Chapter 21
___
Bev
When I open the front door, my dad calls out from the living room. Viktoria didn’t stay with him today—if only we had endless funds—so the TV is on instead. I catch snippets, and it sounds like a travel show about where to eat in Melbourne.
He turns off the TV when I enter the room. “Hey, hun bun.”
“Hi, Dad.” I give him a hug and sit next to him on the couch. I fidget, feeling anxious. “I have to ask you something you might not like. Ready?”
He rubs his arthritic fingers together the way he does when he’s nervous. He nods.
“My boss, Chandra, has a reading this Friday. Everyone at the shelter is going. Nate also wants to go. But he’s fostering a dog that needs a lot of care. Can you watch his dog that night? And before you answer, you should know: This is our shelter dog, so you’d be doing me a favor too.”
His cheeks redden .
I take a deep breath to prepare for the onslaught.
“It’d be for you?” he asks quietly, staring at his arthritic knuckles.
“Yes,” I say surprised, expecting more of a reaction.
“Then, I’ll do it.”
I hug him again. “Thanks, Dad.”
We talk about our days and then decide to watch the Melbourne show together—about half the show focuses on a restaurant, a culinary mecca, named Belle Vue.
I pull out our Melbourne bucket list itinerary and add Belle Vue to the list, knowing we’ll never go. I even google Belle Vue’s menu, and we each pretend to order.
“I’ll have the oyster with lemon myrtle,” I say, trying to fight back memories of Nate feeding me an oyster at Azalea Beach.
“And I’ll have the roo on charcoal with beets,” he says.
“You could ask for extra beets,” I tease because I know he’s not a fan.
“Or maybe I’ll just ask for extra charcoal.”
It’s fun, and I love seeing him laugh.
Ding! My heart races at the sound. It’s like I’ve turned into Pavlov’s dog—every time my phone dings, my heart pounds, hoping it’ll be Nate.
So I have to confess I’m disappointed when I see it’s Tommy.
Tommy : Want to go to Chandra’s reading together? I’m a huge fan.
“Dad, can I have a minute?” I ask.
He nods, reaching for the remote.
I walk to the kitchen, looking at my phone like it might have the answers on how to respond. Going to the reading with Tommy would be a huge relief. It’d provide a distraction from Nate leaving, and I need a distraction. But I also want to make sure there’s no miscommunication.
Me : Could we go as friends?
Tommy : Sure.
I lean back against the counter. At the very least, I’ll have to tell Nate. I never did tell him about Tommy this morning because we got sidetracked about his tour. I’ll make clear to him that Tommy and I are friends. I won’t play games. Just honest and direct. I’ll tell him tomorrow.
___
I must confess I’m nervous to see Nate. I want him to take the news well. But I also wouldn’t mind witnessing that flare of jealousy either—like when he’s around Tommy. It makes me feel like he cares, although I know I shouldn’t play games with his emotions. It’s just that…when he gets jealous, I can trust it as honest; but when he tells me he “won’t give up,” I have a harder time trusting what he says. Words have been broken before—by so many people I love. So how fucked up is it that jealousy seems the easiest thing to trust? The most honest?
I hop off my bike and scan for Nate. But he’s not on the picnic table. It seems empty without him. Some drops of dew glisten on the wood. It seems eerie without him. Dreary, sad, lonely. Apocalyptic even, if I’m being dramatic. My pulse feels watered down, anemic .
I head to the cat room, but he’s not there either. Then I search the whole facility. By the time I’m finished, Chandra’s office light is on, so I know she’s here.
I knock on her door.
“Come in,” she shouts.
I enter, and she looks a little less radiant today. She’s not even wearing one of her long necklaces that she always wears. “Where’s Nate?” I ask, trying not to sound too distraught.
“He didn’t tell you?”
I try to swallow, but I can’t. I try again. “Tell me what?”
“The label ‘got him out of it.’” She makes bunny ears around “got him out of it.” She shakes her head in this sad way. “I thought he liked MBAS better than that.”
“He did,” I assure her. “He did.”
“Well…” She moves her mouse and then presumably types her password to log into her computer.
“Will he be at the reading?” I ask. Dread creeps, a hot prickle on my skin. “To help with the adoption event?”
Chandra meets my eye. “Yes.”
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“I know, right?” she says. “I had the same fucking reaction.”
Despite it all, I smile. Her cursing habits cheer me up—maybe because they’re so unexpected. “At the very least, he’ll help us get all the animals adopted,” I say. “Even Jerry.”
