Chapter 18
chapter
eighteen
NATE
“What’s this?” Teagan hops up from the floor with a glimmering gold headband in her tiny grasp.
A Wonder Woman headband.
“Oh, that’s, um…” I check over my shoulder to confirm Mom’s not within earshot. “That belongs to a friend. I’ll be sure she gets it back.”
“You had a friend over who’s a girl?” She blinks.
The collar of my shirt suddenly feels tight around my neck.
“Is it Maren’s?”
My mouth dries.
Why does she have to be so smart and intuitive? Usually, I’m thrilled about it, but right now? Not so much.
“Is what Maren’s?” My mother appears in the archway to the living room.
I take the headband from Teagan and wave it around. “I found it in the driveway, but when I knocked on her door to give it back, she didn’t answer. I’ll have to do it later.” I shrug, hoping they buy it.
They share a curious look, then stare back at me.
“You’re sweating. Did you jog today?” Teagan asks. “You said you’d take me next time you jogged.”
“I did… jog.” I scratch the side of my head, where I find a few beads of sweat like we’re in the middle of summer. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you. We will definitely go together soon.”
“I’m very fast.”
“I bet you are.”
“I could probably beat you in a race.”
I chuckle and pat her shoulder. “If you do, then you can start dating before you’re eighteen.”
She scrunches her button nose. “Dating? Ew. No, thanks.”
“That’s my girl.” I kiss the top of her head, thankful she’s not as boy crazy as some of the other girls her age. At her last school, one of her friends claimed to have three boyfriends, and Sabrina and I nearly choked when we heard.
“Teagan, honey, I have an ideal,” Mom chimes in, making me smile with her use of “ideal” instead of “idea.” It’s something Maren always found charming about her, and I wholeheartedly agree.
“Why don’t you get started on the croissants we picked up on our way over?
Your father and I will be right in. Just promise to save us some. ”
“I can’t eat all six!” Teagan giggles, then turns to me. “We got them from Bready or Knot. I like the name.”
“Me too, kiddo.”
“Are you going to talk about my Halloween costume for tomorrow night?” she asks us, and I almost forgot that, while the Tap hosted a party yesterday, the actual holiday isn’t until tomorrow.
Which means I’ll have to dress up again to take Teagan trick-or-treating, and while Halloween isn’t exactly my favorite, I love that I’ll be able to take Teagan around my old neighborhood this year.
It’ll be her first time trick-or-treating in Sapphire Creek, and I’m wildly excited to share that with her.
“Yep. Nan-Nan is going to hem the top, and you’ll be set,” I tell her.
“I’ll have it all ready for you in the morning, honey,” my mom promises.
Teagan races out of the living room, and it makes me grin… until I feel my mother’s gaze land on me.
She’s peering at me, her arms crossed like the time I lied about how her azaleas got destroyed when I was fourteen. I blamed a nasty storm, but in truth, Owen and I were trying to learn how to ride my new dirt bike.
It got away from us pretty quick.
The tire marks were obvious too, but because she’s a saint of a woman, Mom didn’t say anything.
Nothing about the glimmer of mischief in her eye gives me any indication that I’ll get as lucky this time.
“Well?” She lifts a brow.
I blink, and more fucking sweat trickles down my neck.
“How was last night? Fun?”
I nod. “It was good to see everyone.”
“Everyone, or just one person?” She points to the headpiece I’m still holding at my side.
“I see her all the time right next door.”
“I’m sure you do,” she says with a smirk. “How else would you have found her headband in her driveway? You’re such a good, observant neighbor.”
I shake my head. It’s clear she knows I’m lying, but she spares me the fifth degree. Mostly, anyway.
A few minutes later, Mom leaves in a flurry of waves and flakes of croissant flying from her fingers. “I have more unpacking to do and a costume to hem, but I’ll see you both tomorrow!” With that, she slams the front door.
At the breakfast table, I turn to Teagan. “Did you talk to your mother yesterday?”
She nods, her mouth dotted with buttery pieces of croissant.
“Did you tell her about your new school? Your teacher? Your friends?”
“I haven’t made friends yet.”
“Give it time.”
“I did tell her about Mrs. Figgins. She wears a lot of wacky sweaters like Nan-Nan.”
“I’m pretty sure they make matching ones in their sewing club.”
“Can I join the sewing club?” Her eyes light up.
“If you want.” I shrug. “But wouldn’t it be more fun to be in a club with friends your age?”
Teagan frowns, and I set my pastry down, unease swirling in the pit of my stomach. “I haven’t made friends yet,” she repeats, but it’s infused with far more sadness than before.
