When the call goes to voicemail, I see there are four missed calls since last night, one of them was around the time I woke up to find him out in the living room. Was that who Nick was talking to?
I try to remember what he was saying, but it’s a bit of a blur.
“We’re just friends.” But who was Nick talking about, me or Savannah?
His words stoke a smoldering memory from three years ago, and I can’t help the churning unease in my stomach, it’s too visceral and alive to ignore.
“You knew it would be Savannah,” I say.
“Yeah, I figured.” He says it so nonchalantly, like her popping up on New Year’s, and last night, and this morning after we shared the night together, is something I should get used to.
My grip tightens around his phone. “Why is she calling you so much?” I ask, finally dropping his phone on the bed.
I hear the medicine cabinet open and shut before he answers. “I already told you, she’s having a hard time with a few things.”
His easiness in speaking about his ex-girlfriend makes me bristle. “Never mind the vagueness of that statement, don’t you think it’s weird that you guys were together, she broke it off, and yet she’s still calling you all the time?” I can’t help but wonder if whatever is between him and Savannah isn’t over.
“No, it’s complicated. It’s just how we are.”
And we’re complicated and look how we are, I don’t say.
“We didn’t break up because we don’t get along, it was because of distance. So, of course we’re still friends.”
I stand in his room, staring at the doorway, my mind and heart telling me two different things. He probably doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand how hard this is for me. But, the red flags are too glaring to dismiss just because it’s Nick.
He comes into his bedroom and clasps his hands on my shoulders with a grin. “Please don’t be weird about this, okay? We really are just friends.” He leans in for a quick peck on my cheek and tugs his shirt over his head.
I hand him his phone, wondering what his feelings for her really are, the ones deep down he doesn’t admit to. The remnants of the relationship they had that he didn’t want to end.
“Please stop looking at me like that, Bethany,” he says, finally stopping long enough to take this seriously. “I would do the same thing for Sam or Mac, and you wouldn’t get upset about that. I hope.”
“No, I wouldn’t. But you haven’t slept with Sam or Mac. They didn’t dump you like Savannah did.”
He glares at me. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” He slides his phone into his back pocket.
“I’m sorry, Nick, but it’s true. Have you stopped to ask yourself why she keeps calling you? Because it seems like she’s not over you yet.”
He shrugs. “Maybe she’s not, but why does it matter? Nothing will happen, and I can’t just ignore her. You have to understand that.”
“I understand that you don’t want to hurt her feelings Nick, and maybe she does need you, or maybe that’s why you guys need to stop talking—so she can move on. She’s going to have to eventually. Now seems like a pretty good time to me. You have to understand that, too.”
“Bethany,” he says, more irritated now. He scrubs his fingers through his damp hair. “Look, it’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just not. I need you to stop making a big deal about this, okay? I promise you, nothing will happen. We’re just friends.”
It’s a familiar story I’ve heard before, and even though I believe Nick thinks that, I have to know one thing. I follow him into the living room where he plops down on the couch. “Does she know we’re together?”
“What?” he pulls on his shoe. I don’t repeat myself because I know he heard me. “No, she doesn’t. I haven’t had time to tell her.”
Red fury consumes me. “Are you serious right now?” I bite out. My heart is racing and all I can see is Mike and Sam. All I can picture is another phone call between Savannah and Nick, turning into another and another until it turns into something more. “You’ve had how many conversations with her in the past twenty-four hours alone? In the past few days you couldn’t find a single moment to bring it up? After everything that’s happened, did you really think I would be okay with that—that there’s another girl on the side?”
Resting his elbows on his knees, he glares at me. “Are you serious? She’s not just some ‘girl on the side.’”
“Don’t I look serious?” I ask him, causing his brow to furrow deeper.
“I already told you, Bethany. I’m not Mike.” He pulls on his other shoe then stands up and brushes past me. “Stop comparing us.”
I’m not sure if it’s the fact that he isn’t even trying to see my side of it, or if I truly am worried he and Savannah might still have feelings for one another, but I head back into his room to grab my things. The more I think about the time they spend together, about how they are together—how I’ve seen them in public and how comfortable they still are together—the more convinced I am that their friendship might not be something I’m able to accept, not if he’s going to act like I’m crazy for simply wanting her to know I exist. I shove my toiletries back into my bag.
“That’s not the sort of thing that just comes up in a conversation with your ex,” Nick says more forcefully from the kitchen.
“Well, maybe it should be.” I pull my phone charger from the wall and grab my hairband. Maybe I’m overreacting and he hasn’t had time to tell her. Or, maybe on some level he doesn’t want to tell her because he’ll drive Savannah away and she’ll be gone forever and he can’t handle that. Either way, I feel sick to my stomach, and I can’t stay here and pretend that I’m okay. “I’m going to get ready at my parents’.”
“Seriously?” He stops in the doorway, anger pinching his features. “You’re that upset about it?”
I don’t bother pointing out the obvious. “I have to take Jesse to school anyway.”
“Bethany, nothing is going to happen with Savannah,” he says and steps closer. “I promise. Why aren’t you hearing me?”
