With my head buried in my books for the first week of the new year, I hardly saw Nate at all. But one morning he surprised me with a phone call at five fifteen, our usual time for an early run. “Meet me downstairs in ten minutes,” he told me. “Dress for rain.”
I did, tiptoeing out the front door to see Nate slowly jogging up the driveway. I ran down to meet him, nearly crushing him with a hug. “You’re running!”
“Well, not running, but kind of jogging and walking and stopping a lot,” he said, a bit out of breath, his face flushed with the thrill of his success. “I have to be careful I don’t step on a rock or in a pothole, but so far, so good.”
“This is amazing!” I stared down at Nate’s legs. “I knew you could do it.”
“With your help,” he said and kissed me on the lips as if this were any normal run instead of a monumental achievement. “Come on, let’s go.”
A light morning mist blew against my cheeks as we set out down the road at a comfortable pace. It wasn’t fast enough to build up a sweat, but it was exciting to see Nate’s progress just the same. He was cautious in his steps but not fearful, and every hundred yards or so, he would slow to a walk, swinging his upper body while he gave himself some time to breathe. I jogged in place next to him to stay warm.
We were quiet as we ran so Nate could conserve his energy. At this early hour, the sun was just peeking over the horizon, made gray by the thin layer of clouds, which would likely burn off by the time I had to go to school. Off in the distance I heard a few trucks, a horn honking, a plane, but on this back road we were surrounded by soaring pines stretching into the sky.
Not far from Nate’s house, we slowed to a crawl and finally a stop. Nate paused, leaning both hands on his knees.
“You okay?” I asked, touching the back of his neck, which was slick with sweat and rain.
He nodded, sucking in air, and then exhaled. “I’m good. Although this would be a lot easier with a car.” He added, “Like a cool Mustang.”
“Oh, right, cool.” I wondered how much I was supposed to know about the car other than what I’d seen on New Year’s Eve.
“That’s ours, you know,” he said proudly. “Lee and I fixed it up together.”
Lee and I fixed it up together. I tried to keep my voice neutral. “You never mentioned it before.”
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said. “I’ll show you how to drive it sometime. It’s a manual transmission.”
“Sure.” I glanced down at my shoes and then back up at Nate. “You ready to go?”
The mist was gone, but there was still moisture in the air. My jacket and sweatpants clung to my legs and back and my ponytail kept sticking to my cheeks when the wind blew it against my face. I had a headband wrapped around my ears to keep them warm but wished I had added a scarf.
Nate stretched the backs of his calves and hamstrings and started to jog again. “Now that I’m back, you can concentrate on school again.” He glanced sideways at me as we took off. “You are still applying to Lewis & Clark, right?”
“Well, yeah, of course I am,” I said a little irritably. “Why would you say that?”
“Just checking.”
For another quarter mile, we jogged silently, but the noises of the morning were stealing into our quiet bubble. Birds, dogs, people—their sounds dotted the landscape like drips of paint on a canvas.
“Middie . . .”
I stopped and turned to discover Nate was trailing behind me by about a dozen paces. Somehow I’d run past him without realizing it. I jogged back a few steps to meet him.
“You can do this,” he said. “We can do it together—you and me. If we stay on our path, the one we’ve wanted for years, we’ll be fine.”
“But what if I—” Don’t know what I want?
Nate took my arm and pulled me close to him. His breath was on my neck as he held me by the waist. “Since our first date, I’ve loved you.”
I didn’t want to let him down—how could I do that to him? I felt a sudden rush of warmth as he embraced me, his lips on mine. I knew him so well I could close my eyes and see every detail on his face, like the single freckle over his left eye and the tiny crinkle at his temple when he was lost in thought.
“I was terrified I was lost forever, that I’d never find my way back, but I kept picturing you and that would calm me down.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Your face, your hands, your body . . .” He ran his hands along the sides of my waist and hips. “And I could see the future, our future. I knew that if I could just get back here, my life would have meaning.”
My life would have meaning. Even at his worst moments, Nate was thinking of others, of a greater purpose.
My hands began to tremble and my eyes filled with tears. “I love you too.” I leaned my head against his chest and listened to the steady pounding of his heart. We stood like that, swaying slightly from side to side, intimate yet comfortable, as we always had been with each other. Finally, Nate broke the silence.
“Tell you what . . . you write your college essay today—”
I groaned aloud, shaking my head. “Noooo . . .”
“—and I’ll write my speech and then we’ll go to the movies,” Nate said. “My treat.”
I cocked an eye, regarding him at arm’s length. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Popcorn?”
“With extra butter.”
“And M&M’s?”
