“It is really good, and you know how much I love it, too. But for God’s sake, Oscar, sometimes it’s okay to let someone help you. I can put your product on shelves across the country: why wouldn’t you want that?”
“Because I don’t. And that should be enough for you.”
I dug my hands into my hair, closing my eyes in frustration, trying to understand.
“And if that’s not enough for you, then maybe I’m not enough for you.”
What? My eyes snapped open, not sure what I’d heard. “What are you saying?”
“Come on, Natalie—where is this going? Huh?”
I felt punched in the gut. “Wait, hold on. We’re deciding this now? What do you mean, where is this going? We’re having fun, we’re enjoying each other—what’s wrong with that?”
He nodded, crossing the kitchen toward me, reaching out with one hand. “Yeah, we are, and it’s great. But come on, you live in the city; I don’t. I’m not moving here. For me, everything is in Bailey Falls.”
“Sure,” I nodded dully, feeling nothing now except the warmth of his hand. “Sure, you’ve got the cows.”
“I’ve got my life,” he corrected, “and you’ve got yours. Unless you’d consider . . .” He trailed off, his eyes hopeful.
“Unless?”
“You’d consider moving upstate.”
And there it was.
Move upstate, giving up everything else, uproot everything I know and love and worked my ass off to get—sacrifice it all, for a man.
Tears spilled over, sudden and hot, and then there I was, hands shaking, taking him into my arms and telling him no, no, I can’t do that.
Because no matter what, that was the one thing I’d never, ever do again.
And then he’s kissing me, kissing my tears away and telling me he understands, and then he’s picking me up and wrapping his arms around me and taking me back to the bedroom and he’s loving me, and he’s loving my body and he’s peeling off my dress and he’s making me naked and warm and his hands are running all over my perfectly imperfect body, and he’s so warm and he’s so tender and he’s so gentle and his body is so incredibly strong, and maybe it’s strong enough and maybe he’s strong enough and maybe he’s strong enough for both of us, and maybe I could just consider that maybe, possibly, I could think about this some more . . . But then no, no, no I can’t do that because I can be strong, too, and I can be strong on my own and for myself, and oh yes, oh no, and now he’s loving me so hard because he knows I can take it, and so sweet because he knows that I need that, too, and it’s too much and not enough all over again . . .
He left that night, driving back upstate. He didn’t tell me he loved me. He didn’t need to.
I knew.
Chapter 20
But I didn’t know what would happen next. Was it over? Were we over? Did it have to be all or nothing?
I didn’t know these rules. I knew men, but I didn’t know what happened when people were invested. This was beyond me.
I didn’t talk to Oscar for three days. No texts, no calls, no contact of any kind. In the past few weeks, we’d chatted almost every day. Sometimes it was a quick call to confirm what train I was on. Sometimes it was a stolen moment to tell him about something funny that had happened at work. Sometimes he’d call right before he went to sleep. And though he didn’t use flowery words, when he said, “Sweet dreams, Pinup,” it was better than almost anything.
When I woke up Thursday morning still with no call or text, I felt . . . alone. Really alone.
I was usually surrounded by laughing, smiling, chatting people—at work, after-work cocktails, nights out on the town, weekends filled with brunches and lunches and clubs and parties. And this week had been no exception. I’d worked my ass off, spent time with friends I hadn’t seen in weeks, and kept my social calendar full.
So why was I feeling so alone?
No Oscar.
And I didn’t like it one bit.
Thursday afternoon I bit the bullet and called him myself, no longer waiting for his call.
“Hey,” was his answer when he picked up.
“Hey to you,” I said, my voice already tense. “How’ve you been?”
“Good. Busy but good. You?”
“Good,” I said, twisting a lock of hair around my finger. “I haven’t heard from you once this week.”
He sighed. “I haven’t heard from you, either.” He had a point. “I was meaning to call, it’s just been—”
“Busy, I know. I’ve been busy, too.”
More silence. I’d never felt the need to fill the silence before, but this felt awful. “I got a rough cut of the first Bailey Falls commercial; it’s looking pretty good. Still needs a lot of work and the music will be different, but it’s going in the right direction.”
“That’s great,” he said softly.
“Yeah. I can show you this weekend, if you want. You can get the gist of it from—”
“This weekend?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I figured I’d see you,” I replied, my voice getting higher than I would have liked it. “At the market, at least.”
“I won’t be there this weekend.”
“You’re not coming to the market?” I asked, disbelieving.
“Now that it’s winter we only come in once a month, and we’re not scheduled again until after Thanksgiving.”
“Oh,” I whispered, my finger twisting in my hair so hard it was starting to hurt. “So, when will I see you?”
“It’s a busy time right now, even though it seems like it would slow down when winter comes. I’ve got repairs I put off all summer; the cows are getting ready to come indoors for longer than they’re used to, and lots of prep needs to happen for that; it’s just—”
“Busy.” I deliberately lightened my tone. “Yeah, I’ve got tons of work blowing up, too. I’ve got some new campaigns I’ll be working on soon, with the Bailey Falls job winding down. Yeah. Lots to do.”
“Yeah,” he said. He sounded a little . . . sad? “Anyway, I’ve got to go to football practice now. The kids have been winning all their games, and now’s the time to put a little more pressure on them so they don’t slack off.”