Chapter Eighteen - Natalia
Chapter Eighteen
Natalia
N atalia wrapped her arms tightly around the brown paper bags, juggled them as she stuck in her key and unlocked the front door. She used her rear end to push the door open and then made her way to the kitchen before dropping the bags on the counter. She returned to the door, pulled her key out of the lock, shut the door, and locked it. She removed her sneakers in the mudroom, her bare feet pitter-pattering across the hardwood as she headed back to the kitchen, grabbed the remote, and hit the Power button. The CNN news correspondent’s voice echoed across the quietness of the house as Natalia opened the back door to let fresh air in.
She unpacked the groceries, emptying the brown paper bags and beginning to put things away. On the drive home, she’d already decided on Portuguese rice and chicken—an old family recipe. One chicken breast would suffice, she thought, but if she made a little more, she’d have leftovers. She was quickly becoming accustomed to cooking for one. The quietness of the house was becoming customary, too. There was no loud music playing the moment she opened the door, or sports commentary on the television in every room of the house, no need to remove sneakers from the kitchen floor or fuss about clothing being scattered about the house. Dishes weren’t stacked in the sink. The house was just as she’d left it that morning in fact—spotless.
She needed to get her groove in things. A pattern. A life, without Nic . As painful as it seemed, she needed to think about moving on. The garlic sizzled in the saucepan as she tossed in a mixture of colorful vegetables—red peppers, tomatoes, onions. She started a pan of basmati rice. Although Lu had returned from Sacramento and Lorenzo was preparing a special Friday night meal, as promised, she still prepared something for later. She poured herself a glass of Pinot Grigio, took a long sip, and closed her eyes as she savored it.
“Hello, Natalia.”
The glass slid from her hand and shattered as it slammed against the floor. Her voice shrieked loudly; her body stiffened, but she managed to turn slowly to confront the familiar voice that had just scared the holy crap out of her. Nic stood there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his sweatpants. He was growing a beard. And he needed a haircut.
“You scared me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Last I checked, I still live here.” Nic gave her a half-smile.
“You haven’t been here in a very long time.” She bent down and started collecting the pieces from the broken glass.
Nic bent down and helped Natalia pick up the pieces of broken glass. Their faces in proximity, she inhaled all of him—the familiarity of his cologne. She could feel his breath against her face. The anxiety of having him so close caused her heart to beat briskly, her stomach to flip-flop.
“I’ll clean this up. You need to get to whatever you got cooking over there.” He motioned toward the stove, where a cloud of smoke had quickly formed.
“Portuguese rice,” she whispered.
“Your grandmother’s recipe.”
She stood, rushed over to the stove, and turned the fire down beneath the pan. She faced Nic. “We need to talk.”
He stood, pieces of glass in his hand as he tossed them into the trash can. “I know.”
“The last time we spoke . . .”
“Before we talk, do you mind if I clean up a bit first? I had a long journey today. I really need a shower.”
“And you didn’t return to your corporate apartment in the city?”
“No, I didn’t. I wanted to come here.”
Natalia looked at Nic for a long moment before returning to the stove. “Um, yeah. Okay. Go get cleaned up. I’ll finish up here. Are you hungry?”
“Yes. I haven’t had your Portuguese rice in a very long time.” He gave her a light smile before leaving the kitchen.
She stood there for a moment, head cocked to the side, a wrinkle in her brow. Why the change of heart? She listened as his footsteps made a clumping noise as he climbed the stairs. He was home, which was what she’d wanted— had prayed for , right? She dismissed the thought of it, returned to the stove, and finished cooking. Then she poured herself another glass of wine, pulled a plate from the shelf, and placed it on the island.
* * *
Alina Baraz’s voice suddenly filled her space, the bass from Nic’s stereo penetrating Natalia’s chest, providing a bit of normalcy to her life again. A touch of a smile danced against her lips as she remembered how they once were. He was home . She couldn’t wait to get to Lu’s to share the news with her and Kenya. They would be overjoyed. The smile made its way to her heart. She looked up and saw him standing in the doorway of the kitchen, observing her. He was wearing a pair of distressed jeans, his bare chest glistening from the baby oil he’d undoubtedly rubbed all over his chiseled upper body. His feet were bare.
“I know how much you like that playlist.” He walked over to the cabinet, grabbed a wineglass from the shelf, and poured himself a glass of the Pinot.
“It’s my favorite.”
“Mine, too.”
“We played it so much that first year. I played it while you were gone, too,” she admitted.
“It’s good to be home.” Nic took a sip of his wine, pulled out the chair from the island, and took a seat.
“I must ask why you’re home, Nic. I mean, just last week you didn’t know if you’d ever come back. And now, here you are.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think. And I realized that I wasn’t being fair to you. You deserved more.”
Natalia scooped spoons filled with Portuguese rice onto a plate, slid it in front of Nic. “Those letters . . . they were very troubling.”
He sighed deeply; his eyes fluttered. “I can imagine that it was very hurtful for you to read them. I must admit, Angelina has always loved me, still loves me.”
“She wants you to leave me, to be with her. And it felt like you had left me.”
“I left because I was angry.”
“Angry about what?”
“You were obsessing about things, about the baby. About everything. The miscarriage. And then, when Lu told me about the prescription medication, the one you took while you were pregnant . . . that caused the miscarriage, I think I just lost it . . .”
“W . . . wait. Lu told you about the prescription meds?”
“Yes. It’s why I left,” he said matter-of-factly, as if all of it were perfectly normal.
“When did you talk to Lu?”
“One night, when I was on one of my walks. She was at the inn, and I stopped, and we chatted. Wait, she didn’t tell you that we talked?”
“No, she didn’t. That was something I told her in confidence!”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Natalia closed her eyes and shook her head. “I didn’t know how. It was all . . . so . . . daunting.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry. I’m over it now. I know that you didn’t intentionally kill our baby. You’re not that type of person.”
“Of course I’m not that type of person. But I can’t believe you didn’t talk to me about it before leaving. And I can’t believe Lu betrayed my trust like that.”
“There was no malice in her intentions. In fact, I had to drag it out of her. If I hadn’t pressed, she’d never have told me.”
“You left because she told you.”
“Well, yes, but also because you were obsessing. Natalia, you were . . .”
Natalia grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter. She aggressively dialed Lu’s number. The call went straight to her voicemail. She paced the floor back and forth, her mind racing. She was shaking uncontrollably. She would’ve cried if she weren’t so angry. Nic moved swiftly and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He squeezed her until she stopped shaking, kissed her forehead. The tears betrayed her, consuming her. She collapsed in his arms.
“You should’ve just told me,” he whispered.
Her voice shook. “How do you tell someone that you killed their baby?” She cried—a loud, ugly cry.
“Shhh,” Nic comforted her. “Don’t cry, baby. Everything is going to be okay from here on out. I promise.”
His lips touched hers. Then his tongue danced inside her mouth. She missed his kisses, his touch. She searched his eyes. Was he certain that everything would in fact be okay?
Maybe it would.