Good On Paper
Page 7
“You used too much soap,” she says, standing. “But it looks amazing.”
If her eye makeup was messed up before, it looks even worse now. Black mascara streaks down her cheeks like some kind of Native American warrior. Has she been crying? I was sitting right there, but the sounds of the running water must’ve covered it.
She must know what she looks like, because without looking in the mirror above the sink Natalie turns on the faucet and begins washing her face. I focus on not overflowing the world’s sudsiest bath, and when I look at her again, she looks more like the Natalie I know.
“I promise I looked pretty earlier before I had too much to drink.”
Staring up at her from the edge of the tub, I tell her the truth without a second thought. “You look beautiful right now, too.”
She ducks her chin, but I see the little smile playing at the edge of her lips. She turns away from the sink and teeters. I’m up instantly, crossing the small space and steadying her with my hands on her arms.
“I didn’t think you had any alcohol left in you,” I joke.
“A little light-headed, that’s all. It always happens after I throw up.”
“Right.” I nod. I was going to leave and let her bathe, but that’s not a good idea if she’s light-headed.
Natalie’s mind must be where mine is because she looks at me sheepishly and says, “Would you stay with me while I’m in the bath?”
I nod again because I don’t know what to say. Sitting with her while she’s in the bath is definitely crossing one of our invisible lines. I glance at the bath. There are so many bubbles, she’ll be completely covered.
She turns slowly, my hands dropping from her arms as she rotates. Moving her hair aside with one hand, she asks, “Can you please unzip me? I can’t reach. I twisted myself into a pretzel trying to get it on.”
I stare at the top of the shiny black zipper, confused. “Savannah isn’t back until tomorrow and you wore a dress you can’t unzip yourself?”
Natalie stays quiet, and then it dawns on me. “Nat, were you planning on, uh,” I pause and cough on the words. Quickly my brain comes up with a sentence that doesn’t include the word fuck. “Were you planning on not being the one to unzip this dress?”
“Please don’t say anything,” Natalie whispers. Her voice is filled with mortification.
So I don’t. Wordlessly, I reach for the black zipper and pull it down. Down past her upper back, beyond the line where a bra should be but isn’t, and all the way to the very bottom of her lower back.
Natalie steps around me and to the edge of the tub. I turn around, and the sound of fabric falling down reaches me. I tip my chin up to the ceiling, but in the process of doing so, I’ve forgotten about the mirror above the sink.
I should look away. I know I should. But I can’t. Frozen, I watch as Natalie steps from the pile of clothes at her feet and places one foot in the tub. Her second foot follows, and she sinks down below the bubbles.
A quiet, appreciative moan slips from her. “Thank you, Aidan.”
“No problem,” I cough out the second word and turn around. Where are my insides right now? Where is my brain? What has happened to my body? I feel like a violently shaken snow globe.
Natalie makes a splashing sound and it jolts me from trying desperately to recognize even an inch of myself. Lowering the lid of the toilet, I sink down onto it and finally drag my eyes to hers.
She’s watching me with that same look from earlier, only this time the curiosity is mixed with something brought to her by the ebbing of alcohol. I can practically see the words dancing on the tip of her tongue.
I want to look away from her, look anywhere but at the familiar face of my best friend that now has the image of her naked body to go with it. “Are you going to say it?” I ask, gruffer than I intended.
“Sometimes I wonder… why not us, Aidan?” Fear takes over her face and her lower lip trembles. I know how hard it is for her to say these words because it’s almost as difficult for me to hear them. Anger fills my chest. I despise this secret I keep. Despise how it has taken from me the chance to be normal like Natalie, robbed me of the opportunity to make mistakes and fall in love.
“You know me, Nat. I’m not a commitment guy.” I hate these words. I hate them even more because right now, they feel like an even bigger lie than the one I’ve been covering up all these years.
