Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
NATALIE
“So, then,” Aunt Lou says as I put dinner down in front of her.
She’s been run off her feet all day, driving residents back and forth to medical appointments because the town’s one public access vehicle, that the Senior Central residents call the Silver Shuttle, broke down. So I thought it was her turn to be taken care of, and made us shepherd’s pie with a side of fresh winter greens from the local organic produce store.
And I guess we’re now on the verge of the gentle-yet-probing psychiatrist-style interrogation I’ve been waiting for.
She was up and out before me this morning, so we hadn’t seen each other all day until she walked through the door forty-five minutes ago, kicked off her shoes and declared she needed to soak in a hot bath.
Our only interaction has been her reply to the text I sent last night telling her I was staying late at the theater to paint scenery with Gabe and not to worry if I wasn’t back before she went to bed.
Her response came before I woke up, and all it said was, “Ooooooh.”
I didn’t respond.
And have been dreading this conversation all day.
I mean, it’s not like I can tell her I boinked the hockey star she lusts after in a front row seat of the theater.
“How did things go last night?” She doesn’t look at me, just picks up her fork and digs in.
“Painting went well, thanks. Got most of it done. No thanks to the bunch of people who showed up claiming to be helpers but were only there because they thought Gabe might be.”
“Ah, yes. Gabe.” She puts down her fork and rests her elbows on the table, interlacing her fingers above her plate. “I’d forgotten about him.”
I just about stifle a giggle. Sure she had.
“Yeah, well, they were all mightily disappointed. The men were wearing whatever hockey jerseys they owned, and the women had more makeup on than you’d see on an entire season of RuPaul’s Drag Race .”
“How silly to be so starstruck when he seems like such a lovely normal young man.”
“But then he showed up out of the blue.” I peer at her over my forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy. “Obviously.”
“Yes, yes.” Aunt Lou jabs at her greens. “Since you ended up working late with him.”
She’s so desperately trying to hold herself back from delving deeper that I can’t help but chuckle. She’s like an overblown balloon—just one more puff and she’ll pop.
“He was helpful.” Yeah, I’ll leave it at that .
“Such a nice young man.” She doesn’t take her eyes off her dinner.
“It took hours. Couldn’t believe how late it was when we stopped.” I stare down at my food too.
“Seems like he has a good community spirit.” Aunt Lou’s tone verges on teasing. Is she messing with me?
“That might be taking it a bit far. I mean, the only reason he got involved in the first place was because I kind of forced him into it. But he showed up of his own free will last night. I hadn’t even asked him to. That was all him. So, maybe.” Gah, I’m overexplaining. But yeah, come to think about it, maybe voluntarily turning up was a generous thing to do.
“Very thoughtful.” She stabs a chunk of cabbage. “Did you go back to his house?”
“What? No. No, of course I didn’t go back to his house. Why would I go back to his house? No.” Now I’m overprotesting.
Would I have gone back to his house if he’d asked?
“Right.” Her chair creaks as she shifts in it.
“Not that it’s not a nice house. His decorators have taken some of the warmth and family coziness out of it. But it does look quite stylish.” Why am I still talking?
“Yes, and lucky it has guest rooms. For that first night, I mean. When you were stuck there, what with your ankle and the fallen tree and what have you.”
I make a vaguely noncommittal sound and shove my mouth so full of shepherd’s pie it’s impossible to answer.
“Mustard would be nice with this.” She pushes her chair back. “I’m going to get some mustard. Would you like some mustard?”
“No, thanks. Anyway,” I say, fighting my way through the huge mouthful while also trying to steer my mind away from sex with Gabe and shift the conversation to a different topic. “This afternoon, I met the person replacing me.”
Aunt Lou bustles by me toward the kitchen.
“And how did that go?” The fridge door opens and closes.
“She’s, um, let’s say, something of a character.”
“Hah.” Aunt Lou retakes her seat opposite me and plonks the mustard on the table with a thunk . “I bumped into Victor at the clinic this morning. He babbled on so much about how amazing she is that I knew she must be horrendous.”
I put my fork down and lean toward her. “Oh, God. You wouldn’t believe it. Truly, truly awful. She’s all wrong for the kids. They’ll end up so unhappy. I don’t know what the arts committee was thinking.”
“Victor seems somewhat taken with her.” She raises her eyebrows as she pops the lid off the mustard.
“More like taken in by her,” I reply. “She kept name-dropping. I would have been embarrassed for her if she hadn’t been so awful.”
“Then maybe you should tell them?”
“Tell who what?”
“Your bosses. Victor and the rest of the committee. Tell them they’ve made a mistake. That she’s going to ruin the program that all the kids and their parents love. The program you’ve spent years creating and nurturing.”
“They won’t care what I think. I already quit, remember?”
Yup, moving on to bigger and better things in a bigger and better place. So why is there not one ounce of excitement about that in me? I should have been skipping around with joy these last two months since I was offered the job in New Orleans.
Time to get out, I told myself. Time to move on up. Time to prove I can be like my parents, traveling everywhere, seeing new sights, experiencing new things, meeting new people. And like Todd, my ex, moving to Alaska to work on a new ecology research project.
