Chapter 42
In my rush to leave, I didn’t put on my coat and now I’m shivering in my T-shirt, holding the Target shopping bag with a balled-up pair of kids’ leggings in my hand. Waiting.
At least this time I’m waiting for someone I’m certain will actually show up.
Of course, I’ve been wrong a thousand times before. I might be wrong about this, too.
When his car turns into the parking lot, my stomach becomes a ball of nerves. I wonder if he’ll notice me right away. Maybe from a distance I look like an unkempt teenage slacker and his eyes just skip over me.
I think it’s the fact that I’m staring a little too intently at him getting out of his car that catches his attention.
He cycles through different facial expressions:
Confusion: Why is a shivering weirdo ogling me in front of a rec center?
Concentration: Is the shivering weirdo someone vaguely familiar?
Shock: Wha—
Nick stops abruptly in the parking lot traffic lane, right in front of a slow-moving SUV.
When he moves out of the way, it takes everything in me not to walk toward him. I suddenly feel stalkerish, like I should put my hands up in surrender to demonstrate that I’m not dangerous.
“You’re—”
“I didn’t mean to amb—”
“What are you—”
“I brought Kira some—”
“You’re here.”
Nick isn’t wearing a coat, either. He has his hoodie on. I want to live inside that hoodie. I’m sure of that now. And not just because I’m only wearing a T-shirt.
“Kira messaged me on her tablet,” I explain. “She got her period and needed some—”
“Is she—”
“She’s fine,” I say as he makes for the door. “I found her in the restroom. Gave her some pads and a change of clothes. We talked for a couple minutes and then she went back to parkour. Sorry, I’ll stop cutting you off.”
Nick steps back from the door, a little more at ease.
“Thanks for helping her.”
I’m scanning for all the ways he might look different. Actually, I’m not. I’m genuinely just drinking in his face one more time because I’m tired of trying to sketch it out in my mind and getting memory loss Bruce Wayne.
“You’re back in Columbus?” He shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets, depriving me of stealing glances at them.
“I got back about a week ago.”
“You could have called.”
“I wanted to call. Once I had my shit together.” I’ve never seen him this cautious. I pause and take a breath in, feeling the anxiety physically manifesting in my body. “Can I say something?”
“Can you please say it quickly?” he asks. “Because my blood pressure is spiking right now. That can be dangerous at my age.” The corner of his mouth raises one millimeter, forming a little smirk, and I feel one millimeter more hopeful.
“I miss you.” I swallow, trying to keep the thoughts straight in my head. “I’d been living this weird, isolated existence in my mom’s office. And I felt so terrible about my life that I was desperate for this magic bullet way to get out of my situation.”
He nods. Still cautious.
“I don’t blame you. I told you to go,” he says.
“I’m glad I left. But not because of the job. I ended up taking a class while I was there. And it was actually amazing and I started drawing again and I realized I have so many things to say that I was holding inside.”
“That sounds like a great realization.”
I take another breath. “Maybe over the last few years I just…romanticized the idea of this prestigious career. I wasn’t interested in any other options. Any other path. Any other facet of my life that could be important. Maybe a job shouldn’t be the thing you live for. Does that make sense?”
“I manage a Chili’s.” I think it’s a laugh line but neither of us reacts that way.
“I could keep chasing this one, elusive career path and force the rest of my life to revolve around that. Or I could build a life where people I love are at the center.”
He takes a step closer, giving me this intense look, and we’re almost close enough to touch.
“I still have hot pink feelings.” I look him directly in the eye.
“And I don’t think living in a different state is going to make them fade.
Actually I know it’s not. Because moving away just made them…
more saturated. Technicolor. The way I feel when I’m with you…
it’s like I’m finally warm inside. I’m so comfortable with you that I can be myself.
I’m not afraid that you’ll see through me and find something gross inside.
I can just give you everything because I know—I know—you’ll give it back.
I’ve never had faith in someone like that. And that has to mean something.”
“The unseen,” Nick says.
“What?”
“When you were explaining comics to me—what’s magic about them—you said that there are moments that happen that aren’t drawn on the page. You have to imagine everything that happens in between the panels.”
“See, that’s my problem,” I say. “I was filling in those big gaps in my own head without even realizing it. I wasn’t seeing what was right in front of me.
It’s a balance between all the visible evidence and the things you can’t see, but you just know.
