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Natalie, however, loved going to see her family. She would tell me of these get-togethers later, of the conversations she’d had with her mother or how she’d gone clam digging with her father. I didn’t get it, and I had to hide it from her because I knew Natalie’s family was very important to her. She needed people, her people, in a way I didn’t.
But I did need her. I found myself put out at the prospect of spending the night alone, waiting for her come back. There were no alternatives, though. I didn’t want to go out alone or try to see someone.
I had a memory, suddenly, of Dana and the night in New York. It had not been the same with us at work, afterwards. No matter how much I focused on work and keeping things professional, I sometimes had a flashback of her nakedness and of the lust in her eyes as she’d climbed on top of me.
I sometimes caught her looking at me in a way that made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to think of Dana fancying me and I didn’t want a repeat of that night. But it was flattering to think of Dana having a bit of a crush on me.
To distract myself from thinking about Natalie, I went online and searched for Dana’s profile. I found her Facebook and Instagram accounts. There were lots of photographs of Dana in exercise gear, running with her pals or going for drinks with other women. There were no men in these pictures. I wondered if Dana was single. I had never asked her, never been interested in her life before. I wasn’t that interested in it now, either. After a few minutes, I checked Natalie’s profile and found it much, much more interesting.
She didn’t post much but there were pictures of the ocean, taken from the beach at Sandwich and the surrounds. I noticed that she had posted pictures of Nantucket, where she had spent the day with her brother, Tucker. I hadn’t met him yet and took a closer look at the two of them. Tucker had darker hair and was taller than she was, a good-looking kid. His hair was long, he had an earring and a rakish air about him. There were pictures of the two of them standing with rented bicycles, laughing at some joke they were sharing. She’d posted pictures of their food too, of ice cream and donuts. There was a moody shot of a lighthouse and a wooden walkway, sea birds circling in the sky.
This would be why she was late in coming back.
She’d rather spend time with him than with me.
It felt childish, especially as he’d gotten out of rehab only two days ago and she was obviously keen to hang out with him, to connect after everything he’d been through. He was the sibling she was closest to and had worried most about.
But I wanted her to feel that way about me. I wanted her to think about being with me and doing things with me.
When the doorbell rang, I thought for a moment it was her, but it was the babysitter. I’d forgotten to cancel her and after my initial disappointment at finding her at the door, I thought to use the opportunity to get out.
I went to the gym, working out hard on the equipment and really pushing myself. I got my heart rate up and kept it going, tiring myself out to keep my thoughts occupied. Finally, I ran on the treadmill, setting the speed high and going until my legs were burning and I had to stop to catch my breath.
“Way to go,” a staff member said as he came by, noting my efforts.
I went for a shower, enjoying the satisfying post-exercise buzz.
Then I got myself a smoothie and stared out of the window at the city at night.
“It’s different late at night here, isn’t it?” said the girl behind the counter, conversationally. “More quiet, less flirting and checking each other out.”
She was young and fit, with tattoos on her arms and wild, curly hair.
“You work out too?” I asked.
“Nope, this is my work uniform,” she grinned. “I watched you get into it, though. Man, you were going like a demon.”
“I am a demon,” I said, and she laughed. She leaned forward on her counter, giving me a good look of her considerable assets.
“I get off in thirty minutes,” she said, looking at me meaningfully.
I wouldn’t have hesitated before.
“I have to get back home,” I said, turning back to the view.
“Another time, then,” she said.
Maybe it was that conversation or perhaps it was all happening in my sub-conscious but when I got into the car, I realized that it was time for Natalie and me to make it official. We were a couple, we wanted to be together, and we should tell the world.
I didn’t want to share her with anyone.
Who knew who else was hanging out with her and Tucker in Nantucket?
Not me, that was all I knew.
I wanted her to put a pic up on Facebook with the two of us, preferably me looking buff in a vest and her looking her own sweet self, with a caption saying, loving the good life, or good times together or something.
She didn’t have to say we were in love.
But I wanted that status of hers to change to “in a relationship”.
So everyone knew.
She was mine.
