Chapter 9 #2
Instead, I say, “You should talk to her. Tomorrow, when no one is drinking and you’re not in a place like this. When someone is a good friend, it’s better to clear the air, or you’ll resent her and nothing will change.”
“She might get defensive,” Camila says.
“She might, but you won’t know unless you try.”
“You’re so right,” Rosie says, and Camila nods reluctantly. Before they leave for the bar, they promise to flag us down if they spot Logan and his friends.
Nate shifts on his feet next to me, surely thinking the exact thought that’s gnawing at me: I’m not following my own advice.
Refusing to talk about what went wrong between us hasn’t made things any easier, but I’m doing it anyway.
Either the advice I gave Camila was empty platitudes, or I’m a total fucking hypocrite.
My head is throbbing. “Another lap?”
I don’t wait for his answer before setting off. This time, my body feels like a ship lurching in stormy waters, every step a little wilder and less balanced than the last.
I’m almost all the way around the dance floor before I remember I’m supposed to be looking for Logan.
I pause for a second just as the beat drops.
The people around me really start moving, and I accidentally bump asses with the woman behind me.
Annoyance shoots through me, even though it was no one’s fault.
I push through until I’m out of the chaos.
Nate is nowhere in sight. I press my knuckles to my eyes and try to breathe deeply.
The red mist is invading, and I’m powerless to stop it.
I’m just so overwhelmed. About Nate and this trip, about work and Bailey, about my failure to thrive in L.A.
I don’t know how to handle this stress, just like I don’t know how to handle any other bad feeling.
All I do is try to push it away or turn it into something good, and it usually works.
It’s always worked in the past, but not anymore.
I can’t make myself feel the way I should.
Instead of waiting for Nate, I go to the bar and slam back another tequila shot. When I return to our home base, he’s waiting for me. One of his rolled-up sleeves is falling down, his cheeks are rosy, and his shirt is unbuttoned even farther than before.
His shoulders drop when he spots me. “You were moving so fast, I lost you by the DJ booth,” he says. “Where did you go?”
“Bathroom,” I lie, hiccuping. The toe of my sandal catches the ground, and I am totally fine and barely stumble, but he grabs me by the waist to steady me anyway.
“Let’s go around one more time,” he says. “It’s late, and I’m kind of drunk. If he’s not here by now, I doubt he’s coming.” I think he means I’m drunk but is too nice to say it.
“Okay.” A lump settles in my throat. If we don’t find Logan, this night is over, and it’s likely that Nate accompanying me on my trip is over too.
That makes me feel a lot of things I shouldn’t.
I can’t stand the idea that after all this, we might go our separate ways without clearing the air.
Even though I’m the one who said I wasn’t ready for that conversation.
I trail Nate toward the dance floor. Right on the outskirts, where some people are dancing but others are hanging back and watching, I grab his wrist.
“Hey,” I half shout. “I’m ready to talk.”
When he turns around, his eyebrows are tense with uncertainty. “Seriously? Now?”
“Yes, now. What happened with us?”
“I’m going to need you to be more specific.”
I tug him down by his shirt so I can speak directly into his ear. “Me and you,” I say. “How did I fuck it up so badly?”
Nate moved to L.A. a few months before I did.
He’d been particularly close to the Stantons, a First Cove family whose four kids he’d taught to swim.
When they relocated to L.A., their kids’ new camp was hiring an assistant manager.
They encouraged him to give it a shot. After starting there in the spring, he worked out a deal to spend August back in Seapoint, running First Cove while Logan’s dad recovered from knee surgery.
I arrived in L.A. in July and made plans to move in with Michelle in August, so Nate’s last night in the city for the summer was the end of our month as temporary roommates.
It was also a night when his actual roommate Ravi was hosting a bunch of out-of-town friends. Which meant I’d agreed to give up my usual spot on the couch, and Nate and I were sharing his bed.
As a fitness instructor, I have a low resting heart rate. But my pulse was galloping when we shut the door to his room that night after hanging out with Ravi’s crew in the living room.
Nate had an early flight, so when they headed to a bar, we stayed back. As we moved around each other in the quiet apartment, brushing our teeth and turning off the lights, it felt like the entire month—possibly our entire relationship—had led to this one night in this one bed.