And that’s really hard for an overthinker.
But I see how you are with Kira and I know what kind of a person you are.
You’ll do anything for her. You tell her you’re proud of her.
You’re always there, always putting her first. That’s my evidence.
Because I know what it’s like not to feel that sense of security in a parent.
And the fact that you give that to her says everything.
That’s why I have faith that you’ll always be there for me, too.
You having a kid is a feature, not a bug. ”
“That doesn’t mean there’s no room for anything else in my life,” he says. “There’s a lot of room. There’s a whole side of my bed that’s empty.”
“I have a queen-size bed now, too.”
“Thank God.”
“But I don’t have everything figured out,” I say. “I need to get a job. I’ll probably need to bartend and do a bunch of other things. But I know for sure that I want to keep drawing. Even if it’s just a thing I do for me.”
“Speaking of figuring things out…we’re talking with a lawyer,” Nick says. “Working out how to divide the assets. Hopefully we’ll go before the judge in a couple months.”
“Wow.”
“It was a blind spot for me,” he says. “Part of the coma. But it’s important for Nora, too. We’ve had some good conversations about both of us moving on. And I don’t think that would’ve happened if not for you.”
“Not that I’m the best at letting things go,” I say. “But I’m trying.”
Nick stares into my eyes. “One of the hardest things in life is figuring out what to let go and what to hold on to.”
“I want to hold on to you.” My right hand impulsively grabs at the front of his hoodie. “I’m sure of that.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He puts his hand over mine, squeezing it. “I don’t want you to feel trapped here.”
“I trapped myself in my mom’s office. And a lot of it was my own doing. At least now I’m in Romily’s second bedroom. And I have a regular, adult bed. And I drove here. You told me I needed my license in case of an emergency and you were right.”
“Wait, you’re driving?”
“Yes, but you might want to wait a while before letting Kira in the car with me,” I say.
“That’s probably for the best, because she’s discovered K-pop and that’s all she’ll listen to in the car. She learns the choreography and everything. Dragons are very uncool now.”
I run my fingers along the hoodie, the pilling sweatshirt fleece and cracking screen print over his heart. “Do ten-year-olds consider it uncool to kiss?”
He reaches his hand around my waist, and I’ve missed this so much—being pulled close. Feeling his body heat even though I’m shivering. Not being left wanting, even a little bit.
“She’s definitely venturing out of the ‘ewww’ stage.” He leans his face close to mine, our noses almost touching. “I’m doomed.”
“See, I think you’re very lucky—”
He doesn’t let me finish. He doesn’t press in for a soft kiss. For how cautious he’s been during our conversation, there’s nothing tentative. Nothing left on the table. His hands are tangled in my hair, mouth on my jaw and then neck. I can’t catch my breath and I don’t want to.
But actually I kind of have to pull back because…need oxygen.
“You okay?” he asks after I take a couple of deep inhale-exhales.
“My heart is racing,” I say. “How’s your blood pressure?”
“Vigorous.”
“I feel like I need to limit myself, like the package of Oreos is going to run out if I don’t ration them.”
He shakes his head. “I’m a renewable resource. I’m an endless package of Oreos.”
“I always knew the man of my dreams would describe himself that way.”
“Do you have plans on Christmas Eve?” he asks.
“I’m not even sure what I’m doing tomorrow.”
“Well, I know exactly what you’ll be doing tomorrow night,” he says.
“But for Christmas Eve, Kira and I are going to a Feast of the Seven Fishes. It’s this Italian tradition.
My family used to do it and I thought it would be nice to have some rituals for just us. Even though she thinks seafood is ew.”
“That’s a really nice idea,” I say.
“You should come with us. See if you can trick Kira into trying crab.”
“I’m part of the ‘just us’?”
“You’re in the inner circle.”
“And what exactly will I be doing tomorrow night?” I ask.
“It’s period close. I have to do inventory. So you’re going to drive over to Chili’s and pick me up after everyone else is gone.”
I grab his hoodie and kiss him again. “I’ll make sure the back seat’s empty.”
One
Panel 1: Night. Establishing shot of an exterior of a chain restaurant. A hatchback sits in the otherwise empty parking lot, illuminated by the soft glow of the Chili’s sign.
Panel 2: Medium shot of the passenger side of the car. Some motion or rumbling coming from the inside. The rear window is clouded with condensation…interrupted only by the sole of a Doc Martens boot.