“How do you mean?”
“Well, suppose Mr. Sheffield steps out on a limb and confesses his love for Fran. What if she says she doesn’t feel the same? Suppose she laughs in his face, or calls him ridiculous, or even worse, is so mortified, she wants to end their relationship altogether. Then he’s lost everything.”
“Yeah, I suppose, but what if she says she loves him too? Then he has gained everything.” She gestures with her fingertips in the direction of the TV.
“But if he truly loves her, although it may be painful to see her and not be able to have her, it would be more painful if he had to live without her. If he had to miss her laugh, her smile, her intelligence, her beauty… if those things were gone from his life every day, he might be so bereft that he couldn’t take it. That may be what he’s thinking—why he hasn’t been willing to take the chance.” She is furrowing her eyebrows at me, but I keep going. “Still, one day, he will take the chance. One day, the longing will be too much, and he’ll tell her he can’t live without her eye rolls, and her freckles, and how she steals the pepperoni from his slice of pizza. He’ll tell her he loves her, and hope she feels the same.”
“Hey Noah?”
“Hmm?”
“The Nanny is a sitcom. It’s like twenty-three minutes long. I don’t think Mr. Sheffield’s character motivation is quite that deep.” She winks at me and chuckles.
Chapter 7
It’s about four in the afternoon when I get a call from Cassandra. The lease is up on my place in a couple of months. The timing should be perfect. When I realized my feelings for Elle. It was one of the things that just clicked into place.
A house. A family. Elle. It all goes together, and buying a house I know she’ll like is just one piece of the puzzle.
Cassandra says she can meet me to do a final walk-through on the place in about half an hour. They accepted my offer, and she wants me to walk through once more before we schedule the closing date. Holding my cell between my ear and shoulder, I undock my laptop and put it into my bag. I flip off the light and click the lock on my office door.
“Okay Cassandra, I’m heading that way. I’ll be there in about twenty.” I pull the door shut. I look through Elle’s door and wave at her with the hand that holds my keys as I walk by.
She looks perplexed. It’s not quite five o’clock, and I usually don’t leave early, so I can understand her confusion. She doesn’t need to know about this yet. I still have to sign the paperwork, and if it all goes through, I can hardly wait to surprise her.
This house is the perfect place for us to start a life together. Really together. It has three bedrooms and a big, fenced in yard, so we could get a dog. We both love dogs, and have always talked about getting one if either of us had more room. There’s a nice, big kitchen, and it’s close to the place I’m in now and Elle’s building, so our commute wouldn’t change much. It’s the perfect house. I’m hoping I can get the perfect girl to join me there.
When I pull up to the brick home with the Tudor façade, a flutter of butterflies hits my stomach. It’s all so real, now. Even the house itself, with the stone archway that leads to the front door, and the hue oak tree in the front yard, feel so solid—so permanent. It’s a serious step, but for Elle, it’s one worth taking.
Cassandra pulls up a moment later and we walk inside.
“I could hardly wait to call you.” She shrugs up her shoulders and smiles brightly. “I can hardly believe they didn’t counter! You’re getting a steal here, Noah. I hope you realize how lucky you are.”
“Oh, believe me,” I look around at the living room with the large, multi-paned glass window and the stunning hardwood floors and smile. “I know exactly how lucky I am.”
We do a walk-through of the house and I ask a few questions about what’s being covered by the seller, and what’s my responsibility. I’ve been tucking some money away, and I want to be sure to have enough left over to get enough furniture to fill this place up and make it a real home for Elle and me.
“These appliances all stay,” Cassandra gestures to the stainless steel range and oversized refrigerator. “Do you cook?”
“A little. We like to eat, though, so I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” I smirk.
“So, you’re moving in with…a girlfriend, I take it?” Cassandra bats her eyelashes as if she’s bracing for whatever my reply might be.
“Kind of…I’m hoping things get more serious pretty soon.” I draw my fingers along the granite countertop and think about the bags of gummy bears I dropped on my own kitchen counter the night Elle came home from Germany.
