Page 53 of Brooklynaire
Although itwasa really greatnight.
On the plane home, I sip my watery airline coffee and wonder what just happened. I can still feel his hands on me. I can still taste his kisses. By the time I roll my carry-on out to the baggage claim, I’m delirious from both exhaustion andstress.
Ramesh—Nate’s driver—is there waiting. “Hello, Miss Rebecca,” he says with a smile. “I have instructions to take you to Pierrepont Place. Is that where you wish togo?”
Yes and no. “I do need to go to Nate’s, but only for about five minutes. Could you possibly wait while I run inside? I need to get some things and then go back to my apartment on WaterStreet.”
“Not aproblem.”
Excellent. I’m officially runningscared.
It only takes a few minutes to pack up my things at Nate’s and then leave again. I can see questions in Mrs. Gray’s eyes. “Stay for a cuppa?” she invites as Ramesh carries my suitcase down thestairs.
“I can’t this morning,” I lie. “But I’ll see you soon, I’msure.”
Though I’m not at allsure.
Ten minutes later Ramesh has carried the suitcases up the narrow stairwell of my apartment building. I thank him as graciously as possible. Like Mrs. Gray, he’s probably wondering what the heck I’m upto.
Go ahead and wonder, I think as I shake his hand goodbye.Because I don’t even knowmyself.
My little apartment is quiet for once. Renny is asleep in my sister’s room, but Missy and the baby are outsomewhere.
I ease the bedroom door shut and then get busy with my luggage. I unpack everything and put it away. I remove the portable baby crib from my bedroom and then tidyup.
Moving around feels good, so I keep on cleaning. I attack the cluttered living room, sorting baby gear from my sister’sdetritus.
Meanwhile, panic churns inside me like a storm. And—like a real hurricane—it’s sometimes not easy to know where the danger lies. What’s the worst-case scenario of having slept with Nate? It’s hard to say. If anyone finds out, the office gossip will be brutal. It makes me cringe to think Hugh Major might look at me differently now. Like I’mthatgirl, the kind who fools around with the boss ontrips.
But that’s really just the tip of the iceberg. When I think about seeing Nate again—and traveling with Nate again—I feel a little insane. What’s he going to say? If he pretends like nothing happened, how will thatfeel?
Because something absolutely did. At least tome.
On the other hand, I don’t expect him to turn it into something serious. He confessed to crushing on me. And I guess I gave him the opportunity to getthatout of his system.Twice.
Holy hell. I’m standing in the middle of my living room, a bag of diapers in my hand, feeling seriously aroused. When he put his mouth on my nipple,I…
Whew. Maybe I should open a window and cool this placeoff.
I finish decluttering the living room and attack our tiny kitchen. There are dishes in the sink. I suds up the spaghetti pot while trying to strategize. There are two possibilities. A) Nate ignores the whole episode. The next time I see him will be at work. And he’ll say, “Hey, Bec! Do you have the ticket sales numbers? And how about sushi for lunchtoday?”
That will sting, but I guess it’s better than choice B, which is the world’s most awkward conversation. “Well, Becca. Once every seven years or so, whether we need it or not. Right?” Cue the awkwardchuckle.
No, the conversation could easily be worse. “Becca, hey. I’m so sorry I let things get out of hand. Please accept this gourmet fruit basket as an apology. By the way, Lauren will be traveling with me from nowon.”
Yikes. And to think I was so eager to go back towork.
Eventually I hear my sister’s key turn in the lock. “Wow, Bec! It looks so great inhere.”
I bite back a snarky reply about why that is. But Missy has no time to clean. She’s got to finish her semester and then one more semester at school to get her degree. I want that for her. And I made it possible for her to live here so that she could get the college education that I neverfinished.
“Thank you,” I say. Because this is what’s important in my life—my family, and the job that supports us. I can’t lose sight of that. Sleeping with Nate was so stupid of me. Why on earth would I make things more difficult for myself right now? I have a head injury and big-timeobligations.
“Everything okay?” Missy asks as Matthew begins to babble in his babycarrier.
“Sure. I’mgood.”
To prove it, I keep cleaning. I vacuum and dust every surface. Then I attack the bathroom, rearranging the medicine cabinet to give away most of the space to my sister, so she has somewhere to put all the pacifiers and nursingpads.
