“No. Mom—”
“Yes, honey. He was smitten.”
“Well, then, it makes no sense. Why did he pretend he didn’t know me at school?”
She lifts her shoulders and lets them drop. “Who knows? Men are stupid sometimes. He’s probably scared of his feelings.”
This time I snort and roll my eyes. “You’re deluded, Mom. Nash isn’t scared of anything.” Except maybe losing Andi.
“Honey….” Mom reaches out and pats my knee. “Just talk to him. See how hereallyfeels.”
I don’t need to do that, but I’m tired of talking about Nash. I’m tired in general. All I want to do is get into my squeaky bed and sleep. Then, tomorrow I’m going to get up and go kick the crap out of a boxing bag. That will make me feel better.
23
Nash
It’s beenover a week and Isabelle hasn’t replied to any of my text messages. Hell, I’ve left three voice messages and still no response. I’ve been tempted to drive out to the Harmon’s place to talk to her, but I really don’t feel like dealing with Bruce right now. No doubt he’s heard everything. Hell,everyone’sheard everything. After the scene at the bar last week, the news of our impending nuptials went viral. And people aren’t shy about telling me how they feel about the match. Example: Mrs. Billings, a woman from church, was the first to say something the day after the announcement. “Congratulations, Nash. You made an excellent choice. Isabelle Harmon is quite a catch.”
There’s that stupid fish analogy again. Isabelle isn’t a damn fish. And I’m no fisherman.
I smiled and nodded at Mrs. Billings that day, but since then, it seems everyone has the same notion––that I’m one lucky bastard. Hell, one of my dad’s oldest friends even patted me on the back and said, “Hot damn, Nash, I can’t believe that Harmon girl is gonna marry your sorry ass.” I know he was joking, not about Isabelle but about my “sorry ass.”
The fact of the matter is everyone is right. Isabelle is a catch. She’s too damn good for me. The fact that she got wise to my bullshit the second it left my mouth should tell you something about her. I know I mentioned how sweet and kind the girl is, but did I also mention her backbone? She’s got one, and it’s strong as steel. Even though I wish she’d talk to me, I respect the fuck out of her for standing her ground. I mean, if a woman pulled that kind of shit with me, I’d have gone ballistic, and I wouldn’t have waited until after we left the place. Nope, I’d have nipped that shit in the bud right then and there.
So, yeah… I get it. I just wish she’d talk to me. About anything. I miss her. I miss hanging out and going to dinner with her, and fuck… Andi keeps asking where she is. Sure, she sees her at school, and according to my kid, she’s always smiling and pleased to see my girl, but that’s just Isabelle. She’d never take her anger out on my daughter.
Did I mention how much I miss her?
“Thanks for meeting me, Nash.” Ivy smiles. “You look great, by the way.”
I’m pulled from my thoughts about Isabelle by the woman seated across from me. Ivy called asking me to meet today “to talk.” Honestly, I wanted to tell her to fuck off, but that’s not gonna do anyone any good, so I agreed to meet––not at my place like she suggested, but at the diner where everyone in town could see. I’d rather be out in the open with this Ivy shit than let the townspeople make shit up when it’s reported Ivy’s car was at my place. Believe me, it would happen. I know this because the buzz about Janine’s car being at my place took a couple of weeks to die down. Since I’m now engaged to Isabelle, everyone seems to believe that Janine is just trying to make my place nice enough for my woman. Fair enough.
The second I walked into the place, I knew to keep my guard up. She’s especially sugary-sweet. “Uh-huh, what do you want, Ivy?” I take a drink of my iced tea and wait. This ought to be good.
“As you know, I’ve been spending every waking moment caring for my father.”
Lies. Word on the street is she’s been everywherebutat her folk’s place.
“Now that he’s feeling a little better, I think we need to make arrangements for Andrea.”
“Andi.”
“I’d like to spend time with her.”
“No.”
“Nash, you can’t say ‘no.’”
“Yes, I can.”
“You owe me.”
No, she didn’t just say that. “I don’t owe you shit. You deserted us––your kid.”
Ivy leans back in her chair, placing her hands on her lap. Her legs are crossed, revealing long, bare legs peeking out from the shortest fucking skirt I’ve ever seen. With a sigh and a hair flip, she says, “I was afraid you’d say something like that.”
I stare at her and wait for the other shoe to drop. She’s got something up her nonexistent sleeve. Her tank top is nearly as revealing as her skirt.