Bailey and I had a decade of friendship behind us, and Nate and I lived almost three thousand miles away from her and the rest of our friends.
It no longer felt like pursuing him was a betrayal.
We’d spent a month together, cooking and decompressing on the couch after work and sightseeing on our days off.
He went to the pharmacy at eleven p.m. when I spiked a fever one night, and I washed his sweaty sheets after he came down with the same bug a few days later.
There were little touches and looks and conversations that made me think, This is going to happen. The time is finally right.
We climbed into bed and lay on our backs, and neither of us moved away when our knees touched. When his hand grazed mine under the covers, he stroked my palm with his thumb, and it seemed like a no-brainer.
“Nate,” I said. “I want to be with you.” I wasn’t even scared. I was excited to consummate our new relationship.
His hand stilled on mine. “What do you mean?”
I felt the first trace of uncertainty at the wariness in his tone, but it didn’t stop me. I turned onto my side, facing him. “Ever since I got here, I’ve had the best time with you. I like you as more than just a friend. And I…I think we should give us a try.”
He stared at me, his face frozen in confusion. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Yeah, for a month. That’s nothing.” A stretch of silence followed, and doubt seeped like rainwater into the cracks in my confidence.
“It’s a long time for two people who’ve just started something.” Typical Nate, wielding a half-empty glass.
“It’s really not. We’ll text and video chat and we’ll both be busy with work. It’ll fly by.”
He looked back up at the shadows on the ceiling. “What about visiting Seapoint one weekend? Would you do that?”
An awkward pause. I hadn’t expected to be talking logistics instead of making out.
“I can’t, but not because I don’t want to.
It’s too late to ask for a schedule change.
And the only weekend I don’t have a Saturday class, Caleb is throwing a CycleLove anniversary party for Diego.
I have to be there to bond with the team.
And because being in everyone’s photos on socials will help people realize I exist.”
As the newest instructor, I had the smallest following.
Sure, the classes I taught at my old studio in Philly had been popular locally.
But I only landed on Tracy’s radar when one of her friends happened to take one on during an East Coast work trip and raved about it.
I was so lucky, and I needed to capitalize on that luck.
“I’m not going back to Seapoint for Bailey’s party this year either,” I admitted. “Caleb invited me to visit some studios his friend owns in Orange County that week.”
“Studio visits with Caleb. ” A muscle in Nate’s jaw twitched.
Annoyance pinged at me. Sure, Nate poked fun at me when I shot and reshot videos of all the smoothies I tried on our L.A. explorations, but I thought it was all in good fun. This felt like judgment. Like he thought there was something wrong with my work.
“Yeah. We’re going to pop in and surprise the riders and film it all. I asked if we could change the dates, but it wouldn’t work. It was nice of him to even offer. He could’ve picked anyone.”
He took his hand off mine. “I don’t know what to say. I’m proud of you for everything you have going on, but I’d hate to screw up our friendship over something we haven’t thought through.”
That made no sense to me. “What is there is to think about?”
He pressed his mouth shut and shook his head. “It just seems like a complicated time to start a relationship.”
“Well, sure, with that attitude.”
“You’re saying you want this after a month of sharing my apartment, when I was pretty much the only person you knew in this city.
I just wonder if…if things may change when I’m in New Jersey.
” A swallow worked its way down his throat.
“You’re moving out, and you’ll be spending a lot of time with CycleLove people.
That might affect what you want. Or who you want to be with. ”
“You’re being silly.” I felt cornered. Everything was going red around me, and I fought to slap a coat of soothing green paint on it. “Why would you even say that? We’ll figure it out as we go.”
“I feel like you’re not hearing me.”
“And I feel like you’re not giving me anything! All you’re talking about is what might go wrong. When you want something enough, that stuff should be the last thing on your mind. We shouldn’t be fighting about this.”
He groaned. “We’re not fighting. I’m trying to talk to you. Why can’t we have a conversation about the things that make this scary?”
“Why can’t you just tell me you like me too?
” I snapped. “That would be a good place to start, but I haven’t heard you say it yet.
You do like me, right?” My throat stung.
I waited for him to soften, to turn toward me.
If he liked me back, it would’ve been the easiest question in the world to answer.