“Even Jerry,” she repeats and smiles back at me.
Sure, there’s a sadness in my stomach, a sad, sick, heavy feeling—like I’m afraid something awful is on the horizon, but my family is here. I can’t let my depressed mood affect their futures, which I want to be bright and happy, a testament that better things come if you can just hold on. So I need to pull it together. I need to suck it up, chin up, and get these cutie patooties adopted into their forever homes.
We chat longer, discussing specifics and logistics.
When we’re finished, I find myself looking for Nate again, even though I know he’s not here. It’s like the ghost of him haunts this place. His laugh bounces down the halls; his sexy smell hangs in a room like a dream—but once you’re certain you smell it, it disappears; or sometimes, I think I catch a blur of his black shirt as he turns a corner. He’s fragments now. Bits and pieces, snippets and memories, all broken and scattered.
When really, I just want him back. I want him beside me. His thumb stroking my knuckle the way he does just right. I want to kiss him again, to collapse in his arms, to look into his gray eyes.
But he’s gone.
I head out the doors, pulling my phone from my pocket.
I can’t take it.
The anxiety, the pain, it’s too much. I call him. It feels like a big deal for me. Reaching out—making myself vulnerable.
“Hello?” his voice purrs. Voices clamor in the background like he’s in a crowded room.
My heart pounds with surprise. I didn’t think he’d answer. I realize that I don’t know what to say. “It’s Beverly,” I say after a long pause.
He laughs. “I know.”
“Nate—” I begin, but I can’t finish because he cuts me off.
“Shit, Bev, I’ve got to go. We’re doing a ‘pop up’ performance for pre-tour publicity.” There’s a muffled sound like Nate is talking to someone in the background, but I can’t make out the words.
“Nate,” I ask in a rush. “Will you definitely be at the reading? It’s in two days, and I don’t even know where you are. Or when you left or what is happening.”
More commotion. “Buddy, give me a minute,” Nate says, sounding exasperated. His voice turns back to the phone, “Yes, Bev, I’ll be there.”
For some reason, I don’t believe him. I don’t know if it’s because he sounds distracted and like he’s in the middle of some party, although I guess maybe he’s about to perform as he says. Or I don’t know if it’s because he’s only been gone a day, and it already feels like our communication has gone to shit. He says he wants to try long distance. But is that what long distance would be? I call him, and he immediately has to get off the phone? It makes me feel like a nuisance.
No, thank you.
I lean back against the brick wall, warm from the sun. I realize I never told him about Tommy. I wonder if I ever will.
The thought makes something inside of me die.
___
I nearly call in sick to work the next day. It hurts to get out of bed. I’m not even sure I slept. And if I’m like this, then how the hell is Nate playing a fucking “pop up” show? Like what we had meant nothing ?
I try to find footage online. I want to see him. I need to look for a hint that I’m on his mind or that he misses me.
I get my wish. There’s snippets of his fucking “pop up” show on every social media platform. And he looks good. Really good. In his element. No stage fright. Performing and crooning. By the packed stage, girls swoon, and men pump their fists. It’s enough to make me throw up.
My fingers are tired of swiping. My eyes are glazed. I’m like some kind of addict that can’t get enough. Every video brings pain. Every video brings pleasure. But I still haven’t found what I’ve been looking for. I just need that one glimpse.
I’m about to close out of the app when a video appears as if it’s just been posted.
It’s taken closer than the others—only a few feet from the stage. Nate looks down at the camera right before the video cuts out, and I swear I know that expression. I swear I know that look in his eye, how it darkens and grows dim. I swear I see a flash of sadness. Of despair.
It doesn’t exactly make me feel any better.
I watch it again. And again.
“Bev!” My dad calls from the next room. “Don’t you need to get to work?”
I remember the animals counting on me—how close they could be to finding their forever homes in just another day.
I roll out of bed.
I arrive at work, and Chandra’s standing in the door, waiting for me. “Come into my office,” she says.
I follow behind her, feeling increasingly sick. That’s all I seem to feel these days. Nauseous. Despondent. Sick. “What’s going on?” I ask .
“Well, some asshole named Scooter dropped off Moose this morning,” she says.
“Scooter dropped off Moose?” I ask dumbfounded. My confusion quickly transitions to horror. “Does Nate know?”
Chandra shrugs bitterly. “Texted him. He hasn’t gotten back to me.”
“He played a show somewhere. I don’t know where. He might be sleeping at this point, depending on the time zone.”
