Chapter Thirty Nathan
Chapter Thirty
Nathan
There is no failing in flying, only lessons for the next flight.
—SAYING IN THE AVIATION COMMUNITY
I hadn’t been looking forward to my normally quiet Thanksgiving with Dad becoming all about his new wife Sarah’s sons. But I must admit, everything feels a little more magical with kids around. Even if a couple of them are teenagers.
Instead of simply watching football while deep-frying our traditional turkey, we all play a game of Spoons, which starts out relatively tame and then devolves to placing the spoons at the top of the staircase.
Of course, this leads to a wrestling match, which gets us sent outside, and ends up as a snowball battle.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a snowball battle, and I hadn’t realized it’s a better workout than CrossFit. I’m gonna be sore.
I’m hiding in the bathroom for a chance to catch my breath, when a knock raps on the door. They’ve found me.
“Nate?” It’s Dad.
Sweet relief. I open the door and peek past him to check for spies.
“I’m going to take the boys into town for the lighting festival. You want to come?”
My gaze returns to my father. Despite his deep age lines from all the work in the sun and his thinning hair, he looks younger than I’ve ever seen him. It’s his smile. He’s found joy.
Once again I get to be happy for someone else. But maybe I should be happy for me too. Last year I’d attended the lighting festival with Joey. This year I’m not where I wanted to be, but I’m moving forward despite life’s setbacks. I have peace.
“Sure, Dad. We’re not taking the sleds though, are we? I need a break.”
Dad guffaws. “You need a break?”
“I packed the sleds,” Sarah calls from the living room.
I lower my eyebrows.
Dad wiggles his. “Better put on your snow pants.”
I shake my head but do as directed. Because even with all the sights I’ve seen over my year as a pilot and all the beautiful places I’ve visited, there’s nothing like a lighting festival in Leavenworth.
The small town, nestled in mountains that surely rival the Swiss Alps, is designed to resemble a Bavarian village.
It’s glorious in every season, but once a foot of snow dumps on the hill next to the gazebo and every tree and building is outlined in twinkle lights, it becomes the most wondrous of winter wonderlands.
I plan to drive separately in case I need to make a quick getaway and also because I won’t fit in the same SUV as Dad’s new fam.
The youngest of Sarah’s boys follows me to my truck, dragging his sled after him.
Brady. He’s eight and redheaded, and he talks nonstop during the short ride into town and the long search for parking.
I finally nab a spot at a nearby grocery store, and we crunch through snow in our boots.
I glance over at Brady’s missing teeth, betting I can guess what he wants for Christmas.
I never imagined I’d have a brother so much younger.
Then it strikes me that this is probably the same age difference between Claire and her older brothers.
I’m sure her Thanksgiving is going a lot differently than mine. If her nieces and nephews are her age, then there probably aren’t any snowball battles. Not that San Francisco has snow anyway.
Brady races ahead to the top of the little hill next to a polka band performing Christmas carols in the gazebo. He drops his plastic disc and turns to face me with a challenge twinkling in his eyes. “Do you think you can sled while standing up, Nathan?”
I really don’t want to end up in a walking boot like Claire’s. Or worse. But as I open my mouth to say so, another conversation plays through my mind. I’d told myself I wouldn’t have left Claire behind on a hiking trip if I were her brother. Well, now’s my chance to prove it.
I step up to the plate . . . er, saucer. “Have you done this before?”
“All the time.” He hands me a rope he’s tied to one handle for the illusion of control.
I take the rope and plant one foot at a time on the plastic disc to test out my balance. I snowboard every year. I’ve done single-leg deadlifts. This should be a piece of pumpkin pie.
“Okay.” I jerk my legs a couple times, slipping closer to the precipice. “Watch out,” I call to children below.
The hill is teeming with them, but I appear to have an open lane.
“Go!” Brady shoves me from behind.
I’m thrown off-balance by the kid’s push, then by gravity’s pull. I tighten my core, press through the rubber soles of my boots, and bend my knees to ride the bumps. I’ve got this.
Wind stings my cheeks and ruffles my hair, but the chill is invigorating. My heart races to match the sled’s momentum. It’s almost as thrilling as my first solo flight. I pump a fist in the air with victory.
Unfortunately, the sidewalk rushes toward me faster than a landing strip. Passersby scatter to avoid the coming crash. While I’d stayed on my feet for the duration of the sled ride, there’s no way to stop this thing.
Plastic meets concrete, and I fly through the air. A slushy pile of snow on the side of the street catches me. At least I have my snow pants on. Could have been worse.
A gloved hand reaches down to help me up. It’s black with fur trim. The style seems familiar, but my brain is still scrambled from that landing. It’s not until I’m standing face-to-face with my ex’s matching fur earmuffs, vibrant blue eyes, and dimpled cheeks that her identity registers.
“Joey.” I glance side to side, but sadly, there are no escalators here for a quick escape.
She grins up at me, completely guilt-free. “I wondered if I’d run into you.”
I wish I’d thought this far ahead. I wouldn’t have come. Or at least I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself by playing with little kids.
She crosses her arms and tilts her head. “You know, I looked for you at the airport last month too. There was this cute little flight attendant with a baby voice who kept yelling ‘Stuart’ up an escalator, and for some reason I thought she might have been yelling your last name. Crazy, huh?”
“Crazy.” What’s crazy is that at one point in my life, I’d hoped seeing me with the immature flight attendant would make Joey jealous. I look around for her boyfriend, expecting my own jealousy to clench my stomach the way it used to, but I find neither. “Who are you here with?”