“Well, congratulations! Let’s take a look at the rest of the space.” Cassandra walks me through two guest bedrooms, a guest bathroom, and takes me back to the master suite.
“This is a conversion, of course. Rooms are usually small in these older homes, so when they did the remodel, they put two rooms together for the master suite. Take a look at how much space you have now, though.” She opens the door and I step into the walk-in closet.
I think about the section at the back of Elle’s closet with all the clothes she has accumulated over the years from family trips. The western shirt from the dude ranch a few years ago, the Hawaiian dress from the trip to Maui…then my mind goes back to the German getup she had on in that photo she showed me. Once we’re together, I’m going to try with everything I’ve got to get her to model that thing for me.
In the bathroom, I notice there’s an oversized shower, big enough for two, that sends my mind to places that are more dirty than a shower ought to incite. There’s also a tub, which I think Elle will enjoy soaking in after a long, hard day at the office.
“So, what do you think?” Cassandra bounces the folder containing the contract on the kitchen counter when we’ve finished our tour.
“I think…we’ll be really happy here.” I blow out a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”
I call Elle when I get home to see if she wants to come over, but she doesn’t answer. A worry starts in the back of my head and makes its way down to my heart.
What if she has a date?
She always tells me when she has a date, though, so I convince myself she has fallen asleep on the sofa instead. That’s a much safer idea. One my heart can handle.
I get changed for bed, and kick back, checking social media. I’m friends with Elle’s brother Andy on Instagram, and her dad on Facebook. Andy is a good guy. He’s funny, like her, and really clever. It must run in the family. He and Elle fight like cats and dogs, but it’s all surface. They love each other, that Bailey family, and they’re really tight.
I wish my family were as close. My parents love my brother and me, of course. We just don’t have quite the same sort of connection that the Baileys have. My brother Peter is three years younger than me. Growing up, my parents were always focused on him and what effect all our moving around might have. I think they just assumed, because I’m basically a pretty happy guy, that I was okay. Peter didn’t hide how much moving so often affected him. Maybe if I’d been more open about it, we’d be closer than we are.
I decide to message Andy to commiserate on the state of our alma mater’s basketball program with the coach recently getting canned. Elle, Peter, Andy and me all went to the same college, though only Peter and Elle were there at the same time. Thank god for that, because the only reason I met Elle is because her friend was dating Peter.
Andy and I exchange messages, speculating on the new coach.
ANDY: hey I nearly forgot. dad is screening the vacay video at Sunday night dinner. Wanna come?
My eyes widen, my lips turning up into a grin.
ME: Wouldn’t miss it. Thanks.
ANDY: I’ll let mom know. She’ll be stoked. She loves when you come over so she can try to fatten you up.
ME: I’m glad. I like your family.
ANDY: I think you like my sister
My heart starts pounding in my chest. I hesitate a few seconds, then reply:
&nbs
p; ME: Of course I do
ANDY: Yeah but…why do I get the feeling you’re more than just buds?
Jesus. Can everybody see it except Elle?
ME: We are just friends
ANDY: Your choice or hers?
ME: um…
ANDY: I see the way you look at each other. She was a total nut case in Germany not talking to you for two weeks.
The beating in my heart intensifies and I can’t keep the stupid grin off my face.
ME: Really?!
ANDY: Dude. Be cool.
I chew on my lip, thinking. Can Andy be trusted with my secret? Before I can stop myself, I take the plunge.
ME: Ok so what do you think? She has me seriously friend-zoned. Think I can make the move?
ANDY: She would freak out…probably not know what to do
Damn. That’s exactly what I was afraid of.
Before I can respond, another notification pops up.
ANDY: You got it bad, huh?
ME: Afraid so.
ANDY: I’m pretty sure she likes you. Her worst fear is losing you to some other girl. Her view of herself is kinda messed up. She never sees herself as first pick…make her feel pretty and safe. You might be able to make the leap.
