. "And you need to listen." He waggled his finger between them. "You two, talk. Really talk. Say it all. This is your chance."
Neither Beth nor Oz moved. Sighing, Will dropped Katie's hand and steered Oz to the couch. Beth crossed her arms and swallowed hard, taking several small steps toward the door. Will lightly grabbed her arm and pushed her over to Oz, seating her next to him.
"Now," he said, standing over them like a peeved parent, "I recommend you two start by talking about what happened at the wedding."
He and Katie closed the door firmly behind them.
Beth folded her hands in her lap and cast a quick look at Oz. He was pale. The sound of his jiggling denim-clad legs filled the room, making the couch vibrate. Instinctively, she applied pressure to his moving leg. Oz spun to face her and for a moment she thought he was going to sweep her into his arms and kiss her.
"Beth," he said, his voice rough as though he hadn't used it in days, "I know I've apologized for our relationship and everything you've gone through..." He gently took her hands into his large, warm ones. She pulled the insides of her cheeks between her teeth and ignored the tightening in her ribcage. Don't cry.
He laid her hands on his chest, pulling himself closer as she tried to lean away. His worn flannel shirt was soft and warm under her fingers. It was comforting, real, and achingly familiar. "I am so very sorry, Beth. Really and truly, sorry." His warm brown eyes flecked with gold met hers and she relaxed. She trusted this Oz. This was him.
"If you could only feel my heart," he said. Which was odd, because she could feel it. It was beating a million miles an hour, just like her own. "You would know."
Oz hunched his shoulders and bowed his head, dropping her hands. She searched his body for a sign of what she was supposed to know.
"I am sorry for what happened last Saturday," he said, his head still lowered. "For the pain I caused you. It's unforgivable. I..."
She bit her lip, fighting the need to run. She needed to let him say the words she needed to hear so they could both move on. So she could marry Nash in peace.
He swallowed hard and paused as if wrestling with himself. "I came by your wedding to wish you luck. For closure. I convinced myself that you needed closure, when I needed it."
Beth closed her flooded eyes. She would be married right now if she had followed Cynthia's advice. Instead she'd chickened out and by not making a decision she had made one that screwed up everything.
Oz continued, "I didn't want to believe you were in love with someone else. It's no surprise you got swept up so quickly and by a guy with... well..." He struggled for words—like it seemed everyone did when it came to complimenting Nash and not his work.
"Yeah, I know," she said uncomfortably. "He's actually a great guy."
Oz cleared his throat and brushed a tear from her cheek, holding her face in his hand. "I never believed we were done." He stared at her like he was memorizing every feature and making her feel like he always did—as though she was seen. All of her. Accepting all her flaws, fears, as well as everything good. He continued softly, "I thought I would get you back. That you would see everything I was doing, and know it was for you. For us." He dropped his hand and drew in a slow breath.
Wait. Had he bumped his head falling off his rocker? Beth held up a hand to stop him so she could think. He'd kissed Mandy. How was that for her?
Oz continued, "It wasn't until you got engaged and were planning your wedding that I realized you'd made your decision and what I was doing no longer mattered." His voice got quiet. "I went through a bad patch." He held up a hand to stop Beth from speaking. "I know I told you to take a hike. I remember that painfully well. I just needed space and it was so hard to figure out what I should do. But still, later, a part of me hoped that if I got myself together and you were watching, that you would..." He sighed heavily. "Oh, I don't know." He moved away from her. "I was dumb. I needed space to get my head on straight and deal with the guilt about my dad, but I never thought it would take me so long and that I'd lose you." He looked at her with soulful eyes. "What a moron, huh? How long can a guy expect a girl to wait?"
Beth struggled to put the pieces together. All this time he was working to figure himself out and get her back? "Why did you kiss Mandy?"
He rubbed a hand over his face and leaned back. "You and Nash..." he said quietly. "I wanted you to feel the pain I was feeling. I hoped that if I kissed Mandy you'd see that you still loved me and would wait."
"But I..." Beth's stomach plummeted. Was he kidding? They'd been playing the same game against each other? She felt dizzy with the swirl of unwanted, confusing thoughts spinning through her. "You didn't want me. I dated Nash to make you feel..."
It was too late, too late, too late.
"I realized Mandy had known what I needed all those years ago. For a stretch I thought maybe she was the right girl—with her knowing I needed to get out of accounting, and all. But she's not. We never had that same click you and I had. That something, you know?"
Pushing his hands up and down the thighs of his jeans, his voice lowered as though he was speaking to himself. "I don't deserve a second chance. It's not fair or right. I ruined your wedding to a decent man without problems."
Beth couldn't help but snort. If there was one thing she'd learned in this whole ordeal was that nobody was perfect and everyone had problems.
