Always Something There to Remind Me (30 page)

But not without questions I didn’t want to answer, suspicions I didn’t want to raise, and weirdness I didn’t want to feel.

Part of me was curious about what their life was like. Well,
curious
sounds so light. I was dreading finding out the answer too. Maybe you could call it a morbid curiosity.

Yet I had to know.

Even still, my heart pounded out my dread every single minute of the drive. Every minute a new rush when I realized I was about to see Nate. That I was about to see Nate with
Theresa
 … his
wife
. My old friend.

So even though it startled me at first, it was a relief when my phone rang and I saw it was Jordan. “What’s going on?” I asked, glad for something else to think about for a moment.

“Are you alone?” she asked.

“Rick and I are on our way to have dinner at Theresa and Nate’s house.”

“What—wait, did you try to call earlier?”

“Um-hm. I left a message.” I lowered my voice. “A rather plaintive one.”

“My voice mails were all crackly this morning,” she said. “I’m sorry. Wow. This sucks.”

“I wish you could join us too.”

“I bet you do. But this is going to give you some really important closure. Hopefully.”

The GPS shouted, in a British accent, that we needed to turn left ahead.

“What?” Jordan asked.

“Nothing, it was the GPS,” I said.

“Left where?” Rick asked, instantly impatient. “There are three lefts in a row.”

“Keating Drive,” I read off the LED.

“Cheating what?” Jordan asked, ultra aware of that concept lately. “Who’s cheating?”

“No one. I said
Keating
. I was talking to Rick.”

The GPS spoke again, demanding another left. Honestly, I don’t understand why people need the sound on with those things, they have the little purple path showing exactly what road to take, in addition to showing the road names.

Rick always insisted that having the sound on was the safer option. Even though all it seemed to do was piss him off every time it said something, which struck me as the
less
safe option. “Now there isn’t a damn left to turn onto, that’s an alley.”

“It’s up there,” I said, pointing to what was obviously a street in
front
of the houses that the alley ran behind. I returned to Jordan with a sigh. “This is going to be a weird night.”

“Probably. But I want you to call me as soon as you get home tonight, no matter what time it is!”

“I will.” Rick started arguing with the GPS again about whether or not we had, in fact,
reached our destination
, so I said to her, “I’d better run now, but we’ll talk later.”

“Good luck, sweetie!” she said.

“Thanks.” It really made me feel so much better to hear her voice. “You too!” I hung up the phone and slipped it back into my purse. “What,” I said to Rick, “is your problem?”

“That stupid thing is the problem.” He gestured at the GPS, which was now showing a finish line, indicating we were at, or very near, the right address.

I looked at the directions, and at the GPS. “We’re on the right street. There—forty-four-eleven, it’s right there.” I pointed at the house. It was a little Cape Cod that, in this neighborhood, probably ran close to a million bucks. My chest tightened at the place they called a home.

“Oh.
There
.” He said it like he’d discovered it on his own,
despite
the opposition and interference of the electronic map.

We got out of the car and walked toward the front door, misgivings building in my chest with every single step. This was nothing short of masochism. Why was I doing it? I
should
have declined and let everyone think what they wanted, rather than putting myself through seeing the only guy I’d ever really loved, married and living with someone else. Never mind that the someone else used to be my friend.

“Nice house,” Rick mused.

I made a noise of agreement.

Theresa threw open the door like she’d been looking forward to this moment all her life. “Hi!” She put her arms out and pulled me into a hug, then turned to Rick and said, “You must be Rick!” and hugged him.

Nate stood awkwardly behind her and stepped back to let us in.

He and Rick introduced themselves to each other and shook hands, then Nate turned to me and—because anything else would have been suspicious in and of itself—we hugged. Awkwardly.

The buzz of electricity when we touched was undeniable, and we drew back quickly. He looked away and I looked down at their impeccably clean floor. I swear I could feel heat pulsating from Nate to me.

