Page 15 of Fighting Words

How pathetic am I?! It’s taken me less than twenty-four hours to realize I’m attracted to Nate. Already, it’s out of my hands. I’m kind of…shocked and, to be honest, feeling a little guilty about it. Where was this feeling with Andrew? Or any of the other men who’ve come in and out of my life over the last decade?!

Crushes don’t come easy for me. They never have. I remember my friends running around recess, taunting the boys they thought were cute. Meanwhile, I was playing soccer, trying to perfect my corner kicks. It didn’t even occur to me that I should lay claim to a boy in my grade like everyone else was doing. When I was slightly older, it made me feel like the odd one out when my friends would prank-call boys at sleepovers. The phone would circle around to me and I’d stare at it like,Now what?Not having a boy’s name and number locked and loaded meant I got pushed into calling someonetheythought I liked.

My general disinterest and pessimism surrounding dating was always a topic of conversation with friends in college. The people in my life have psychoanalyzed me to death.

Your standards are too high.

You’re too picky.

You have to be open to someone new and different.

Andrew was a setup orchestrated by Emma and another example of those close to me playing matchmaker. I resisted the blind date at first, but it didn’t take me long to cave. At the time, when I met Andrew, I thought everyone else was right about me. More and more, it felt like I was the broken thing. After all, they all seemed to have no problem falling in love.

Looking back, I’m glad I went on that blind date. I really care about Andrew and I’m not willing to give up on us just yet. He’s a good man and someone I’d be lucky to have by my side. But now, looking at Nate, there’s an inexplicable feeling in my stomach, this ache.

If Nate were a man I bumped into in a coffee shop, a random stranger on the subway, a friend of a friend, I know with certainty I would sit up and take notice. I’d find a way to start a conversation with him.Have you been here before? What’s good? Do you have the time?I’d figure out a subtle way to flirt, to let him know I’m interested. Maybe I’d even be bold enough to slip him my number.

The realization sends a flutter of excitement through me.Real butterflies—the kind I’ve never felt.

Of course, it’s mildly distressing that I’m having these feelings now, aboutthisman, but I’m not going to overanalyze it. It’s not like I’m going to do anything about it! It’s just reassuring to know I’m not cold and dead inside.I too can feel things!I’m half-tempted to get all my old friends on the phone just to tell them,Ha! See?!

Nate stacks a few more freshly cut pieces of firewood onto the tarp, then he looks up in the direction of my window. I flinch and move away, turning and stumbling and landing awkwardly on the daybed. It’s silly and I’m blushing, but who cares! Having a crush feels fun and harmless.

It doesn’t change anything. I’m still hopeful I can figure things out with Andrew. He and I will end up together. Somehow.

I’m up here in the guest room—myroom, apparently—because I need to get settled in and unpack my things. I’m staying and I’m relieved to be done with my broken suitcase. Before I fly home, I’ll buy another one. This one is getting hurled into the nearest dumpster.

There’s a tiny closet in the corner of the room filled with cardboard boxes. The top one is open, and I see foreign editions of Nathaniel’s books stacked up inside. I can’t imagine how many he’s sent. I know every time a publisher finishes production on a project, they mail the author a set number of copies of the final book. With how popular Nathaniel is, he likely has hundreds of foreign editions lying around. These are French, and I love the cover with its black and blue nebula surrounded by distant stars. I wish I could read it to see how the translation holds up. I’ve readThe Last ExodusandEcho of Hopeeach five times through, and I just finished my final reread on the plane ride over here. I’ve taken extensive notes on the plot and character arcs, my laptop is loaded with the style sheets from the previous two projects, and I doubt there are many people outside of Nathaniel himself who understand the characters like I do. I didn’t want to arrive in England unprepared. If he’s going to trust me to help him, I have to be on top of things.

I push the boxes aside as best as possible and clear a few feet of space to hang my clothes. I wasn’t exactly sure how long I was going to stay in England when I left. InkWell told me to be flexible with my travel schedule for a week or two. Hopefully my wardrobe will survive this harsh winter. I have a lavender beanie and matching gloves, two pairs of wool socks, and some cozy lounge clothes, but I feel like I need a full-blown parka to survive here. Nate’s socks and sweatshirt are still in my room. I don’t want to give them back to him until I can wash them first.

I need to go into town, so once I’ve put away my things, I work up the courage to ask Nate if I can borrow his car. He’s still outside, working in the yard. He’s shoveling snow now, making a clear path from the back door to the shed.

He pauses when I come outside, and he assesses me from head to toe. I’m bundled up as much as I can be with what I brought. He doesn’t look happy to see me, but then, I’m beginning to understand that might just be his usual mood: eyebrows eternally furrowed, mouth ever-so-slightly frowning.

“I’d like to go into town to get some provisions and send a few emails.” I say this with an assertiveness I had to practice up in my room for five minutes before coming down. I’m proud I pulled it off.

He returns to his project. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll drive you.”

“I have my license.”

“In the States,” he says, sounding only slightly more irritable than normal. “Not here.”

Well great, I didn’t think this through. “Never mind, I don’t really need to go that badly. You keep doing—”

“It’s fine. Let me just finish up.” He lifts his chin. “Go inside. On the back door, I have a better coat you can put on.”

I look down at my puffer. “This one is okay.”

He shakes his head and drops his shovel as he passes me by so he can yank open the back door and grab the coat. His coat. It’ll be hilariously big, but he still holds it out for me to take.

“My car has broken down before. I’ve had to walk all the way back to town to get a tow.”

Right. I accept the coat with a thank you and then rush in to make a grocery list. I want to get everything I might need now that I realize I’ll have to rely on Nate to get into town.

Ten minutes later, I’m buckling up in his car. I’m not even sure what make or model it is, some small European thing that might have been assembled in the ’60s, and seeing Nate stuff his tall frame into the driver’s seat makes me smile. He sees my reaction before I can turn away but doesn’t say anything. We bump down the road away from his cottage, and it’s dead silent beyond the tires on the snow.

I already have emails composed to send to my supervisor at work and my family. Now, I’m crafting a text message I can send to Andrew once I get cell service in Sedbergh. I’ve typed out and deleted sentences what feels like a hundred times. Even if Andrew and I are not officially together anymore and haven’t talked in a few weeks, I feel like I owe him some kind of explanation for where I am in case he reaches out. I don’t want him to think I’m purposely ignoring his texts or calls.

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