Back in the Burbs by Tracy Wolff
Chapter Fifty-Five
A month later, it’s just me, myself, and the few remaining stacks of Aunt Maggie’s hoarding. Work still hasn’t replaced me, but soon my job will be gone. My mom is gone. My sister is gone. Nick is gone—or at least he hasn’t come by to help clean, not that I can blame him. Oh, he’s in the neighborhood, all right. The lights are on at his house. I even spot him walking past the windows watering his plants once or twice.
Not that I’m watching.
What do I care if he waters the same one four times?
I’m just making a natural observation as I stand at my own front window, staring at my neighbor’s house like a stone-cold stalker because of reasons.
I spend a whole ten minutes watching people pull into their driveways after a long day at work, only to be greeted by bounding dogs and happy families when they park and get out of their cars. Then I can’t take it anymore and go back to handling the last stack of Aunt Maggie’s things.
At the bottom of the stack of nineties Elle magazines is a small wooden jewelry box. I pick it up and open the lid, then stare at the contents. Plastic rings. Not just any plastic rings but a bright red one and a bright green one that are overly large and gaudy as fuck. We won them when we went to the fair when I was twelve. We giggled and joked about each of the Prince Charmings who must have given us the ring, telling stories about what they were like and how they loved us so completely. Aunt Maggie had kept our fairy-tale wedding rings.
I think back to that day, to my description of the Prince Charming who was going to sweep me off my feet… He was brave and kind and smart and loved animals (especially dogs because I wanted one badly and my parents had told me no) and loved Aunt Maggie and most importantly, he loved me just the way I was. That last one was very important because even then I was annoyed by how often my father pointed out everything I could do better. But my Prince Charming, he was going to love me just the way I was. I ran my finger along the smooth edges of the plastic ring, my eyes misting. Nick is literally my damn childhood dream hero, and I threw him away. But what can I do about it now?
My mom’s words play over and over and over again in my mind. I deserve love, too.
And suddenly I’m done letting my reactions—the fear, the panic, the insecurity—control me. If I deserve love, then surely I have the strength to fight for it.
Of course, that means I have to go apologize—something no one in the world likes to do. But Nick is worth that and so much more.
I get to my feet and shove the ring in my jeans pocket, grab my favorite cherry-red Rothy’s, and take off, making a beeline for Nick’s house. Ignoring all the neighbors working out in their yards or hanging out on their front porches who are watching me as if I’m the evening’s entertainment, I walk up to Nick’s front door and knock.
He opens the door, his expression wary. “Hey.”
I clasp my sweaty palms behind my back and try to take a relaxing, mindful yoga breath without being obvious. “Can I come in?”
He doesn’t say anything, just steps back and lets the door swing open so I can walk inside. His house is spotless. His shoes are lined up by the door. His keys and wallet are in a small wooden bowl on the coffee table. There isn’t a speck of dust, stray takeout menu, or crumpled receipt to be found. How in the world can someone so together ever want to be with someone who is as big of a mess as I am?
Nick stands a few feet away from me, his arms crossed, looking way too good for my heart.
“Why are you here, Mallory?” he asks, sounding as tired as I feel.
I let out a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and lay out my plan. “To say I’m sorry and to see if there’s a way that we can work something out. Maybe a friends-with-benefits type of thing again.”
There. It’s all out there. So why hasn’t that prickly nugget of misery disappeared from my belly?
He lets out a low chuckle that sounds anything but amused and shakes his head in disbelief.
“Let me get this straight,” he says, stalking toward me. “You came over here to offer up a quote friends-with-benefits situation unquote, and you think that is not only a solution but also an apology?”
I hold up my hands palms-first and he halts his approach. Okay, when he puts it that way, it doesn’t sound so great.
“I don’t want to lose you, but I just want to take things super slow,” I say, grasping for some way to be able to explain my idea without it sounding so cold and impersonal. “I’m still learning how to live this new life, and I can’t afford to get into another situation where all I’m doing is trying to please another person no matter what it costs me.”
“All of that seems fair,” he says, the muscle in his jaw throbbing. “But how does that get to us not being able to be more than a neighborly booty call?”
My chest tightens and it’s everything I can do to get the answer out past the emotion clogging my throat. “I can’t afford to fall for another Karl.”
Nick’s entire body goes slack, his shoulders drop, his gaze loses its intensity. The Nick I know, the one who cracks jokes and fusses about HOA violations, who has carried me up those stairs two at a time, has been replaced by a stranger.
