21. Natalie
Natalie
“The walls could use some photos. Maybe I could take some of the local tourist spots and see if Jules wants to put them up,” I say, looking around at the cabin. I grab my laptop and rest it on my legs, crossing my feet at the ankles on top of the coffee table.
Luke started a fire, even though it’s a sunny, eighty-degree day in June. I don’t mind. It adds to the rustic ambiance of the cabin, and I enjoy the way the flames bounce shadows over my legs.
Luke sits beside me, our arms barely touching.
His skin is a shade darker than mine, even though I’m quite tan myself, and his messy hair points up in contrasting angles.
As he stretches out his legs, his shorts ride up just a little, showing a funny tan line where he doesn’t get much sun on his upper thighs.
I resist the urge to rest my hand there.
“I think that’s a great idea,” he agrees. “The place is already set up perfectly for tourists, but if Cam is having trouble renting it out in the winter, then maybe we can help them figure out a few ways to get people interested.”
I frown. “Did he say what his photos look like on the listing?”
“No.”
“Let’s see if we can find it.” I open the search engine on my laptop and search the address.
It isn’t hard to find, and for the next few minutes, we scour through rental cabins in Maple Lake, Pennsylvania, coming up with a plethora of ideas on what seems to be working for other landlords.
“The photos don’t do it justice,” I say, raising my hands to motion around the room.
Luke shakes his head, his arm reaching across me to click through the images on the screen. “They really don’t. I mean, they’re okay, but they could be better. The lighting could be brighter, and the space looks smaller in the pictures than it really is.”
“Do you think they’d be offended if we want to take new pictures for them?”
He looks at me, and his lips are so close I smell his salty, spicy cologne.
“I don’t think so. You should ask. They wanted tips on how to get winter bookings.
I think new photos on the listing, as well as adding some photos on the walls for local tourist traps—maybe ones geared toward winter activities—would be useful. ”
My teeth bite down on the tip of my thumbnail, and Luke gently pulls my hand away from my mouth.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. Concern dances in his eyes, and it makes me almost forget that we got here by my childish act of rebellion.
In hindsight, running away was so juvenile. It’s like I’ve never really grown up, which makes my chest tighten at how stupid that sounds.
“I don’t know,” I say. He links his fingers through mine until we fit together the way we always have, his hand just a little bit bigger than mine but lean enough that my hand doesn’t feel stretched to let him in.
I watch him as I speak. “I don’t really know how to act with my family.
They don’t really know me—the me that I am now.
I’m not eighteen anymore. And I don’t know them either.
My mom and dad have been to so many places, my dad is retired, they have relationships with Jules and Cam and the boys that I’ll never have.
Juliet is a mother, and I—” My heart pounds and I shut my mouth.
“And you’re not,” he finishes for me.
Just to have something to do with my free hand, I close the laptop and set it on the coffee table.
“We have to talk about it, Natalie.”
Sitting back on the couch, I nod. “I know.”
“You hold a lot of bitterness toward me because I haven’t wanted kids, but I think you should be very careful to not direct any of that bitterness toward Juliet.”
I look up to where he’s waiting for my reply.
My eyes narrow. “I don’t. I’m not.” A strained breath rasps out of me.
“I don’t hold bitterness toward her. I don’t resent her.
I just … wish I had been here for everything she’s experienced.
I wasn’t here for her engagement or her wedding.
I missed both of the boys’ births. I didn’t even know I was an aunt until I got here a few days ago.
I missed so much. If anything, I’m bitter toward myself. ”
His hand pulls mine into his lap, and he slides the fingers of his other hand up and down the inside of my arm. He knows it calms me. It’s what he did when I started having panic attacks after I left home.
“The past is the past, Nat. I know it affects a lot, but you can’t go back in time and change how you did things.
It happened the way it did, and now all we can do is move forward.
We’re here for the summer.” He tilts his head to catch my eyes.
“You’ll have months to reconnect. To make amends.
Whatever you need to do, now is your chance. ”
I force a smile for him. “Should we talk about our own issues, too, or is my family drama enough for one night?”
