“That’s definitely not why over a million people watch it. This hot Italian guy with ridiculous abs prepares food on camera. Actually, I don’t know that he’s hot, because his face is never on camera, but he sounds hot.”
I meet Nathaniel’s eyes. “Women are strange,” I say.
Nora gives me a little kick under the table.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NORA
Text conversation with Pansy
I CAN’T wait for our double date.
You and Cormac are just so cute together.
Would it be illegal for you to get married?
Jesus Christ, Pansy. We’re not blood-related.
When I show up to help Nathaniel do his weeding on Monday, my usual day off, he meets me at the door in an exceedingly dorky hat with side flaps. His tan cargo pants probably have two dozen pockets. Even thehathas pockets. The effect is endearing as hell.
After a lightning-quick tour of his two-bedroom, sage-green bungalow, which is full of blooming plants and natural light, he presents me with one of Cormac’s T-shirts. “The boy popped by with this yesterday evening, and he brought over some cream to help with my rash. Calendula. He said he got it from a friend.” Nathaniel points to his face, which has returned to its normal shade, aside from a slight pink imprint where his goggles sat. “Nothing like home remedies. The pharmaceutical companies don’t want you to know, but there are thousands of therapeutic plants you can grow yourself.”
I’m sure I’ll hear all about them over the next hour, but I can’t stop smiling as I study Cormac’s donated T-shirt.
It’s my favorite of his shirts—a graphic T celebratingHalf-Life, the game we both played in high school.
Something awful happens in my chest as I grip the shirt in my hands. It’s as if my walls are losing their delightfully strong titanium coating, leaving behind concrete. Everyone knows concrete can crumble, while titanium is supposed to be forever.
All these years have passed, but he still remembers.
He’d acted so dismissive about the game…
I didn’t know him then, though, and it feels like I’m finally starting to understand him. He didn’t know what to say, so he said the first thing that came to mind—and I walked away before he could say anything else.
I tug the shirt on. It smells similar to Cormac’s house, like that old-fashioned deodorant every man used to wear forty years ago.
I let myself take a deep inhale. “Well, shall we get started?”
“We shall,” Nathaniel replies happily. “I have a couple of paper bags for each of us, and I went ahead and made us some sun tea.”
He grabs three reusable water bottles, which look alarmingly murky, from the fridge.
“Three?”
“The boy said he was going to stop by to help, but no worries, there’s plenty of weeding to be done.”
My heart lifts for some ungodly reason. I shouldn’t want to see Cormac again so soon. As recently as two weeks ago, I would have bemoaned my poor luck. But things have been changing between us. They’re still changing.
“Let me show you the yard,” Nathaniel says.
I whistle as he leads me out through the back door off the kitchen. The yards in this neighborhood are mostly postage stamps, since a lot of the big lots have been apportioned to developers so they can execute House Tetris and fit in as many properties into as little space as possible. But this yard ishuge, and his garden, protected by a chain-link fence, is probably the size of my apartment. It’s separated into four equal-sized quadrants, with a walkway leading around and through them. The square closest to the gate is teeming with overgrown vegetable plants.
“Holy shit,” I murmur.
Nathaniel’s smile is full of earned pride. “And every plant has a purpose. I’ll be happy to explain each of them to you.”
I believe him. He enjoys talking, particularly if it involves agonizingly drawn-out stories that don’t have a definitive beginning, middle, or end.
