Speaking of Taylor, where is she? She said she’d be in early today. I remain at the window dusting off the glass shelves where we showcase our best products when a blue sedan pulls over in front of the shop. The passenger seat door opens and Taylor gets out.
She’s dressed in a short halter dress that isn’t her style at all or even appropriate for a day at work. I watch her wrap a thin shawl around her shoulders and then the driver reaches over to close the door.
I realize the driver is Cody, Taylor’s first love and my close friend from our high school days. I haven’t seen Cody in ages – probably since Jack and I broke up but Jack and Cody have remained friends. It would be perfectly natural if I stepped out to say hello but by the time I make up my mind, he has driven away.
“Hey,” I say as Taylor walks through the door. “Was that Cody?”
“What?” she says, casually. She’s forgetting I know her too well.
I roll my eyes at her. “Was that Cody in the driver’s seat?”
“Oh, yeah. He gave me a lift.”
“That was nice of him,” I say and follow her to the back of the store.
She takes a look in the small mirror on the wall with her sunglasses still on and pulls her long dark blonde hair behind her ears.
“Will you take those off?” I say, pointing at the dark glasses.
“I don’t think I should. I look dreadful.”
“You can’t look worse than me.”
She turns her big sun-glassed eyes at me. “What happened to you?”
“Stayed home. Let’s talk about you, missy.”
She waves away my suggestion. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Oh, c’mon! Are you seeing Cody?”
“You’ve got quite the imagination,” she says, removing her sunglasses.
“Ouch,” I say, taking in the redness and the dark circles under her eyes. “You’re right, Taylor. You win.”
“I told you.”
“Will you tell me what’s going on now?”
“Cody is happy. That’s all.” She plays with a strand of her hair. “He’s getting married.”
“Who is?”
“You know who,” she says, sounding a bit exasperated.
It’s not a good day for either of us. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Why on Earth are you sorry?” Her fingers keep busy stacking up piles of hand towels and wash cloths, all of which we use for relaxing facials on customers. I’ve yet to see how those are performed. Taylor works fast without thinking and knocks over the pile of hand cloths.
“Taylor, relax.”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“You have to be honest to yourself. Do you still love him?”
Taylor picks up her purse and takes out her keys. “I have to go. I’m supposed to meet with a supplier about a new product today.”
Now I know she’s hiding something. “Stop running away, Taylor.”
She plays with her keys for a while. “You can’t understand,” she says. “You had your chance with Jack. You got to figure out first hand he wasn’t the one for you. I never had that with Cody. We were never really together and yet we kept having all those fights. He still gets under my skin. We never had a chance to see what would happen if we stopped fighting.”
“If you really wanted him, you would have made it happen,” I say. “He’s a great guy, but I hated how he made you constantly miserable, you know?”
“Well, too late for that.”
I notice a certain look in her eye. “What have you done, Taylor? Did you have sex with him knowing he’s engaged to be married?”
“For all the good it did me.”
My jaw drops. I can feel it hanging open.
“What?” Taylor says guiltily. “It wasn’t planned.”
“Not planned,” I say. “What a relief. If it was planned it would have been wrong, but now everything is all good in the hood.”
“No one’s perfect,” she says. “Save me the sarcasm.”
“You came to work straight from his bed?”
“Fine, Miss Nosy,” Taylor says. “I’ll tell you what happened if and only if you spare me your judgment.”
“Spared. Now spill.”
“Okay, we’ve been seeing each other,” she says.
“Been?” I say aghast.
“You said you would spare your judgment.”
“Right,” I agree. “I’m totally doing that. Starting now.”
“You better,” she says. “Well, yes, we’ve been seeing each other. It’s been, I don’t know, three months maybe. He asked me to keep it a secret until we knew it was the real thing. At first I didn’t know there was anyone else, I swear. And the engagement didn’t happen until last week.”
I can’t believe my ears. It’s hard not to state the obvious – that he’s an asshole, leading two women on, taking advantage of Taylor’s adolescent crush on him. I don’t care how hot he is – and hot he is, or at least he was when I last saw him, a couple years back.
“No judgment,” I say, brimming with anger. She knows my mind.
“So I’m just a stupid slut?” Taylor says sadly. “Is that it?”
I shake my head. “He has a hold on you, honey. I understand, but you’re everything a man could want. You don’t need to pine after a confused ex fling who’s not available. You’re gorgeous and smart. You can have any man.”
“Apparently not any,” she says with a defeated grin on her face. Then her expression changes to that of mockery in an instant. “You know what? Fuck him. Maybe I should go after your friend Nate from the shelter.”
I let her comment pass without a response. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. And she doesn’t mean a word of it. She’s completely hung up on Cody and I will have to help her get through it.
“Quite a nice pair we make,” I say. “I got drunk on my own last night. Maybe I’m turning into an alcoholic.”
“What you need is a good fucking session. How long has it been?”
“None of your fucking business. Now let’s go work before Ashley blows the place up.”
“There is that side to her,” Taylor says, hiding a grin.
