It scared me. It scared me to have this thing I’d long instinctually felt I was missing, because I knew with cutting clarity how it would feel to lose it. When Only Once was coming out, those fears finally caught up to me, and even though I got control of my nerves, it took me months, even years, to recover from what they had done. Emotional episodes like those hit like natural disasters. Everything isn’t just repaired once the hurricane or the flood passes. I needed to rebuild.
Which wasn’t easy when some days I felt like I was flunking an exam on myself. I would find myself literally unable to decide whether I wanted to read or rewatch old Gilmore Girls episodes or run in the park. Some days, I dutifully picked plans and executed them.
Other days, the indecision sent me back to bed.
Dating Chris helped. Moving to LA helped, and eventually, I returned to myself. But I’m still scared every day of returning to those doldrums.
With four minutes until the call, I’m fighting familiar battles within myself. Waiting on one of the barstools in the kitchen, I thumb my phone mindlessly. I don’t want to look at the dial-in number or the list of discussion points Liz’s assistant sent over.
Noticing my discomfort, Nathan ducks his eyes, looking for mine. He’s been the one unexpected reassurance of the day. We’d gone to bed on uncertain terms on the heels of my feeble apology and his taunting response. But something’s gotten him out of bed in brighter spirits today. I don’t dare imagine it’s forgiveness—he’s probably just hungry to publicize our new book—but whatever it is, it’s welcome.
He’s leaning on the edge of the counter perpendicular to me. When he speaks, there’s empathy I hardly recognize in his voice. “We don’t have to do this, you know. The call, the profile, any of it.”
He means the book, too. I don’t know how I know he does. I ball my hand in my lap. “I want to.” However uncomfortable the publicity process makes me, everything happening now will keep happening. I need to face reality.
Nathan’s gaze remains on me. I know he wants to ask why, when I’m obviously forcing myself. Instead, he only types in the conference call number. We wait, saying nothing, until the line beeps. “Katrina and Nathan here,” he says, placing the phone on the counter.
“Wonderful!” I wince at the enthusiasm in Liz’s voice. “How are you two? How’s Florida?”
I remember our last conference call—the one where I refused to speak to Nathan. I couldn’t. Everything was moving fast. I felt captive, Chris watching me while I faced the open line into Nathan’s world. Like a hostage negotiator responsible for the release of a career I didn’t know if I wanted. Now, here Nathan is, leaning on the kitchen counter next to me. There’s a part of me wrestling with how this image makes no sense, and another part noticing he hasn’t shaved today and dark circles hang under his eyes.
Eyes, I realize, that are focused on me. He wants me to respond. “It’s good,” I say. “We’re . . .” I hold Nathan’s gaze. “Making a lot of progress.”
“Love to hear it. Well, we’re very excited about using this profile to announce you’ve reunited for another book. Of course”—Liz doesn’t pause, for which I give her credit—“because of how the press has speculated about your partnership in the past, we’ve discussed in-house how best to present you.”
I press my palms to my shorts, the motion involuntary. It’s washing over me just how often Nathan and I will have to perform, for each other, for everyone else, forever. We’ll have to fend off the questions of how our partnership was severed, and how we reunited, forever.
The wild thought enters my head to just . . . be honest. I chase it off instantly. It would be impossible. Honest with Nathan is too huge a concept to comprehend.
Jen cuts in. “This reporter is going to be looking for a story.” Her voice is delicate, if casually so. “He’s definitely going to pry into your split and the rumors around it.”
I have to give Nathan credit for how quickly and calmly he responds. “Topics we’ve navigated in public plenty of times,” he points out.
“Yes, but now you’re together, and, well . . .”
Liz finishes the sentence. “Frankly, none of us has any idea what that looks like.”
Nathan flashes me a smile like we’re in on some secret joke. While I haven’t quite caught the punch line yet, I notice how the circles under his eyes seem to lighten. Once more, gratitude fills me for this inexplicably giving Nathan. “Now I understand,” he says playfully, leaning closer to the phone. “You’re calling to make sure we don’t scream at each other in front of the reporter.”