“And I’m a commitment girl,” she echoes, swiping at some bubbles and flicking them off her hand. She bites her lower lip and sinks down below the bubbles until her whole head disappears. After a few seconds, she pops back up, her hair slicked down her head.
“I’m done,” she says, sticking out one arm.
I’m certain that’s the shortest bath in the history of baths, but I don’t say that. I grab a towel from the rack and hand it to her. She starts to stand, but I stop her. “Hang on, let me leave the room.”
She says something, but I’m hustling from the room and the sounds of the sloshing water make it hard to hear. Settling on the gray sofa, I look out the window and try to tune out the sounds coming from beyond the open bathroom door. I know when she has stepped from the tub, I know when she has dried off, but it’s quiet and I don’t know what she has been doing for the last minute, and it has the contents of my stomach on a teeter-totter. Will she be dressed when she comes out here? What if she’s dabbing perfume in all the right places? Is she planning to take us to a place we’ve never dared to go? Natalie’s mirrored image slams back into my thoughts, how soft her skin looked as she gingerly climbed into the tub. Why not us, Aidan?
A moment later she emerges from the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel and a second towel covering her body. Two different and distinct emotions flood my body. My brain doesn’t understand the disappointment I feel, but my heart does. My heart doesn’t understand the relief I feel, but my brain does.
“Thanks for coming to save me,” she says, gliding past me and to the front door. In all our years of friendship, this might be the first time she has made it clear I need to leave.
“Thanksgiving,” I blurt out as I stand up from the couch, and her hand pauses on the lock. “Pound Ridge house. My mom’s having it there this year. She wants you to come and stay the weekend, if you can.”
Natalie turns to face me. “We’re both supposed to be at a wedding up there on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, remember? Malachi and Karis?”
It sounds familiar, but right now I don’t have the patience to search my memory. I threw out the invitation when Natalie said she would respond for us.
She takes in my blank face and keeps going. “Tell your mom I said yes. Saves me from having to get a hotel.” Natalie is back to being Natalie, like her question in the tub never happened.
She opens the front door and gazes at me. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late. Good thing it wasn’t on a school night.”
“You get a detention,” I say, trying for a joke, but it’s forced and not at all funny. Still, Natalie laughs because she knows she is supposed to.
I cross the apartment and pass her, praying I don’t succumb to the amazing scent coming off her skin.
“See you soon,” I say once I’m safely in the hall and no longer trapped by whatever that amazing bubble bath was. Now it smells like stale air and all the different dinners people cooked tonight. I drag in a deep breath of it in an attempt to clear my senses.
“Lunch?” she offers. She knows this is weird.
“Lunch,” I echo, then turn and leave. She closes the door before I get to the elevator.
While the elevator takes its sweet time, I look up at the ceiling and take a deep breath.
What the hell happened in there?
9
Natalie
My hands shake as I type. Maybe I should quit chugging caffeine.
Or maybe they’re only performing a perfectly synchronized dance with what’s going on inside my body.
Why not us, Aidan?
What posses
sed me to say that? Not drunkenness, because I was mostly sober by then.
I haven’t heard from Aidan in three days. For us, that’s a lot of time. Too much. I’ve spooked him. We had an unspoken but mutually understood deal, and I broke it. I brought up us, as though the possibility of such even existed, and I don’t even know why.
My bad date sounds like a good place to lay the blame. Matthew Robertson was not six foot two, like his profile said. He stood two inches taller than my five foot five height. I didn’t like his hands. Sausage-like fingers and hairy knuckles flew through the air as he described his job and why he believed he was too good for it.
My first gin and tonic was meant to loosen my screwed-up shoulders.
My second was to quell my growing irritation with my date.
My third was because why the hell not? I was on a bad date. My very first bad date, in fact. A third drink seemed like a good way to celebrate. I sipped from my glass, the ice fell against my upper lip, and I silently toasted two men: my date, for giving me the experience, and Henry, for making it possible in the first place.
