Not Today, But Someday(25)

I bite my lip. I can’t argue with him. It’s not fair to, because he makes a good point. But I still think what Dad did is unforgivable. I don’t want to argue with Nate, but I don’t think I could ever forgive my father.

“So you didn’t paint at all when you were with this girl?” Changing the subject is the only thing I can think to do. He sighs heavily. I hadn’t realized he was holding his breath, but he was. He shakes his head. “But since then?”

“All of these.” He motions to the easels around the room. “And two others in a closet.”

“And have you worked it out?”

“Worked what out?”

“Your feelings. Have you worked through them all?”

He laughs at my question. “I don’t think that’s possible. They never stop, you know. You get over one emotion, and another comes.”

“I guess so,” I respond.

“Last night’s the first night I wasn’t thinking about her. It’s the first night I wasn’t angry at her. In fact, it’s the first night in a long time that I wasn’t angry about anything.”

“That’s good, I guess. What changed? Oh, wait– you met me,” I tease him.

He laughs and raises his eyebrows, as if considering it. “Coincidence,” he finally says.

“Well, I felt special for three and a half seconds, anyway.” I bump his shoulder with mine.

“Have you ever been in love, Emi?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then this is a real shame,” he tells me.

“What is?”

“You’ve never been in love. You don’t want to be in love. How does one live their life without love?”

“So, you were in love with that girl?”

“No,” he says. “I thought I was, but no.”

“Then have you ever been in love?”

“I’m not sure,” he answers, and his eyes linger on mine just long enough to make my heart skip a beat. “But I want to be.”





CHAPTER 10 - NATE





Her eyes get wider momentarily before she looks away. So quickly deflated.

“I’m really uncomfortable,” she says suddenly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“No, I mean, this sweater...”

“Oh,” I say, a little taken aback. Maybe I misread her, but I wasn’t thinking this. “Ummm...” Neither of us can look the other in the eye.

“It’s just itchy,” she laughs nervously. “Do you have, like, a t-shirt or something?”

“Sure.” I stumble when I make it to my feet, suddenly needing to get away from her. “Yeah, I’ll be right back.” I can feel the adrenaline coursing through me. Is that adrenaline? I want her.

Fuck. Is she saying she wants me, too?

She looked away. She said she was uncomfortable. She corrected herself, blaming her sweater. She wants to get into something more comfortable. Isn’t that a sign? Isn’t that what they say?

I close my door as soon as I get to my room, tapping my head against it repeatedly. She doesn’t want to be in love. Is that what this is? This feeling? Or do I just want her that badly? I definitely want her. Pushing against the door, I go to my nightstand and pull out the two condoms, pocketing them just in case. I wish I could read her.

I get halfway down the hall before I remember why I came down here in the first place. That would have been embarrassing. Pull it together. I scan the options in my closet, finally settling on an REM t-shirt from their most recent tour. I bet she likes them, too. It’s short-sleeved, though. Will she be warm enough? I can warm her up.

Fuck! Pull it together, Nate!

I force myself to take five deep breaths, and realize my heart is pounding in my chest and the blood is pumping vigorously throughout my body. This could be embarrassing. I need a cigarette. I grab another long-sleeved t-shirt to give her options. While she changes, I’ll smoke. Unless she gives me a sign otherwise.

One more breath, and I start to return to the third floor. I can read her. I know body language. If I just pay attention, she’ll tell me what she wants.

She hasn’t moved an inch since I left her. I can tell from the shape of the blankets that her arms are wrapped around her legs, which she’s pulled into her body. She really can’t be any more closed off than that. I don’t think she wants what I want.

Of course she doesn’t. She told me that already.

“Hey,” I say as I hold the two shirts out to her. I hope I don’t sound like the wreck that I feel like.

“Did you go to that show?” she asks, throwing the blankets off and standing up. “I wanted to go to that so bad!”

“Yeah,” I tell her, handing her the short-sleeved shirt. “Front row.”

“No way.”

“Yeah. I got to meet them after the show.”

“No way!”

“I swear.”

“Take me with you next time!” she says. “Please?”

Anytime. Anywhere. “Sure,” I say nonchalantly, balling up the other shirt.

“Can I have that one, too? It’s cold. I can wear layers.”

“Of course.” I smile, giving her the other shirt, as well.