“Why aren’t you hearing me? It’s not only about that,” I say and turn around to face him with my bags in hand. “I don’t want to be second anymore, Nick.”
“There we go with the Mike thing again,” he grinds out.
“I know you’re not him. But you meeting up with Savannah and talking to her at all hours of the night—her knowing nothing about me—makes me feel like a dirty secret. Maybe if you had the gnawing, rotten feeling settled in the pit of your stomach, like I do, you’d understand why I can’t simply deal with it.”
Nick looks confused and maybe a little hurt, a lot like I feel.
“I gotta go,” I tell him, and shut the door behind me. I need space before I say something I might regret.
Forty-Eight
Nick
I sit in my Explorer in front of the Fairchild’s house for a minute, collecting myself. I’m not exactly sure why I’m here, only that Bethany didn’t answer my call this morning and I didn’t see her around campus today. I figured something must’ve happened with Jesse—or, the more I think about it, I’ve screwed everything up more than I realized.
I should’ve known Savannah would be a trigger for Bethany; she’s the reason New Year’s ended with me standing outside in the cold, alone, after all. And, I’ve thought about telling Savannah about Bethany a couple times, but I haven’t wanted to hurt her, especially when she’s already feeling alone and struggling with being in Hannington Beach.
Climbing out of the car, I brace myself for whatever awaits me on the other side of the door, and I head up the walkway. I see an unfamiliar Volvo in the driveway, so I know someone’s home.
Even if it’s pathetic, I can’t go through the day not knowing where me and Bethany stand or what exactly happened. So, before I can change my mind, I knock on the front door.
There’s movement inside before it slowly cr
eaks open and who I assume is her mom is standing there, eyes red, and blonde hair pulled back out of her face. She’s attractive, if a little more haggard than I imagined.
“Can I help you?” she asks, looking me up and down. Not in a judgemental way, but curious, I think.
“Yeah, Bethany’s not here by chance, is she?”
Her eyes narrow slightly and she shakes her head. “And you are?”
“Nick,” I tell her. “I’m her—project partner, I guess.” I’m not sure what we are anymore, and it kills me.
“You don’t seem certain.”
“Yeah.” I let out a breath and run my fingers through my hair. “I’m not,” I mumble and turn to head back to my car. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Nick,” she calls, opening the door fully. Mrs. Fairchild is still in what looks like her pajamas, which surprises me. “She’s at the salon until closing.”
I nod, grateful. For the first time, I wonder what happened this morning that would leave Mrs. Fairchild’s eyes puffy and more rumpled looking than Bethany described. “Thank you.”
She clicks the door shut, and I climb back into my car.
The instant my phone rings, my heart races and I pull it from my pocket. When I see that it’s Mac, not Bethany, my heart sinks instead. “Hello?”
“Hey, can I move your maintenance appointment from next Monday to Wednesday afternoon? We have a big—”
“Yeah, sure. That’s fine.” I glance back at Bethany’s house.
“Okay . . . Why do you sound weird? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I tell her and turn the ignition. She and Sam have already said their fair share about my relationship with Bethany, I don’t want to hear any more. Especially an “I told you so.”
“Well, you’re clearly full of shit. Come on, tell me—”
“You’ve already done enough, thanks though.”
“Excuse me? What the hell is your problem?” She’s quiet a minute, and I’m not sure what to say, or if I want to say anything. “Is it Bethany?” Mac asks.
I lean my head back against the headrest. “Yeah.” The hesitation in Mac’s voice stirs up a bit more anger than I expect. “I hope you guys had fun with your jabs the other day at the beach. She would barely talk to me after we left.”
“What?” she says breathily. She’s surprised and somehow, I feel a little vindicated. “I’m so sorry. Is that what this is about?”
“No, but it doesn’t help, Mac.”
“Then . . . what is it? What’s going on?”
I run my hands over my face and laugh at myself. “I think I just fucked it up.”
Forty-Nine
Bethany
Stepping out from one of the tanning rooms, I put the spray bottle behind the desk and check the schedule for the next clients. It’s been a busy day, one wave of people after another, but I guess busy is good. For the business and for me. It saves me from dwelling on my otherwise looping thoughts about Nick, about Jesse’s morning meltdown, and playbacks of my mom’s message after I left this morning.
She sounded more distant than usual this morning, different than her rigid, frantic self while Jesse was upset. I’m not sure what’s happened since then, but she wants me to come home after work to talk. Nick wants to talk too. I know I need to talk to them both—I want to talk to Nick, so badly it’s all I can think about. I regret getting angry this morning, but I’m not sure I should. Part of me feels justified, knowing he’d be unhappy if the tables were turned and I were having late night phone calls with an ex-boyfriend.
Another part of me keeps saying that this is Nick we’re talking about, and he would never purposely hurt me. Then, darker shadows of the past remind me that the hurt sustained between us over the years started out as unintentional, too. They were misunderstandings that spiraled. What’s to stop any of that from happening again?
