Where We Belong

by Shann McPherson

  I’m dressed and ready to go in just a few minutes, but that doesn’t stop me from staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror on the inside of the closet door, my own eyes full of judgment as they rake over me from head to toe. Wearing a pair of sensible espadrille sandals I know I won’t fall over in, I’ve paired them with a tight black tube skirt I’d never normally wear, pulling at the slinky material as it clings to my hips and thighs. Teamed with a blue jean shirt tied at the waist and a pair of clear-rimmed glasses, I begin zeroing in on every single part of my body I hate. With my hands on my hips, my fingers tapping in time to an imaginary beat, I sigh in defeat because I know it’s not going to get any better.

  Like most women, I wish I was a little taller, maybe thinner around the bottom half, and I’d love for my B cup to miraculously turn into a C overnight. I can’t help but think if maybe I was all those things, maybe Harley wouldn’t have turned me down last night. Maybe he wouldn’t have run out on me as if his life depended on it. But, I know I am the way I am, and things aren’t going to get any better, so I resolve to accept myself with a final shrug of resignation. Thankfully I’m saved from my own scrutiny by the sound of my name being called from downstairs, and I quickly touch up my red lipstick before hurrying out.

  Downstairs, the guys are gathered by the front door, all drunk, all rowdy, and all completely oblivious to my arrival. All except one. I do everything I can to avoid his gaze from across the group, but it’s no use, and I can feel him approach even as I stare down at the floor.

  “You look good,” Nash says, his voice oddly quiet as he lingers close by.

  Biting hard on the inside of my cheek in an attempt at stifling the shudder threatening my composure, I force a tight smile onto my lips as I glance up at him, pushing my glasses up my nose. He’s dressed in a slightly wrinkled button-down and a black neck tie loosely tied into a sorry excuse for an Oxford knot, his hair disheveled, complementing his untucked shirt and rolled-up sleeves, and I must say, the old me would’ve almost gone weak at the knees at the sheer sight of him. But now, he’s far too close for my liking. I can smell the liquor on his breath, and the way his left eyelid droops. Yes, he’s drunk. Of course he is. It’s his bachelor party. But he’s also nothing like my best friend of fifteen years. This Nash, the same one who had his hand resting inappropriately close to my butt is different. I’m not sure I like him so much.

  “Thanks,” I say with as genuine a smile as I can manage, trying hard not to look too obvious as I move what distance I can from him. “You look … drunk.”

  He chuckles, and in the process, he somehow loses his balance and uses the opportunity to reach out and grab my arm to steady himself. His touch is soft, but there’s a contradicting roughness to it and, when he doesn’t let me go despite the fact he’s clearly regained his balance, I can’t help but look down to where his hand is wrapped around my elbow, almost possessively.

  “We had a shotgun competition while you were getting ready,” Nash explains, his words evidently slurred. “I lost.”

  I don’t miss the hiccup he tries to conceal. Again, my eyes look down to where he’s still holding me, and I wish he’d take the hint and move a few feet away. It isn’t right that he’s touching me again. It isn’t necessary, nor is the way his gaze is lingering resolutely on my lips.

  “Have you heard from Anna? Is she having fun at the retreat?” I ask, hoping the mention of Anna might remind him that he’s engaged to be married in just a couple of days, and he most certainly shouldn’t be looking at me the way he is.

  He shakes his head, and much to my disappointment he actually moves closer instead of moving away, his hand trailing from my elbow to my waist as he leans in. “Did you and Harley sort everything out?” he whispers so close to my ear I can feel his lips brush against the shell.

  Involuntarily I snap back, away from him, my face stark when I meet his red-rimmed eyes. I want to push him away, tell him to back the hell up, but before I have the chance to say anything, I’m stopped by a strong pair of hands snaking around my waist from behind, effectively forcing Nash away from me. I turn my head to see Harley looking down at me with a playful grin despite the furrow between his brow and the knowing look in his eyes as he casts Nash a furtive once-over.