“We can’t leave Moose here,” Chandra says. “He’s agitated and seems to be declining.”
I bit my lip, hard. I’m angry now. That motherfucker. “I can bring him home.”
“What about Feline Dion?” Chandra asks. “My favorite little tabby baby?”
“I’ll ask my dad to keep Feline Dion in my room, and my dad can stay with Moose in the living room. It’s not great. And it’s not Nate. But maybe it’ll be enough until we figure out what to do.”
Chandra taps her desk with her palm. I always love her gestures. They radiate leadership. I make note of them. “Sounds like a plan,” she says.
I get up to leave. “Oh Bev,” she says.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not sure whether to tell you this. But Scooter said to stay away from Nate.”
“Me?” I ask confused.
She nods, pressing her lips together.
“Why?”
“Because Scooter is a prick,” she says simply.
I don’t know what to say. The whole thing boggles my mind. What’s happening?
__ _
I drive Moose home in our MBAS van because I obviously can’t take him home on my bike. I tell my dad the change of plans, and Viktoria seems quite taken by Moose, although Moose seems less certain. At the very least, he’ll be closely watched, which is more than I can say if Scooter is around. And why the hell is Scooter even around?
I head into my bedroom for privacy and call Nate again. I want to tell him what’s happening. He doesn’t pick up.
My stomach churns as Feline Dion figure eights around my wrist. I stare at my phone and debate calling him again. I don’t want to seem crazy, but I also don’t give a fuck if it involves Scooter dropping off Moose at MBAS. Did Scooter even know that Moose had come from MBAS or was he just dropping him off at a shelter to get rid of him?
The phone rings and rings and then the beep of his voicemail. “Hi Nate, it’s Bev.” I mentally curse myself because I know he recognizes my voice. “Did you know Scooter dropped Moose off at MBAS? And I know you said you’re planning on coming to the adoption event tomorrow, but I’m just worried because Chandra hasn’t heard from you. Plus, I haven’t either. And I guess…well, I guess I thought I would have heard from you more. Not to mention, we had no idea you’d be leaving so soon. I thought we had until Monday. And we need to coordinate our social media messaging. ”
I hang up, and it hasn’t even been three seconds before my phone rings. I check, and it’s an unknown number. “Nate?” I answer, sounding obscenely hopeful.
“Yeah, not Nate,” a deep and nasal voice says.
I’m confused. I guess it is an unknown number after all. “Are you selling something?”
“I’m always selling something,” he says.
“Not interested.” I’m about to hang up, but before I can, he stops me.
“Wait. Don’t you want to hear what I’m selling?”
“Not really.”
“I’m selling you a life without Nate Hart.”
Unease coils through me. “Who is this?”
“Scooter Albrecht.”
“And you want to sell me a life without Nate?”
“Exactly.”
“Not interested.”
He laughs as if he finds this absurd. “I hear your father isn’t doing so well.”
The unease intensifies. “How do you know that?” Did Nate tell him? But it just doesn’t make sense.
“I can get you healthcare that even a millionaire would dream of.”
I have to confess. I’m tempted. I love my dad. I hate seeing him in pain. And I want the world for him. “Okay,” I say as if to prompt him to go on.
“You could go back to the city. Put him in a luxurious home. Daily care. You wouldn’t have a worry in the world.”
I stand laboriously—so much is on my mind, and it makes me a bit clumsy—and walk into the living room. This isn’t a decision I want to make for my dad. I want him to decide. “Hey Dad,” I say. “Want health care that even a millionaire would dream of?”
He raises that single eyebrow. That trait I didn’t inherit. “Live better than a millionaire?”
“Well, your healthcare would be like that of a millionaire,” I correct, wanting to make sure he has all the facts.
“I live like a millionaire now,” he says. “Because I live with my amazing daughter.”
“Dad, seriously,” I say. “We have an offer from an…anonymous donor. And we could put you in a home. A very nice home.”
Viktoria waves her hand like, “Forget it,” and my dad says, “Hell no. You’re my home.”
“Are you sure? You’d get better food and would probably have a lot of amenities. Things I could never give you.” It hurts to say the last bit.
“I’ll live here as long as you’ll have me,” my dad says.
I take a deep breath. “Okay, Scooter, did you hear that?”
“Listen here.” Scooter’s voice lowers into a hiss. His anger surprises me, and I switch ears to make sure I’m hearing correctly.
“This is the last offer you’ll get,” he says, “so by God, you might want to take it.”
