by Cassie Cross
I chance a glance over at him, worried that he’s laughing too. But he’s not. He looks like he wants to kick Ben’s ass actually.
“So, she was just hanging there from the bottom of this tire swing, screaming,” Ben continues.
“And you two assholes were laughing, just like you are now,” I say, trying not to sound annoyed. I figure it’s better for me to finish this story for the sake of my own sanity. “I finally let go and dropped down into this disgusting water that was full of eels. They all circled around me like they were guarding the entrance to hell.” I shiver, wanting to throw up at the memory of the slimy feeling of them slithering across my legs. So disgusting.
“The entrance to hell?” Nate says, finally cracking a smile.
“Yes,” I reply, nodding. “If there’s a hell, the gates to it are guarded by eels, I’m sure of it.” I rub my arms with my hands, trying to warm myself. I should be warm enough with all the anger and embarrassment coursing through my veins, but I’m not.
Nate sits forward and unbuttons the long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing over a tee, then he slips the shirt over my shoulders.
“Won’t you be cold?” I ask.
He grins and shakes my head. “Nah.”
“Thank you,” I reply. The shirt smells like him; that clean, comforting scent that I remember from our night together in Dallas. It takes everything I have in me not to bury my face in the collar and breathe deeply. “I guess the moral of the story is that A, I need some new friends. And B, I’m never getting into water where I can’t see my feet ever again.”
Nate’s fingers brush along the cuff of his shirt that I’m wearing. “You did yesterday.” My eyes meet his and he gives me a soft smile.
“Yeah, I guess I did.” I’m surprised I didn’t realize that before now.
He leans in so close to me that I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. “When you’re around me, I think you’ll wind up doing a lot of things that you thought you never would.”
I’m not quite sure why, but I have a feeling that he’s right.
“I’M NOT sure how I feel about this,” I say as a very patient hairdresser named Josephine smooths a few strands of Gabby’s hair back into the most simple, elegant updo that I’ve ever seen. “I think maybe you need a great big flower right here.” I point at the side of Gabby’s head and she swats my hand away, smiling.
“Be serious, Callie. What do you think?” Gabby asks, looking up at me hopefully.
“I think that if I had every hairstyle in the world to choose for you to wear on your wedding day, I’d choose this one.” I gently put my hand on her shoulder, and she reaches up and gives it a squeeze.
“This is perfect, Josephine,” Gabby says, turning her head to admire herself in the mirror.
“It’ll look so elegant with the bodice of your dress.” Amy is standing behind Gabby, smiling at her reflection.
Gabby attempts a smile in return, but it’s a sad one that doesn’t quite stick. I recognize that look in her eyes; I’ve seen it a hundred times over the course of the past few years. As a mother, Amy must recognize it too, because she takes Josephine aside to finalize arrangements for the wedding prep on Saturday morning. I’m careful not to comfort Gabby while someone else is in the room, because I know how she feels about people making a fuss over her. But I want so badly to hug her, to show her so much love that she can’t possibly feel any of the pain. I want to guard her against unpleasant thoughts and build a wall around her so tall that no bittersweet memories can find their way in. Only happiness and love.
As if Gabby can sense that I want to hug her, she shakes her head and grabs a tissue off of the vanity as she stands up. She’s very careful to avoid looking me in the eye, and I wonder if it’s because she thinks she’ll cry if she does. Whatever makes things easier for her, that’s what I want to do.
“Updo for the bride and curls for the bridesmaids,” Josephine says, confirming our hairstyles with Amy as she reads off of the notepad she’s holding. “I’ll be here at eight sharp.”
Amy looks back at me and Gabby, understanding that we need a few minutes alone together. “I’ll walk you out,” she says, following Josephine through the door of the guest room that she’s designated for bridal party wedding preparations.
Then it’s just the two of us in the room, which is all decked out with mirrors and makeup tables for the big day. And while I’m looking around and noticing all the special touches Amy has put in place to make sure that everything’s perfect for the wedding, I feel this sudden rush of affection for her. She’s a caring woman anyway, and I know she loves Gabby, but she’s going out of her way to make sure that Gabby knows it. She needs to feel like she belongs to a family on this day more than others. Gabby walks behind a partition that’s set up in the corner of the room, and I can hear the rustling of the dress bag her wedding gown is hanging in as she opens it. I’m not really sure what to do or say that will make her feel better, so I sit down on the edge of the bed.
“Do you need any help?” I ask, desperate to break up the silence between us.
“Not yet.” Her voice is a little shaky, and I can tell that she’s so desperately trying to keep it together.
Knowing her as well as I do, I want to tell her that it’s okay to cry. But deep down inside I know that won’t help anything. Instead I try to shift her focus to what she’s gaining in order to take it away from what she’s missing.
“You’re marrying into a really great family, Gab,” I say quietly. “They all love you so much.”