  “Where were you?” I find myself asking as I turn in his arms, cowering slightly closer in an attempt to get farther away from Nash.

  “I was getting ready in the downstairs bathroom because you were taking forever,” he says, his eyes fleeting momentarily to Nash who seems to have otherwise forgotten about his advances toward me and is suddenly joking and laughing with the guys.

  I exhale a harsh breath, my shoulders sagging in relief at his distance, but then I meet Harley’s eyes to find a confused look within them as he studies me. “What?”

  “A-are you okay?” he asks, nodding his chin in Nash’s direction.

  I manage a smile and a shrug. “Yeah. He’s just drunk.”

  “He is …” Harley nods, but his eyes are still shrouded in confusion, and I’m fully aware of his arms still protectively wrapped around my waist, holding me close.

  I find myself trapped beneath the weight of his stare, and I swallow hard because I think I know exactly what he’s thinking. A few days ago, if I was in this situation with a handsy, drunk Nash, I would have been over the moon, and planning exactly how to seal the deal with him tonight. But everything has changed now. I’m almost positive Harley feels it, too. His arms around me and the heaviness within his gaze are surely proof that it isn’t just me.

  But, before I can think too much into it, before my heart beats right out of my chest, I’m literally saved by the bell at the sound of the bus horn honking from outside, and I thank whatever god is above as I turn and follow the guys. As we make our way out through the front door and down the steep steps, I don’t miss the way my heart is thumping a lot faster than it was only moments earlier.

  ***

  I’m not surprised when we get asked to leave the steakhouse swiftly after we’ve barely finished our main course. Seth has his shirt completely unbuttoned while singing the chorus of a Guns N’ Roses song to a group of middle-aged women at the next table over. Nash has a breadbasket on his head, and is standing on his chair while reciting all fifty states in reverse alphabetical order because someone bet him ten bucks he couldn’t. I hastily finish what’s left of my beer before wrangling the guys, while Harley picks up the check.

  Outside, I lead the way back to the bus with the rag-tag team of drunks behind me, and I glance back over my shoulder to see Harley practically carrying Nash who still has the damn breadbasket on his head.

  “Let’s go to the strip club!” Kevin shouts with a defiant fist in the air as he staggers past me toward the bus.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I begin cautiously.

  “Aw, c’mon, Murph. Don’t go all girly on us, now!” Seth laughs, nudging me playfully with his elbow on his way past.

  I place my hands on my hips, glaring at the both of them. “Don’t call me a girl!” I yell, causing them to chuckle. I roll my eyes at them as I continue, “Nash is wasted.” I look back to where Harley is clearly struggling with Nash. “I doubt he’ll even get let in!”

  “Buzzkill!” Seth groans.

  “We could still go,” Kevin suggests with a shrug. “He can just stay on the bus and sleep it off.”

  I laugh, shaking my head at the both of them as they pile onto the bus, and I move to help Harley as he and Nash approach the steps.

  “Murph!” Nash yells, his dazed eyes seemingly lighting up as if he’s just noticed I’m here. “My Murph!”

  I know he’s just drunk, but I’m momentarily taken aback by his words. My Murph? He stumbles forward, shrugging out of Harley’s grip and I’m not prepared when he launches for me, wrapping his arms around me so tight I fall back into the side of the bus as I try to carry his unexpected weight.

  “Careful of my girl, man!” Harley chuckles,
moving in to pull Nash away from me, but suddenly the energy shifts and an overwhelming tension settles unevenly.

  “Yeah, right!” Nash scoffs, turning on his unsteady feet. “She was my girl, first,” he mutters through gritted teeth with an angry look in his hazy eyes as he tries to push Harley away from him with everything he has, which barely even causes Harley to budge.

  Shocked at something I never for the life of me thought I’d ever be witness to, I remain against the side of the bus, frozen at the instant change in Nash’s normally carefree demeanor, watching as Harley collects himself, calmly smoothing his hair back from his face. His eyes dart from Nash to me, and back again, and he looks to consider his options a moment, before nodding at his best friend, holding his hands up in the air in some semblance of surrender. Though I’m not sure why, it hurts me, and I can’t help but wonder if it ever came down to it, whether Harley would ever be the guy to fight for me.

