48. Claire
forty-eight
Playinghouse with Nathan during winter break is a book fantasy come to life. We’ve cooked together in his kitchen, read countless books, and blown through a ton of Netflix documentaries. He tried teaching me chess, but I gave up hope when I realized he’d never let me win.
We’ve had sex in almost every room of his house. The man has thoroughly exhausted me, and I’m not complaining.
We’ve talked, too. I didn’t realize how much we needed this—time to share without being interrupted—until we had it. I don’t ever want to give this back. After a shower together, I’m laying in his lap in the study.
“I don’t know, I just… I feel like I barely know anything about you. Which, in retrospect, feels so silly to say, but like… What’s your favorite color?”
“Black.”
I snort. Typical.
I toss my head back, letting my curtain of hair hang over his lap and onto the floor.
“Come on, Nathan. Tell me something no one else knows about you.”
Suddenly, I’m being lifted. My heart pinches. I might not know him on a trivial, fun-fact-level, but I know that face. I’m already prepared for the chin grab. Maybe I do know this man better than I thought I did.
“You know some of the most intimate things about me, Claire. Things I’ve never told another soul.”
I swallow. Think back to that day in his office, when I’d held him through that phone call. That evening, when he’d spilled open his soul, and I’d read to him from his favorite book.
“But, in the name of transparency, I’ve always wanted a dog.”
My eyes sparkle.
“Oh my gosh. He’s a dog man?! Tell me everything. What kind? Why don’t you have one? You totally have the space, and the yard.”
“If I’d have known that all it took to make you sparkle like this was to tell you my favorites, I’d have led with them. I don’t have one because I work long hours and would feel neglectful leaving it alone all day.”
“But you have summers off.”
“Not as an administrator.”
Ugh. News to me. Plans of a summer with him melt like ice cream cone runoff in the summer heat. But with that same thought, I wonder what they’re doing there in the first place.
Sure, I’ve spent every day since Christmas in Nathan’s home, his arms, his bed. We’ve shared secrets and confided in one another, but at the same time, I don’t know him. What his hopes are for the future. If he’ll stay at River Valley, or if he’s on the move. What does he want from a relationship? I stutter at the thought of kids—even with Nathan, I don’t want them. But what if he does?
“I’ve always wanted a big dog.”
“Ugh. You’re making me miss Sonny.”
“Sonny?”
“My family’s golden.”
I swipe through my phone for the album dedicated to my sixth pseudo-child.
“Oh, he is a good boy.”
Stop. My jaw drops. What is that voice?
I squeal. His brows pinch together, but even that scrunch cannot hide the transformation before me. This man looks ten years younger, a childlike sparkle in his eyes as he tears them away from me to keep swiping through photos of Sonny. I laugh. I can’t help it. Uncovering surprises about him has been my favorite part of this week, and seeing the absolutely transformative joy on Nathan’s face makes me want to keep it there.
I pop up from the couch and snag the hand he doesn’t have clutched around my phone.
“Where are we going?”
“Get your coat. I have an idea.”
I don’t know where this man has been hiding, but it’s like Nathan Harding has a second personality hidden deep inside that he only shows to dogs.
When I offered to drive, he insisted that I just tell him where to turn, and then promptly tried to leave the car without taking the keys from the ignition when we pulled up outside of the shelter. He has been playing with a crew full of dogs in the rumpus room for the past twenty minutes, and I’m almost certain that if I left, he literally wouldn’t notice.
Since the weather is your typical New England cold, not many people have been coming by to walk dogs at the shelter. With today’s bone-chilling winds, Nathan opted to stay inside as well—but not before signing up to be a dog walker once the state of Massachusetts thaws out in a few months.
I’m sitting on the floor with a golden pup whose paws are so big, he can’t quite function without tripping over them. He’s curled up in my lap, dog-paralyzing me, giving me the perfect opportunity to spy. I watch Nathan, taking in the carefree boy who has replaced the man with the weight of everyone’s world on his shoulders. He seems to have melted into the little boy he never got the chance to be. With my fingers lazily combing through the puppy’s golden soft fur, I prop my elbow on my knee and let the scenery around me change.
We aren’t in the shelter anymore. Instead, we’re in the vast yard that his house sits on. The summer sun lights up the landscaping, where we maybe have a vegetable garden. Nathan is tossing a frisbee, and two massive dogs chase after it, tails wagging as they steal it for a quick tug of war before bounding back to the man who saved them—because he would save them. He’d insist that we get rescues, and once the day finally arrived, an animated pout would persuade me to adopt two dogs instead of one. The dogs would start to roll in the grass, and he would find himself there too. Rubbing bellies and rough housing. A complete turn around from the man that seems to think he can’t be anything for the world besides buttoned up to the neck.