We all ended up in the hall for a minute, where I noticed the house looked just like a Pottery Barn catalog, right down to the tasteful-but-generic paintings on the walls, accent pillows that were
just so
, and bold paint colors that made statements I couldn’t quite read. But that was Theresa; impeccable, bold, and striking.

Yet there was something strangely impersonal about it all too. No family photos. Nothing to suggest it was a
home
. It might as well have been a builder’s model.

“This is a beautiful house you have,” Rick said, and I could tell he was admiring Theresa.

Who wouldn’t?

My eyes flicked to Nate, but he looked at me and I looked away, feeling the heat in my face again.

This was going to be a long night.

We sat down in the perfectly appointed living room, where Theresa had set up a small bar that seemed to have the makings for just about any drink or bar snack you could think of. Seriously, if I’d asked for a sour apple brandy Alexander mojito with a Buttershots floater and a side of Kentucky beer cheese, she probably could have whipped them right up.

It was hard not to feel like I paled in comparison, honestly. I didn’t have the home-decorating gene. If I didn’t have girlfriends who did, my places would all look like college dorms, for the rest of my life. I also didn’t have the entertaining gene. Organizing events by delegating responsibilities and tasks was one thing—doing the whole shebang myself in my home was quite another. Every time I entertained—and I mean
every
time—I ended up forgetting some critical part of the meal or appetizers: asparagus remained forgotten in the fridge, Pepperidge Farm crackers languished in back of the pantry while I frantically set out saltines and broken Ritz remains with Cracker Barrel cheese.

Normally none of this made me feel bad about myself—I have other assets that deflect these lacks—but sitting in this beautiful home, looking at this beautiful woman, who had married my most beautiful memory, I felt like a pair of ratty old sneakers at the foot of a D&G evening gown.

After a while, the conversation turned to a collection of Civil War artifacts Theresa had inherited when her father died ten years ago.

“For example,” Theresa said. “There’s an Emerson & Silver cavalry sword with a straight blade which is very rare and—”

Rick was beside himself. “I have
got
to see that!”

“It’s right downstairs!” She glanced at Nate and me. “Would you mind excusing us for a moment…?”

“Go right ahead!” I waved airily at her. “He loves this stuff!”

“It’s this way,” she said to Rick, and led him out of the living room. “My dad was a
huge
Civil War nut, he had ancestors on both sides of the war…”

I listened to her as she took him down the stairs to the basement. Rick would undoubtedly adore her by the end of the evening and I would feel even more frumpy by comparison.

What did Nate see when both of us were in the room together? I wondered.

“So,” I said on a sigh.

“So.” Nate leaned back in his chair and looked at me.

“This is … interesting.”

He gave a laugh and nodded. “That’s one word for it. But I’m not hating it. It’s good to see you.”

I felt a flush rise in my cheeks. “Yeah, well, it’s good you’re not seeing quite”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—“
as much of me
as you did last time.”

He nodded. “You’re probably right. That’s probably best. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

“We shouldn’t even talk about it again. It never happened.”

“It happened.”

“It shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t regret it.”

I didn’t either. But I knew I
should
. “So how long have you lived here?”

“A few months. I think it was February when we moved in.”

Only a few months and it looked like they’d been there forever! “It’s really nice.” Something deep inside of me started to waver. I wasn’t sure I could do this. Maybe I should go find Theresa and Rick and just keep my eyes on Rick like a shipwreck survivor heading for the shore.

Because looking at Nate was too hard. That jaw, that chin, that mouth … how many times in my life—how many times in the past week—had I pictured kissing all of that and more?

I swallowed. “It really feels … homey.” Funny, though, I wouldn’t have thought of him as the type to go for the fussy furniture, the doilies placed
just so
under a vase, the abstract and clearly expensive artwork that evoked nothing but wonder.

In other words, it felt like her home, but it didn’t feel like his.

But what did I know?