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t really have to. I know that she is well aware of how everyone in the Wright family feels about her. Just as I’m about to run my mouth to start some kind of conversation, Gabby walks out from behind the partition with her head down, coming to a stop when she reaches the full-length mirror that’s propped against the wall.
“Will you zip me up?”
I walk over to her and slowly pull up the zipper. This dress is so Gabby: elegant and understated. Gorgeous. Classic. It’s a lovely lace and silk sheath dress with a sweetheart neckline, and the silhouette is absolutely perfect for her figure.
When the dress is zipped, I step in front of the mirror to get a good look at Gabby. The sun is shining through the window behind her and it bounces off of the mirror, casting a lovely glow over her face, and having her hair pulled back accentuates her high cheekbones and delicate features.
“Look at you,” I say quietly, smiling through the tears that are welling up in my eyes. It seems like only yesterday that the two of us played dress-up in my mom’s bedroom and pretended to be getting ready for our own weddings. And here she is, looking more beautiful than either one of us probably could’ve ever imagined. “You’re so gorgeous, Gab.”
It’s those words that finally make her cry, probably because she wishes more than anything that her mother and father were here to say them.
“I miss them, Callie,” she says, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I wish they were here.” It’s just so like her to try to hold it together, because she’s always been the kind of person who felt like she had to be strong for everyone else, and that need intensified after they died. It happened exactly one month after Gabby’s eighteenth birthday. Mr. and Mrs. Morgan left the house all dressed up for a night at the theater, but there was a thunderstorm and the roads were slick, and Mr. Morgan swerved just a second too late…
I was spending the night at her house, and was standing next to her when she opened the front door to two police officers who were offering their condolences. I rarely left her side during the rough months that followed. That kind of experience forms a bond between two people that’s so thick that I don’t even need her to tell me what she’s going to say next. I already know, and I wish I could do something to make it come true for her.
“I’d give anything for them to be here,” she whispers.
“I know you would,” I say, wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight. I struggle to f
ind the right words to say, not wanting to offer her some trite sentiment by telling her that they’re in a better place somewhere watching over her. That kind of thinking is rarely a comfort to a person who would rather have her loved ones right here with her. “I love you,” are the words that finally leave my mouth.
She’s quiet a moment before she says, “I love you too.” It takes her a while to let go of me, and when she pulls away she’s smiling through her tears. She fans her face and quickly swipes her cheeks with the backs of her hands, and I have to smile at her. She never could handle too much emotion at once.
“Please unzip me so I can get out of this thing before I get mascara all over it.”
I laugh as I imagine the shitstorm that would follow her realizing that she had a black smudge on her pristine white dress. After I unzip her, she walks back behind the screen in the corner of the room.
“Talk to me about something that won’t make me cry,” she says, sounding a little more like herself than she did before.
“Okay,” I reply, wracking my brain to come up with another subject. I wind up saying the goofiest thing that comes to mind. “Would you still marry Ben if he sounded like a chipmunk?”
I think her laugh is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
IT’S CLOSE to midnight when I’m driven out of my bedroom by the unrelenting thumping of a headboard against my wall. Ethan has never really been all that wild in bed, so either he’s trying to antagonize me in the tackiest way ever, or his new girlfriend is seriously rocking his world. I know that he wants me to think she is, at least. With him, anything is possible. Regardless of the reason for the late-night interruption, I don’t want to listen to it.
Since I’m not going to be able to get any sleep at this point, I might as well try to get some work done. My windows are open and the breeze floating through them is a pleasant kind of cool, so I grab my laptop and make my way outside, hoping that I’ll be able to get a wifi signal out there. I walk out onto the patio and over to the fireplace, flipping the switch that I saw Nate use to turn it on last night. The hammock hanging between the pillars on the right side of the porch practically calls to me, so I plop myself down onto it and flip open my computer.
I squint against the brightness of the screen out here in the dark, but it doesn’t take long for my eyes to adjust. Luckily I’m able to sign onto the family’s network. There are a few web development quotes in my inbox, so I take a look at my calendar to figure out if I can fit the work into my schedule. After I respond to those clients, I pull up a project that’s nearly finished. I play around with some font sizes and tweak a few colors until I’m almost satisfied with the end result.
“You gonna sleep out here?”
I’m so startled that I nearly fall out of the hammock, and manage to keep my laptop from crashing to the ground thanks to some surprisingly quick reflexes on my part. I was so lost in my work that I didn’t even hear Nate approaching.
“I’m certainly not going to now,” I say breathlessly, dramatically clutching my chest.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a light chuckle as he walks around the far side of the hammock. “I saw that the fireplace was on and wanted to make sure that everything was on the up and up out here.”
“In case I was a thief?” I ask, grinning.
“Thieves don’t usually sit down and make themselves comfortable, but I guess you never know.”
“Obviously a thief has never sat in this hammock.”
Nate smiles as he slides his fingertips along the ropes. “Mind if I join you? This is usually my spot when I come home, but now it’s been usurped by some…by some-”
“Stranger.”