I consider this, and thank him for the advice. I’m about to put my phone down when he adds:
ANDY: Don’t fuck up, Noah. I like you. Hate to have to hurt you.
ME: Noted. I’ll be good to her, I promise. I’ll do things right.
ANDY: Fair enough. See you Sunday.
And it’s true. I want to do things right.
After texting with Andy, I feel better than I have in a while. Now, I can’t wait for Sunday dinner with the Baileys. I love seeing my girl with her family. She complains that her parents are over the top and her brother’s a pain, but I know what’s really going on. They always have each other’s backs. They have fun together, as a family, doing the most basic stuff. I won’t even lie—it’s the kind of family dynamic you see in all those nineties sitcoms we watch, and it’s one I’m pretty jealous of. Besides, I know Elle’s mom loves me. She asks her all the time why we aren’t dating, and I’m hoping she keeps that up. Maybe if she keeps suggesting to Elle that we seem like a couple, she’ll realize that we really already are.
After I chat with Andy and confirm that I’m coming to dinner on Sunday, I sit down at my laptop and start making plans for Las Vegas. I think about our wager, and I can’t help but wonder what Elle put down as her prize. Not that it matters. I’m going to win this bet.
Jessica, the assistant at the office, made the arrangements for our trip. I’m paying for a couple of extra nights myself, though, and a car to drive out to the Grand Canyon. I decide to book a convertible. I think it will be fun to drive back with the top down, looking up at the stars. Maybe Elle and I will be holding hands when we do. Maybe, by then, we’ll finally be together.
We’re going to go to Vegas, and we’re going to have a blast, because we always do. While we’re there, Elle is going to lose the bet and I’m going to collect my prize. Just the thought of her soft lips on mine, tasting her and feeling her, soft and warm, as I wrap my arms around her makes my body react.
I have it bad. I’m so crazy about her that I can’t think of anything but how I can make her see we belong together. Sure, she’s smart, funny, and gorgeous. More than that, though, she’s loyal and kind. I know that, no matter what, she’s always got my back just like I’ve always got hers. What we have runs deep. We’re always there for each other.
If I can win this bet…if I can get her to kiss me, I’ll be able to tell if she feels the same way.
I try my best to put her out of my mind considering our bet, and where thoughts of her usually lead. I fall asleep watching an old episode of Friends. In my dreams, I’m wearing one of those bowling shirts Chandler always wore. Elle is my Monica, an apron over her cropped top and bell bottom jeans. She throws her arms around my neck and says, “I’m so glad you saved the restaurant! I never could’ve gotten out of that mess without you. I knew you’d do it!”
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” I reply, sweeping her up into my arms.
“Oh Noah,” she says, and just as her lips are about to meet mine in the dream, my alarm goes off.
Chapter 8
It’s Sunday evening, and I’m on my way to Bailey family dinner.
I spent most of Saturday enjoying a spa day my Mom got me as a Christmas gift. It included a facial, most of which I giggled through, a mani-pedi, ditto, plus a haircut. Noah didn’t text me on Saturday evening to hang out, and I didn’t have a date, so I just chilled at home, trying not to wonder what he was up to without me.
When I was little, I always felt a little awkward, a little out of place. I remember once in the sixth grade I had become lunch table buddies with two girls named Hannah. Hannah H and Hannah W. I was excited because they were both blonde and perky and perfect, and it was the first time I’d been friends with popular girls. We traded fruit roll-ups and Cheetos from our lunches, and talked about boys we liked. I was thrilled when they asked me to Hannah H’s boy-girl birthday party, and I confessed to liking a boy named Ben who had longish hair and was cute like Shawn from Boy Meets World.
“Oh, well…,” Hannah W looked from Hannah H back to me, “Maybe you shouldn’t come then. I’m not trying to be mean, but he told me he doesn’t like redheads.”
