Page 90 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

31

Natalie

The first snowis always the most magical.

Sitting in the window seat of the library with a half-eaten piece of pumpkin pie next to me, I lean my back against the bookcase and watch as the snowflakes fall from the sky, hoping to find peace in the sight. Something is off this year.

Pressing my palm to the cold glass, I want to feel the chill seep into my skin. In a house with three fireplaces and a thermostat set at a constant seventy-three degrees, I’ve been missing the warmth that reaches my bones. Maybe this will remind me that it’s still there.That he’s still with me.

Numb is no way to feel, but the winter storm that blew in last night doesn’t change my confusion regarding Nick. I’m still not sure I’m ready to have a conversation that finalizes our ending. What will he say but what he thinks I want to hear? Rearranging words to make them sound prettier doesn’t change the meaning.

The whole situation is ugly, and I feel caught in the middle. The thing is . . . the empty bench comes to mind again. I’ve struggled to get the image out of my head. I may have told him to leave for good, but I realize now that I might have acted in haste. I had other priorities at the time, the only one I should have had—my dad.

My mom comes silently into the room to drop off a glass of water for my dad, who’s sleeping soundly, checks the logs in the fireplace, and smiles at me before disappearing again. My parents have always been . . . just my parents. But seeing how gentle she is with him and hearing him say it was her touch that guided him back to life puts them in a whole new light.

They aren’t just the parents of Jackson and me. They aren’t two powerhouses in the financial world. They’re John and Martine, two lost souls who found their mate sitting in a coffee shop, and two people still in love after more than thirty years.

I’ve had a great example of what love looks like, how it behaves, and most importantly, how it grows through the years. How it grows even when there are disagreements and fights. Their opinions have conflicted many times, yet . . . they always come back together. That takes patience and humility . . . and deep love that weathers storms.

Is this a storm that Nick and I can weather?

I still have my company, though I’m not sure what’s happening behind the scenes at CWM. Nothing has shut me down yet, not a certified letter, email, or even a voicemail. Professionally I have no idea where I stand, so I keep going—business as usual.

Personally, I’m not having as much luck. It’s hard to figure out how to move around the aftermath without getting further injured. He’s said it a million times—we moved fast. But was it too fast, or were we moving at our own pace, one that was right for us?

The snow begins to cling to the edges of the window, and warm winter nights have me recalling eyes that held that same magic and arms that made me feel safe. Call it a momentary breakdown, but I’m tired of guessing and weak to the romantic ambiance outside my window. Picking up my phone, I decide to text Nick.

I have no idea what to say, but I think I should start with the basics. Me:Are you still in the ci…

Scratch that. I delete it, and then type:I love you . . .

There’s no way I can send a mixed message like that. I backspace, ridding my screen of the words that come off as an offensive tackle in my current emotional state. The reality is, I can love him, but is it strong enough to last? Despite what he says, love can’t always be the answer.

Life’s too complicated for that. Hearing what Tatum once said in my head—talk to him—I take a deep breath to steady my shaking hands and text one question:Did you sign that contract?

It’s the one question with an answer that can change everything. I heard about it, but I’ve not seen anything with my own eyes. I didn’t want to, storing my faith in a secret hope chest buried in a cranny of my heart that we could be together again.

My heart drums in my chest while I stare at the screen. Please let this all be a big mistake. I can handle that Christiansen Wealth Management made a logical business decision. I understand basic economics, and the business rationale of endorsing a company if it’s financially viable makes sense, too. But that addition to the contract to strip STJ of its backing just seems so personal. They didn’t know me, but Nick did. That’s what I can’t wrap my head around.And it will put the final nail in the coffin if he signed the document because of that.

The dots come fast as if he’s been waiting for me to contact him. I guess he has since I’m the one who blocked him after the last time we spoke. Hope takes flight, and my heart is comforted by the opportunity that maybe, just maybe, we can find our way out of this tangled mess.

Nick:Please meet me. We can discuss it.

My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. I guess I got my answer. Did he really choose to go along with this, to think he could take my company away without repercussions? Has he forgotten that I agreed to be his wife?His wife?I balk at the notion.

Instead, I’m miles away from him, two hundred or more than four thousand, I haven’t a clue. I’m trying to decipher between the truth and lies, and he’s not making it any easier with his response to my text. It’s a simple question. His non-answer speaks volumes.

I’ve been through the wringer and back emotionally. I’m not sure I can take much more without losing myself completely.

Dane tried to break me.

I won’t let Nick.

As angry as I am, doubt still fills me. I pause with my finger hovering over the option on the screen. I’m given some relief that it’s not permanent, and then click to block his number.

I feel no satisfaction in the act. Actually, I feel worse than I did, but I’ll get past it, and so will he, probably way faster than me if he hasn’t already. I’m the fool who believed we were destiny.I’ll not fall for that nonsense again.

“I can’t believe November is almost over.”

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