Page 100 of The Story of Us
“If you’re callingto see if I’m available for a sleepover, the answer’s no,” was how Bianca answered Nate’s call.
He paused, swallowing a laugh. Life would’ve been much easier if he’d followed Bianca’s lead initially. Not into her bed, but rather just being honest and upfront about who he really was and what he wanted. “That’s not why I’m calling.”
“Didn’t think so.”
“I was hoping you could do me a favour.” He paced the length of his lounge room, stopping only to give Echo a pat. She was still a bit pissy at him for leaving so suddenly. She was going to be very grumpy when she found out his plans for the next few months, but if Nate got his way, Echo would be earning some frequent flyer points of her own very soon.
“Hmm?”
“I’ve changed my mind about the interview.”
“Jesus, Nate. No. We’ve already started and now you want me to call my editor and say you’re pulling out entirely? We have a contract.”
A piece of paper poked out from underneath his couch, and Nate picked it up. It was one of Eloise’s sketches. She must’ve forgotten it in her rush to leave. Slowly, he walked over to his fridge and stuck it to the front.
“It’s not that,” he said. “I want to expand my profile. Talk about the stuff I’ve avoided speaking publicly about for the last few years. Why I walked away from my football career and moved home.”
There was a long pause. “This feels like a trap,” Bianca said.
“It isn’t.”
Bianca’s tone was still suspicious. “Why the change of heart?”
“It’s simple,” Nate said. “Change is hard and scary, but I’m working on something new and I’d like people to hear about it from me first.”
* * *
Coffee.
Eloise needed coffee. Preferably one as big as her head. She slipped her favourite jumper over her head and pushed the sleeves up a little. Plaiting her hair quickly, she ran through the mental to-do list of everything she needed to do that day. Before the final wedding rehearsal—seriously, how many times did they have to practise walking, aka a skill they’d all mastered as toddlers—Eloise had promised Alice she’d help put the candle bonbonnieres to match the wattle and eucalyptus soaps she and Mary had made on the tables. Then she could feign exhaustion and go to bed super early. Like six o’clock early.
She pushed open the door to the kitchen and froze. Bacon sizzled in the pan in front of her mother. Was she imagining it, or did it smell like Nate in here? Then she saw the two loaves of sourdough wrapped in navy and white checked tea towels on the kitchen counter. Their perfect golden crusts shone under the pendant lights above the bench.
“No one saw him, but they’re still hot,” Mary said.
“And there was a note,” Joanie piped up before her mouth stretched into a wide yawn.
Eloise’s gaze snapped to the cream envelope next to the bread. Her name was written on the front in Nate’s hurried script.
“Your mother wouldn’t let me read it. Or have a coffee even though the doctor said I could,” Joanie said over the rim of her water glass.
“I didn’t know he was back,” Eloise said more to herself than anyone else. She wasn’t prepared to see him yet.
“What can we do to help?” Mary asked as she set the tongs down on the ceramic holder next to the cooker.
Make it all go away?
“Nothing,” Eloise said brightly, pretending that filling her keep cup required all her concentration.
“Would you like any of this?” Mary pointed the spatula at the pans of fluffy eggs and crispy bacon.
Eloise grabbed an apple and her coffee. “I’m not hungry. I’ll see you all later.”
She was almost at the door when her grandmother’s voice broke the silence in the room. “At least see what he has to say, Eloise.” She passed her the envelope and patted her on the shoulder.
She waited until she was in her car to slide her thumb under the seal of the envelope. The edges of the paper were torn and rough like Nate had been in a hurry; maybe he’d yanked the page out of the notepad. She unfolded it slowly. There was none of his usual careful precision or elegant artistic presentation. The message was short, but it still stole her breath.
Eloise — Words are just words if they’re not followed by action. I’m so sorry, and I’m going to show you how much. — Nate