“Hmmm . . .” He pretended he was thinking about it. “Maybe.”
I tilted my chin haughtily. “It’s yes—or no deal.”
He laughed. “Okay then, it’s yes. M&M’s.”
I kissed him with a loud smack on the lips. “Deal.”
“Good.” He gently turned me around, facing me back the way we came. “Go. Study. Finish your application.”
I saluted him with two fingers. “Aye, aye, Captain.” I ran off toward home just as the sun began to burn off the low-lying fog. It was the start to a beautiful day.
Tell us about an experience that defines you.
I knew in my heart that Nate’s death in Honduras had been a defining moment for me, but now that he was back, did it still have the same impact?
I’d felt lost when he left, adrift when I thought he’d died. Every plan I’d had evaporated like morning mist at sunrise. I couldn’t eat or drink, let alone think straight. It should have been no surprise I’d fallen into Lee’s arms when it looked like I’d had no other choice.
No other choice, Middie? That’s a bit harsh.
I stared at the application on my computer. No college wanted to read about my love life. No admissions rep was going to appreciate an essay on why I believed it was okay to kiss another guy.
What was that SAT word—“extrapolate”? I had to extrapolate the meaning from this experience. I had to find the purpose of it and apply it to my life, my circumstances.
There had been a brief moment when I’d seen an alternate future for myself, one that wasn’t full of meaning someone else had applied to it. I’d been searching beyond my friends and family, beyond Haley and Emma and Allison, beyond Nate’s volunteer work and his morning runs, beyond Nate . . . and I’d liked it. It was scary and unknown and nothing I’d done before.
And it had included Lee.
When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.
Good god, that was flippant.
The world I’d known collapsed one day in September.
Oh no, the admissions department would definitely misunderstand that.
I scrolled up and down the application, lazily spun my finger on the mouse pad, but I still couldn’t get my mind around the essay question.
Maybe I had nothing to say.
If I was worried Nate would ask me about my essay, I shouldn’t have been: he was preoccupied with the speech he was writing for the study-abroad group. When he came to pick me up for the movies in his old truck, he was in midsentence as I opened the passenger-side door.
“Does it make sense to start with how I got involved in Global Outreach?” he asked me when I slid across the seat to kiss him hello.
“Um, yeah, I guess. Why not?”
He started the truck down the driveway, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s not boring?” The truck rumbled over the gravelly end of the driveway, where it met the street. Nate paused and looked both ways before pulling out.
“I hate to say it, but I really think they want to hear the horrible stuff.”
Nate’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter and his gaze hardened. “I know. I’m just . . . not ready to talk about those things.”
“Not even with me?”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Middie. I don’t want to burden you.”
“It’s not a burden,” I said quickly. “I want to listen to you.”
But he merely shook his head. I tried not to show my frustration, but I felt like he was shutting me out. If we were each other’s closest friend, why wouldn’t he want to tell me everything?
When we got to the theater, Nate parked in the back, near the Dumpster where Lee and I had sneaked in. I felt an odd sense of melancholy; it had been thrilling getting away with something.
The side door to the theater opened and a flash of pink caught my eye. The tiny girl with the big mouth was carrying out two bags of trash. Could we sneak in? I wondered suddenly. I tugged on Nate’s arm and whispered, “Come on!”
Nate stumbled forward as I dragged him. “Huh?”
“We’re going to sneak in,” I said quietly, pointing to the open door. The girl was steps from the trash container; if we didn’t move now, she would turn around and see us.
“Sneak? But why?” Nate wanted to know. “I already got tickets online.”
I pulled him along, but his bad leg tripped on the pavement and he had to stop and shake it out. I glanced over my shoulder—ten more seconds and that pink-haired girl would finish and we’d be sunk. “Nate, come on,” I said urgently. “It’ll be fun.”
“But the tickets,” he said. Confusion creased his forehead. “I don’t understand.”
I heard the whump of the Dumpster top closing and saw pink out of the corner of my eye. She was done. It was too late. As she walked past us, the girl aimed a sour look at me, an unspoken I’m watching you in her eyes.
Nate looked at me. “You want to go in? Like normal people?” I let him lead me toward the front of the theater. “Lee was always trying to get me to sneak in with him. That guy was just asking to get caught.”
I felt my cheeks grow warm. “That’s probably what would have happened.”
We queued up at a ticket kiosk and Nate held me from behind while we waited. “What are you wearing?” he asked, peering over my shoulder. I’d put together another of Allison’s boho outfits, a flowing layered skirt and a long-sleeved top that tied at the wrists and cinched under the bodice.
“You like?” I twirled the skirt for him, expecting him to grin, but he was impassive.