It’s his turn to frown. “First, I don’t want us to call them issues. Others might call it that, but for us it’s a bump in the road. Okay?”
He waits until I nod, still holding my hand firmly in his. He continues to slide his fingertips over the sensitive skin on my inner arm, which distracts me from his words, focusing my attention instead on the warmth of his touch.
“I know you want kids,” he murmurs. “And you know I don’t want kids. But it’s not just for the reasons you think.”
“And what do I think are your reasons?”
“You think I don’t want kids because I’m afraid to be a dad. That I’m afraid to have the responsibility.”
“And because you don’t think the world is safe for them.” I lift my chin. “Right? You’ve made all of this clear before. Many times.” The start of this conversation is hitting a nerve, and I do my best to school my reaction.
He stops tickling the inside of my forearm and moves to trace my fingers which he’s spread out over his thigh. If we weren’t discussing a major bump in the road, I’d probably jump on top of him.
“Yes,” he says, drawing it out. “But also something else.”
I lean back to better look at him. How could there be something else? “Go on.”
“It’s something that happened with my mom.”
“Your mom!” I slap my palm against my forehead. “You were going to say something about her the other night and then my phone died! I was thinking of all the worst things that your mom could have done. What is it?”
“My mom didn’t do anything. But it’s something that happened to her.
” I wait expectantly as he takes a breath.
“When she was pregnant with me, she had a miscarriage. She thought she lost the pregnancy, but a few weeks later she found out she still had a healthy baby—me.” My face must show my confusion because he jumps to clarify.
“She was pregnant with twins, and she lost one of them.”
My face scrunches up, and I search his eyes for what he must be feeling. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry for her, but also for you. You could have been a twin.”
“I was a twin. Until I wasn’t.”
My knees press against the side of his leg as I curl into him. “How did your mom handle it? Did she tell you what it was like?”
He nods, and a stray lock of blond hair falls across his eye. I lean up and swipe it aside, enjoying the brush of my skin against his face. It’s a movement I’ve done a hundred times, but in the graveness of this moment I want to comfort him in any way I can.
“She said it was awful. She wanted to be excited about my life still growing inside of her, but she also couldn’t stop thinking about the one that was lost.” His face looks pained, his jaw tight and his eyes sunken like I haven’t seen them before.
“And then it happened again.” I gasp. “She was pregnant with another baby when I was seven, and she lost that one too. It crushed her. She wasn’t the same for months—years—after that.
It changed her in ways I don’t fully understand, but it’s like a light inside of her went out.
She became depressed. She wouldn’t eat. She took care of me, and I never felt like she didn’t love me, but she was sad.
And it took a long time for her to come back to us—to me and Dad. ”
A tear slips free from my eye, and I dash it away. “I didn’t know any of that. Your mom never told me.”
He shakes his head, wiping his palm against the side of his face.
“She doesn’t like to talk about it. She hates that she fell into that depression when I needed her.
She was like that for two years … It still makes her sad to think of the babies.
And I still feel this urge to watch her, to make sure she isn’t slipping away again. ”
I hold his hand between both of mine and bring it up to kiss his knuckles. Then I hug his hand close to my chest, laying my cheek on his shoulder. He folds into me, resting his chin on my head. Warmth from his skin seeps into my knee as he lays his hand there.
I’d never imagined a pregnancy going wrong.
Never imagined my body not doing what it’s meant to do.
I’m speechless, and as I collect my thoughts, I pull my hand back to rest it on his shoulder, sliding my fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck.
I play with the strands in gentle swirling motions, letting my touch soothe him.
“So you’re afraid we’ll lose a baby?” I ask, a whisper on my lips.
He nods his head in answer, but then shakes it. The motion slides against my hair. It’s nice that he’s being vulnerable with me, like we’ve begun to unlock something we never knew existed—sharing our fears.
He’s always known the darker part of me, but I’ve never heard him say words like this. He’s always the strong one between us.
I slow my breathing so I can hear him when he replies, “I’m afraid we’ll lose a baby. But I’m more afraid I’ll lose you if we do.”