There were no good reasons for drinks four and five. I was drunk, and that’s that. Matthew left during drink four, immediately after I told him I’m recently divorced. Apparently ape hands are acceptable to him, but a divorce is a non-starter. It was probably the tears that spooked him, but how was I supposed to not get a little misty-eyed? I’m not a robot.
Drink five hardly graces my memory. One second I was getting up to go to the bathroom, the next I was walking into the chilly night with Aidan by my side.
He’d cared for me, the same way he always does. My rock, my steady, my best friend. Heaven help me if he ever gets a girlfriend. Not being number one in his life just might kill me. I know how unfair that is. He watched me get married. He stood on the other side of Henry, a groomsman only because that was back when Henry still cared about making me happy.
Why not us, Aidan?
Regret fills me. I want to lay my head on my keyboard and let the side of my face fill in this spreadsheet.
Years of knowing Aidan has taught me that he really, truly doesn’t want anything to do with relationships. We work because I’m safe, and three nights ago, just by saying those four words, I turned myself into a risk. I want to apologize, but I don’t know how. A small part of me feels indignant and wants the question answered. Why? Why not us?
Aidan has never tried. Not once, not even that first day when I foolishly brought him home and he discovered the ugly secret lying beneath the shiny, virtuous veneer of my life.
Savannah’s voice is suddenly near my ear, her accent thick from her visit home. She arrived back in NYC three days ago, saying y’all and darlin’ in a voice thicker than molasses. As time passes, she will slowly lose the twang, like water dripping from a slow leak. I’d hugged her tightly when she walked in the door. Her appearance made me realize I’d been lonely.
“Spin tonight?” Her whispered question tickles my ear. We work in a quiet office, and all conversation takes place in hushed tones. Savannah smacks her backside and immediately we’re the recipients of two interested gazes. “My mama is an angel, but I swear she has a little bit of devil hidden down deep. The woman fries everything and force feeds me.”
“The nerve,” I say, feigning shock. “Force fed by your own mother.”
“It’s a travesty. To my thighs, anyway.” Savannah does a weird chicken dance without flapping her arms, trying to make her thighs move. “See? She put jiggle in my wiggle.”
I snort, trying like hell to keep my laughter contained. “Spin tonight,” I nod, attempting to be serious. Lord knows I could use the distraction.
“I’m inviting Charity and Mari, too.” Savannah backs away from my desk as she talks, and as I watch she walks first to Charity’s desk, then a few minutes later to Mari’s.
Dipping my head, I bury myself in my work, where I stay for the remainder of the afternoon.
“That was good, wasn’t it?” Charity wipes at her sweaty forehead with a pink towel.
“So good,” Savannah agrees, red-faced and breathless. She had a much harder time with the climbs than the rest of us. She offers me an arm. “Smell that? It’s the scent of fried chicken seeping from my pores.”
I make a face and push her arm away. I can handle almost anything, but not sweat. Savannah knows this, and so she loves to torture me.
“Who wants a burrito?” Mari asks as we head out of the studio. When three sets of shocked expressions meet hers, she adds, “What? Don’t tell me you all don’t want a burrito right now.”
“Kind of, yeah,” I admit.
Charity raises a hand. “Me too.”
Savannah sighs. “Assholes.” Her arms slowly slides into the air above her head. “Me three.”
Mari leads the way to a food truck and orders four Gringas, two spicy and two mild. When they’re ready, she hands a spicy to me, keeps one for herself, and we cheers the foil-wrapped goodness. The other two grab theirs and we stand there, eating like we haven’t had a decent meal in a week.
“Is your divorce final?” Charity asks, keeping her gaze on me while she takes a bite.
“Um hmm,” I manage to say around a mouthful. Even though I wanted the divorce, even though my lungs longed to take a full breath the entire time last year we were married, the question slices through me.
“Am I allowed to ask that question?” Charity looks concerned.
