7. tallulah
TALLULAH
YOU’RE A FREAK
My hands were shaking so badly on my walk to the party, I had to cross my arms to hide them.
I couldn’t believe I was going. I couldn’t believe what I was wearing.
Usually, I stuck to lighter, pastel colors for my wardrobe.
I specifically selected a dark rouge dress to blend in with the, no doubt, darker outfits of the party.
I regretted it.
Sleeveless? What was I thinking?
Anxious, I tugged up the top of the dress, shuffling among the giggling couples. The music inside the house party engulfed me. Staying close to the wall, I slipped past the groups laughing together.
Andrew had assured everyone that this party would be a top-notch networking opportunity. That was the last time we discussed it. I asked the other interns if they were going, and they refused to confirm one way or another.
Obviously, they just didn’t want to tell me, because everyone from the internship was at the party. Split up, splintered, shaking hands and introducing themselves to the house full of Canadian athletes and other people who’d be working full time for the Olympics.
None of us were close physically or emotionally. It’d been a week at the Tomasini-sponsored internship. A week of endless glares and muttered comments. If I thought time would bring us together, I was sorely mistaken.
Every time I approached a group to talk to, one of the interns scowled at me. Tigers protecting their kills, their networking goldmines.
I held up my hands in surrender, retreating to the wall. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know the rest of these people, and I’d never been great at networking.
Maybe I needed some help. Everybody had a bright-colored drink in hand, topped with a slice of orange or lime. The counters had cocktails and lines of shot glasses to loosen up the party guests. I bit my lip, picking up a drink.
My experience with alcohol was…not much.
My parents were metalheads who partied hard before I was born—a long time ago. Growing up, there wasn’t much alcohol in the house. I never saw them drink beyond a cheap beer at one of my cousins’ soccer games and an occasional glass of wine on the weekends.
And Fridge never wanted to go out. It was understandable. He was so busy with hockey and schoolwork that going out to drink clashed with his day-to-day.
I sipped the cocktail. It tasted like the smell of nail polish remover and I wrinkled my nose, not very happy with my choice.
Shouldn’t I have been more excited? I was at a party, with a drink in my hand, wearing an arguably pretty dress—this was what I wanted. Wasn’t it? I took another sip of the drink and winced, glancing around the murmur of intimate conversations.
I was on the outskirts. As usual.
If I had someone to talk to, it’d be okay, but I didn’t know anybody.
Nobody knew me.
That was how it’d always been. Maybe always would be.
The door opened and the vibe of the party shifted. I couldn’t see through the crowd, but I heard the joyful comments, the claps on the back, people ushering someone inside.
Curious, I moved to see who it was.
Nick Kurosawa walked through the door in dark pants, a dark, perfectly tailored jacket, a white shirt tucked underneath, everything crisp and ironed, his hair tousled.
He was a hit. The crowd was delighted to have a star hockey player, especially one with his charm, the ease with which he commanded the room. Nick was a natural.
Even if he usually avoided me, he was fascinating to watch. How did he do that?
Nick strolled around like he owned the place.
He shook hands, laughing at other people’s comments, nudging them good-naturedly.
He was so confident, so self-assured. Did this party mean anything to him?
Did he have to take deep breaths outside just to knock on the door, or double his anxiety medication the day of?
No way.
It was like the awkward conversations between us never happened. I doubted Nick remembered them.
Confidence radiated off of him. His eyes sliced across the party. Almost like he was searching for something.
In the shadows of the party, everything caught up to me.
Nick never let anything stop him. He was spontaneous, and fun, and unexpected—who I wanted to be.
Everything I couldn’t be. I wasn’t comfortable here.
I didn’t even know why I came to the party.
I should’ve stayed behind and worked on my project for the internship, the paper on the Toronto library system.
This was a huge mistake. I couldn’t breathe. The air was stifling.
I slipped through the partygoers, ducking into tiny spaces to escape. I had to leave—or at least catch my breath. I fumbled with the door to the backyard, shutting it quickly behind me, gulping in fresh air.