“No,” he replies tenderly, shaking his head. “Definitely not that.”
My heart skips a beat as he looks down at me with an undercurrent of longing. Before I can second guess myself, I move over to make room for him. As he eases onto the opposite side of the hammock, he accidentally brushes my foot with his arm.
“Jesus, Callie. Your feet are freezing.”
“That’s why I turned on the fireplace,” I say, hurrying to finish the email I was working on when he interrupted me.
Nate hops off the hammock, walks over to a cabinet that’s on the other side of the porch, and he pulls out a plush-looking blanket. He unfolds it as he walks toward me and he spreads it over me before he lowers himself back into the hammock. I can’t help but smile at how attentive he is; he always seems to be so completely aware of what it is I need, which is remarkable considering I’ve only known him for a few days. I decide not to dwell on that fact, because thinking about how sweet he is will get me in trouble.
“Thank you,” I say, loving the warmth against my bare legs and relishing in Nate’s body heat as he slips beneath the blanket. He grins at me as he reaches over and pulls my feet onto his chest. He rubs them, working out the dull ache there like it isn’t even a thing. A small sigh escapes my lips as I ignore my work and let my head rest against the ropes and enjoy the feeling of someone taking care of me. It’s been forever since I felt anything like it.
“So,” Nate says, grinning at me. “What are you doing down here?”
I take a deep breath and tap my chin with my index finger while I decide whether or not I want to tell him the truth.
“Let’s just say that there was some noise in the room next to mine. I was worried that if I stayed in there any longer that I’d get sucked into some strange bad porn vortex.”
Nate draws a breath through his nose, and as he continues rubbing my feet, his strokes have a little more pressure to them.
“Can I just say, without any personal agenda, that I’m really glad you broke up with that asshole?”
I nod and look down at my keyboard. I’m not really sure what to say to that.
“It’s fucking tacky to do that to anyone, let alone someone you…” Nate trails off, shaking his head. “Sorry, things like that just piss me off.”
“If it makes you feel any better, there was an over-the-top enthusiasm to the banging that made me think it wasn’t authentic. And the moaning was…theatrical.”
Nate laughs. “The pounding shows a lack of finesse. And I think it takes more talent to make a woman feel so good that she can’t make any noise at all.”
My cheeks flush as I look up at him, and his eyes are so intense when they look into mine. My breath catches as I remember that night I spent with him, the times when he made me feel so good that I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound. Having accomplished his mission of getting me all flustered, Nate changes the subject.
“What are you working on?” he asks, like he didn’t just set my world spinning.
I take a deep breath to steady my pounding heart. “Just a few quotes for some site work. I don’t usually take time off, and I’m really scared of falling behind. Just a day or two more of turnaround time can make the difference between a really happy customer and a really angry one.”
Nate nods, resting the back of his head against the hammock. “I thought one of the great things about being your own boss was getting to take time off whenever you wanted to.”
“Not when you have a small business,” I reply, laughing. Time off? Is he kidding? “Although it is kind of cool to be able to work from wherever I want.”
“Except your bedroom up there,” he says with a crooked smile.
“Except my bedroom.”
“Can I see what you’re working on?” He nods in the direction of my laptop.
“No,” I reply softly with a grin. I close my laptop’s lid. It wouldn’t be a big deal to let him see a few of my projects, but I’m way too self-conscious about my work and I’m worried about what I would do if he didn’t like my designs. Ridiculous as it may be, I feel like it would crush me a little.
If my reaction bothers him, he doesn’t let on. “Do you have any advice for someone just starting a business?”
I raise my eyebrows because I’m
kind of surprised at his question. “Why, are you thinking about starting one?”
“The friend I met in DC before I came here, he wants me to partner up with him to design a line of outdoor gear.” Nate’s fingers lay still on my feet, and I miss the kneading immediately. I also notice the way his eyes are downcast when he talks about this venture, which is a good indicator that he isn’t too excited about it for whatever reason. And I want to know what that reason is.
“My first bit of advice is that you should probably be excited about your product if you have any hope at all of being successful selling it,” I tease, gently nudging him with my knee.
It takes a long while for his eyes to meet mine. “I am,” he says when he finally looks at me. “It’s just that my dad thinks it’s a waste of time. He’s not really being very supportive.”
“If he’s anything like my mom, he just worries about you. Back when they were younger, starting a business wasn’t as big of a gamble as it is now. It was a gamble, don’t get me wrong, but not like today. They don’t understand that we don’t have the options that they did. The corporate environment is so different now, and with every company cutting costs and maxing out their workforce, it’s not enough just to work hard and be the best. It’s difficult to move up. To move anywhere,” I tell him. “Sometimes you need to take things into your own hands. Or try to, at least.”
Immediately his expression softens, and instinctively I know that I’ve said the right thing. Nate gets back to work on my feet, and I take a deep breath and sigh as he hits a sore spot that needed some attention.