49. Nathan
forty-nine
I have attendedthe gala for my parents’ childhood cancer foundation—Stars of Hope—since its inception. The gala has always been a fundraiser, but also a celebration for childhood cancer patients. While the adults fuss over checkbooks, the kids get to be kids for just a little while—well, fancy kids. After spending months or years in the hospital—several, like Cal, without hair due to treatment—getting the royal treatment is something that many look forward to. In fact, once word got out, several local businesses began donating their services.
There are salons ready to beautify those with hair, and add glitter or other accessories to those without. Cosmetologists give whoever wants it the royal makeup treatment. Local dress shops donate formal wear for the night. After dinner, the dance floor becomes the main attraction—with hospital staff on call nearby. Watching all of the patients live so carefree for a night has always brought me joy unparalleled.
And then, Claire walked into my life.
Into the gala with her hand in mine.
And as soon as she saw the tables lined with beauty products and ready for makeovers, she stopped me in my tracks, her fresh yellow manicure that I’d painted on last night in preparation pressed right over my heart.
“Oh my God. Nathan. Wait. I want to help.”
My heart had ballooned into her palm.
“We have enough time to run to the store, right? Oh my gosh, I can do nails!”
She had squealed, and held out her palm for my keys. I had hesitated, waffling between the thought of her behind the wheel with the already setting sun, and my duty as a chairman to be here early for a meeting with the rest of the board. In the end, I’d insisted that she share her location and text only when she arrived at the store and left. Now, I’m wildly okay with my decision.
With her supplies all set up for later, Claire and I find our table near the front of the hall to drop off our jackets and her purse, where we run into Dr. Marty and his wife, June.
“Dr. Marty, Ms. June; this is Claire Benson, my date.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Dr. Marty says with a smile and a hand extended toward Claire.
“Nathan! You didn’t tell us you were bringing a date!”
June gapes at me. I tug at my yellow tie, suddenly nervous. She shakes both of their hands, and I have a pinching feeling in my chest. It’s as if I’m introducing her to my parents. Suddenly, I feel tears pricking my waterline, because she will never meet my real mom and dad.
“Did he practice his speech on you?” Dr. Marty asks. “He usually sends me a copy the night before to go over, but I didn’t get one this year.”
Claire tilts her head up at me, and I realize I’ve been made.
“Speech?”
“Yeah,” Dr. Marty scoffs. “He gives one every year.”
“Oh, he does, does he?”
She crosses her arms and her gaze narrows as her expression turns coy. I gulp.
“Ever since he took over for his parents, Nate’s always given the welcome speech.”
Whoops.
Claire gapes, eyes widening, and whacks me in the chest.
“We’ll talk about this later after I punish you for withholding information by torturing you on the dance floor.”
“Oh. I like her,” Dr. Marty chuckles. “You stick around, sweetheart. You’re good for his soul.”
“Keep him in line for us,” June echoes.
“Hey!” I protest, but to no avail. They all laugh before Dr. Marty and June head off to say hello to another couple. When I glance down at Claire, she’s shaking her head with a smile.
“Are you really giving a speech?”
Her tone softens, and she lays a hand on my bicep. It’s comforting.
“I am. I typically reword the same speech year in and year out. It’s old hat by now.”
“Do you need to practice it one more time?”
“No,” I say, running my hand gently over the large, loose curls she’s styled her hair into tonight. “Knowing you’re out in the audience for me tonight is enough to set me at ease.”
She presses up onto her toes and kisses me softly.
In public. In front of other people. It scares me how little that scares me.
Later, after cocktail hour has begun for the adults and makeovers have begun for the children, I nurse my Dr. Pepper as I watch her from the edge of the room.
“She’s a beaut, Nate,” Dr. Marty says, pressing his elbow into my bicep. Claire is delicately painting polish onto the nails of a five year old little girl. Even through the mask she’s wearing, I can see the smile from a mile away. It’s in her eyes. In the pinkness of her cheeks peeking through.
“Yes, she is.”
“How long until you invite us to the wedding?”
I swallow, suddenly tense. Claire took my breath away with the stunning yellow gown she donned for pediatric cancer—a complete surprise, at that. The thought of her in a wedding dress? That could capsize me.
We aren’t even technically a couple. Though even having her out of my sight sends me into a panic, so I don’t know what I’d do if I saw her in the arms of another man. We have time to define what we are. Time to figure out the slight mess we’ve placed ourselves in.
After winter break. After these stolen minutes.
Because that’s what we’ve been doing. Stealing time like thieves in the night.
I exhale, long and low, as the date on the calendar taunts me from our return back to reality, one where she’ll be my subordinate again. And what’s worse, the date on the calendar is even closer to the one where she’ll no longer be an employee of River Valley.
She didn’t sign on for the entire school year. She took three back-to-back long-term positions. What’s going to happen when she’s done? Will we drift apart? Or will that be our ticket?
“I’m not sure what the future holds for Claire and I,” I admit. It claws out as a raspy whisper, scraping my esophagus painfully. I hate not knowing. I hate not knowing with Claire even more.
“Okay,” Dr. Marty scoffs, slapping me on the back. “He’s staring at her like she hung the moon, but he ‘doesn’t know what the future holds.’ June! Come listen to this!”
He chuckles, then stalks off to find his wife, while I steal a moment to watch Claire. The joy that exudes off of her wraps me in a hug from half a football field away. She pretends to blow over the little girls’ nails through her mask, then says something cheerfully and bops her on the nose before ushering her to the next station. When a new customer takes the vacated stool with a nurse’s help, Claire doesn’t miss a beat. She enthusiastically displays the colors, nodding as the little girl chooses a rainbow of colors, and gets right to work. I edge closer, the craving to overhear this conversation a pang in my stomach. But I am interrupted before I can get closer.
“Oh, Marty, you’re right! He is smitten.” Ms. June pinches my cheek, effectively rousing me from the fever walk I was about to take. “Our little boy is growing up!”
I turn to kiss June on the cheek, and shake my head, directing my smile at the ground.
Smittenseems to file itself in that same category as Aaron’s assumption that what I have on Claire is a crush. How do I even begin to describe that the feelings in my heart for her are a wildfire that completely razed the old to replace the new with a bed of wildflowers?
I’m pulled away by Dr. Marty and a few other board members to shake hands with some big donors, and by the time we’re finished, the dinner bell is ringing. Claire joins us, and steals the show at dinner without even meaning to. In fact, she does her best to direct the attention back onto me—highlighting my new role as assistant principal, and the work we’ve been doing with Rocco. She doesn’t even realize the way she can captivate an entire room without even meaning to.
It’s why my eyes go directly to her when I stand behind that podium. Why my gaze centers on her to be my anchor in the unwavering sea that always has me off kilter. Claire calms the waters. Anchors me in the storm of self-doubt. Reminds me that I am more than just my past, more than just a caregiver to my brother, more than the shell of who I’ve let myself become.
With one smile, she makes me believe that I can be so much more than I ever allowed myself to be. When fear trickles down my spine at that thought, I let her gaze hold me steadily.