“Aha, I knew it! She annoys you too!”
“You know nothing. It was a bad joke.”
It’s all a bad joke, I think as I follow her to the counter. Boys suck.
*
I take a deep breath before I enter the main office at the animal shelter. Denise and Luke are sitting on opposite sides of a desk occupied with updating the archives, something we do once a month.
“What’s up, pretty?” Luke says. Pretty is what he always calls me. But then again, he calls just about everyone pretty if they come with a vagina and a set of legs. Luke is all bark and no bite, completely harmless, but most women can’t see past the mask he’s putting on and find his constant compliments repulsive, not realizing it’s a defense. Truth be told he’s just lonely, broke and nearing forty.
“Denise, I’m so sorry about the other night,” I say.
She waves with her left hand that there’s no need for apologies. “Nate filled me in, don’t worry about it.”
“He did?” I say breathlessly. I wonder what it is that he told her but I can’t exactly ask. I’m sure I’m supposed to know.
“Yeah. Go check on room eight, will you? We had a couple newbies today that need some love.”
“I’m on it.” I take a couple steps but then I pause and turn back. I try to sound totally casual when I ask if Nate’s here.
Denise looks at me surprised. “Of course not. He took the week off to go out of town. He made it sound like you knew about it.”
“Right. That’s right.”
I shut the door behind me when I enter room eight to meet the new arrivals: a tiny tabby kitten with a runny nose and a funny looking white poodle. We three belong together. The forgotten and unloved. I want to make them happy. I will tickle their bellies and feed them, pamper the poor honeys, whisper sweet
nothings into their ears hoping my love reaches their abandoned souls.
Sometimes I think I work with rescue animals because I’m a rescue human. I am alone and it’s been so long since anyone made me purr or whispered words meant for my soul.
When I get home, I put my feet up on the coffee table and rub my temples. I feel so bad I could cry. My head hurts, I’m hungry and Nate has abandoned town for a whole week without a single word to explain last night.
It’s my fault for even letting myself believe.
Chapter 8
It’s Friday night and everybody’s gone for the day. Only the sleeping animals, and the cleaning lady are left in the building with me. It’s just after ten when I decide to go home. Nate has been gone for a week and despite my efforts not to care, I’ve secretly hoped he would show up for work today. That’s the kind of fool I am. The kind that never learns.
My home feels cold and unwelcoming. There are six lonely days left before Thanksgiving. The various pressure systems above LA and its surrounding valleys have been trying to convince us real winter is on its way for a change. The cold is bitter outside and, since I forgot to turn on the heat when I left this morning, it’s not that much better inside.
I try to get warm in my checkered flannel pajamas and plop down in front of the TV, waiting for my canned soup to heat up along with the apartment. I catch an ancient episode of Friends and freeze it to go check on the soup.
Hot food on the couch watching an old show might be the perfect way to disappear and clean my mind of weighty thoughts. I turn off the burner, remove the pan from the stove and reach for a bowl. I’m about to pour the hot soup when there’s a knock on my front door.
I wait thinking the bitter wind might have just blown something against the door. I don’t expect anyone, certainly not this late at night. I start pouring the soup in the bowl, but then there’s a second knock, harder and more persistent than the first.
A chill pulses through my chest.
“Jack?” I whisper, remembering the doorbell isn’t working. I wouldn’t put it past him to use his key again.
He hasn’t contacted me since our last phone call and, if I remember well, we scheduled his new appointment for the week after Thanksgiving. If it’s him, I’ll have to give him a piece of my mind about showing up unexpectedly. We need to set some boundaries or our arrangement won’t work.
I unlatch the chain and pull the door halfway open. I move my lips to say something to the man standing at my front step but no words come out.
It takes me a few seconds to recognize Nate. “Can I come in?” he says with an innocent grin on his healing face.
I say nothing. I just stare. I guess I’m shocked. This is Nate and yet it isn’t.
The man standing in front of me is close-shaven with short dark brown hair and the most handsome, perfectly symmetric face I have seen in my life – and that includes celebrities and all the men who are supposed to be drop dead gorgeous. There are still traces of the bruising on the left side of his face but, if anything, they make him look sexier and more mysterious.
His lean muscles bulge under his tight T-shirt and jeans. What I only had a glimpse of a few days ago is now in full display. I am tempted to ask if he’s been away at some secret spa founded and run by aliens, or possibly wizards, because his transformation is beyond the realm of human possibilities.
All hyperbole aside, it’s obvious he’s done a pretty good job at downplaying his looks the whole time I’ve known him, keeping his long hair unwashed and all over his face, choosing unflattering clothes and never shaving – almost as if his looks embarrassed him.
Come to think of it, he went so far as to stoop a bit when walking. Now he’s standing straight and tall and confident. I wonder if he’s in witness protection or maybe like a secret agent. I don’t tell him any of this as I can’t utter a single word. The change is so drastic, it takes my breath away.
I swallow hard, hoping my thoughts aren’t completely apparent to him, when I feel a burning sensation on my right hand. I look down to realize I’m clutching onto the hot soup bowl.