“Too late,” I reply, taking another bite. The warmth in my hand decreases as the burrito dwindles.
Mari laughs. “What’s next for you? You’re single now. Any man catching your eye?”
Instead of answering, I take another huge bite. My mouth is so full they will grow bored waiting for me to chew and hopefully move on to another topic. One that doesn’t include whatever is next for me. Why are all milestones quickly followed by a next? You got engaged? When is the wedding? You got married? When are you having a baby? You had a baby? When are you giving the baby a sibling? And on and on and on.
It worked. They’ve moved on to discussing relationship fails. Everyone but Savannah, anyway. Drew has been her boyfriend for six years and they appear to be nothing but solid, despite the fact they choose not to live together or get married. They are happy to just be where they are.
“Look at that couple.” Charity looks at something beyond me.
“Aw. Look at the way she’s gazing up at him.”
Reluctantly I turn around, my eyes searching through the moving people until they land on two stationary figures. They face each other, and the girl tips her head back slightly, exposing her neck, sending a coquettish smile up at… Aidan. Oh my god. My bottom lip peels away from my upper, and I taste the cold air. My stomach feels the opposite. It’s more like a fire was lit within me. Seeing Aidan in an awkward morning-after scenario is one thing, but I’ve never seen him out with a woman. I’ve never seen the before, only the after. The before Aidan is charming. He’s smiling down at her, but only one side of his mouth is turned up. It’s… well, I don’t like it. Nor do I like these feelings. Territorial. Jealous. Comparing. She’s blonde. Of course she is. He prefers them. I think this is the same woman from the day I picked him up for brunch. She’s tiny and looks delicate, like she should be ice skating or pirouetting on the inside of a little girl’s jewelry box.
I wish I wasn’t seeing this. I wish the whole world would disappear and I was on my couch, watching TV. I wish I never would’ve asked that pointless question.
“Natalie?”
Fuck.
“Aidan, hi.” I say his name like I’m surprised to see him. The pulling together of his eyebrows tells me he knows I’m faking.
People walk between us and I’m hoping when they pass Aidan will be gone, swept away by the sea of coats.
No such luck. He’s still there, and his eyes are bright, panic dancing inside them as he contemplates his next move. Squaring his shoulders, he winds a hand around his date and leads her to us.
No, Allison, I’m not a threat to you and whatever it is you two are going to do tonight.
Aidan says hello to Savannah and jokes that her hair is bigger since she came back. Mari and Charity haven’t met Aidan, so I introduce them, and then… well, there’s not much else to say. The awkward silence stretches on and I have the insane desire to scream and stomp, shout and dance, because suddenly I’m filled with this bizarre energy and it’s pulsing through my drained, exhausted limbs. Aidan’s gaze is on me, and he’s doing that thing where he tries to read me. He looks confused as if maybe I’m a book and my sentences are jumbled, and I feel a childish sense of pleasure at not being so easily read.
“So,” I start.
“Well,” Aidan says at the same time.
But I’m not waiting for whatever he’s going to say. “Enjoy your night.” I fake smile at Aidan, and then tell Allison it was nice to meet her.
Aidan smiles tightly, nods at my friends, and turns around, his arm still around Allison. They walk away, and Allison resumes the game they are playing, the one where she gazes up at him like he’s a god. He picks his nose at stoplights. He says he’s not doing it, but he totally is. When he was little, he thought he was Aquaman and jumped into a pool without knowing how to swim. His mom jumped in after him and he was pissed because she’d ruined his fun.
Mari’s voice jumps into my head. “Girl.” She lays a hand on my shoulder. “What the hell was that?”
I eye her. “What?”
“That man is your best friend?”
I nod.
“Since when is a man and woman best friends?”
“We’ve been friends since high school.”
“That’s when you were a girl and he was a boy.”
I laugh, but the sound is empty. “And what? Now he’s a man?”
She lifts her head and brings it back down slowly. “Precisely.”