She took in his hopeful, questioning expression. "Wait." Chest tight, she watched, unblinking, as Oz's face turned red. She whispered, "Are you asking me something?"
"I caused you pain. The things I've done aren't easily forgivable. But I still love you."
Beth tried to keep herself together. All she wanted was closure. Not complications and heartache. She only had to make it through this and then she could leave and figure out all these awful thoughts spinning out of control within her.
"But at the same time..." Oz said quietly.
"You have hope?" she asked as she stood. She couldn't believe he'd wanted her back all this time and still let her go off with someone else and let her believe he didn't want her. Why? Why?
"You're asking me to put Nash on hold. My fiancé—the man I live with—and try things out with you again? How is that supposed to work, Oz? Do you hear what you are asking?"
"Pretty ballsy, huh?" Oz tilted his head to look up at her, his brown eyes brimming with emotion. She turned her back and moved to stare out the window.
"Why now?" she asked, still facing the window. "When over the past year you've done nothing but push me away? How do I know you won't do it again? That this isn't just a reaction."
Oz drew in a long breath, his leg resuming its jiggling. "I only broke up with you because I thought it was what was best. So you could have a life."
"You'd
have to be really fucking serious," she said. She couldn't believe she was providing him with hope. It would be so had for them to trust each other.
"I've never wanted anything more."
She crossed her arms, feeling nauseous. If she met his eyes she would never stop considering his words and the branch he was extending.
All she had to do was turn and let things work themselves out.
But for once in her life, she couldn't.
She had to get away from everything and everyone. She needed space to think. To figure out what was the best for her.
"You'd have to still want kids. You'd have to want a family and not feel like it was too much." She looked over her shoulder and he gave a slight nod. "It would have to be a sure thing, Oz. No messing around. No leaving me hanging. No shutting me out. You'd have to tell me everything. Trust me."
He nodded again, swallowing hard.
"And I'd have to be crazy," she replied softly, looking into Oz's deep brown eyes, her head shaking. "Really, really crazy."
Chapter 21
Beth stuffed items into her bag haphazardly, her mind on everything but what she was packing. Time away with Nash would be good. A distraction. A way to reconnect. She wouldn't think ahead. She'd just keep moving forward. She jammed her nightie into the bag along with her e-reader.
How could Oz ask her back? And how could she even consider it? Why did she ask clarifying questions? It should have been clear cut. Instead of doing what was right, she asked questions, gave him hope, and then fled. Bolted. Ran. Escaped.
How was she going to elope with Nash—because that's surely what was going to happen during their getaway—if she couldn't shrug off her ex?
"This trip is a good idea," Nash said. "I think you'll really enjoy this area. It's near a gated community I want to show you. It's close to the airport, the opera, and a few other great places I think would be great for raising kids." Nash carefully tucked his folded underwear into his suitcase. "Beth?"
"Yeah. Great." She grabbed a tube of toothpaste from the en suite and shoved it into her bag.
"Here." Nash held out his hand. "You're going to get toothpaste everywhere. Let me." Nash came around the bed to root out her toothpaste. He placed it in his black toiletry bag. "And don't forget your toothbrush."
Beth zipped her bag with a sharp tug. "Ready?"
"I need another ten minutes. Don't forget your toothbrush."
She released her bag, letting it thud onto the floor.
"What's wrong?" he asked, hands on his hips. He looked pale and peeved in his uncharacteristic sweats and t-shirt, the bandage still covering his stitches and the worst of his heavy smooch with the concrete.
"Nothing." She flicked off the movie Nash had turned on. "Let's go."
"Beth. What?"
"Nothing!"
She was not going to discuss the scary, tempting second thoughts that battered her nor all the thoughts whizzing through her mind about how wrong everything felt. It didn't matter what she did, there was no clear path that seemed like it was the easy, obvious, one-hundred percent right way to go.
"If you're mad at me," Nash's eyes flashed, "be mad at me. It isn't fair to be like this. I made a mistake. I admitted it. I apologized. I'm not perfect. Nobody is."
She stared at him.
"Beth!" He slammed his open hand on the bed. "Engage, damn it!"
"I can't do this," she whispered, backing away.
He rubbed his forehead. "Go on a trip? Get real. Pick up your bag and let's go."
"No."
"Why not?"
She took in their shared bedroom. Nothing said ours about the room. A photo of her and her sister sat on her bedside table and a bra hung on the closet doorknob, but other than that, everything was Nash's. The exquisite bedspread, the trendy art on the walls, the fluffy towels in the en suite. Everything. At first it had been reassuring and luxurious, but now it felt lonely and exclusionary.