But I thank my lucky stars every day that I decided not to go with him. At the time I thought I might have been making a mistake, walking away from the man I thought I’d probably marry and have kids with.
But now I’m certain I made the right decision. Our relationship was fine. Totally fine. And it would probably have been fine for the rest of our lives.
But he never made me tingle all over the way Gabe does.
My belly never did somersaults when he looked at me, not even when we were first together, not the way it does when Gabe’s eyes meet mine.
And the orgasms Todd gave me were more oh, that was nice than the ohmyfuckinggodyesyesyesImightpassout Gabe brought me to. And that was only our first one. Lord knows how much better we might get with practice.
Realistically, though, how much more practice will we get?
But haven’t I told myself this could be just a fun, spirit-lifting, orgasm-screaming experience before I start my new life? Something like that is so outside of my usual behavior it’s like that decision was made by a whole different person. But isn’t that the different person I’m trying to become? One who has exciting adventures?
Gabe is definitely an adventure.
And, holy shit, is he exciting.
“But if you really believe the kids’ program would be harmed, shouldn’t you stand up for what you believe in and try to make sure you leave it in the best hands possible?” Aunt Lou says.
I shrug and dig into my dinner. “They won’t listen to me. They have no reason to and no need to.”
“You do all these things for other people,” she continues. “You help out here for free with the movie nights and bingo and what have you, whenever you can. You’ve given your life to the theater programs for the last six years. You have all the knowledge and skills and the very best intentions. And those kids mean the world to you. So why wouldn’t you say something?”
This is her technique. She doesn’t say what she thinks I should do. She asks questions that will hopefully lead me to realize for myself that I need to do the thing she thinks I should do.
I slowly finish my mouthful and sigh. “You want me to say because I’m afraid they won’t like me if I tell them they’re wrong, don’t you?”
She gives me her look . “Are you?”
“Why would I be afraid of what someone thinks of me if I might never see them again?”
“I don’t know. Why would you?”
There she goes with the questions again. “Now you’re psychiatristing me.” I stand up. “I’m getting ketchup.”
“Ketchup? With shepherd’s pie? Why would anyone want ketchup with shepherd’s pie?”
Another question, even when it comes to ketchup.
“Same reason you wanted mustard. Because I really like it, that’s why.”
“Ah-ha,” she says as I sit back down and shake the bottle. “So, when it’s something you really want, you will stand up for it.”
I tip my head and look from her to the bottle. “This is ketchup. Not the welfare and future of a bunch of kids I adore.”
“Exactly. So why would you be prepared to stand up for ketchup and not them?”
She has been playing me like this for years. But coming on top of what Gabe said the other day about me not standing up for myself, it hits differently this time.
There’s silence for a moment as I squeeze a healthy dollop of ketchup on the side of my plate.
“Do you wish you’d taken your parents’ offer to go to Barbados with them?” Aunt Lou asks.
Mom was given a last-minute virtually-free Christmas vacation by her airline and grabbed it with both hands.
“Of course not,” I say. “I couldn’t abandon the play. And I thought I was going to be watching the Sullivans’ kids too.”
Not to mention, parents who actually like being around their kid wouldn’t have spent half their lives leaving that kid with her aunt.
Anyway, if I’d gone, I wouldn’t be sitting here with all the mental and physical reminders of Gabe being inside me yesterday. So staying here was really a win-win.
“And if you’d gone, you wouldn’t have met Gabe Woods.” Is Aunt Lou a mind reader?
She picks up her glass of sparkling lemon water and raises her eyebrows.
I fight the draw of her gaze and dip some mashed potato in the ketchup.
“Well, I doubt I would have had the idea of staging the play on ice without him, so I guess it’s a good thing I met him.”
“Yes,” she says slowly. “That’s definitely the best thing about meeting him.”
I would usually tell her to stop teasing me, but this feels like too big of a deal for that. So I stay quiet.
“When are you next”—she coughs—“ working on the play with him?”
I’m not taking the bait of that heavy euphemism either. “The day after tomorrow. He’s coming to the first run-through on the ice after school. He can’t help tomorrow because he’s busy with training, and PT, and team meetings and, you know, hockey stuff.”
“And will you bring him to the pig lighting after?”
“Oh, right, yeah. That’s on Thursday too. I’ve lost track of the days. My brain is frazzled with all the new things.” Including having a handsome, hulking hockey player between my legs. “I’ll have to make sure we wrap up rehearsal in time for everyone to go home in between.”
Aunt Lou looks at me across the table in silence, blinking.
“What now?” I ask her.
“So will you bring him?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I wave my fork at her to dismiss the question. “Not sure it’s his thing. Actually, I know it’s definitely not his thing. He doesn’t even like Christmas.”
“Maybe you could ask,” she says.
“Maybe.” I shrug like it doesn’t matter either way.
“Great,” she says. “And after that maybe you’ll end up working late again for one reason or another.”
Scooping up the last bit of shepherd’s pie I shift in my seat, still able to feel where he was last night.
And my cheeks get hotter and hotter.