10. Nate
Nate
Everything in my body hurts.
It’s not a hangover, although the way Rory chugged her drink when she saw me last night makes me think that she’s going to have a killer hangover herself.
My pain is completely rooted in her reaction to me. I could read every emotion like it was written across her face. Shock, then anger, then panic as she ran away from me as fast as her legs could carry her.
Fuck.
I rub my eyes and force them open.
A slice of sunlight peeks around the edge of the blackout shades. I hate that it’s sunny. It should be dark clouds and misery, as far as I’m concerned.
Groaning, I hang my legs over the side of the bed and force myself to stand.
I had my plans all set, ready to be put into action, and then I saw her. If she can’t even be in the same place as me, how am I ever going to get Rory to go on a date with me?
My original plan was to start with Dylan. Crack the tough nut first and the rest will follow.
But now, I’m rethinking the whole approach.
If Dylan turns me down—and if he’s talked to Rory lately, that’s a solid possibility—then the whole thing falls apart.
Aside from that, there’s the time aspect. There’s an urgency to the situation, of course, but the timeline isn’t clear.
Is Rory planning to head back to Denver at some point?
When?
And if not, how long do I have before someone else moves in on my girl?
My shower takes longer than usual as I search for solutions, standing under the hot water while I think. I don’t turn the water off until I know my plan.
I step out and wrap myself in a towel, the next step firm in my mind.
We’re going for the low-hanging fruit.
Yes, the idea of getting the simplest things out of the way first was the one that took me twenty minutes and the entire volume of my too-small water heater to figure out.
It’s going to work, though. It has to.
Plus, Allie likes me. She’s been on my side forever, always trying to get Rory to get back in touch with me.
I’m pretty sure she was the one who told Rory to get in touch with me about the reunion in the first place, based on a few things Rory has mentioned, and that’s what set off the spark that got us back together after a decade apart.
I owe Allie a debt of gratitude for that, and I’m just praying that she’s still pulling for me and Rory to be together. If she is, she’s a safe bet.
Stacey, for her part, has known me a long time, and she came back to town after college just like I did, so I like to think that I can count on her to put in a good word on the type of man I’ve become.
So I’ll start with those two. They have a lot of sway with Rory, too, and that’s what I need.
We’ll leave Dylan for last. By then, I think I can get him on my side.
I take a bite of my Honey Nut Cheerios as I type out the start of a text, then delete it and try again.
After three versions, I finally settle on simple and direct.
Allie
Hey, I need your help with Rory.
Barely one minute passes between when I hit Send and when my phone rings, Allie’s name lighting up the screen.
I swipe to answer the call and lift the phone to my ear. “Hey, Allie,” I say.
I try to finish chewing my bite without her hearing, because I wasn’t really expecting her to respond so quickly.
“You can keep eating. It doesn’t bother me.”
So I wasn’t as subtle with the chewing as I thought. I guess there’s no real way to eat Cheerios quietly, is there?
I swallow my bite. “Sorry. Wasn’t actually expecting you to call.”
“Tell me what you need.”
I set the spoon down, appreciating her bluntness. “Rory won’t talk to me, Allie. I ran into her at a bar last night, and it was like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
“Yeah, she doesn’t want to see you.” Her tone is cheerful despite the harsh words. “Has she read any of your texts?”
“I think so. But she’s not answering.”
And every unanswered message is like a knife to my gut.
“Hmm.” A tapping sound comes through the phone, like she’s drumming her fingers or pencil against a desk. “What can I do?”
“Not a lot, since you’re in Chicago, but just…talk me up, maybe? Convince her it would be an okay idea to go on a date with me. To give me a chance to explain.”
“She’s going to know it’s your idea.”
I take a bite of cereal and chew as I consider, no longer bothering to hide the noise. After all, I’m spilling my guts here. The sound of my chewing is the least vulnerable part of this conversation.
“I know. But even so, it’s more that you support the idea of her giving me a chance. She cares what you think, Allie.”
“Okay. Well, let me know what I can help with or what you need.” Allie pauses. “I truly think you two are meant to be together, Nate. I do, and I’ll do what I can to make it happen. But at the end of the day, it’s Rory’s decision. And I’ll support her, even if I disagree with her choice.”
“Understood. Thanks, Allie.”
She disconnects, and I set the phone on the table.
One ally in my corner. On to the next.
