Chapter 12 Nathan Is Suddenly a Problem #2
I notice all of these things and each time I notice I tell myself to stop noticing because I am three months out of a six-year relationship.
Three months. That's nothing. That's barely enough time to learn how to cook for one person and sleep in the middle of a bed and stop reaching for a body that isn't there.
I should not be developing feelings for anyone right now.
It's too soon. It's too messy. It's too risky.
The last man I had feelings for used those feelings as cover while he slept with my friend.
I tell Raina on a Wednesday evening. We're at her apartment eating Chinese takeout and I say it casually because saying it casually makes it feel less significant.
"I think I might have a thing for Nathan."
Raina puts down her chopsticks.
"Nathan. Ronnie's roommate Nathan. Tall Nathan. Army Nathan."
"Yes."
"How long has this been going on?"
"I don't know. A few weeks maybe. I just keep noticing things about him. The way he talks. The way he listens. Small stuff."
"Small stuff like what?"
"Like the way he eats corn."
Raina stares at me. "The way he eats corn."
"In rows. He eats it in neat rows. It's very organized."
"Lara, I'm going to say something and you're going to hear it. Are you ready?"
"Sure."
"When you start finding a man's corn consumption attractive, you have a thing for him. That's not a maybe. That's a definitely."
"I know. But it's too soon."
"Says who?"
"Everyone. Every breakup advice article ever written. You're supposed to wait. You're supposed to heal and find yourself and do yoga and journal and only then are you allowed to notice that another human being exists."
"That's advice for people who haven't already done the work.
You spent a month sleeping next to a man who was cheating on you.
You planned your exit for thirty days. You confronted him.
You told the truth. You moved out, moved to my place, moved to your own place.
You've done more processing in three months than most people do in a year.
If you feel ready to notice someone, maybe you're ready. "
"Maybe."
"Also, Nathan is a good person. Which you already know."
"I know."
I pick up my chopsticks and go back to eating and Raina watches me with an expression that falls somewhere between amusement and approval and we don't talk about it again that night.
But Nathan keeps showing up at group events. and Nathan keeps sitting near me and Nathan keeps saying things that make me laugh and my body and my brain are apparently not interested in my timeline.
The next time I see him is at Ronnie's apartment.
Ronnie is hosting a game night, which is something the group used to do monthly and which fell off during the Blake and Hailey drama and is now being revived.
Sierra organized it. Chase bought snacks.
Ronnie supplied the games. Nathan lives there so he's present by default.
I arrive and Nathan opens the door because Ronnie is in the kitchen.
Nathan is standing in the doorway and he takes up most of it because he's six-four and the apartment has standard-sized doors.
He steps back to let me in and there's a moment where we're both in the narrow entryway and he's close enough that I can smell his deodorant, which is clean and woody and nothing at all like the floral perfume that Blake came home wearing that Saturday afternoon months ago.
"Ronnie's trying to figure out a bottle opener," Nathan says. "He insists the one he has works fine even though it clearly doesn't. I've offered to help three times and been rejected three times."
"Should someone intervene?"
"I'd give it another minute."
I walk in. The apartment is clean, which surprises me because I remember it being cluttered the last time I was here months ago. Ronnie's stuff is everywhere but it's organized and the kitchen counter is wiped down and the bathroom door is open and I can see clean towels hanging.
"Did you guys clean?" I ask when Ronnie emerges from the kitchen, victorious, with an open bottle of wine.
"Nathan cleaned," Ronnie says. "Nathan always cleans. I provide ambiance."
"You provide clutter," Nathan says from behind me.
"That's ambiance."
Sierra and Chase arrive and we set up for game night. It's a trivia game. We split into teams. Ronnie and Chase. Sierra and me. Nathan says he'll play solo because the teams are even and he doesn't want to give either side an unfair advantage.
"That's very confident," Sierra says.
"It's realistic," Nathan says. He says it so flatly that Chase laughs.
Nathan wins by a wide margin. He knows things that nobody else at the table knows.
State capitals and historical dates and chemical formulas and obscure geography.
He knows which river is the longest in Africa and what year the Eiffel Tower was built and the chemical symbol for tungsten.
When the science questions come up he answers them without hesitation.
When the history questions come up he pauses, thinks, and then answers correctly.
"How do you know all of this?" Sierra asks after Nathan correctly identifies the capital of Myanmar.
"I read."
"Nobody reads this much."
"I had four years in the Army with a lot of downtime between deployments. Books were lighter than most entertainment options."
When Chase accuses him of cheating Nathan says, "I've never cheated at anything," and the words land with a weight that has nothing to do with trivia. He takes a drink of his beer and that's the end of the discussion.
During the game I'm sitting next to Nathan on the couch.
Our legs are about three inches apart. I'm aware of the three inches the entire evening.
I'm aware of the warmth coming off him and the sound of his voice when he answers questions and the way he taps his index finger on his knee when he's thinking.
I'm in trouble.
After the game everyone sits around talking.
Sierra tells a story about a terrible date she went on last week.
Chase argues with Ronnie about football.
Nathan and I end up in a conversation about books because it turns out we both read and we've both read some of the same things and we disagree about whether a particular thriller I finished last month was good or not.
"It was predictable," he says. "I figured out the ending by chapter six."
"You did not figure out the ending by chapter six."
"The author signaled it three times in the first fifty pages. The sister was clearly the suspect. The detail about the key was a giveaway."
"I didn't catch any of that."
"That's because you were reading for emotion. I was reading for structure."
"And which one of us enjoyed the book more?"
He pauses. He considers this genuinely, which I appreciate because it means he's taking the question seriously.
"You did," he says. "But I was right about the ending."
I laugh. Nathan watches me laugh and his expression does something subtle and warm and I look away because if I keep looking at him I'm going to do something I'm not ready to do.
I leave at eleven. Nathan walks me to the door because Ronnie is in the bathroom and someone needs to lock up behind me.
"Drive safe," he says.
"Thanks. Good game tonight."
"Thanks. I'll try to go easier on everyone next time."
"Please don't. Watching Chase lose was the highlight of my evening."
He smiles. A real smile, not the small careful ones he usually gives. A full smile that changes his whole face and makes him look younger and warmer and entirely too attractive for my current emotional situation.
"Goodnight, Lara."
"Goodnight, Nathan."
I drive home to Birch Street and I park and I sit in my car for a full minute with the engine running and the radio playing something I'm not listening to.
The apartment windows are dark. Dorothy's TV is still on downstairs, the blue light flickering against her curtains.
The street is quiet and the air is warm through my cracked window.
I think about Nathan's smile. The full one, not the small ones.
I think about the three inches between us on the couch and how those three inches felt like both too much and not enough.
I think about the book conversation and the corn rows and the way he opens doors and says goodnight and carries himself through a room without demanding that the room rearrange itself around him.
I think about how different that is from Blake, who entered every room expecting it to notice him.
Nathan enters a room expecting nothing from it and somehow ends up being the most interesting person in it.
I'm not ready for this. I know I'm not ready. The responsible thing would be to acknowledge the feelings and set them aside and wait until I've healed more and processed more and become more settled in this new life I'm building one small decision at a time.
But I go inside and I get ready for bed and I lie down in my apartment on Birch Street and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep is Nathan Johnson eating corn in neat rows at a picnic table and then smiling at me in a doorway like it was the easiest thing in the world.
I'm in so much trouble.