Feeling a bit toasty in the warm spring air, I pull my hair up into a ponytail in preparation for the next round of clients. Unbidden, my gaze shifts outside to Schmitty’s deli. I want more than anything for things between Nick and I to work, but until he decides to tell Savannah about us, I’m not sure I can begin to accept their friendship.
“Thank you,” one of our regulars says as she hurries out from one of the rooms. She tosses her towel on top of the overflowing pile. “I have to pick the kid up from school.” She says it like she’s going to be late, then she waves. “See you next week.”
“See ya next time, Brit.”
Laundry, a quick rub down of the rooms, cashing out, reminder calls to a select few clients for tomorrow . . . I have plenty to do before we close up shop in a few hours, and I really hope Trent is doing a decent job with the inventory in the back so that I don’t have to manage that later too.
I wipe down the counter around the register and try not to think too much about Jesse’s morning spiral. It happens sometimes if he didn’t sleep well or maybe he had bad dreams. And then my mom didn’t have any of his favorite shirts washed for him to wear. I just try not to assume any of it’s because I’m not staying at home right now. Jesse knew I’d be picking him up—he knew he’d see me, and our morning routine would be mostly the same. I try to tell myself that, just because I don’t live there anymore doesn’t mean his breakdowns will be a regular occurrence. I hope.
I try to think about the barn project, instead. I’m happy with how it’s turning out, and it’s projects like these, albeit generally on a smaller scale, that remind me that as much as I don’t want to be an interior designer, I do enjoy it sometimes too. I smile as I realize how close we are to the end of the year and after graduation, I’ll never have to see Professor Murray again.
The doorbell dings, and when I look up, I’m astonished. Savannah’s standing in the doorway. Her red hair hangs down in waves around her shoulders, and she stares at me, her eyes not leaving mine as she steps closer.
“Uh, hi,” she says awkwardly.
I straighten and step closer to the counter, grabbing hold of it to steady myself. I doubt she’s here to schedule her first tanning appointment. I have no idea what’s transpired between her and Nick in the past five hours. All I can do is wonder if she’s here to tell me she wants Nick back.
Whatever the reason, the fact that she’s here at all makes my stomach roll. “Hi . . .” I finally manage. It’s an uncertain sound. I’m not even sure it comes out as a word.
“So, this is weird, so I’ll get right to it,” she says, splaying her palms on the counter. “Nick told me that you guys are together.” She pauses and her eyes don’t leave mine, like she’s still processing the news. “I was surprised, really surprised, actually, but Nick made it very clear that he wants things to work with you, so I needed to know, whatever that meant for our friendship.”
My heart flutters a little at her words, and the tension of the day that’s been coiled in my shoulders and neck slackens a little.
“He mentioned our friendship has caused some problems, so—I want you to know that, even though this is strange to say to you, I want Nick to be happy. Right now, I guess that means with you. I’d still like to be his friend, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m a threat on top of it—I don’t want to be the reason he’s unhappy.” Savannah’s dark blue eyes are piercing and genuine, even if her tone is a little bitter.
Tentatively, I nod. Her admission is surprising, however she may truly feel about it, and it’s a gesture I didn’t expect.
Savannah purses her lips. Looks around the room then down at her hands before she looks at me again. “Okay then . . . I’m gonna go.” Her head bobs awkwardly and then she turns to leave.
“Savannah?”
She glances over her shoulder.
“Thanks.”
She lifts a delicate eyebrow and gives me a once-over. “Don’t fuck it up,” she says soberly. A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, then she walks out the door, slides her sunglasses on, and she disappears from sight.
I’m still staring out t
he window, mind reeling, when Anna Marie comes in from the back room with a box in her hands. “Who was that?”
“Savannah,” I breathe.
I look at Anna and her mouth is gaping. “As in the other woman?”
I glower at her. “You don’t have to say it like that, but yes.”
“What the hell did she want?”
Smiling to myself, I turn to face her. “To call a truce.”
Anna’s surprise mimics what I’m feeling, even if I’m still processing it all. “So, are you going to call Nick, then?”
“Of course, but not now with you lurking.” I slide the scissors to her across the counter. “When did you get here? I thought you were running errands for your mom?”
“I just got back—just in time, too. Remind me never to let Trent do inventory again,” she says as a tangent, then shakes her head. “But that’s not important right now. You need to call Nick. You’re killing me right now.”
“My life isn’t some soap opera for your viewing pleasure, you know,” I remind her, and tilt my head. “I text messaged him earlier; he knows I’ll call him on my break.”
“Well, whatever you do, you should make sure he’s in your corner before you go into the snake pit after work.”
“I will. Shouldn’t you be more worried about what you’re going to wear for your date tonight?” I ask her, and she blanches.
“How do you know about that?”
“The walls at your apartment are paper thin,” I remind her.
Her eyes widen. “Good to know.”
Laughing, I pick up the laundry basket. “I’m going to put a load in. Stay up front for a sec, would you?”
Anna nods and pulls her phone from her back pocket. No doubt texting Bobby a quick warning about tonight. “Isn’t having a roommate so fun?” I ask over my shoulder, and she grumbles something inaudible.
Told You So_A Saratoga Falls Love Story Page 25