It was silent, the grass a pretty blue-green in the moonlight. A lounge sat with its covers, a couple of chairs and a couch. All untouched.
I sank into one of the chairs, folding my arms so tight, it felt like I was trying to keep my organs inside.
“What am I doing here?” I whispered.
My discomfort stretched beyond a couple of minutes at a party.
The internship had shattered my hesitant optimism.
This last week had been horrible. The laundry room was closed so I had to haul my hamper on the bus once every three days.
Construction woke me up at four o’clock each morning, and I never got used to it.
And because of our shitty piping situation, I was lucky to get a four-minute shower without someone pounding on the door for me to hurry up.
It was a bad situation by itself—one I couldn’t believe I found myself in—but honestly, what was I doing in Canada at the Olympics?
Did I hit my head? Develop amnesia? The kind of person who jetsets to another country wasn’t me. The kind of person okay with any of this wasn’t me.
I wanted to call my parents, ask them to pick me up from the airport in a couple of hours. We had plenty of miles. The ticket wouldn’t cost anything, and they’d be thrilled to see me. They’d probably even insist I stay with them until August.
A more shameful part of me wanted to call Fridge. He knew me better than almost anyone else. He’d tell me what was so obvious.
I didn’t belong here.
My lower lip wobbled. I’d never felt so alone.
Behind me, the door opened. I glanced over my shoulder, straightening up to prevent anyone from witnessing my misery.
Nick?
He closed the door behind him, his voice carrying over the backyard. “Hey.”
I hesitated, unsure of what to say. “Hello?”
Nick took easy steps over. He gestured towards the chair diagonal to me. “Do you mind if I…?”
“No, of course not,” I said, less because I meant it, and more because I’d never been good at standing up for myself. Couldn’t he read my body language? Everything about me said I wanted to be left alone.
Nick took the seat. “Are you okay?”
Was it that noticeable? The blush darkened and I fought to hide the embarrassment. “I—I don’t belong here.”
“I’m sure a lot of those people feel the same way.”
His comment didn’t make sense, I wasn’t sure why he said it. “You don’t.”
Nick seemed reluctant to admit it. He shrugged. “Yeah. It’s only a party.”
The flight with Nick, the conversations before and after we disembarked, it didn’t add up, and I was tired of trying to put it together.
“Why are you talking to me?” I blurted out. “You don’t like me.”
“You think I don’t like you?”
“I know you don’t like me.”
“Why would you think that?”
“How could I not?” I was so hurt that he ignored me for months. I’d never experienced that direct dislike before. Nobody ever noticed me enough to shun me. “Every time I spent the night at your dorm, you made this huge deal about sleeping in the lounge. You ignored me at group dinners—”
“I have—” Nick exhaled. “Had this reputation. Plenty of hockey players hate me because they think I’ll mess around with their girlfriends. I never wanted Fridge to think I was moving in on you. I never wanted to hurt him, and—”
“Fridge never thought that. Nobody thought that.”
“Because I didn’t want them to, Tallulah. That was on purpose.”
“We had classes together before I even dated Fridge,” I whispered. “I was the only person you never talked to.”
“You didn’t talk to me either,” he pointed out.
My eyes fell to my hands. “I don’t talk to anybody.”
“You can talk to me,” he said softly.
No, that wasn’t true. Because Nick’s reason for talking to me was so evident. “I know you’re only saying this because Fridge asked you to keep an eye on me.”
He frowned. “No, he didn’t.”
“He didn’t?”
“Tallulah, I’m here because I genuinely like talking to you.”
There were only the sounds of the light traffic from the streets and the music playing from the party. Because I didn’t know what to say. My heart seemed determined to join the music’s beat, kicking around in my chest.
I still didn’t believe him. Not really. It was too unbelievable.
Even if what Nick said was true—doubtful—Nick and Fridge were such good friends.
They had their own handshake out on the ice.
There were so many times when Nick had to be reprimanded by their coach for going too hard after opposing players went for Fridge.
No matter how busy their schedules were, they gamed together once a week.
Deliberately or not, whatever I told Nick would go to Fridge. And Fridge would surely get an update about tonight. ‘Oh, Tallulah is so sad and bitter and homesick, blah, blah, blah—’
I hated that.
