“That’s kind of sweet.” Ruby couldn’t sound more annoyed by this. I don’t blame her. I feel the exact same way. It’s the worst.
“It was. Which is how I got lost in the moment and I forgot what things are really like between the two of us now. I forgot I couldn’t trust him to not use what happened with Peter against me.”
I keep trying to figure out how I missed his true intentions. But every time I think back on that night, all I remember is sincerity in his hazel eyes and compassion in his deep voice. There was no way I could’ve known. The saddest part is, even knowing what I know now, if he were to look at me the way he did the other night and open up, I’d make the same mistakes all over again.
“Wait.” Ashleigh sits up straight in her seat. “I know you’re pissed about the video getting out—as you should be; that was super uncool—but are you saying you think Nate’s behind it?”
I can’t tell if this is a rhetorical question or not. I look to Ruby for help, but she just widens her eyes and shrugs.
I try to think of something other than duh or are you fucking kidding me to say, but it’s not easy. Becoming a better person is really hard. Maybe I should reward myself with an extra shot of tequila . . .
“Well, yeah,” I say after some thought. “I talked to him one night and a few hours later it’s plastered all over the HOA website by the woman who is always clinging to him? It doesn’t take a detective to piece those clues together.”
The part of all this that stings but that I haven’t given life to is the woman he told. I might’ve known that Angela was a bitch the moment I laid my eyes on her, but I can’t deny that she’s very pretty. Or that she looks an awful lot like Nate’s ex-fiancée . . . and the girlfriend he came back to school with after the summer he disappeared on me.
Ashleigh’s cornflower-blue eyes dance with mischief, and the smug smile pulling on the corners of her lips looks out of place on her perpetually kind face. “I hate to break it to you, but if you’re thinking about a second career as an investigator, you might want to think again.”
I tilt my head to the side, narrowing my eyes as I try to comprehend what, exactly, she’s trying to say. Ruby, my not-so-mild-mannered friend, slams her hands down on the tabletop and screams, “Come again? What do you mean by that?”
It feels as if the bustling rooftop comes to a screeching halt and all eyes focus on our table. I want to shrink beneath the attention. I want to crawl right back into my bed and throw the covers over my head.
But I can’t.
Not now.
Not when it feels like the crux of my entire existence depends on the answer.
Thankfully, Ashleigh must sense my desperation, or—more likely—fear Ruby, because she doesn’t hesitate to explain.
“However Angela came across that video, it was not because of Nate,” she says. “Rumor has it that even though Angela is married, she has a giant crush on Nate. Which, to be fair, is understandable. Nate is so cute and nice. I met her husband once and he’s not terrible to look at, but he corrected almost everything she said and—”
“Ashleigh, I love you so much and you know I love hearing neighborhood gossip, but could we maybe finish about Nate before switching to Angela’s husband?” Desperation is dripping out of my pores, or maybe that’s all the booze we’ve been drinking, but either way, I need her to focus.
“Oh yeah, sorry.” Her cheeks turn pink, but she gets back to the story at hand. “After you went over to his house, he started posting in the Facebook group, demanding the admins remove the video, and once he did, he went over to her house and in a way only Nate can do, he tore her a new one without ever raising his voice and using words some of the neighbors had to google. He made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that the video was never to be posted and that if she knew the entire story, she’d be ashamed of herself.”
“Wow.” I pull my lip between my teeth, unsure of what to do with this information. “That was really nice of him.”
My stomach starts to feel funny, my sinuses go all wonky, and my stupid memory transports me to the summer before ninth grade when I first realized my feelings for Nate maybe weren’t so platonic after all. His dad had flaked out on his baseball tournament—again—and my mom volunteered our cheering services for the day.
Now, it should be stated that I would rather watch professional wall painting over baseball. I know that it’s America’s favorite pastime, but I hate it. It’s the slowest, longest, most boring sport ever created and, of course, only played in months where it feels as if the sun is determined to melt my entire face off. Also, I physically reject celebrating a sport where math is one of the most exciting parts of the game. However, because Nate was my best friend, I tagged along and kept all . . . Fine! I kept most of my negative comments to myself. I’m a really good friend like that.
We were sitting in the car outside his apartment waiting for him to come out. I was in the front seat, double-checking that my backpack had at least two books and an adequate amount of snacks that could last from two to eight hours, when he finally made his grand appearance.
And grand it was.
The goofy uniform that before that summer always seemed a little sloppy and ill fitting now fit him like a glove. His tiny arms weren’t so tiny anymore and the fabric clung just right to his legs, which suddenly didn’t seem so chicken-like. Peeking just below the brim of his baseball hat, his hazel eyes turned up with genuine happiness to see me. His braces had come off only a few short weeks earlier, and the power of his straight white teeth hit me in places that, until that moment, had never been roused.
“Such a nice, handsome boy,” my mom had said as he got closer to the car.
“Ew. Don’t be gross, Mom,” I lied through my goddamn teeth.
I can still feel the way my skin flamed when I realized my mom wasn’t buying it for a second and the relief I felt when she patted my leg, wordlessly promising to keep my secret safe.
I sat in the stands that day and paid more attention than I ever had in my entire life. I was completely enthralled, not by the game itself, but by the way Nate was glancing at me from the outfield between hitters, his smile huge when he ran off the field. When he pointed at me before he was up to bat, I rolled my eyes, but on the inside, my stomach was twisting around like our favorite roller coaster at Kings Island.
Just like right now.
I forgot about that day. I guess I forgot about pretty much all the good memories I had with Nate. Which sucks because there were a lot of really great ones.
Thankfully, before I can voice this truly wild walk down memory lane to my friends, Julie strolls back up to the table with a tray full of cocktails.
“Three frozen palomas, two with extra tequila.” She places each of our drinks—hopefully—in front of the correct person and her smile widens. “I’ll be back with your appetizers as soon as they’re up.”
We all say our thanks as she leaves and reach for icy glasses overflowing with frozen, citrusy goodness.
“Wait!” Ashleigh stops us before we can take our first sip. “I know we’ve already cheers’d today, but I think we need one more.” She raises her glass to the middle of the table, and Ruby and I follow suit without too much backtalk. “To Collins, Nate, and them finally admitting they want to rip each other’s clothes off!”