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Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nate
Iwake up in my brother Benji’s guest bedroom with a headache the size of a jumbo jet. My stomach tosses as the blinds are pulled, letting in copious amounts of Ohio sunshine—a rarity for the Midwest. Which Benji points out before setting a steaming mug on the nightstand.
It’s been close to a week since Vivian dumped me on my ass. I tried calling her, she didn’t pick up. Texts have gone unanswered. Walt hasn’t ignored my calls but he let me know she needs space. The last time we talked he told me he’d find another job if he had to, whatever would make this “transition” easier for me.
I should have appreciated the selflessness of his offer, but I couldn’t since it seemed like the final nail in the Nate-and-Viv coffin. I, rather miserably, told Walt he always had a job at Owen Construction as long as he kept his nose clean. Then I climbed into my car and drove to Benji’s to get hammered. I’d been holding it together until then.
Or so I thought.
When my brother answered the door last night, he gave me a bland blink and said, “About time. Tequila or whiskey?”
“Hot ginger tea,” he tells me now. “Cris assures me this will fix you.”
Does it fix broken hearts, because if it doesn’t, I don’t have high hopes. I give him a look to communicate that, and he holds his hands up in don’t-shoot-the-messenger fashion.
He’s dressed for the day. He’s no doubt been busily crunching numbers in his home office since five a.m.
“Brought you this too.” He chucks a newspaper at my chest. I fumble it once before holding it up. My vision is blurry, but I make out the bold headline.
“Owen Masterpiece Opens to Exuberant Public.”
It’s an article about Grand Marin and its many amenities. I should feel pride and validation. Accomplishment. I scan the article and find nothing but praise. Words like “decadent” and phrases like “perfect gathering place” and “five-star cuisine” litter the article. But I don’t feel proud or validated. I am empty. I had Vivian in my life, sharing my passion, sharing my bed. Now I have nothing.
“My head hurts.” I toss the paper aside.
“Drink the tea.” My brother leaves, but not before instructing, “Get your ass dressed.”
I cradle my throbbing head as I stand and stumble to the shower. I’ve spent the last several days working my ass off—aka, pouting over Vivian. Nothing helps you forget your troubles like sixteen-hour workdays. Except I didn’t forget her. Which is why I came to Benji’s to drink and drown my sorrows.
He let me moan and wail about the unfairness of it all. Listened to my indignant claims that she didn’t appreciate me and how I did everything for her. I climbed up on a pedestal of my own making and told the tale of how I, Sir Nathaniel Owen, singlehandedly swooped in and saved Vivian from her own life.
He, of course, called me on my shit. I railed at him for that, even though somewhere in my tequila-pickled brain, I knew he was right. Like a good brother, he sat with me and drank. Clearly not as much as I did given his chipper state this morning. He must’ve switched to water when I wasn’t looking.
When Vivian stalked away from me and into one of Chicago’s not-so-safe neighborhoods, I followed. You didn’t think I’d let her run off alone to be mugged or God knows what else, did you? I didn’t stop caring about her just because she dumped me, although it’d be easier if it would’ve worked out that way.
I followed as she made the five-block trek to the hospital where she doubled over and cried. I was at the edge of the lit parking lot, intending to run to her, pull her into my arms and say whatever I had to in order to win her back. Then I planned on taking us to a hotel and stripping her beneath me so I could remind her how good we were together. I’d hold her in my arms through the night and we’d wake up good as new.
That’s not what happened.
Instead, Walt pushed away from the wall he was leaning on and crushed a cigarette under his shoe. He became the man she wouldn’t have wanted me to be right then. I slunk back into the shadows and let him.
I have a thick skull. It’s taken me the better part of a week to accept what she said in that pizza place.
She doesn’t love me. That’s the bottom line.
If I could find two remaining brain cells to rub together, I’d realize a smart man would take that news as a win. She’s difficult and challenging and combative. She doesn’t want me. That should be the end of our story. I can move on with my life.
But I never claimed I was smart.
Benji said I did the right thing leaving Walt to tend to her. That I can’t expect to come between family. He pointed out Viv and I are the same. That I’d do anything for my own family too. He’s right. I would. I didn’t mention Viv had already become like family to me. I couldn’t bear seeing the pity in his eyes; the headshake communicating I’m a bigger moron than he originally thought.
I shower and suck down Cris’s godawful tea, and then make my way to the open-plan kitchen/living room. She’s standing at the counter, tapping a tablet, her brow furrowed in thought. She looks up when I walk in.
“Good morning.” As usual, her smile is bright.
“There was something wrong with this tea,” I grumble, returning the mug.
