There’s no way I can
possibly process it. I try to stop crying but can’t do it.
“Oh, God, Jane,” he rasps, “please let me in. I can’t stand
for you to cry like that.”
He wants to comfort me—the way he always has. I can hear it
in his voice. And I desperately need that comfort.
But it’s impossible now. He’s not the boy I’ve always known,
and I don’t know if he can ever be again.
“I can’t right now,” I manage to say. “We can talk in the
morning.”
“Okay,” he says, sounding sad, battered. I’ve never heard
him like that before. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
I listen at the door and hear him walking away. Then I go to
my bed and cry some more.
***
About an hour later, I’m lying on my
bed, feeling sick and paralyzed by emotions. I stopped crying a while ago, and
now I’m in that heavy, aching haze that follows it.
I should just try to go to sleep, but my mouth is parched
and I left my water bottle in the kitchen.
When I finally summon the energy to get up, I go the
bathroom and then wash my face. I look horrible, pale and pitiful with messy
hair. There’s nothing to do about that now, however. I go to my bedroom door,
unlock it, and peek out at the hall. It’s quiet, so I lean out enough to see that
Nate’s bedroom door is closed.
The cottage is absolutely silent, so I decide it’s safe to
go out.
I pad quietly into the kitchen and grab my water.
As I return to my room, I stand for a minute and stare at
Nate’s door.
I still can’t believe he’s Rochester. I still can’t believe
he had it in him all this time to talk about life and the world and feelings as
deeply and genuinely as he did in our messages. I still can’t believe he said
he wanted to be my…hero.
When we were Juniors in high school, my date dumped me right
before the prom. Nate hadn’t been planning to go. He’d been all excited about a
golf weekend with his father down in South Carolina. But, on seeing me so
crushed, he told his dad he had to stay in town, and he took me to the prom
himself.
We had such a good time that evening. I wasn’t even that sad
about being dumped by the first and only high school football player who ever
asked me out.
Nate has always been my hero.
I turn off the lights and crawl into bed, and I cry a little
more in the dark.
I have no idea how much time passes before the bedroom door
opens. The lights are out, but I can see Nate silhouetted against the light
from the hallway
“Sorry,” he murmurs when I stir. “I was just checking on
you. Were you asleep?”
“Are you all right?” I have no idea why I ask that—just that
he sounds as broken as I feel.
“Yeah. I couldn’t wait until morning. Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
He walks into the room, and I can see in the faint light
from outside of the room that he’s wearing pajama pants and nothing else. He
stands beside the bed. “How are you?”
It’s the most ridiculous question I’ve ever heard. I stretch
out my arms toward him, suddenly realizing that he’s still my best friend in
the world and that’s never, ever going to change. “Nate.”
With an odd throaty noise, he lowers himself into bed, gets
under the covers, and gathers me into his arms. I cling to him, try to burrow
into his warm body.
“God, baby, have you been crying all this time?”
“No. Just sometimes.” The skin of his bare chest sticks to
my cheek. He smells like Nate, like strength.
“I’m so sorry, Jane. I didn’t set out to hurt you, but I
know I did. And I’m so sorry about it.” His arms tighten, and I can feel his
breath against my hair. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“Yes.” My heart is racing and my breathing is growing shallow,
and I really don’t know why. Just that something big is about to happen.
“I love you more than anything, Jane,” he murmurs thickly, stroking
my hair and my back.
“I love you too.” I have to say it because it’s true, and no
matter what else has happened, I
possibly process it. I try to stop crying but can’t do it.
“Oh, God, Jane,” he rasps, “please let me in. I can’t stand
for you to cry like that.”
He wants to comfort me—the way he always has. I can hear it
in his voice. And I desperately need that comfort.
But it’s impossible now. He’s not the boy I’ve always known,
and I don’t know if he can ever be again.
“I can’t right now,” I manage to say. “We can talk in the
morning.”
“Okay,” he says, sounding sad, battered. I’ve never heard
him like that before. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
I listen at the door and hear him walking away. Then I go to
my bed and cry some more.
***
About an hour later, I’m lying on my
bed, feeling sick and paralyzed by emotions. I stopped crying a while ago, and
now I’m in that heavy, aching haze that follows it.
I should just try to go to sleep, but my mouth is parched
and I left my water bottle in the kitchen.
When I finally summon the energy to get up, I go the
bathroom and then wash my face. I look horrible, pale and pitiful with messy
hair. There’s nothing to do about that now, however. I go to my bedroom door,
unlock it, and peek out at the hall. It’s quiet, so I lean out enough to see that
Nate’s bedroom door is closed.
The cottage is absolutely silent, so I decide it’s safe to
go out.
I pad quietly into the kitchen and grab my water.
As I return to my room, I stand for a minute and stare at
Nate’s door.
I still can’t believe he’s Rochester. I still can’t believe
he had it in him all this time to talk about life and the world and feelings as
deeply and genuinely as he did in our messages. I still can’t believe he said
he wanted to be my…hero.
When we were Juniors in high school, my date dumped me right
before the prom. Nate hadn’t been planning to go. He’d been all excited about a
golf weekend with his father down in South Carolina. But, on seeing me so
crushed, he told his dad he had to stay in town, and he took me to the prom
himself.
We had such a good time that evening. I wasn’t even that sad
about being dumped by the first and only high school football player who ever
asked me out.
Nate has always been my hero.
I turn off the lights and crawl into bed, and I cry a little
more in the dark.
I have no idea how much time passes before the bedroom door
opens. The lights are out, but I can see Nate silhouetted against the light
from the hallway
“Sorry,” he murmurs when I stir. “I was just checking on
you. Were you asleep?”
“Are you all right?” I have no idea why I ask that—just that
he sounds as broken as I feel.
“Yeah. I couldn’t wait until morning. Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
He walks into the room, and I can see in the faint light
from outside of the room that he’s wearing pajama pants and nothing else. He
stands beside the bed. “How are you?”
It’s the most ridiculous question I’ve ever heard. I stretch
out my arms toward him, suddenly realizing that he’s still my best friend in
the world and that’s never, ever going to change. “Nate.”
With an odd throaty noise, he lowers himself into bed, gets
under the covers, and gathers me into his arms. I cling to him, try to burrow
into his warm body.
“God, baby, have you been crying all this time?”
“No. Just sometimes.” The skin of his bare chest sticks to
my cheek. He smells like Nate, like strength.
“I’m so sorry, Jane. I didn’t set out to hurt you, but I
know I did. And I’m so sorry about it.” His arms tighten, and I can feel his
breath against my hair. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“Yes.” My heart is racing and my breathing is growing shallow,
and I really don’t know why. Just that something big is about to happen.
“I love you more than anything, Jane,” he murmurs thickly, stroking
my hair and my back.
“I love you too.” I have to say it because it’s true, and no
matter what else has happened, I
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