I had never been so deflated in my young life. The night of the party, I spent the whole evening imagining all the fun things everyone was doing without me. Just like that, my brief encounter with semi-popularity ended as quickly and inexplicably as it had begun. I was the odd girl out, and always would be.
As I sit, cross-legged on the sofa, stuffing my face with Cheetos puffs, I am trying desperately to put Noah’s weird behavior lately out of my mind. He left work early on Friday without telling me. I know what he’s doing virtually every minute of every day, and yet, he left early without telling me what he was doing. Even worse, I swear I heard him say “Cassandra” on the phone.
Who the fuck is Cassandra?
The idea that he has met someone creeps back in. The thought that he has met someone and hasn’t given me the first detail makes me think he wants to keep it to himself. That could mean it’s serious. The thought makes my stomach churn.
I mindlessly touch the spot below my lip where Noah’s tongue grazed my skin the night I got back from Germany. One inch. Maybe two. That’s all I would have had to lean forward to crush my mouth against his. To kiss him and tell him the big thing that I realized that weekend Nathan dumped me. The thing that has made me say no to every guy who has asked me out since.
I’m in love with Noah.
It had hit me like a runaway truck careening down the side of a mountain. I had been curled up in his arms on the sofa, like I had been a million times before, searching for answers as to why Nathan had dumped me so abruptly. He was good-looking—a model, in fact. I had been surprised when he’d asked me out. Still, I didn’t understand why he’d wanted to date me in the first place if he was just going to treat me like crap.
So, I asked Noah what he thought. He’s my best friend. I knew I could count on him for the truth.
“Am I…ugly?” I asked him with my head buried in his shoulder, hoping he could explain some of Nathan’s final words. Plain. Boring. Perhaps worst of all, starfish.
I felt his whole body tense up. He moved his hands to the sides of my face and turned me so I had to look him right in the eye.
“Elle,” his voice was soft, his eyes darting back and forth from my eyes to my mouth. “You are beautiful. I mean, fucking unbelievably gorgeous. You’re funny, you’re smart, and you’re always fun to be around. You put on this sort of surly exterior, but I know what’s in your heart. Your love for the people you care about is boundless.”
He stroked my cheek softly and rested his forehead against mine. “Anyone who can’t see how amazing you are is an idiot. I mean…anyone who wouldn’
t want you needs to have his head examined.”
I felt his brows furrow against my forehead, then he pulled me close against his chest and kissed the top of my head. “You’re not ugly, Elle. You’re perfect,” he whispered quietly.
That was the moment. That was the moment my heart began to rattle in my chest like a caged animal wanting to escape and cling to him. My pulse raced and my skin grew hot. That moment was the moment I knew it wasn’t just a crush. I realized that I am in love with my best friend and probably have been for a while.
The next moment, when the reality of my predicament set in, is the one in which I knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
I drive the ten miles from my apartment in NoDa to my parents’ house in Dilworth. I pull up to the 1930s brick home that my family has lived in my whole life. The rosebushes Dad and I planted when I was seven have taken over most of the front flowerbed. When I pull in, Andy’s hand-me-down, blue-green minivan, the one we affectionately refer to as the Mystery Machine, is blocking the driveway, so I pull onto the street.
I have a box under my arm from Tizzert’s bakery when I let myself in the front door.
“I’m here,” I call out.
“In here, Ariel!” My mother calls from the kitchen.
I walk into the kitchen and put the cake box on the counter before leaning up to deposit a kiss on my Mom’s cheek.
“So glad you made it, darling!” My mother looks perfect as ever, her pale strawberry blonde curls cascading perfectly over her shoulders, offset by the fitted, pale-blue sweater that accents her perfect figure. Perfectly.
“You look lovely, darling. That dress is to die for!”
“Thanks, Mom.” I smooth the pleats of my dress instinctively.
“I’d like that for myself,” she tugs at the strap and rubs the floral fabric between her fingers. Seriously, where did you find it?”
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 150