My head tilts in my hand as the summer image fades away, giving me back Nathan in present day, seated on the floor with a mile wide smile that lights up my insides. I both love and hate that I’m the only one who gets to see him like this. Hate, because the world deserves the parts of him that are wild and free. Love, because he saves them for me.
He has three puppies between the wide-spread V of his legs, scratching the head of a golden with one hand and a Rottweiler with the other, while a Doberman licks right over his lips. He laughs. Tosses his head back and tosses his inhibitions to the wind as that dog kisses him and destroys the lenses of his glasses. But he couldn’t care in the slightest.
When the woman in charge enters with an apologetic expression and informs us that we’ve actually overstayed our welcome, I realize the sun has gone down. Nathan’s brows turn down along with his lips, and he spends time individually saying goodbye to each pup. I almost have to drag him away. Then again, it’s an excuse to hold his hand, and for that, I’m not complaining.
“I don’t think we’ve done this,” I say as we walk lazily to his car, staring at my small hand engulfed in his.
“Hmm?”
“Hold hands.”
I peer up at him and bring our joined hands up so that he can see, squeezing for emphasis. I wonder if it’s the fact that it’s a first, or that he’s simply coming off the high of puppy-love, or maybe possibly that he just likes me that much, but Nathan keeps wearing that smile that could light up the night sky, and my mind is turning pages trying to figure out how to keep it.
“Do you like holding hands?” he asks, swinging our arms with a little more emphasis, which makes me giddy.
“I’ve never really done it before,” I shrug.
“Me neither.”
“I don’t peg you as a hand holding type of guy.”
It’s his turn to shrug, and that huge smile falls into an inquisitive one. When he looks down at me, his gaze holds the world.
“I’ve never found someone whose presence I enjoyed enough to want to keep holding onto.”
I think my heart may have just sprouted wings.
“Which one are you going to get?” I ask as he pulls out of the parking lot. The darkness plays tricks on how early it still is, and I yawn in spite of it.
“What do you mean?”
“The puppies!” I giggle, gaping at him. “You have to get one. Come on, they were practically imprinting on you.”
He chuckles warmly, stroking his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. That shouldn’t turn me on, right? Gah. But it does.
“They were pretty cute.”
“Mhm. I’d say so.” I unlock my phone and find the photo that, if I wasn’t living with one of his employees who could totally catch me, I’d make it my new phone background. Nathan is spread out on the floor, holding a ball of fluff golden retriever up underneath its two front paws like you would a baby beneath the armpits. His mouth is wide open, like he’s gaping at the puppy, the corners of his lips upturned in an ecstatic smile.
Holding the bright phone screen up to him, I gush, “This guy, looks like he’s maybe a little in love, I’d say?—”
“Not while I’m driving.”
It’s not that I haven’t heard Nathan’s forceful tone before. On the contrary, it was my first impression. But he hasn’t used it with me—aside from in the bedroom—since those first few weeks. Before we understood one another. This brings me back to that time—before I knew him fully.
“You’re right,” I swallow, locking my phone and putting it in my bag for emphasis. “I’ll show you when we get back.”
He nods once, and silence envelops us. The light mood is gone, and I feel terribly responsible for it. Folding my hands in my lap, my mind zips along the path of how long it will take me to pack my things that I’ve scattered around his home over these last few days so that I can leave, when he speaks again.
“I was thinking that maybe we could order dinner in tonight, since it’s getting late. I wanted to take you on a proper dinner date, but you surprised me tonight instead. What would you say about going into the city tomorrow evening?”
Just like that, my body relaxes. I exhale most of the worry, rest my head on the headrest, and blink over at him. We come to stop at a red light, and once he’s fully at zero miles per hour, he looks over at me. Concern knits in that divot between his brows. His hands, marking ten-and-two on the wheel, clench, like he’s stopping himself from reaching out.
“Would you rather not go out with me?”
“No!” I sit up straight. “No, that’s not it at all. I…”
I can feel my cheeks turning pink, and wonder if he can tell beneath the streetlights.
“I was mentally packing my bags to head home. I thought I’d ruined the night. You seemed really upset that I tried to show you my phone while you were driving. I’m just glad that wasn’t the case.”
Nathan’s eyes widen first before they flutter shut. His exhale is long and slow before his eyes peel open. The left turn signal illuminates in green, and with our lane still at a stop, he reaches over and takes my hand, kissing my knuckles.