  “C’mon y’all, let’s go!” I finally find my voice, clapping my hands together in an attempt to attract the attention of Nash who looks just about ready to fight his very best friend. My eyes flit to Harley who is watching me intently, and I offer him an apologetic glance before moving to Nash and taking a hold of his hand to help him so he doesn’t fall and break his damn neck.

  “Murph!” He laughs, gripping my hand so tight as I carefully lead him up the stairs. “I just knew you’d choose me.”

  I try to ignore his obnoxious words. He’s just drunk. Cursing deep down on the inside, I continue steadying him with each step before finally directing him to the first available seat on the bus. I watch as he falls asleep almost immediately, and I hesitate a moment, looking from him, to the rest of the guys already seated who are completely unaware of the tension that just transpired outside.

  “Let’s go!” Harley calls through to the driver on his way up into the bus. He stops to look down at me, an unreadable emotion flashing within his eyes as he looks at Nash before moving past and taking one of the seats in the back. And I want to go to him. I want to be with him. But Nash is in a real state, and he needs me. I just hope Harley understands.

  Chapter 24

  “Are you sure you don’t wanna stay with the rest of the guys?”

  Harley glances back at the flickering neon lights of The Pink Palace, an aptly named strip club on the outskirts of Myrtle Beach with an interesting collection of cars, trucks, and motorcycles parked in the gravel lot. He turns back to me with a tight smile, his jaw tense as he shakes his head, glancing over my shoulder to where Nash is barely conscious, resting up against a streetlight. And, to be honest, I’m glad he doesn’t want to stay with the guys. Not only do I not feel like dealing with drunk Nash on my own, but I also know the two of us need some time together to try and talk about everything.

  We say our goodbyes to the rest of the boys before they disappear into the strip club, and the bus stays parked in the lot while we struggle with getting a barely conscious Nash into the waiting Uber.

  By the time we arrive back at the beach house, Nash is snoring loudly from the back seat. I look back to see his head flopped against Harley’s shoulder, his mouth hanging open, and I release a sigh of frustration, rolling my eyes. He ruined his own bachelor party by getting plastered, and now Harley and I have to sort him out. Surprisingly, considering how drunk we each are, we somehow manage to successfully get him up two flights of stairs and into his bed without too much damage. I’m pretty sure at one point we may have connected a railing with his head, but he can deal with the pain tomorrow when he wakes up. Something tells me a bump on the head will be the least of his worries.

  I sit on the edge of the mattress, removing Nash’s shoes while Harley places the small trash can from the en-suite bathroom onto the floor by the bed, just in case he wakes up through the night to be sick. As I sit there, I take Nash in, from his mess of hair to the wrinkled shirt he’s still wearing, down to his oddly socked feet, and an unexpected sadness comes over me.

  I’m not sure what it is, but my mind drifts back to all the nights I used to sit up and watch him sleep beside me. When I’d sneak him past Momma and into my bedroom. When I would stay in his dorm with him when we were at college together, because my roommate was horribly mean to me. All the times I would watch him sleep because it was such a beautiful sight to see. I loved watching his eyelashes flutter with every rapid movement of his eyes; I imagined he was dreaming of something so spectacular, and I envied whatever it was he was imagining in those moments. I loved watching the way his lips would curve up ever so slightly, as if he was privy to a secret he would never tell. But now as I watch him, passed out and almost lifeless, all I feel is a sense of emptiness, because the boy I used to watch sleep is gone.

  It’s taken me until tonight to realize that my Nash is gone. Sure, there’s the occasional glimpse here and there of the boy I used to know and love but, for the most part, he’s a changed man and that’s fine because, like Harley said, people change. And I’m trying so hard to convince myself that Nash has changed for the better, that he’s happy and content. But I keep thinking back to the way his hands were on me earlier, to the look so unlike him in his eyes. I’m worried he isn’t happy, and that he might do something he’ll regret, but I quickly blink those thoughts away, reminding myself that despite his change, he’s still Nash Harris. No matter what, he’ll always be the boy who captured my heart all those years ago, and I’ll always love him, even when he’s a drunk jerk.