Hated that someone would know how everything was falling apart, especially my ex who tried to convince me not to go to Canada. How could I explain it to Fridge he needed to let go?
I couldn’t. Not really. I was too anxious.
Maybe I could tell him through someone else?
Resolve burned hot inside me. I squared my shoulders, holding the pose until I felt brave enough to meet Nick head-on.
If I couldn’t tell Fridge myself that he couldn’t ask his friends to watch over me, be buddy-buddy with my parents, and keep pushing into my life, I wanted to send a message to him. One that said I was my own person, with my own decisions.
Something to show him that I could do this, something like the bucket list my ex had never finished with me.
“I—I have a bucket list,” I told Nick, my voice shaking. “It’s a list of things that I want to do before…” I bit my lip, thinking it over. For Fridge to get the point, I needed a concrete clock. “I want to finish my bucket list before I leave Toronto.”
I ripped open my wallet and dug out the folded piece of paper I carried everywhere. Now was my opportunity for Fridge to understand that I wanted to be left alone.
Anxiety clawed its way up my throat, but I couldn’t back down. I shoved the list into Nick’s hands. He took it and carefully smoothed it out, his eyes scanning the words.
His shoulders stiffened. He jerked back to stare at me.
“Holy shit,” he whispered. “You’re a freak.”
A freak? Blood rushed to my face. I hurried to grab the paper, leaving for the door. Nick read my list—Nick Kurosawa! The mission was accomplished but at the price of my dignity.
It didn’t matter how embarrassing that was—fuck it!
Fridge would be reminded of the kinky list I would undoubtedly check off with some other man. He’d get the hint that he wasn’t part of my life anymore. I didn’t want the ghost of my ex’s presence during my time in Toronto.
Ugh, but what a horrible way to go about it.
I threw open the door and rushed inside.
“Tallulah!” Nick shouted. “Wait!”
Nope, nope, nope. If Nick thought that we’d been avoiding each other before, that was nothing. We’d have a restraining order type of distance between us now. I was fine if I never looked Nick in the eye again.
“Tallulah!”
Too many partygoers were bunched together.
My heels made sharp clicking noises as I ducked around the crowd.
I skidded to a stop by a couple making out and backed up before they stumbled into me.
I slammed into someone hard, them and their huge silver tray of drinks.
I watched, helpless to do anything, as that man tripped over his feet in slow-motion, crashing into Nick.
The silver tray met Nick’s white shirt in a fountain of cocktails.
Oh.
My.
God.
I stared in disbelief. Nick’s shirt was now a colorful array of blue vodka and raspberry liqueur. The house party came to a halt, the music stopped, and my face flamed hotter and hotter.
“Oh my god,” I whimpered. “I’m so sorry—”
“It’s okay,” Nick said immediately.
“Nick!” The host of the party laughed, breaking through the crowd. “What the hell happened?”
“The drinks are too good.” Nick smiled, like his shirt wasn’t completely ruined. “I had to wear them.”
“You can use the bathroom in my room. I’ve got extra shirts in my dresser—”
“Nick, I—I—” I blubbered, overwhelmed from the night, from everything. And now Nick’s ruined shirt. It was all my fault. “I—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”
“Tallulah?” Nick’s voice was firm. “It’s okay.”
“It’s—it’s ruined—”
“It’s just a shirt.”
“But—but—”
“It’s just a shirt.”
I gazed up at him, the realization startling. Nick was trying to make me feel better. Was he…telling the truth earlier? Did I misjudge him? I couldn’t imagine Nick was being truthful when he said he just liked talking to me, but…?
Desperately, I wanted to leave. This night belonged with the memories I’d ignore until the end of time. I wrapped my arms around myself, embarrassed to be in the spotlight, and even more embarrassed that I’d assumed so much with Nick.
My eyes dropped to his shirt again, to the alcohol dripping to the floor. Even more than leaving, I wanted to apologize and fix my dumb mistake.
I touched his arm. “I—I’ll help you clean up.”