“Thank you for being honest with me. No, you didn’t ruin the mood at all. The man who hit my parents was on his cell phone when he hit that patch of ice and slid into the wrong lane. I don’t like driving distracted. I never shared that with you.”
Our light turns green, and he releases my hand, replaces his on the wheel, and edges forward into traffic. I swallow, thinking back to my earlier accusation that I know nothing about this man. That isn’t true. I don’t know the unimportant things. Instead, he has dived head first into the deep end from the start.
“You didn’t turn the radio on for the drive. That makes more sense now.”
“If I listen to anything, it’s a classical station.”
I huff a laugh. “That checks out.”
He brakes at a stop sign.
“Are you sassing me, Claire?”
“Not while you’re driving,” I sass. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Good girl.”
We’re sitting on the couch in the living room, eating from takeout containers with a new documentary about free diving playing in the background, when his phone rings on the coffee table. Nathan exchanges his Chinese container for his phone, stiffening when he sees who is calling.
“I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’s Dr. Marty.”
My heart tightens, pulse racing, eyes widening. He got the results of his brother’s scan, didn’t he? I stand, but then stop myself. I’d been about to follow him, expecting him to leave the room to take the call in private, but Nathan simply slides to answer and presses the phone to his ear, leaning against the back of the couch with one arm spread over the back. He’s poised to say hello when he notices that I’m still standing, my face painted in panic.
“Hold on one second, Dr. Marty.” He reaches for my hand and tugs me into his lap, releasing my hand to cup my chin gently. “This isn’t a medical call. He’s calling to wish me a happy belated Christmas holiday.”
For the second time tonight, I deflate like a popped balloon. Then, I whack him in the chest.
“Lead with that next time!”
His eyes widen, but settle into puzzled amusement. He picks up his phone again, but before he presses it to his ear, his eyes smolder beneath his glasses.
“We’ll revisit that later on.”
I don’t eavesdrop, but when you’re sitting six inches from the man on the phone, it’s hard not to hear the whole conversation. No, Cal can’t make it this year, has my attention, but, Yes, I’m still planning to come to the gala next week, piques my interest the most. Especially when I can equally hear Dr. Marty on the other end of the line asking him if he’ll finally be bringing a date this year?
My chest tightens in a different way. My skin tingles. What if I wantto be his date? What if I want him to want to show me off in public? To be proud to be seen with me? It’s like he can hear the hammering of my heart as loudly as I can hear Dr. Marty offering to set him up with his granddaughter.
“That won’t be necessary, Dr. Marty. Although I’m pretty sure Nina still hasn’t forgiven me for stepping on her toes at the gala when we were in high school.”
He says this all while my veins simmer with the name Nina, calming that storm immediately as he slips his palm into mine, threads our fingers together, and squeezes.
“I’ll see you then. Please tell Ms. June that I said Merry Christmas as well. Yep. Buh-bye.”
Nathan ends the call, places his phone face down on the coffee table, and takes my other hand in his.
“When Cal was first diagnosed, and my parents saw the toll it took on families who weren’t as financially abundant as we are, they wanted to do what they could to help. They started a charity foundation, and it still lives on to this day. Dr. Marty and his wife, June, head up the annual fundraising gala. Would you like to be my date?”
The wings that had wrapped my heart when he’d held my hand for the first time tonight beat rapidly in my chest. All of the nervous wrinkles of my smile disappear.
“Does that mean I’ll get to dance with you?”
“If you can accept that I will most likely step on your toes, then yes.”
I narrow my gaze facetiously. “Like you did to Nina?”
“Ugh.” He tosses his head back. “The sass is strong in you tonight, isn’t it?”
I lift a shoulder. “Maybe I just don’t like sharing.”
Even beneath his glasses, I can see that predatory stare snap into place. Anticipation bubbles within me. But he blinks it away.
“Good. Because I don’t want to share you. Will you attend the gala with me, as my date?”
“Yes. Yes I will.”
Something boyish transpires as I deliver my yes. It’s almost like he was building up the courage to ask me to the senior prom.
Later, laying on his chest long after Nathan is asleep, I let all of my emotions from the day wash over me in a slow tide.
We’re making plans. Plans for dinner in the city, and plans for me to attend his parents’ charity gala as his date. I had a vision of him in a yard with our dogs, for crying out loud.
I don’t know if I can tell him about all of these things yet. The anxious feelings, and the fear of losing him before he’s even truly mine.
I’m terrified.
But I would be lying, too, if I said that the thought of a future, one crafted by my hands for once, doesn’t look sweet with him in the picture.