“Why?” I ask.
I listen to a hostile intake of breath and then his voice spits like bullets. I hold my phone away from my ear. “Look, I’m under no obligation whatsoever to give you any offers at all.”
Anger burns hot like the bluest part of a flame. “How did you get my number?” I ask, but the line is already dead. I grip my phone so hard my knuckles are bloodless .
“What’s going on?” my dad asks, sounding concerned.
I explain the Scooter situation as succinctly as possible, but I leave out the threats because I don’t want him to worry.
“What a doofus.”
“You’re telling me, Dad. You’re telling me. I just don’t get it.” I rub my temples. “I literally just called Nate and then Scooter immediately calls me back. It’s like…” I trail off. My brain feels fuzzy with sadness and anger, making it hard to connect the dots.
“It’s like Scooter has all of Nate’s calls and texts forwarded to him,” Viktoria says. “In one of the families I worked for, the adult children set it up for their dad’s phone, so they could give all his friends and coworkers their dad’s medical news if anyone tried to reach him.”
“But it’s Nate’s personal phone.”
“Do you know that for sure?” Viktoria asks.
I think on it. “He did say he’s gone through a lot of phones. Like when a fan gets his number or something. But I don’t get why the label would pay for it. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money.”
She waves a hand. “Please, sweetheart. If there’s anything I’ve learned from celeb gossip, it’s that they get more free goodies than anyone else.”
I think on this. She has a point.
“You said you drove Moose here in the MBAS van, so you better go return it. It’ll take your mind off this nonsense,” my dad says in the most dad-like of tones.
Viktoria nods. “We’ll keep an eye on Moose.”
I make it to the shelter, and everyone has left for the day. I drop off the van’s keys, grab my bike, and start to cycle home. The whole time there’s something heavy in my stomach like a gigantic cannonball. I miss Nate. I miss him more than anything. And I just can’t believe he left. Hot tears blur my vision. Until, finally, I just pull over on the side of the road and let it all out.
I check his social media—anything to see him—and am at least pleasantly surprised to see he’s posted all over social media about the event Friday, which is great. I’m not sure if he remembered to do it himself or if he’s even getting our messages—maybe they’re all sent to Scooter instead, like Viktoria said.
A car drives by, slowing, and one of our old neighbors waves her hand out the window, her sun hat hanging around her neck, like always.
I wave back but feel a bit exposed. I decide to bike to the nature conservatory and sit on my favorite rock. It’s the place where I discovered a lost pup—my first dog—when I was in high school. Needless to say, it’s a place with good memories.
I lean my bike against the rock and have a seat. A creek babbling in the distance and dappled light make it especially peaceful. And for some reason, realizing this, makes me cry harder. I don’t know why this is.
My phone rings, and I pick up, hoping it’ll be Nate yet again.
“Where are you?” Aimi asks.
“At the nature conservatory,” I say, trying to hide a sniffle.
“I’m coming for you. Don’t go anywhere!”
My dad probably tipped her off that something was wrong. Barely anytime has gone by before she shows up with a pint of mint chip ice cream and two spoons.
I wipe my tears away, so she won’t see I’ve been crying.
“Oh Bev,” she says .
“What?” I play dumb. “I’m fine.”
“Why do you do this?” She points a spoon at me. “Why do you pretend like you’re fine?”
“Because I am fine.”
“I’m not your sick dad,” she says, opening the ice cream. “You don’t have to pretend for me.”
I let out a long breath. “Okay.”
She hugs me, and at first, I just let a few tears fall onto her shoulder. But once I start, I can’t stop. And then before I know it, I’m full-on sobbing. I don’t even bother to hide my ugly crying as I tell her about Nate, Scooter’s threats, and how my abandonment wounds are getting poked. I explain that I need to get it together, so I can help all the animals get adopted, but I can’t seem to get it together, which makes me frustrated with myself. They’re counting on me, and I’m letting them down. I’m a failure on top of it all.
“Look,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear for me. “If you weren’t upset right now, I’d be worried. But feeling upset when something upsetting happens is normal.”
I blink and more tears squeeze from my eyes.
“And I hear what you’re saying about the abandonment stuff. But what I don’t want is for you to abandon yourself. Other people may abandon you, but you can’t abandon yourself. I think that would be the real crime.”
“Abandon myself?” I ask. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t ignore those parts of yourself that need care. Okay?”
I nod into her shoulder.
Did I mention that everyone should have a friend like Aimi Furutani?