Meeting Mr. Wright (22 page)

Maybe Nate was right. Maybe I needed to be with a person who didn’t fit in order to learn the lessons I needed to learn to find the person who does fit.

“I barely know him,” I say, voicing the one niggling concern that pulls at me, stops that bud of feelings I have for Nate from fully blossoming.

“So get to know him,” Mom says like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Maybe it is.

“Is that what you did with my father?” I ask.

Mom knows exactly what I’m getting at.

“Your father was an adventure,” she says a bit wistfully.

“An ugly one.”

Removing her hand from mine, she reaches over and touches my cheek. “Not so much.”

“You don’t regret it?” I ask, wondering how she possibly couldn’t. He left us alone, how could she not hate him for that?

“Not for a second,” she replies. “It was a learning experience. Besides, he gave me you.”

I swallow, somehow managing a smile. “But you’re alone.”

Mom stands, then leans down and kisses my forehead, cupping my cheeks with her hands. “I love you so much,” she says, smiling softly. “But when something bad happens, you retreat. You don’t give it another go, and that scares me. I’m worried that one day you’ll wake up all alone, regretting that you pushed people away and regretting the things you never did because you were afraid. We all fall down, we all fail. The strong ones get back up, and they try again. I raised a strong one.”

“Mom-”

“You only get one life,” she says, interrupting me. “You have to fill it up with all the love and laughter that you can. Run away from those things long enough and you’ll forget how to find them. I’m alone because I’m happy being alone. If you’re happy the way things are now, then keep being happy.” She looks over at the pic of Nate and me that’s still up on my laptop screen. “If you’re not happy, then chase that happiness. If you think you can find some of it with him, then do it. Life’s too short to deny yourself love, Callista.”

I close my eyes and let her words sink in.

She’s right. I know she’s right.

“I’
VE GOT
my sunscreen, my bikini, and my English-to-Greek phrase book. Saturday can’t get here fast enough,” Jasmine says, stretching her legs out in front of her as she leans back into the soft green grass. She, Gabby and I are eating lunch at one of our favorite parks, and the weather is perfect. The sun is shining and the breeze is warm; it’s enough to help a girl forget her troubles for an hour or two. The talk I had with my mother last night has been weighing on my mind all morning, pushing me to the brink of action. I’m just not sure exactly what to do now. Do I call Nate? It seems like the logical next step, but it also doesn’t seem like it’s enough.

“I don’t think you realize how long that flight’s going to be,” Gabby says, licking a dollop of mustard off the tip of her thumb. “It’s going to be the longest flight of your life.”

I look at Jasmine, who’s looking at me, and I know she’s thinking the same thing that I am. How long of a grace period does Gabby get to talk about her honeymoon before we all put a stop to it?

“Go to Europe once, and suddenly you’re a flight time expert,” I say, winking at her to let her know I’m teasing.

Gabby swats at me, laughing. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop talking about it soon.”

“You get another three days, and then we’re cutting you off,” I tell her.

“Be glad Callie’s your best friend. I’d cut you off two weeks ago.”

Gabby laughs, throwing a balled-up napkin at Jasmine as she stands up and brushes off the back of her skirt.

“I’ve got to get back to the office,” Jasmine says, gathering her trash into a plastic grocery bag. “I’m going to stress myself out to get ready for the vacation that’s supposed to de-stress me, so that’s fun.”

I sigh loudly. “Ah, being your own boss has its perks.”

“So does having company subsidized healthcare,” Jasmine replies with a wink. “I’ll see you ladies later.”

“Have a fun trip!” I yell after her.

She turns towards us, walking backwards as she holds out her arms. “You know I will!”

Gabby and I stand up, and I walk with her to the corner of the park, the one closest to her office.

“Hey,” I say, sounding more nervous than I actually feel, which surprises me. “I was wondering if you would feel comfortable giving me Nate’s number.”

Her eyes widen, caught somewhere between surprise and happiness. “You don’t already have it?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t think it would be a good idea,” I admit.

“But…” she says as she digs in her purse, pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil.

“But I’d like to talk to him.”

“About what?”

She’s so damn nosy.

“About things,” I tell her. Partly because I’m not yet sure what exactly it is that I want to say to him, and partly because whatever it is that I do say, I think he should be the first person to hear it.

Thankfully, she doesn’t press the issue. She just grins at me as she hands me the piece of paper with his number written on it. “He asks about you, you know.”

I
WANDER
through the park after lunch, walking across the soccer field and over toward the playground. There’s something about the light laugher of the children on the swing sets that helps put me at ease, helps me focus my thoughts. I take a seat on a bench nearby, settling in against its forest-green slats. It’s cool here in the shade, beneath this elm tree’s long, sturdy branches. It reminds me of the trees in Virginia, which makes me think of Nate.

I sigh.
Nate
.

My mom told me yesterday that if I’m happy with the way my life is that I should keep doing what I’m doing. I’m fully ready to admit to myself now that I’m not happy, not by a long shot. And it’s not just that I’m not happy, it’s that I’m keeping myself from being happy by holding onto the past. By making excuses for myself. By not taking chances.

