Always Something There to Remind Me (38 page)

She took small tentative steps toward the kitchen. She
had
to have misheard. Misunderstood. Maybe she was dreaming it. Maybe she was dead.

Did pregnancy cause hallucinations? Was it a sign of premature labor?

Now was no time to think about the past. Especially
that
past. She wasn’t up to that.

“Did he say what he wanted?”

Her mother shook her head and met her eyes, her own betraying nothing. “I didn’t ask him that. Just told him I’d tell you he’d called.” She returned to the dishes. “We should have used paper plates.”

Erin swallowed and ignored the paper plate complaint. “Did he leave his number?”

“He’s at his parents’ house.”

The number flashed in her mind like she was Rain Man or something. She was twenty-three now, not seventeen, and sometimes she forgot her extension number at work, but Nate’s number was safely tucked away in her brain with her Social Security number, bank account number, and GFEDCBA piano scales.

This was it. He was back home. She knew it. After all those years away, and all but out of her head, he was back and he’d called her. He’d finally realized what they had and he’d come around to it now, of all times, when it was without question too late.

She tried to find her voice. “I’m going to…” She cleared her throat. Her hands were shaking like she’d had too much caffeine, though, of course, she hadn’t had a coffee or Diet Coke in months. “I’m just going to run upstairs and … you know … call back and see what he wants.”

Her mother nodded and returned to the dishes in the kitchen sink. She must have realized that Erin was freaking out; in fact, in all likelihood Erin didn’t seem nearly as composed on the outside as she thought she did, but her mother let it go without comment.

Erin hurried up the stairs to her old room, hoping the burst of exertion would get rid of some of this nervous energy, and closed the door behind her. The latch of the lock gave a familiar click, and the bed squeaked as she sat down on the edge.

She was sixteen again.

And yet she was so,
so
far from being sixteen again. From being carefree, and flopping onto the bed to call Nate. Then it would have been
What are we doing tonight
? Or
Are you on your way over? Hurry up!
Or
Meet me on the corner at midnight.

There would be none of that today.

After a moment, she picked up the phone and dialed.

He answered the same way he always had.

Something deep inside of her moved in its sleep.

“Nate,” she breathed. Her heart was pounding. This was just sad. “It’s Erin.”

“Hey.”

That voice! That
voice
! One word, and it was like fourteen thousand memories sprang to life.

“Hey.” Her stomach was in her throat. Of course, it almost was. Literally.

But she didn’t want to feel this.

Not now, and not ever again.

There was one small part of her that was still subject to this kind of broken heart, a part of her that was so distant it might have been close to subconscious, and she’d just tapped right into it.

“So,” she said, the word too small, the feelings too big. “My mother said you called. What’s up? Are you back?”

He’d been away at school for years. He’d gotten a bachelor’s and then a master’s. She knew that much from talking to his mother every now and then, but they had eventually lost touch too. She had no contact with Nate. She’d never told him she wanted him back. It was pride, maybe. Or the feeling that he should have known. The wish that
he’d
come after
her.

But he never did.

It had been six years or so since she’d talked to him or seen him now. She’d grown up a mile from him, but before they’d met, and certainly since the last time he’d left, they might as well have lived on different planets, for all that their lives intersected.

“Yes, I’m starting a new job in D.C.,” he said. He sounded a little nervous. Like he wasn’t sure how to act either. “Now I’m just looking for a place to live.”

She’d thought about this day a lot once. “Well. Welcome home.” She twined the phone wire around her fingers and looked out the window. The leaves were rustling on the cherry tree outside one window and the magnolia scraped the other window when the wind shifted.

She knew this wasn’t his usual call. Something in him had finally yielded, she could feel it.

She’d give anything for a different reality right now.

“Was it good?”

He laughed. “There was good and bad.”

“I bet.”

“What about you? What have you been up to?”

Her first impulse was to lie. Or, rather, to omit. To not mention the pregnancy, the shower she’d just had, the baby in eight weeks, but there was no way to get away with that. Even now it felt weird to tell him anything about her life that was so solidly Not To Do With Him, which was stupid since he was the one who’d made the choice that they should go their separate ways and it had been a long time since he’d done that.

She should have told him about the baby joyfully—she should have been so excited about this new chapter in her life that nothing else mattered—but something told her this call was pivotal.

If her life had gone a different way, if she hadn’t met Jake—or even if she hadn’t had that one last night with him—this was the call that might have given her and Nate the chance to see if they still had anything together. That was a question she’d had for a long, long time.

Or at least the chance to put a bandage on the open wound that their split had become.

But they were never going to get that chance now. “Actually, I’m pregnant,” she said through a tight throat. There. It was done. Out. She’d said it. “The baby’s due in two months,” she added, in case there was any question left.

There was a pause.

“Oh. Wow, that’s great!” He sounded chipper. Too chipper. “Congratulations, Erin, really. Are you— Who’s the—” Another pause. It was a hard question to ask regardless of who you were asking.

“The father is a guy I went out with for a while,” she answered. “Jake. We’re not married. We’re just … going to see what happens.” She couldn’t shut up. It was like she was in a confessional or something. What was she hoping? That he’d say he didn’t care if she was pregnant, he wanted to see her anyway?

What guy would say that?

“Wow, you always liked kids,” he said, in a tone that was utterly unreadable apart from the fact that it seemed disproportionately cheerful. “That should be good for you.”

“Yeah.” Wow, she really wished she believed that. She really wished she had the enthusiasm and excitement he seemed to be assigning her.

“A baby,” he said, and she could imagine him shaking his head. “Wow. Big news.”

It was stupid for her to be disappointed that he didn’t sound more upset at her news. Why would he? This wasn’t a significant call, it was just a guy calling an old friend because he’d just gotten back into town and was probably feeling kind of melancholy.