“That’s what you still think of me?” He stares at me as if he’s looking at someone he wrongly thought he knew, too. “Really?”
“Nick. You know I don’t. Not really. But I can’t afford to be wrong—”
“Yeah?” He cuts me off with one harsh syllable. “I can’t, either, Mallory. I can’t afford to get involved with someone who is only willing to see the worst in me. I can’t afford to be in a relationship with someone who can’t see past her own baggage. I can’t afford to fall for someone who is never going to be able to trust anyone again—especially not herself.”
I stumble back, his words hitting me harder than a Mack truck and my whole body aching.
“That’s not me,” I croak out.
“How long are you going to lie to yourself about that?” he scoffs, walking to his front door. “Look, I was all in. I was more than ready to take a relationship—not a fuck buddy—slow, to get to know each other, to really give the idea of us a chance. But you aren’t there. You aren’t ready. I don’t know if you ever will be. So I’m going to do what you can’t.” He opens his door wide and stands to the side, leaving me no illusions about what he wants me to do next. “I’m gonna have the courage to watch you walk away because you don’t.”
Shell-shocked, hurting, and lost, I walk out the door, trying to process what in the hell just happened.
He shuts it behind me without another word.
I make it halfway across the street, going back to my house, fired up on indignation and pissed-off-ness, muttering “how dare he say that” and “what in the hell was he thinking” and “oh my God could he be more wrong?” before I shove my hands in my pockets and discover the ring again. And realize that he’s right.
I stop dead in the middle of the street and suck in a deep breath.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Really, is there anything worse than being the wrong one in an argument where you let your ass hang out there in the wind like a chump? In reality terms, yes, there is, I know that. I don’t have to have a Kim-there’s-people-that-are-dying moment, but in the circle of my little world, it’s pretty cataclysmic.
Hands fisted at my sides, I throw my head back and let out the mother of all angry groans at the perfect, cloudless sky. The anger in my gut fizzles like Pop Rocks until there’s nothing left but sticky-sweet regret. It isn’t fair of me to demand he do exactly what I want in terms of having a relationship. Have I learned nothing from being with Karl? I have to be able to unbend the stick up my own ass enough to be able to bend with the wind at least a little. Otherwise Nick will never be anything more than my neighbor across the street who makes my heart speed up, my toes curl, and actually gets me to watch (someday anyway) three really long movies about short guys with huge, hairy feet and some possessed jewelry.
I know what I have to do.
I have to turn around, go back to Nick’s house, and make a real apology—not the half-hearted, self-protective one I offered up before.
I’ve lived through trying to mow my jungle of a lawn with the beast. I can do this.
Turning, I set my shoulders and march back across the street, right up the sidewalk to Nick’s porch, up the stairs, and—finally—with a please-God-don’t-let-me-fuck-it-up-again sent heavenward, I knock on his front door.
Nick whips open the door. Jaw set, he’s listening to someone on the other end of his phone talk really loudly. His entire body is tense and stress wafts off him in waves as he paces from one end of his living room to the other. Despite the truly epic volume of the person on the other end of the call, I can only catch a few words.
Trouble.
Jail time.
Had enough.
Need an ambulance.
He hangs up without a goodbye and stands there in the middle of the room, staring at his phone and looking more alone than I’ve ever seen another human being. Witnessing him like that turns my insides out.
“It’s my mom.” He rushes out of the house, heading toward his car in the driveway. “I gotta go.”
I follow at his heels.
“Not by yourself.” Whatever is waiting for him at the end of this drive, he’s going to need a friend—and whether he likes it or not, that’s going to be me.
I’m his friend no matter what. That connection between us is stronger than my bullshit—stronger even than the friendship, I am willing to admit to myself, but that’s for figuring out another day. Right now is about being there for Nick the way he’s always been there for me.
My apology—and it’s going to be a big fucking one—will have to wait. He needs me more than I need to clear my conscience.
I’ve barely gotten my seat belt clicked when Nick throws the car into reverse and the Mercedes’s tires squeal as he peels out of his driveway. I have no idea where we’re going, but even as he drives like a Texas cheerleader’s mom on the way to take out her daughter’s rival, I know I’m with Nick and I trust him completely.
His driving? A little less. That has me sending up a few Hail Marys as we merge onto the parkway at light speed and head for his parents’ house and God knows what disaster is waiting for us there.