Page 25 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

All right. She’s got my attention. Guess she’s rubbed off on me . . . just a little. Taking a few steps back into the room, I know I shouldn’t indulge in the New Age stuff she’s so into, but this time, my interest is piqued because of one thing—Natalie. “Oh, yeah? What does that mean?”

“New beginnings. The start of a fresh relationship. That phase ends today, though.” She eyes me as if she’s reading the book she personally wrote. Again, I know I’m lucky. It’s not just that my mom can read me. It’s that she made the effort and invested the time to get to know me, even through mylivelyteenage years, as she calls them. She never backed down from showing me love.

I wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Not that I’d expect you tomeet your forever loveon vacation,but you never know what can happen on an island paradise.”

Natalie happened.

My heart beats to life, a heavy thud felt in my chest. I avert my gaze to the leather handles in my hand. Suddenly, every scratch on the surface of the bag is the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen.

She takes a deep breath and releases an exaggerated exhale. “Destiny’s hand can’t be forced. Fortunately, there are many other phases of the sun and moon to come in your future. Focusing on your studies is probably best.”

“Yeah, probably.” I don’t know why my heart sinks, but its abrupt protest is felt. I trudge up the stairs and enter my bedroom. I have a good life and have been given practically anything I could ever want. But the one thing living in Beverly Hills, a bank account full of money, and endless business opportunities can’t give—a real life, one of my own choosing, one that comes with a genuine connection instead of professional agreements with strings.

Natalie was the opposite of that to me.

I don’t know her background and have no clue what she does with her life in Manhattan. I don’t know her last name or anything about her family. I know her, though—that connection to the person she is on the inside was constructed and the foundation laid down. But maybe that doesn’t matter, and I need to listen to my mother.

“Destiny’s hand can’t be forced.”

Guess I’ll never know.

9

Nick

Remorse has consumed me.

That I didn’t kiss her and we didn’t take the time to exchange numbers or surnames frequents the back of my mind. I regret falling asleep next to her without getting every last tidbit.

But more so, I’m beginning to regret the entire weekend altogether. Another birthday passed, graduation came and went. I officially left Stanford behind and passed the bar exam.

I’m a full-fledged practicing attorney, also known as an adult. That’s how my dad refers to me these days. If adulting consists of being buried in the routine everyday of the legal department of Christiansen Wealth Management, then it sucks most days. Is it challenging? Sure, sometimes, but I’m left with generally mundane tasks like reviewing contracts and sitting in on meetings to discuss the expansion of the company. It leaves too much time for my mind to wander back to a girl I met last spring.

Four months later, it’s easier to call her Natalie No-Last-Name to give our encounter some substance. Natalie doesn’t seem enough for something that felt big . . .feelsbig. I only call her that in my head, of course. But the name is more fitting than I’m comfortable admitting.

Thinking about her isn’t healthy. Dating no longer interests me, like somehow, I had a taste of the good life, and now I can’t be bothered with anything less. Sex is still appealing, but no one holds my attention as Natalie did. I’ve never struggled like this—not with women or dating, finding someone to hook up with or even skipping the foreplay and just fucking. It was never a big deal before.

One night in Catalina ruined the life I was living. Not that I was content, but hell, I had a life at least. Now it feels like I’ve left that back in Catalina.

I try to keep my thoughts regarding Natalie to a minimum and am quick to rid them from my mind and focus on my future. That means being present instead of living in the past.

My job is always a good excuse to get out of the text invitations from girls I’ve hooked up with in the past and women who are interested in me now. All I have to say is, “I have to work in the morning,” and that’s a free pass without further explanation.

They are none the wiser.

But why can’t I seem to connect with someone like I did with Natalie? Surely, there has to be someone who interests me. The few times I went out with other women, I felt as though I was betraying someone who isn’t real, yet who steals my thoughts and consumes my spare time. Sometimes I can still see her so vividly that I’m delusional enough to reach out and touch her, her laughter filling my ears and the way she looked at me as though I was saving her.

From what?

Another shot?

No, it was more than that, but I need to let it go—lethergo—once and for all. My phone lights up with a text.

Mom:Dad will be home in ten.

Me:I’ll be down.

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