“God dammit,” I say, secretly relieved that I finally have found something to say. “You made me burn my hand.”
There’s bafflement on his face as I turn away to put the bowl on the kitchen table. He follows me closing the door behind him.
A million thoughts and possible scenarios race through my head as I try to figure out why he’s come here looking so incredibly irresistible. He should have given me some warning because this isn’t fair to me. I don’t consider myself to be a shallow person but, good lord, he’s so fine.
“I hope you’re happy,” I snap at him as I run cool water over my hand.
“I did that?” he says, seemingly confused. I’m willing to bet good money this wasn’t the reaction he anticipated.
What reaction was he after, anyway? Did he come here looking his radiant best to render me speechless? Is he trying to impress me? Does he want to ask for money, or shelter, or both? Or is he trying to humiliate me? Show me he could have any woman he wants anytime and I was a fool not to throw myself at his feet when he kissed me?
“I burned my hand,” I say at last, looking at the bright red mark on my right palm.
“That looks bad, let me take a look.”
Nate grabs my hand before I can tell him there’s no need for his concern. He studies my palm with a furrowed brow.
“What’s the verdict?” I say, hoping the flush on my cheeks is not nearly as bright as it feels.
“Well, you’ll survive.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
He pulls me back to the sink and puts my hand under the cold running water again. “It’s superficial,” he says.
Like me. I can’t help it. I keep having the wrong thoughts. The touch of his skin on mine makes my insides shudder. I pull my hand away before the contact proves to be too much.
“Won’t you even ask me where I’ve been?” he says as I wrap a clean kitchen towel around my hand.
“I couldn’t care less,” I say quietly.
“It was wrong to just disappear,” he says, staring intensely. “You need to leave that hand under the water for at least ten minutes.” He removes the towel to return my hand under the water and I’m not sure if I want to kiss or bite his hypnotic blue eyes.
“What I would like to know is what you’re doing here on a Friday night?”
“I came straight from the airport,” he says. “To see you.”
From the airport? I don’t care where he went or why. I’ll keep repeating that until I believe it.
“Well, that was a wasted trip.” I can’t believe the words that come out of my mouth. “So now that you’ve seen me, please just go.”
“Hear me out,” he says.
I exhale and pull my hand from him and the water. “Oh, goody, men and their bullshit words. Let me pull up a chair and watch all doe-eyed for you.”
“I did not mean to stand you up like that,” he says. “I’ve never regretted anything more in my life.”
“Maybe we can do without the exaggerations, Nate.”
“Nathan.”
“What?”
“Call me Nathan.”
“Why?”
“Why? It’s my name.”
Whatever. I’ve known him for more than half a year and he never once mentioned that he didn’t want to be called Nate. I’m growing more and more suspicious of his whole line of crap.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me why now,” I say.
His smoldering blue eyes go darker. “Actually, I can’t tell you why other than it was beyond my control.”
“Beyond your control? What could have possibly happened between the time we left the library and dinner time?”
He taps his fingers on the table as if keeping a beat, again and again, before he talks. “Can we sit in the living room?”
“You’re such a drama queen. Do we really have to be seated?”
The grin returns on his lips, making him even hotter. “I would prefer it, yes, if you don’t mind.”
I lead him the few feet to the living room. “I should tell you that I do not like surprises, good or bad.”
“It won’t be that kind of surprise.”
I should tell him that he’s a walking surprise but manage to refrain. I sit. He joins me on the couch. “Okay, I’m listening,” I say, painfully aware that I’m wearing old flannel pajamas and wool socks.
“A close friend of mine died,” he says.
Any words I might have disappear before they pass my lips. I reach out and touch his hand. “I’m sorry,” I manage to mumble. “You have my sympathies. I’ve been so judgmental and unfair.”
“No, no,” he hurries to correct me. “My friend died quite some time ago. It’s not recent. You have nothing to apologize for.”
Now I’m lost again. It’s probably best to wait for him to finish because at this point I have no idea where he’s going with this and I’d hate to put my foot in my mouth again.
“What I’m getting at is that his death caused me to take a long, hard look at myself and I didn’t like what I saw. Not one bit. I tried to change, to become useful to others. Maybe now I’m finally ready to move on.”
“Why now?” I ask cautiously.
“I’m ready to start living again.” He says this in a low voice, barely audible. Some things hurt too much to be said out loud but the same is true for things we make up. I have no idea where to place his statement.
“I’d be lying if I said I know what you’re talking about,” I say.
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, Grace. Some day, I might be able to let you in on my big secrets,” he says with a wink.
Suddenly I feel quite uncomfortable with his semi-revelations. I know nothing about this new Nathan. I can’t connect with him on any level. His humor, his quiet stability, his cynicism, all those qualities I’ve come to rely upon as part of him, they all seem off somehow.
“You know how I said I don’t like surprises? I don’t like mysteries either,” I tell him. “Not that you owe me any explanations. Honestly, you don’t. You missed an impromptu work related dinner. Big deal!”
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