He smiled, that wonderful crooked smile that made his dark eyes lighten to amber. “It feels like a grandparents’ house, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, my gosh, you’re right—it feels like
your
grandparents’ house!”

“You’re sitting on their sofa.”

“That’s
right
! I thought this felt familiar!”

“A couple of pieces here are.” He shrugged. “Most of them are Theresa’s, though.”

I nodded. A few moments passed in awkward silence. Finally, I said, “This is weird.”

“I know.”

“Do you remember that time I went out with Pete Hagar for a few weeks in high school?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

I met his eyes. “This is way worse.”

He nodded and looked away. “I’m sure.”

“I mean really,” I went on, unable to keep from harping at least a little bit. “This was a shock in so many ways.”

“I’m sorry. I handled it … badly. All of it. But not because I wanted to score something from you.” He looked at me intently. “You know that, right?”

“I do.” And I did. There were a lot of easy ways to hurl blame at him, but one thing I knew absolutely was that he hadn’t had sex with me this time just to
get some
.

“If I could do things differently…” He didn’t finish.

I didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

He cocked his head. “Doing…?”

“Why are you
married
to a gorgeous perfect woman and … doing what we did the other day?”

“I’m not in love,” he said quietly. “With her. No matter how perfect she is.”

“Then why did you marry her?”

He tightened his jaw. “Life throws curves.”

“I’ll say.” I looked at him. God, he was cute. He still looked like My Nate. Those eyes, those teeth, those hands, that body … it was impossible to be so close to him and not want him. It felt
right
. Things trembled deep within me, and while I knew I should wish I wasn’t there, what I really wished was that we were alone.

It was a good thing we weren’t.

Instead I just sat there quietly, simultaneously wishing Rick and Theresa would hurry up
and
that they’d never come back, and feeling my heart break. If things had gone just a little differently—maybe even just that one night—Nate and I might have been in our house, not
their
house. It all felt alien, like something had gone terribly wrong and we’d screwed up our fate.

Then again, anyone who believes in fate has to be prepared to believe that whatever happens
is
fate, whether they like it or not.

“What about you?” he challenged. “Are you in love with Rick? Because I’m not seeing that.”

“I’m not married to Rick.”

“No, but you’re thinking about it.”

Before I could respond, Theresa and Rick came up the basement stairs, shrieking with laughter over some joke Theresa had told about the Gettysburg Address.

I’m not kidding.

“That’s a good one,” Rick said, apparently never having heard it before.

“Shall we move into the dining room?” Theresa suggested. “Dinner is ready whenever everyone else is.”

Anything that took us one step closer to being finished and out of there worked for me. We moved into the dining room and sat at a perfectly set table with a centerpiece of fresh freesias.

And, really, it was a mistake. The whole thing, coming here, it was one big debacle and I should have known better than to try. In fact, I think I
did
know better, I just didn’t know how to get out of it gracefully.

And there was some part of me that didn’t want to lose contact with Nate, even if contact did come under these circumstances.

Theresa served a fantastic Chardonnay, which the guy at Pearson’s Liquor Store had taken out of the back vault for her when she told him she was having her best friend from twenty years ago over for dinner.

“So, Nate,” Rick said, leaning toward him. “I understand from your wife that you work as an aeronautical engineer at Quince.”

It was the tone Nate’s grandparents had used to ask me where I wanted to go to college.

I’m thinking about Southern Methodist University
, I’d told them. Lucy Ewing had gone there on
Dallas
.

The grandparents had been thrilled. It was the family alma mater. From that moment on, they had just grown to love me more and more.

But now here I was, grown-up Erin, sitting at a dinner table with grown-up Nate, but with our significant others … not each other.

Which would have been fine; I’d interacted with adults many, many times in my adult life, of course. But never with Nate. This scene was just too uncomfortable.

Theresa said to me, “Isn’t that funny, Erin?”

I dragged my attention back to the moment, blinking against the discrepancy of the
then
versus the
now
. “I’m sorry?”