“You okay?You’ve been staring at your phone all day,” I ask, holding the door open for Natalie as we exit a small stationeryboutique in the middle of downtown Wellsport. It was a store that seemed to scream Natalie with all the floral pens and notebooks her Type A heart could want. But her eyes were glazed and unfocused as we walked through the store.
I told Natalie that Caden is home from the hospital. Pretty much since then she’s been glued to her phone. I’m trying not to be jealous. She can text anyone she wants. I’m used to receding into the shadows whenever Caden is involved, anyway, but there’s always been something about receding into the shadows when it’s Natalie that’s really fucking frustrating.
Especially after I bared my soul to her about…everything.
I don’t know if that was the right move, but I didn’t seem to have another. The truth was too close to the surface to contain it anymore. I had to tell her.
Windows framed with Christmas lights twinkle in the setting sun as we walk along cobblestoned sidewalks, passing store after store with ornate window displays.
A replica of the town, complete with a gingerbread lighthouse, sits in the bakery window.
Next door at a toy store, a small lobster trap Christmas tree stands proudly, with stuffed lobsters and Christmas books scattered throughout the stacked boxes.
In the florist shop, pinecones are tied together to form a giant moose.
Natalie stands in awe in front of it. White lights wrapped around the statue twinkle, making her reflection in the window shine even more.
I rub my neck. I slept on the wooden floor last night. It wasn’t comfortable, but I wouldn’t have slept well even if it was.
Since our kiss last night, since my confession, things are different. It’s like when I met Natalie, she rewired my DNA, but after a while the electric current humming through me went to sleep or I got used to it, I don’t know. After kissing her, a switchflipped and everything inside of me is whirling, twirling; it’s an entire fair—with Ferris wheels, roller coasters, chaos, and warm cider.
Meanwhile, Natalie’s been extra quiet, receding deep into herself. Mrs. D’Amore filled our day with movies, eggnog, and snowshoeing so we’ve had little time to talk.
This is the first time we’ve been alone all day, and we’re still not alone, not really. We’re surrounded by last-minute Christmas shoppers, tourists, and every citizen of Wellsport. They’re gathered in the town square to herald Santa’s arrival with a small parade and some fireworks over the harbor for the beginning of Semaine de Noel, the town’s weeklong celebration before Christmas.
“Hey, Natalie?” I clear my throat, tracing her features in the low setting sun. Her stare is fixed somewhere beyond the harbor, her brow furrowed in thought.
“Hmm?” She hums through her pinched lips.
“What are you spiraling about now?”
“Oh. Uhm. You,” she says with a blush.
And not Caden? Is it wrong that I can’t help but grin at that?
“Ah. Any chance I could help with that? I’m kind of an expert on the subject.”
Her boots clack along the pavement as we navigate around a couple hoisting two children on their shoulders, double-fisting candy canes from the employees dressed up as elves over at Fezziwig’s Candy Shoppe.
We went in there two shops ago, and I grabbed hot chocolates for the both of us and some cookies. (I double-checked they were safe. The chocolatier’s son has a peanut allergy so she makes a special batch every day before she takes out the nut products.) Natalie’s eyes lit up when she heard she could have them. My heart skipped a beat seeing that smile, knowing I was part of who put it there for once.
The plan was to wait to eat them, but they didn’t even last another store before she’d devoured them all.
Natalie has a basket full of goodies, but she hasn’t told me what is in there or why she’s keeping a secret. It could be a murder basket and I wouldn’t care; this feels like the closest thing to a date I’ve ever had with her, and I’m going to revel in every fucking moment of it.
We take a sharp left down an empty alleyway towards a parking garage entrance. Christmas lights and garland hang above our head in a zigzag. Natalie reaches for the door to the parking garage and I hold it open, raising a questioning brow.
“It’s the best view in town, trust me,” she says, avoiding my stare at first. She exhales and finally flicks up to my gaze. “And I would love to talk. Just…maybe once we’re up there and I can collect myself after all this stimulus. My brain is itchy.”
I nod. I’m pretty sure Natalie has ADHD, but I don’t know if she’s been diagnosed or even knows that she might have it. If she has it, it’s the kind that typically presents in females that’s not as well known. I read about it in a class I took for my premed track. It’s more subtle externally, but I’ve watched her enough that when I read about it, she instantly came to mind.
Not that she’s ever far from my mind.
But the frequent daydreaming, the impulsivity, forgetfulness, excessive talking, and becoming overwhelmed by stimulus, it’s all trademark Natalie.
Maybe someday I can talk to her about it, support her, see if there are strategies we can find to help her in overstimulating situations. Honestly, some of my favorite things about her are those quirks. I love her fiery energy. I love her chaos. When you get down to who I really am, I’m buttoned-up and reserved. Quiet, because unless your name is Natalie D’Amore, I’m overthinking every single thing that comes out of my mouth to the point where I say nothing at all.
Natalie’s the ocean and it’s beautiful because of it makes waves. What would it be if there were no rocky waters? Calm and boring, like me.