  With a sad smile, I reach forward and gently smooth his sandy blond hair back from his face. Leaning in, I press a chaste kiss to his forehead before standing and walking toward the door, which is when my eyes find Harley’s watching me with a slight furrow in his brow, one that quickly disappears as he squares his broad shoulders. “I’m gonna go down and have a drink out on the deck,” he says quietly, rubbing at a spot on the back of his neck. “Are you going to bed, or …?”

  “I’ll join you.” I shrug. “I could use a drink after this experience,” I say with a chuckle, pointing back at an obliviously sleeping Nash.

  Harley nods, managing a tight smile before turning and leading the way out of the room. I follow closely as we make our way downstairs to the kitchen where the counter is still laden with liquor bottles from earlier. I kick off my sandals and sit on a stool at the island, watching as Harley begins making something for us to drink. I smile to myself as he pours a mixture of different liquors into a metal shaker, shaking it like a professional bartender. He flashes me another tight-lipped smile before pouring the concoction into two Solo cups, sliding one across to me as he raises his in the air in silent cheers.

  “What’s this?” I ask, lifting the cup to my nose and taking a sniff. I pull back in horror, wincing as the scent alone feels as if it burns the small hairs in my nostrils.

  “It’s kind of like a Long Island Iced Tea.” Harley chuckles to himself, taking a sip from his cup. “Without the rum. Because I know you can’t drink rum after that one time at Kevin’s graduation party.”

  Wait. What? I gape at him, sufficiently surprised by the mention of that night. A night I tried so hard to forget all about. A night so long ago. A night I can’t believe Harley, of all people, remembers.

  I was in a complete panic. On the verge of tears. My heart was racing, my head spinning. I didn’t know what to do. I’d been drinking the punch all night and, somehow, I was drunk as hell. Had someone spiked my drink? Was someone trying to date-rape me? My heart thundered painfully as I began imagining the most horrible scenarios playing out in my hazy mind.

  At some point during the night I’d lost Nash. He said he was going to help John Portman fix the dead battery in his truck, but that was at least forty minutes ago. I went in search of him, but somehow, I ended up outside in the backyard with no recollection of how I’d gotten there. I was so drunk and so sick, and so embarrassed to be in such a state. I was Alice Murphy, and Alice Murphy didn’t get drunk at parties like everyone else. Alice Murphy was a good girl. A
nice girl. A sweet girl. Being obliterated was not how I wanted my classmates to remember me.

  Oh yeah, Alice Murphy? I remember her. She’s the girl who was drunk as sin, out of her goddamn mind on the night of graduation.

  No thanks. There was no way in hell I was going to wind up being that girl. So, I hid in the furthermost corner of the yard and stuck my fingers down my throat in an attempt to make myself sick, in the hope it would help sober me up.

  “Murph?”

  I snapped my head up, mid-retch, my eyes wide at the sound of the familiar voice coming from over my shoulder, his knowing chuckle echoing through my throbbing head.

  “Is that you?”

  “Crap,” I groaned under my breath.

  Wiping at the corners of my mouth, I turned slowly to see Harley standing there, looking down at me with a concerned look on his face, despite the hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

  “Hey.” I managed the best smile I could, sniffling once.

  “Um …” Harley hesitantly pointed a finger at me. “You have … ah … some um, spew in your hair.”

  I jumped so high, tearing at the lengths of my hair, but I lost my balance and ended up falling back into the bushes, crying out in horror when I landed in my very own vomit.

  “Are you okay?” Harley chuckled, and I could tell he was trying so hard not to laugh out loud, not that I could really blame him for finding this funny. The state I was in was one predicament I’d never imagined myself to be in, and I guess it was kind of funny, in a weird, unfair, completely messed-up way.