EIGHTEEN
The Time Ryan was in a Frat
RYAN WALKED AROUND Brownington. The earlier wind had turned frigid, and each breath hurt, stinging the inside of his nose and freezing his lungs.
He’d given Nora his scarf, and he suffered having his entire face exposed to the elements. His lips were chapped, and the skin on his face burned. When the wind increased, it made his eyes water. Tears streamed down his face, freezing against his skin. He hadn't even remembered his gloves.
Serves you right for throwing a shit fit.
He walked downtown to one of the fancy coffee shops on Congregation Street. Going inside, his nose instantly went from frozen to faucet in the warm air.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” The girl behind the counter let her gaze travel his body, and he blushed, or he would have if his face wasn't already red from the cold. “You need a warmer coat,” she observed.
Effectively put in his place, he laughed. “Yeah.”
After placing his order, Ryan found a bar seat near the door so he could look out at the street. The few people who did walk by were in a hurry. No one lingered outside to window shop or chat with friends. They huddled down in their coats, eyes on the ground.
He finished one latte and then another, his mind turning over Nora's words. She’d said essentially the same thing Seok did. Only a bit blunter.
Though he hadn’t appreciated her bluntness, two lattes and a frozen face later, it made him smile. The Nora who challenged him was so different from the Nora who apologized for everything. While the earlier Nora had piqued his interest, this girl had his heart.
Her face when I left. He’d hurt her. Yet another apology owed.
In his mind, he created a list of people he’d offended: one column with their names, another with boxes to check off when each apology was given, and a third to identify if it was accepted.
She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings; he knew as much. She wanted to challenge him, get him out of his head. Each time he made progress, thought he wasn't the worst person who’d ever existed, he managed to slide back into self-recrimination and guilt.
“Here.” A plate slid in front of him, and he looked up, startled. It was the coffee girl.
“Thanks,” he said politely.
“I'd have to throw them out anyway.” She shrugged. “It might be a little stale.”
“Oh.” He drew his eyebrows together. “Thanks for the stale biscotti.”
She pulled a chair out and slid onto the stool, biting into her own biscotti. “It's barely stale.”
Taking a bite, he considered it. No, it wasn't bad. He took the cover off his latte and dipped it in before taking another bite.
“You don't recognize me, do you?” she asked.
A college-age girl with a dark brown ponytail, wearing a flannel shirt and jeans? She looked pretty much like every other college girl in the world. “No,” he finally answered. “Sorry.”
She shrugged. “It's fine. I was in Omega Phi.”
“I'm not Greek anymore.”
“I know.” She smiled. “I met you at the Greek consortium where you made the case for turning Lambda into, what was it you called it? A brotherhood of philanthropy and charity?”
“Yeah.” He scratched his nose, embarrassed and unsure if she was mocking him.
“They accepted and rewrote the charter.”
They had.
“Your idea was pretty cool.”
“Thanks.”
“Anyway.” She stood up. “I'm closing in ten. Nice to see you again.”
Chuckling at her not-so-subtle dismissal, he replied, “Yes. Nice to see you.”
He put his coat on and left, but he didn’t go home. Instead, he walked down to the waterfront, which was stupid because it was even colder and windier there. Even though he knew he was avoiding a discussion he needed to have, he suffered a little longer before heading up the hill. The wind was at his back, but it still tore through his jeans and wool coat.
Finally, he saw the warm lights of home and was suddenly anxious to be back. He rushed inside, blowing on his fingers and shivering. Dropping his keys on the table next to the door, he saw a note.
Let me know when you get in, please. Love, Nora.
The house was silent except for the groaning and creaking trees straining against the wind. Once upstairs, he crept through the hallway, hesitating outside her door. His hand was hovering above the nob when it opened.
“You're home.” Her voice was relieved. Tugging his sleeve, she dragged him inside before she closed the door behind them and leaned against it. “You must be freezing.” She cupped her warm hands against his face. When he covered her hands with his frozen ones, she shivered. “You should have taken your scarf.”
She’d waited up for him. Her bed was unmade, but a book rested face down on the comforter, and her light was still on. Music played softly from her phone. He cocked his head, trying to make out the artist—some alt-rock band, which made him suspect she’d tried to stay awake until he got home.
“You should be asleep.”
“I didn't want to. Not until you got home and I could make sure you were okay.”
Again, he let her drag him where she wanted, and she wanted him on the bed. She reached for the hem of his sweater to lift it up and over his head.
His blood immediately began to heat, but he stopped her fingers. “Nora, wait.”
She turned her golden-brown eyes up to him, and he saw her fear. “You really did want a break from me,” her voice whispered. “Are you—are we broken up?” Staring at her hands, she suddenly pulled away and clutched her fingers in front of her, cracking her knuckles nervously.
“What?” The word came out louder than he’d meant, and angrier. “No! Who— ?”
Curls escaped the ponytail on top of her head as she shook it decisively. “No one. I thought, when you left, and you said you needed space...”
How badly had he messed up? “But why did you try to take my clothes off?”
Blushing, she put her hands over her eyes. “When you came up here, I thought Matisse was right. He said you wouldn't break up with me, but then you stopped me and I was sure you must have. But you're not in the mood; I don’t want to push.”
“Nora.” He enfolded her in his arms, reveling in the way she fit there so perfectly. “I’m sorry.”
Her hair tickled his nose when she shook her head, and he swiped it away. “I wanted to be close to you,” she whispered.
He understood. Connecting with her physically opened him up emotionally, tying him to her moods and her fears, and frankly, it scared the crap out of him. He was barely managing his own emotions at this point, but he wanted to give her what she needed. So he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tightly before shifting away and removing his shirt.
Eyes wide, she watched him, tracing the skin he revealed piece by piece. Holding his arms apart, he waited. Quickly she sat, throwing off her shirt and huddling against him. He leaned against the pillows and flipped off her light. Her book thunked to the floor as she burrowed closer, and then she sighed. It was a sigh coming from her soul, and with her exhalation, she curled around him.
“This okay?” he asked.
Her leg wrapped around his, her skin silky. “Yes.”
In moments, she was asleep, her breathing deep and even, her body heavy and boneless. Propping his arm behind his head, Ryan stared into the darkness. Thoughts of Beau came unbidden, and he tensed. He wasn’t any closer to an answer about what to do, and he couldn’t help feeling he was dragging the people he loved into the chaos of his uncertainty.