Chapter Thirty-Two #2
I tried to laugh, but the sound barely made it out.
I was busy watching a family on the next bench—two parents, three kids, and a golden retriever, all knotted together in an impossible mess of arms and leashes.
The kids shrieked with laughter as the dad faked a pratfall, the kind of chaos I used to imagine I’d have someday.
Nate followed my gaze. He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave me was gentle, knowing. I turned away and pretended to watch the ducks fighting for scraps in the pond.
We walked in silence for a while; our footsteps slow and uneven on the stone path. The leaves overhead filtered the sunlight into gold and shadow, dappling Nate’s hair and making him look younger, less haunted.
I kept my hands jammed in my coat pockets, even though the air was warm enough to go without.
My fingers curled around the photograph I’d stuffed there last week—an old snapshot of me and Cam at the beach, wind-whipped and grinning, taken back when I still thought happiness was a permanent condition.
I pressed my thumb to the edge of the photo, feeling the outline dig into my palm, and tried to imagine what my life would have looked like if everything had gone the way I wanted.
“You all right?” Nate asked, voice quiet.
I nodded too quickly. “Fine. Just—late night, I guess.”
He frowned, not buying it, but let it go. “You want to get lunch? There’s a hot dog stand up by the fountain that’s not totally disgusting.”
“Maybe in a bit,” I said, and steered us down another path lined with maples just starting to bud.
We passed a playground, the swings full of shrieking kids. One little girl—maybe three, maybe four—wore a lavender jacket and silver boots, her hair done up in a wild crown of braids. She looked straight at me as we walked by, eyes dark and serious, and I felt my stomach twist.
I kept walking, hoping Nate wouldn’t notice the sudden wetness in my eyes. Of course he did. He always did.
“Livi,” he said, stopping mid-step. “You don’t have to pretend around me.”
I forced a smile. “Pretend what?”
“That this is enough,” he said. “That I’m enough.”
I looked at him, really looked, and saw the old bruises under the surface, the way the tension rode his shoulders even on a perfect day. I wanted to reach for him, to tell him I was trying, that he meant more to me than he realized.
But the words stuck, brittle and useless.
So instead I said, “The leaves are pretty this time of year.”
He let out a short, frustrated breath, but didn’t press. We walked on, steps slower, a growing gap between us where our shadows didn’t quite touch.
At the edge of the pond, he paused and watched a pair of ducks paddle in tight, agitated circles. I leaned against the railing, the wood rough under my fingers, and tried to breathe around the lump in my throat.
We stood there a long time, watching the world go by. I could feel him next to me, solid and real, but the distance between us kept widening.
Eventually, Nate said, “You want to sit?”
We found an empty bench, half in sun, half in shade. He sat first, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. I perched next to him, hands still locked in my pockets, the photograph a hot, guilty secret.
Neither of us spoke.
The air filled with the sound of children laughing and birds bickering over scraps. Somewhere, someone was playing guitar—badly—and the chords drifted in and out on the wind.
After a while, Nate said, “You don’t have to stay.”
I flinched. “I want to.”
He turned to me, eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. “Do you?”
I nodded, but my throat burned with the effort.
He looked away, jaw clenched, and traced a finger along the edge of the bench. “I don’t want to be a consolation prize, Livi.”
“You’re not,” I said, too fast, but even I could hear the hollowness in it.
He laughed, low and bitter. “You sure about that?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. The truth hung between us, heavy and sharp.
We sat there, both of us staring out at the park, pretending we were just two people enjoying the day.
But neither of us was fooled.
The sun shifted, and the shadow on the bench grew longer.
I wondered how long we’d sit there before one of us got up the nerve to leave
∞∞∞
That evening, Nate’s apartment felt smaller than usual, the edges of everything sharpened by fatigue and the lingering echo of old arguments.
The only light came from a single lamp in the corner, casting a pale, reluctant glow that left the rest of the room half-submerged in shadow.
The black sofa—the one piece of real furniture in the whole place—had sunk a little, its fabric dark against the geometric shapes of the rug.
Nate sat on the edge of the cushion, elbows braced on his knees, his fingers steepled as if he was prepping for a chess match or a firing squad. I hovered near the window, pretending to watch the traffic below, counting the headlights as they slid past, each one a possible escape route.
We’d hardly spoken since the park. The air between us was tight as a drum.
Eventually, I turned around, clutching the sleeves of my sweater. I wanted to say something—ask what we should do for dinner, suggest a movie, anything that would push the day back toward normal. But before I could, Nate’s voice cut through the room, low and frayed.
“I can’t keep watching you cling to him,” he said. He didn’t look at me when he said it.
I flinched, the words landing with more force than I’d expected.
He continued, still staring at the floor. “It’s like you’re afraid to let go. Like if you do, you’ll float off and never come back down.” He let out a brittle laugh. “Maybe you would.”
I shook my head, but he was already moving, standing up and pacing to the far side of the room. The lamp painted him in fragments—shoulders hunched, jaw set, fists flexing in and out.
“I’m not,” I started, but he cut me off.
“Yes, you are.” He stopped in the middle of the rug, turned to face me.
His eyes were dark, tired, but hard as stone.
“You keep one foot out the door, just in case he calls. You talk about him in your sleep, did you know that?” He smiled, but it was all teeth.
“Sometimes you say his name. Sometimes you cry.”
I felt my face go hot. “That’s not fair.”
He closed the distance between us in three long strides, then stopped just short of touching me. “You’re right. It’s not.”
We stood there, toe to toe, the only sound the hum of the lamp and the distant wail of sirens.
Nate’s voice softened, just a little. “I need you to choose, Livi. I need to know if you’re here because you want to be, or just because you’re scared of being alone.”
My heart hammered so loudly I was sure he could hear it. I looked down at my hands, at the way my fingers twisted together. The photograph in my pocket felt like a hot coal.
“I do want to be here,” I said, but it came out as a whisper.
He took a step back, shoulders sagging. “Then tell me. Show me. Because right now, it feels like I’m fighting a ghost, and I can’t win against something that’s already dead.”
I tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. My eyes stung, and I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
Nate let his hand hover in the air, as if he was about to reach for me, then thought better of it. He let it drop, the motion heavy and final.
“I’m not asking you to forget him,” he said. “I’m just asking you to be honest with me. With yourself.”
He turned away, crossed the room to the sofa, and sat down on the edge again, this time hunched even lower, his head in his hands.
I stayed by the window, watching my own reflection in the glass, fractured and ghostly in the lamplight.
We sat like that for what felt like forever, the silence thick and suffocating.
When I finally spoke, it was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it myself.
“I don’t know how to let go,” I said.
Nate didn’t answer, but I saw his shoulders go rigid, the muscles in his neck tense.
The room held its breath.
In the end, there was no resolution, no neat tying off of loose ends. Just two people, orbiting each other in the dark, too scared to move closer, too stubborn to pull apart.
I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand, and when I looked over, Nate was staring at me, his gaze steady and unblinking.
It was a challenge. It was a plea.
It was an ultimatum, and we both knew it.
I closed my eyes, listened to the blood rush in my ears, and waited for the rest of my life to catch up with me.