My life now consists of standing on the sidelines, in the safe zone, watching people live their lives. I’ve reduced myself to a casual observer of the world instead of an active participant in it. It’s true that not taking risks saves me from feeling the pain of failure, but it prevents me from feeling the joy of simply being alive. I realize now that I
need
Nate in my life. And it’s not because I’m lonely, and it’s not because I can’t survive without him. It’s because he makes me want to do all the things that I’m afraid of, and become all the things that I’m not, but that I desperately wish I could be. He makes me want to open my arms, take a deep breath and appreciate the beauty in the world. What more could I possibly ask from a person? A broken heart seems like a small price to pay in return for the possibility of a lifetime full of love and happiness.

Now I’m afraid that I may have lost Nate without ever really having him in the first place. I haven’t spoken to him since he left the night of the wedding. Even though Gabby said that he’s asked about me, I can’t deny that it stings that he hasn’t tried to contact me. I’m fully aware of what a hypocrite that makes me, thank you very much. I take a look at the number scrawled across the bright-pink sticky note I’m holding in my hand, and the sight of the numbers makes my heart thunder in my chest. All I need to do is dial these numbers, and I can hear is voice. All I need to do is dial these numbers, and I can tell him how I feel. These numbers could lead to so many wonderful things…why are they so scary?

I reach into my gigantic mess of a bag, nearly elbow-deep, fishing for my phone. The sharp edge of something catches the inside of my wrist, and I wrap my fingers around it, wondering what exactly it could be. When I pull my hand out of my bag, I can’t believe my eyes.

It’s a single-serving box of Raisin Bran, with a note taped to the back.

Underneath an address it reads:

For a healthy heart.

It’s from Nate, who always seems to know exactly what I need when I need it. I’ve spent the past three weeks wondering how I could fall in love with him so quickly, and now all I can think is…how could I not?

I blink through the tears in my eyes, my heart feeling more intact than it has in ages and so full I almost think I can’t take it. It’s then that I look up, right above the bench I’m sitting on, and I see a plain blue sign with white lettering. I turn, gripping the back of the bench to give me leverage while I read it.

This playground donated and maintained by Bryson Interiors

I designed their website two years ago when they were on the brink of going out of business, and now they’ve sponsored a park. Business is booming now, so I guess I can take some small sliver of credit for the fun the kids are having on the swing set twenty feet away. Maybe I have something to do with the smiles on their faces.

I’m not curing cancer, but I am leaving my fingerprint on this world, starting with a tiny playground in a tiny park in the middle of Dallas. And Nate was right, that is something. It’s fitting, I suppose, that I’d feel so close to him when I’m so far away, considering I’d done everything I could to put distance between us while we were together.

I get it, universe. I get it.

A phone call isn’t enough, this requires a risk.

I’m finally willing to take one.

I make it home in record time, then sprint into my room and throw heaps of clothing into my suitcase. I’m not even paying a bit of attention to anything I’m putting in there, but I don’t care, I don’t care. I scribble out a note for my mother on the back of an old envelope, hop in my car, and start driving.

R
OUGHLY EIGHTEEN
hours after I leave Dallas, I’m standing on the curb in front of Nate’s house in Boulder. It doesn’t look at all like I expected, not that he ever told me what his house looked like anyway. It’s a Craftsman style, with dark brown siding and white shutters. The lawn is impeccably landscaped, with lush green grass and well-trimmed bushes. The trees are just starting to show a hint of fall, the edges of the leaves showing a tinge of color with muted reds and washed-out yellows. I bet they’ll look like they’ve caught fire in a few weeks, and I feel the beginnings of a dull ache in my chest because I want to be here to see that.

I look down at the address on the note that Nate taped to the cereal box he left in my bag, then I glance up at the numbers that are all lined up in a perfect row on the awning over the porch. This is the street and this is definitely the house. There’s a grey Jeep parked in the driveway, it’s shiny paint is streaked with caked-on dried mud. I’m guessing it belongs to Nate and has probably seen more death-defying adventures than I’d care to know about.

There hasn’t been even the slightest hint of nervousness since I hopped in my car and pulled out onto the interstate, but now that I’m here I think maybe my heart is going to beat right out of my chest. I feel like I should’ve called, like maybe it’s not fair to just show up here like this, even though he did basically leave me an invitation to do just this. Ugh, I can stand here and debate over it for the rest of the night, or I could just work up the nerve to walk up the steps and knock on his door. What do I have to lose? Nothing I haven’t lost already.

I take a deep breath and slowly exhale, closing my eyes as I feel the slightest bit of relaxation tug at the dull edges of my overstimulated nerves. I’m taking a chance; chances don’t feel safe, Callie, they feel…well, they feel exactly like this. I didn’t drive all this way to check out the real estate in Nate’s neighborhood, so it’s time for me to make a move. To make a move and see if this crazy road trip thing was a good idea or a really, really bad one. I move myself forward, get some momentum going, and walk up to his front door.

As soon as I raise my hand to knock, the door flies open. My heart slips and falls when I look up into a face that doesn’t belong to Nate.

“Can I help you?” Now
this
is exactly the kind of guy I would picture when I thought of people who lived in Colorado. Shelby would probably describe him as ‘crunchy.’ He’s you’re typical tree-hugging, granola-loving hippie type. His hair is a bit shaggy, but he has a nice smile and a friendly face.

“I’m sorry,” I say, a little flustered. “I was just here to visit…” A friend? I’m not exactly sure what to say here, although ‘Is Nate here?’ would probably work, I can’t seem to get myself to say it. “I came looking for-”