Page 91 of Never With You
More like the most horrifying twenty minutes of my life.
“But I was talking about the calendar.”
“When?” my voice cracks with embarrassment, but I rally. “When did I send it to you?”
“I don’t know.” He blows a raspberry with his lips. “It was sometime during the planning of the Egypt trip.”
“Egypt!” I say on a deep exhale. “That was, like, seven or eight months ago.”
But at least the pieces are coming together. I was responsible for the project timeline for that trip. I created a Google calendar and shared it with him,along withmy monthly cycle calendar.
“Relax. I barely even looked at it.”
“That is such a lie. There’s not a single person on this planet who wouldn’t have opened it, read it, and kept reading it. It’s the same as finding someone’s diary and reading it from cover to cover before returning it. The type of information that’s so juicy you can’tnotread it.”
“Okay, fine. I only read the notifications when they popped up.” He smiles a knowing smile that makes me want to crawl into a hole.
I drop my face into my hands, hiding my burning cheeks.
“Oh, it’s not that bad. It’s actually kind of funny.”
“It’s not funny.” But even as I say it, I’m biting back a reluctant smile.
“We can tell the story at our fake fortieth-anniversary party. ‘Kids, let me tell you about the time your mom kept track of when she was horny and how her bowel movements were going.’”
A laugh snorts out as I playfully punch his shoulder. “See? You did read it! All of it.”
“Of course I read all of it.”
“In my defense, my digestive system goes completely rogue when I’m on my period. It would be irresponsiblenotto track that.”
“Forget about Midol. I should’ve brought you some Tums.” He laughs, and for a few seconds, I join him.
It’s a weird thing, laughing with your enemy. It kind of makes it feel like he’s not really my enemy after all.
“Well, it’s a good thing I hate you,” I say with an impish smile, “or this whole thing would’ve beenway moreembarrassing.”
“Yeah,” he jokes, “saved by your hatred.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, both smiling. One of the barriers between us slowly begins to crumble as I realize, once again, I’ve misjudged Nate. All this time, he wasn’t making dismissive, stereotypical PMS jokes. He was actually trying to be nice and accommodating—even sweet, if you count him bringing me the foods I craved. I mean, buying me tampons was a little weird, but I guess if he never had sisters, I could see why he thought that might be what you do.
But this is constantly how my relationship with Nate goes. I’m quick to jump to conclusions without giving him the benefit of the doubt, like assuming the shower thing was his fault when I’m mostly to blame.
I keep having these moments where my prejudices come to light, and I feel stupid for my intolerance, like when the car in front of you in a parking lot suddenly stops, and you don’t know what they’re doing or why they’re taking so long to move. And just when you’re about to lay on your horn, you see a person on crutches hobble out of the passenger side and wave at you for being kind enough to wait for them to get out.
That’s me right now, realizing how I’ve unnecessarily judged Nate without having all the information.
I don’t want to do that anymore.
* * *
I can’t shakeNate’s aunts from my side.
All through dinner and the fire show, they’ve been glued to me—talking, talking, talking.
There are some benefits to their yapping. I found out Nate couldn’t say his Rs as a child, he’s very docile and loving when coming out of anesthesia, and he was the student body president in high school. It’s not earth-shattering information, but it's still a fun glimpse into the real Nate Farnsworth.
My eyes scan the lounge, looking for him until I find him sitting at the bar with the company's vice president.