“Oh, my sister.” Joey points to an older, pregnant version of herself sitting on a nearby bench. “She said she needed to give her feet a break, but I think she wanted to give us space.”
I look from her sister back to her face. She’s peering up at me openly. Kindly. After all we’ve been through. It’s even more disorienting than my ride down the hill.
“Uh . . . Who are you with?” She looks around, and I wonder if she’s looking for a woman. Hopefully, not for the flight attendant who loves baby talk.
“I’m here alone.” But wait. I’m not. I’m with an eight-year-old kid I should be watching. I glance over to find Brady picking up his sled—thank goodness. “I mean, I’m with my brother.”
Her mouth hangs open. “Your what?”
“Not bad,” Brady calls. “But it’s my turn now.” He races back up the hill.
“Yeah.” I chuckle. This is definitely not how I ever imagined seeing Joey again would go. “Dad married Sarah. I’ve got three brothers now. They ganged up on me in a wicked game of Spoons, but I beat them in the snowball fight.”
She smiles and nods. “So you’re doing well then. I’m glad.”
Her words sting like hot water after an ice bath. Because I don’t think I’ve ever wished her well. “What about you?” I ask. Though I really want to know about her new guy.
She relaxes. “I received another promotion at work. And I’m starting a new outreach to help kids whose parents are homeless. That’s why I was at the airport. I flew to LA for some training.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “But Nick was with you.” Oops.
Her chin lifts and turns away, though her eyes remain on me. “So that was you . . . Stuart?”
“Not the point.” I brush off her embarrassing deduction. “I saw you with Nick, and it confirmed my suspicions that you two had gotten together before the two of us ended. I assumed you were on vacation. But you weren’t . . .” My voice faces away as I make deductions of my own.
She shakes her head. “We weren’t.”
If she’s telling the truth, this changes everything. “And you’re not together now?”
She shrugs. “He’s engaged to someone else. We’ve never been more than coworkers.”
I study her guileless expression. She doesn’t have a reason to lie to me now. Which means I accused her of cheating and broke off our engagement for no reason. “You spent a lot of time together,” I argue.
She nods. “With you gone at pilot training, I threw myself into my career. And he worked with me.”
“You . . .” I rewind my memories to view them from a different perception. “You were so happy.”
She nods. “I found purpose.”
I run a hand over my head. “I’m an idiot.” Or more accurately, my misbelief had been based on a past experience rather than reality. Since my mom had cheated on my dad, I’d apparently expected the same from other women. Because of that, I’d made our whole relationship about me.
She offers a pinched but understanding smile. “As a social worker, can I give you my professional opinion?”
Oh boy. I’ve gone from fiancé to client. But maybe I’d needed this therapy to begin with. If I still want to have a family in the future, I should work on me out of love for them. “I would, actually.”
Her eyes glisten with approval. “This is probably going to be harder on me than on you.” She licks her lips. “When we first met, you were my world. I wasn’t happy unless I was with you—making you happy.”
I tilt my head. Because this is one of the things I’d really appreciated about her in the beginning.
But after my initial conversation with Claire over the difference between being a people pleaser and doing what’s best for someone, I have to admit that simply existing to make someone else happy is not healthy.
“When you left for training, I was really lonely.”
I nod. “That’s why I put off my training for so long.”
She gives a sad smile. “I’d never really had any goals other than to become your wife. It became my identity. Without you, I didn’t know who I was.”
For the first time, I’m starting to see things from her side. Sadly, while I’d never wanted her to lose herself, I’d enjoyed being her whole world. I now understand this was selfish of me.
“Then I found my job working with kids in bad home situations. I found meaning.” She tilts her head. “Which is something I did share with my coworkers.” She pauses, watching for my response.
I’m totally tracking. Though in the situation she’s describing, I’d felt replaced. Abandoned. Again. “That’s when I accused you of cheating. Because I mistook your shared purpose with a certain coworker as you choosing to make a different man happy.”
She rubs her lips together. “I tried to tell you then, but you claimed your mom had said the same thing before she left.”
“Ouch.” While Mom had left, Joey hadn’t. She’d grown and invited me to grow with her, but my fears had held me back.
This is why life is so confusing—liars and honest people say the exact same things.
My dad had made the mistake of believing my mom, while I’d made the mistake of refusing to believe Joey.
Perhaps my trust should have never been in her.
It should have been in God, and I should have asked Him for direction rather than make assumptions.
She tips her head apologetically, though I’m the one who should apologize. I’d been so angry the last time we spoke. I’d said some nasty things, thinking she was in the wrong. “I’m sorry.”
Without pause, she says, “I forgive you.” She’d forgiven me long before I asked her to. Before I even knew I needed it. And no matter what I say or do now, I don’t think her forgiveness is something I could ever earn.
That’s how I need to forgive my mom. Perhaps she’d made her mistakes out of her own past hurts. And this cycle will continue unless I let it go the way Joey let me go.
Joey had once been so dear to me, and I realize it’s okay to polish off those tainted memories of our relationship and let them be endearing again. “If it helps, you’ve made me happy once again. Because I’m happy for you.”
Her smile is tremulous, her eyes shiny. “It helps.”
It’s too late for us. Our lives are in different places. My heart is in a different place. But this moment of closure is the parting gift we both needed.
I give her a hug and let her go for good.