One of Us is Lying(95)
But I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Hi, Nate.” I’m surprised at my calm, neutral voice. You’d never guess how desperately my heart’s trying to escape my rib cage. “How’ve you been?”
“Okay,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looks almost—awkward? It’s a novel stance for him. “My dad’s back in rehab. But they say that’s positive. That he’s giving it another shot.”
“That’s great. I hope it works out.” I don’t sound like I mean it, even though I do. The longer he stands there, the harder it is to act natural. “How’s your mom?”
“Good. Working. She moved everything from Oregon, so—I guess she’ll be here for a while. That’s the plan, anyway.” He runs a hand through his hair and shoots me another half-lidded glance. The kind he used to give right before he kissed me. “I saw your solo. I was wrong, that night at your house when I first heard you. That, tonight, was the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
I squeeze the stems of my flowers so hard that thorns from the roses prick me. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you come? I mean—” I lift my chin toward the crowd. “It’s not really your thing, is it?”
“No,” Nate admits. “But this is a big deal for you, right? I wanted to see it.”
“Why?” I repeat. I want to ask more, but I can’t. My throat closes and I’m horrified as my eyes prickle and fill. I concentrate on breathing and press my hands against the thorns, willing the mild pain to distract me. Okay. There we go. Tears receding. Disaster averted.
In the seconds I’ve been pulling myself together, Nate’s stepped closer. I don’t know where to look because there’s no part of him that doesn’t undo me.
“Bronwyn.” Nate rubs the back of his neck and swallows hard, and I realize he’s as nervous as I am. “I’ve been an idiot. Being arrested messed with my head. I thought you’d be better off without me in your life so I just … made that happen. I’m sorry.”
I drop my eyes to his sneakers, which seem like the safest spot. I don’t trust myself to speak.
“The thing is … I never really had anybody, you know? I’m not saying that so you’ll feel bad for me. Just to try and explain. I don’t—I didn’t—get how stuff like this works. That you can’t pretend you don’t give a crap and it’s done.” Nate shifts his weight from one foot to the other, which I notice since my eyes remain fastened on the ground. “I’ve been talking to Addy about this, because”—he laughs a little—“she won’t let it go. I asked her if she thought you’d be mad if I tried to talk to you and she said it didn’t matter. That I owe you an explanation anyway. She’s right. As usual.”
Addy. That meddler. No wonder she’d been bobbleheading all over Symphony Hall.
I clear my throat to try to dislodge the lump, but it’s no good. I’ll have to talk around it. “You weren’t just my boyfriend, Nate. You were my friend. Or I thought you were. And then you stopped talking to me like we were nothing.” I have to bite hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from tearing up again.
“I know. It was— God, I can’t even explain it, Bronwyn. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and it freaked me out. I thought I’d ruin you. Or you’d ruin me. That’s how things tend to go in the Macauley house. But you’re not like that.” He exhales sharply and his voice dips lower. “You’re not like anybody. I’ve known that since we were kids, and I just—I fucked up. I finally had my chance with you and I fucked it all up.”
He waits a beat for me to say something, but I can’t yet. “I’m sorry,” he says, shifting again. “I shouldn’t have come. I sprang this on you out of nowhere. I didn’t mean to ruin your big night.”
The crowd is thinning, the night air cooling. My father will be here soon. I finally look up, and it’s every bit as unnerving as I thought it would be. “You really hurt me, Nate. You can’t just ride here on your motorcycle with … all this”—I gesture around his face—“and expect everything to be okay. It’s not.”
“I know.” Nate’s eyes search mine. “But I was hoping … I mean, what you were saying before. How we were friends. I wanted to ask you—it’s probably stupid, after all this, but you know Porter Cinema, on Clarendon? The one that plays older stuff? They’ve got the second Divergent movie there. I was, um, wondering if you want to go sometime.”
Long pause. My thoughts are a tangled mess, but I’m sure of one thing—if I tell him no, it’ll be out of pride and self-preservation. Not because it’s what I want. “As friends?”
“As whatever you want. I mean, yeah. Friends would be great.”
“You hate those movies,” I remind him.
“I really do.” He sounds regretful, and I almost crack a smile. “I like you more, though. I miss you like crazy.” I furrow my brow at him and he quickly adds, “As a friend.” We stare at each other for a few seconds until his jaw twitches. “Okay. Since I’m being honest here, more than a friend. But I get that’s not where your head is. I’d still like to take you to a shitty movie and hang out with you for a couple hours. If you’ll let me.”