Now they’d chat for a few minutes about nothing, and hang up, and she’d never hear from him again. He’d be gone.

Again.

She didn’t want that to happen.

But what choice did she have? She had a time bomb ticking away in her womb. There was no putting this off, no playing both sides, nothing.

Now it was even more awkward. They talked for ten more minutes, making idle conversation, both knowing there were other things to talk about that now had no place in this conversation. She watched the tree branches sway outside the window and wished things were different.

Finally they brought it to a close, Erin saying, “So … it was good to catch up with you…,” and Nate agreeing and probably neither of them meaning it.

Then it was over. The call was over. The contact was over. Everything was over.

Again.

How many good-byes was she going to have to suffer through with this guy? And why did it always hurt as much as the first time?

This one, though … this one was hers. She might as well have been telling him she was dying, for all the finality that her pregnancy held.

She had no idea what he was thinking, of course, but she was seriously disconcerted. In a way it wasn’t surprising that he’d show up unexpectedly—after all, he’d
not
shown up when she
had
expected, and hoped, and prayed, for several years. Eventually she’d reached a kind of acceptance of that, if not a peace with it, so there was no way for him to appear again without surprising her.

But on the day of her baby shower?

If Nate had
ever
given
any
indication
at all
that he was thinking of her, that he was coming back, that he wanted to talk to her,
anything
, then she might have made that her priority.

Then again, maybe she wouldn’t have. She might have met Jake, been taken by all the things that were so sexy about him, and followed the same course anyway, thinking of Nate with fondness instead of angst and this terrible lack of resolution that had hung from her like a loose thread for all these years.

She’d never really know now.

Two months later, she had the baby on schedule—Jake and her mother were there—and loved the little girl as soon as she laid eyes on her. She named her Camilla because she was reading a book about a heroine named Camilla when she went into labor. She and Jake tried to make a go of it, but it was over before it began and they settled into a friendship that made for a surprisingly easy coparenting experience.

For the first year, her life was so consumed by parenting that she didn’t have the time or inclination to think about romantic regrets.

As Camilla got older, and Erin began to date again, now and then she had the stray thought about how things could have been different. But she didn’t regret how things had gone. She didn’t regret having Camilla.

The only thing she wasn’t completely glad of was the fact that she’d let that opportunity with Nate go. Not the opportunity to get back with him, but it had been a chance to finally
talk
to him. To feel some semblance of resolution to an issue that had plagued her for years.

She’d wanted that so desperately for so long—why had she blown it when she finally had the chance?

Nate had called and she’d essentially sent him on his way without taking so much as ten minutes to talk honestly before dropping her bomb on him. Instead she’d given him what clearly seemed now like the ultimate dismissal. She’d told him she was pregnant and left no room for discussion, even if he was inclined to discuss.

What she’d really wanted, though she only started to realize it a lot later, was for him to make some grand gesture. But what was he going to do? Swoop into the delivery room, like Dustin Hoffman at the end of
The Graduate,
to proclaim some undying love for her?

Even if that was what she wanted—or maybe something a little less grand—he wouldn’t do it. Man, if there was one thing she knew about Nate by now, it was that he was never going to be the guy who makes the big gesture. It wasn’t a fault of his or anything, just a fact. He’d no more step in and claim her as his girl than strip naked and dance in a fountain.

She
was always the one more likely to strip and dance in a fountain.

The problem was that she’d always hope, despite knowing it wasn’t in his nature, that—just once—he would fight even half as hard as she had to get back together.

If he had, she would have given him everything—her heart, soul, her life if that’s what it took.

Then again, she’d already done that.

And he hadn’t wanted it.

Chapter 25

Present

There are a lot of ways I might have expected this to end. It would have to be a huge grand gesture, right? Because that’s what he never did before? Maybe some sort of skywriting overhead when I was leaving for work, apologizing for his lack of vision, vowing his eternal love and devotion. Or perhaps even a simple mix tape, like the one I’d been assembling in my head for months now, saying every flowery romantic sentiment he had but couldn’t put to words.

Well, none of that happened.

What actually happened was that six months passed with no contact from Nate at all. It was six months during which I had to work to get over him—to get him out of my mind—all over again. Age had brought me some wisdom in this way, but the heart never learns to stop loving very quickly or easily.

So it was hard.

Then, one frigid December night, the doorbell rang while I was doing the dishes and I heard Cam talking to someone who had a vaguely familiar tone to his voice.

Obviously the sound of Cam talking to any man at the front door would draw my attention, so I dried my hands on the dishrag and went—garbed in Mickey Mouse sweatpants and a V-neck T-shirt that was a little bit tight in the bust but good enough for around the house—to see who it was.

And even though on some level I’d known the voice the moment I’d heard the timbre of it, it was still a shock to see him standing there: high cheekbones, chiseled jaw, cleft chin, soulful eyes, and that particular stance of his that always seemed like he was equally ready to relax or fight.

Odder still, there he was standing next to Cam. Two people I never thought I’d see together.

“Nate,” I said stupidly, taking a step toward him, my unglamorous sweats crying
Oh, boy!
in Mickey’s voice with every step.

He met my eyes. Same penetrating gaze that had met mine a million times before, same fringe of lashes that stopped short of being girlie and always made my heart trip, and the same curve of the lips I had long ago memorized and fallen in love with. I knew what it felt like to my fingertips and to my tongue.

“Erin.”

I glanced at Cam, who suddenly seemed like a strange being placed out of time, then back at him. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, who to say it to. “What are you doing here?” I heard myself ask him. “Is Theresa okay?”

Like if Theresa wasn’t okay for some reason, he’d come running to tell me.
Quick! Only Erin can help!
It was a stupid question, but I wasn’t capable of conjuring a good one now.