It wasn't their condo. It wasn't her home. It was Nash's. And it would always be that way. She was the movie he put in the fancy DVD player when he wanted entertainment. And while she loved being Paris Beth, it wasn't the real her. She cared too much about everything and everyone and wasn't that free-flying independent adventure girl Nash thought she was. She was Blueberry Springs Beth. The girl with the job that wouldn't go anywhere big, but satisfied her heart. She was the person who provided hope and joy at the end of good people's lives and now helped others in need of her therapies. She was the girl that loved the fact that she knew all the faces walking around town and that if she fell down they would pick her up again. This town and all its flaws and aggravations accepted her, warts and all. It was home.
She studied Nash. Perfect, perfect Nash. She closed her eyes. This wasn't where she belonged. When she was with him she wasn't her true self. If she wanted more people around her Thanksgiving table all she had to do was open her door and holler. Blueberry Springs—her family—didn't embrace Nash and he refused to embrace them. And that told her something she should have figured out months ago.
"I can't do this anymore, Nash. The real me is the girl you want to change."
Her ears blocked the sound as he lectured his way around the room. Detached, she watched his actions: demanding, pushy. Nothing similar to what would comfort and convince her to change her mind.
"It's been fun," she said, static pulling at her mind, "but I can't be with you, Nash. Not forever. Being together doesn't make us better people. At least not me."
She hefted her bag and walked to the door, leaving him standing in the bedroom with his jaw hanging low.
***
There was liberation in being a missing person—in being one of many in a constant cycle of strangers in and out of the capital city's biggest hotel. She was just some woman sunk deep in a lounge chair enjoying a beer at the end of her long day. A long day of driving away from Blueberry Springs in order to give herself room to think.
She massaged her temples, worried Nash would look up her credit card charges and show up demanding that they talk it out. But there was nothing to talk about. As she drove across the countryside, skirting cities, she chased the feeling that he was the wrong man for her. He provided everything she thought she wanted and needed, but somehow he still wasn't the right man.
The problem was Oz.
She shut off her mind. She needed to relax and let the answer come to her. She needed to sip her beer, knowing nobody was going to demand to know her next step. Nobody was going to push their unwanted advice like some cash-strapped drug lord pushing his wares.
Right now she was without family and going to enjoy its peace.
She sighed and stared into her beer glass. Despite wanting space she didn't feel like she could do this alone. She needed someone to talk to. She needed family.
She closed her eyes and let the fresh, cold beer bite at her tongue, the last of the bubbles tickling the top of her mouth as she swallowed. She glanced at her phone and on a whim, opened her address book. There it was. Less than an hour's drive from here.
An ear and an answer.
***
Beth shook out her nerves and rang the buzzer for apartment 4A, holding her breath. The lilac bush beside the front step was pumping out the smells of spring and, for the first time in days, she had hope in her heart.
Let him be home.
Okay, so her father hadn't sent her a Christmas card and he hadn't come to Cynthia's wedding nor her own. He probably wasn't even in the country. But if he was home, and she was on his front step, there was no way he wouldn't listen to her problems. Looking for problems in big companies and then solving them was his sought-after talent making him the perfect man for the job.
The main door released and she entered the building, climbing up to the fourth floor. The door to 4A swung open and a man who looked a lot like Cynthia watched her approach—if her sister had very little hair and was a man. Tall, slim, narrow face, serious eyes. He stared at her like he couldn't place her.
He opened his door wider and stepped aside. "I know who you are. Give a man some credit."
She stepped into his home, feeling slightly robot-like and equally awkward in her movements.
"You made a beautiful blushing bride. Did you manage to tie the knot?"
"What?" She turned to face him. "You were there?"
Her father smiled, and indicated for her to take a seat in the living room. "I arrived back from Singapore the night before. Too late to RSVP, but I couldn't resist trying to see you—even if just at the church. So, I got in my car and drove."
Beth sat heavily, feeling uprooted. Her father had driven all night after an international flight in order to see her get married? "Why didn't I see you?" Tears pricked her eyes. Why hadn't he spoken to her? And why hadn't she heard rumors of him being there? Surely people would have recognized him.
"Now, now," he said, looking embarrassed. "There wasn't a chance. Not before the boys got into a fight. And after... it just felt like I shouldn't crowd you."
"You wouldn't have crowded me," she protested. "They ruined everything and nothing feels right anymore. I can't summon a plan I want to hang my future on."
Her dad gave a chuckle and handed her a tissue. "You're my same, little Bethany, you know that?" He reached over and gave her hair a tussle.
She struggled to compose herself and took in his living room in an attempt to distract herself. It was plain, ordinary. It didn't look lived in and could be anyone's. Just like the man in front of her could be anyone's father. Maybe even hers if she tried. If he tried. There were years where she'd longed for him to be a part of her life, but sitting here now, she knew he was less like family and more like an acquaintance. And he wasn't going to solve her problems.
"How about a cup of joe or something?" he asked.
"I'm okay." She watched him for a moment. "If you were me, what would you do?"