I place my hand over hers and reassure her, “Be patient, Teagan. This is a new place, and it’ll take time to get acclimated.”
“What’s acclimated?”
“Getting used to things.”
She nods, but the frown doesn’t go away.
It’s not until I push my chair back, jump onto my feet, and clap that she smiles. “Ready for Nerf wars?”
The little ball of sudden energy bounces from her chair. “Into position, soldier!” she calls out as she rushes toward the closet to retrieve our Nerf guns.
It’s our Sunday tradition. One that’s just hers and mine.
And today, I’m extra thankful for it, because it wipes the frown from my daughter’s face.
After nearly two hours of Nerf wars, Teagan falls asleep on the couch clutching two Styrofoam bullets in her tiny fingers. I pry them free and catch a figure on the porch through the window.
I swing the door open and find Maren pacing near the steps, like she’s debating on leaving, but she pauses when her gaze meets mine.
She wears a familiar look in her eye, and my heart sinks into my rib cage as if it’s tied to a cinder block.
Nausea rolls through me as I shut the door behind me and fold my arms over my chest. “Let me guess—you think last night was a mistake.” I punctuate the statement with a rough, humorless laugh.
Maren’s shoulders slump, and a few strands of her bangs catch on her wispy eyelashes. Her face is free of makeup, and the natural glow about her draws me closer, even though I know I’m not going to like where she steers this conversation.
“It was a mistake,” she says.
My exhale leaves me in a harsh hiss, but it does nothing to relieve the pressure building inside me. My head is about to fucking explode. Are we seriously going to have this conversation—again?
Déjà vu snakes through me, and more nausea gathers in the pit of my stomach.
Maren shifts from one foot to the other. “With the reunion last month and you moving back in next door, all the nostalgia got to me. I’ve been drunk on sentiment and caught up in—”
I scoff. “You slept with me because of nostalgia? There’s something I’ve never heard before.”
“Look, last night, we talked a lot, but we didn’t even broach the topic of what happened between us, and we should have.”
My spine stiffens. There’s a reason I never brought any of it up. Mostly, I just didn’t know how. And I didn’t want to risk ruining such a perfect night.
“It wouldn’t have mattered, though.” Maren folds her arms over her chest, mimicking my stance, and she juts her chin up with indignation, the guarded mask she usually wears locked and loaded.
“We shouldn’t pursue anything else between us.
Let last night be part of some elaborate form of closure. Keep us in the past, where we belong.”
I step into her space and cautiously trail my fingers along her cheek, flashes from last night of her soft, bare skin pressed against mine holding me hostage. “We’re not in the past, Maren. Our feelings aren’t, either. I know you feel it. Why should we ignore that?”
“Because I don’t want to just pick up where we left off back then.” She slides my hand away and retreats. “I want to move on, Nate. I need to move on. I’m long overdue.”
“I don’t want to pick up where we left off.”
“Glad we agree.” She starts down the steps, but I stop her with my next words.
“I don’t want a repeat of high school at all, because I can’t stand the thought of losing you a second time.”
She faces me again, and her breath hitches.
“I want to start fresh and give us a real shot this time.” My throat thickens with overwhelming desperation. “Come on, Maren. We’re not teenagers anymore. We have a shot at a second chance, and I want to seize it.”
When she squeezes her eyes shut, I almost believe I’m getting through to her. That she agrees with me. How could she not? We’re clearly still attracted to each other, with very real, meaningful feelings.
Last night happened, and it’s not something I can just forget—I don’t want to.
But she shakes her head and turns away, whispering, “We can’t.”
Maren doesn’t have the decency to look me in the eye, much like the night we broke up—it happened over the phone, and I never got to look her in the eye.
We blindly ended with a few heavy words as if they were spoken by two strangers. As if our relationship—plus all our years of friendship—meant nothing.
I can’t let her go again, not like I did once before. Not without getting to the bottom of this.
“Let’s talk about it,” I say.
She freezes, with her back still to me.
“Let’s talk about the truth.” I brace myself, because sure, I deserve the truth, but can I fucking handle it? I hold my breath as I ask, “What’s the real reason you didn’t move out west with me for college?”
She whirls around, her nostrils flared. “You know why.”
“I know the reason you gave me was bullshit. It wasn’t because of financial aid.
It wasn’t the only reason, anyway.” I stalk toward her, and she meets me halfway, rising up from the steps and skidding to a stop an inch from me.
“Why don’t you tell me what really happened?
The night before I left, you wanted to tell me something. You wanted to break up with me, right?”
She gulps.