“Not what I expected, but you always look pretty,” he added, planting a kiss on the side of my cheek.
I stared down at the blouse and skirt and wondered if I’d made a mistake. Maybe Allison had given this up for a reason.
Once we were past the ticket taker, Nate handed me a stub. “I’ll get in line for popcorn. You get in line for seats.”
“You sure?”
“This is my treat, remember?” Then he pulled his phone out and handed it to me. “Here, you can play Fruit Ninja on my cell while you wait.”
I took the phone and ticket and looked around for our theater. Fruit Ninja wasn’t exactly my favorite game, but it was okay to pass the time. I swiped my finger across a few pineapples and coconuts, smashing them open with a whoosh, but just as quickly, I nailed some bombs and the game was over. I sighed and tapped the screen.
Nate’s contacts were right on top. His mother, his father, me . . . and Lee.
Almost instantly, my face flushed and my palms started to sweat. I felt naked, transparent, as if anyone looking at me could see my pulse pounding. Could Nate?
I glanced down at the other end of the lobby and saw him chatting with some guys from high school. He would probably be there for a while longer.
Call him.
Could I?
Call him.
Lee was my friend. We were all friends, weren’t we? That was what we’d agreed on New Year’s Eve. Lee and Nate and I. Friends could call friends.
I slipped out of line and took a few steps away from the crowd as I pressed the CALL symbol on Lee’s number. My fingers trembled and I shifted the phone from one hand to the other. There was a whooshing sound in my ear as if a sudden wind had blown through the theater. I could feel my heart thump three times for every ring.
“Yo, dude, where are you?”
My throat went dry; I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak.
“Nate?” Lee’s voice sounded anxious, bordering on panic. “You need help?”
“It’s . . . It’s me, it’s Meredith.” My voice cracked on my own name.
“Meredith?”
“Yeah, hi.”
“Where’s Nate? Is he all right?”
“Oh yeah, yeah, he’s fine.” My finger twisted a lock of my hair around and around. “He’s in line getting popcorn.”
There was a long pause. “You’re at the movies?”
“Um, yeah.”
“And you called me?”
“Well, yeah,” I said with a short laugh. “You’ll think this is really funny—”
“Meredith.”
“When we got here, that pink-haired girl was taking out the trash—”
“Meredith.”
“And she left the door open, right?” I started to talk faster, drowning him out. “So I told Nate we had to sneak in, you know, like you and I did that time and we were there, like right at the door, but then Nate stopped, you know, and the girl turned and came back and she looked right at me, like she totally knew what we were planning, so, of course, we couldn’t do it.” I stopped, having run out of story, run out of steam. My pulse pounded and I felt faint. Did the people around me know I was calling Lee? That my boyfriend was down the hall? That I was talking to a guy I’d slept with who was not my boyfriend?
“Meredith.”
“No big deal, right? I was just calling you because it was funny.” I twirled my finger in my hair and felt it pull against my scalp. “I thought you’d think it was funny.”
“Meredith.”
“What? What! You keep saying my name.”
“Don’t call me.”
“Don’t . . .”
“Don’t call me.”
“But—”
“And don’t use Nate’s phone. Jesus.”
My mind spun. We were friends. He’d said we were friends, so it was okay that I called him. What was his problem? “It was funny,” I said for the hundredth time. “The girl with the pink hair . . . looking at me . . .”
I heard Lee breathing on the other end of the phone.
“Lee, I—”
“Don’t call me. Don’t.”
And then the call ended. I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the screen. It didn’t say Call Failed or Call Lost.
Call Ended. Lee had hung up on me.
I had only meant to share a joke between friends. He was wrong. I pressed call again on Lee’s number and waited. It went immediately to voice mail. “Yo, it’s Lee. Leave a message.”
Was that all I’d wanted from him? No. I wanted—no, needed—I needed to talk to him. About us. About what had happened between us.
But we weren’t friends. Lee and Nate were friends. Lee and I were not. I felt my cheeks grow hot and my eyes sting with tears. How stupid could I be? Calling Lee? And from Nate’s phone? God, what an idiot! I stared at the phone in my hand as if I’d never seen a cell before.
Bodies swarmed around me, jostling me out of my reverie; the previous showing’s audience emptied out of the theater, voices rising as they poured into the lobby. They laughed and cheered and whistled to each other. In groups and on dates, they checked their phones and took selfies in front of the movie posters.
At the other end of the theater, I saw Nate leave the concession stand, his arms filled with treats. I quickly erased the two calls from his phone’s recent history and shoved it in my pocket.
I felt so alone. Shut out by Nate, shut off by Lee. What did I have? What did I want?