“Is everything okay?” Stacey’s brows knit together, a line of worry in the center of her forehead.
She grips the edge of the classroom door with one hand so it’s barely cracked open, the other hand on the doorframe.
I suppose it’s a normal reaction to a cop showing up in uniform at your first-grade classroom.
The door is decorated with streamers in the school colors of red and gray, and I wonder off-handedly if Stacey keeps the streamers up all year round, or if these are for a special occasion.
Am I stepping over the line here, coming to see Stacey at work? Maybe. but…this is important.
“Everything’s fine. I’m on duty, but I needed to talk to you.”
Worry morphs into confusion, the lines in her brow sharpening as she narrows her eyes. “About what? Nate, I’m teaching.”
She moves a hand to gesture at the class behind her.
Twenty-odd pairs of five- and six-year-old eyes stare at me with a mix of curiosity and judgement.
I give them a wave then focus on Stacey. “It’s for Rory.”
“Is she okay? What do you need?” The annoyance in her expression vanishes at the mention of Rory’s name.
I take a deep breath and let it out.
Please let her see my side of things.
“She’s okay, but she won’t talk to me. You saw how she was at the bar last night. I need to talk to her.”
Stacey doesn’t answer at first. She looks like she’s debating whether she should tell me something, her gaze moving from the floor to me and then back down.
Finally, she sighs and looks me in the eyes. “Look, Nate, Rory was in bad shape last night. But…it wasn’t just about you. Her mom’s… Well, it’s her stuff to tell. All I can say is that she needs our support right now.”
My stomach drops at the thought of Rory going through something while I can’t be there for her.
“What’s wrong with her mom?”
I think back to the last time I saw Cathy. Was there something going on even then?
Stacey shakes her head. “It’s not my stuff to tell. But…” She breaks off, turning to her class, and addresses them. “Stay in your seats, please. Cayson, pencils don’t go in your nose.”
A small boy in the front row reluctantly pulls the eraser side of a yellow pencil from one nostril.
The whole idea of having children is daunting, and this is exactly why. Stacey turned her back for maybe one minute, and the kid is already sticking things where they don’t belong.
She seems relatively unconcerned when she turns back to me, as though a child inserting school supplies into his nose is a daily occurrence.
Maybe it is. That’s an even more terrifying idea.
“I don’t have a ton of time to talk right now, but I can meet you after school. They’re done at two if you want to come back.”
“Got to keep pencils out of noses.”
Behind her back, the kid is at it again. At least it’s the eraser end, I suppose. The pointed end could do some damage.
But what if the eraser comes off and gets stuck? How would they even get that out? Would he just have to live with an eraser in his nose forever?
“Exactly.” Stacey rolls her eyes.
Her nonchalance is only mildly reassuring.
Three hours and twenty-four minutes later, I’m standing outside the classroom when the bell rings to signal the end of the day.
Children file past me, most regarding me with the same judgment and curiosity from earlier in the day, but now some seem to study me with outright suspicion, even when I smile and wave.
Hasn’t anyone ever taught them that the police are their friends? They’re not supposed to be scared or nervous around police officers. They’re supposed to trust us. We’re the good guys.
It makes me think it may be time for another community outreach event. The first responders in town like to show up to the elementary school a few times a year, the paramedics and firefighters and police taking turns. The goal is to make sure the kids know who we are and that we’re their friends.
When the police department is up, the task often falls to me, because kids love Ollie.
I file that thought away for later, making a note to set something up.
The cacophony of tiny voices slowly recedes as the children make their way to the buses, and finally it’s silent. I knock on the edge of the classroom door.
“Come in,” Stacey calls.
Ducking under the streamers, I step into the room and take in the place. Colorful posters of letters and numbers take up a large percentage of the wall space, with any available spot filled in with children’s drawings.
“Nice decorations.” I tilt my head toward the far wall.
The amount of color makes the classroom seem lively, and the fact that she’s displaying her students’ artwork adds a little something extra, too.
“Thanks. So…” Stacey regards me from her desk in the far corner of the room. “How can I help you?”
Two down.
It’s not much, but it’s a start.
Allie and Stacey are both solidly on the side of Rory-and-Nate-belong-together and have voiced their willingness to help me.
I’m not sure how much Rory will be willing to hear, but it’s a start.
Unfortunately, though, starting with people who are the most likely to help also means starting with the people least likely to have any influence.