“I promise I looked pretty earlier before I had too much to drink.”
Staring up at her from the edge of the tub, I tell her the truth without a second thought. “You look beautiful right now, too.”
She ducks her chin, but I see the little smile playing at the edge of her lips. She turns away from the sink and teeters. I’m up instantly, crossing the small space and steadying her with my hands on her arms.
“I didn’t think you had any alcohol left in you,” I joke.
“A little light-headed, that’s all. It always happens after I throw up.”
“Right.” I nod. I was going to leave and let her bathe, but that’s not a good idea if she’s light-headed.
Natalie’s mind must be where mine is because she looks at me sheepishly and says, “Would you stay with me while I’m in the bath?”
I nod again because I don’t know what to say. Sitting with her while she’s in the bath is definitely crossing one of our invisible lines. I glance at the bath. There are so many bubbles, she’ll be completely covered.
She turns slowly, my hands dropping from her arms as she rotates. Moving her hair aside with one hand, she asks, “Can you please unzip me? I can’t reach. I twisted myself into a pretzel trying to get it on.”
I stare at the top of the shiny black zipper, confused. “Savannah isn’t back until tomorrow and you wore a dress you can’t unzip yourself?”
Natalie stays quiet, and then it dawns on me. “Nat, were you planning on, uh,” I pause and cough on the words. Quickly my brain comes up with a sentence that doesn’t include the wordfuck. “Were you planning on not being the one to unzip this dress?”
“Please don’t say anything,” Natalie whispers. Her voice is filled with mortification.
So I don’t. Wordlessly, I reach for the black zipper and pull it down. Down past her upper back, beyond the line where a bra should be but isn’t, and all the way to the very bottom of her lower back.
Natalie steps around me and to the edge of the tub. I turn around, and the sound of fabric falling down reaches me. I tip my chin up to the ceiling, but in the process of doing so, I’ve forgotten about the mirror above the sink.
I should look away. I know I should. But I can’t. Frozen, I watch as Natalie steps from the pile of clothes at her feet and places one foot in the tub. Her second foot follows, and she sinks down below the bubbles.
A quiet, appreciative moan slips from her. “Thank you, Aidan.”
“No problem,” I cough out the second word and turn around. Where are my insides right now? Where is my brain? What has happened to my body? I feel like a violently shaken snow globe.
Natalie makes a splashing sound and it jolts me from trying desperately to recognize even an inch of myself. Lowering the lid of the toilet, I sink down onto it andfinallydrag my eyes to hers.
She’s watching me with that same look from earlier, only this time the curiosity is mixed with something brought to her by the ebbing of alcohol. I can practically see the words dancing on the tip of her tongue.
I want to look away from her, look anywhere but at the familiar face of my best friend that now has the image of her naked body to go with it. “Are you going to say it?” I ask, gruffer than I intended.
“Sometimes I wonder… why not us, Aidan?” Fear takes over her face and her lower lip trembles. I know how hard it is for her to say these words because it’s almost as difficult for me to hear them. Anger fills my chest. I despise this secret I keep. Despise how it has taken from me the chance to be normal like Natalie, robbed me of the opportunity to make mistakes and fall in love.
“You know me, Nat. I’m not a commitment guy.” I hate these words. I hate them even more because right now, they feel like an even bigger lie than the one I’ve been covering up all these years.
“And I’m a commitment girl,” she echoes, swiping at some bubbles and flicking them off her hand. She bites her lower lip and sinks down below the bubbles until her whole head disappears. After a few seconds, she pops back up, her hair slicked down her head.
“I’m done,” she says, sticking out one arm.
I’m certain that’s the shortest bath in the history of baths, but I don’t say that. I grab a towel from the rack and hand it to her. She starts to stand, but I stop her. “Hang on, let me leave the room.”
She says something, but I’m hustling from the room and the sounds of the sloshing water make it hard to hear. Settling on the gray sofa, I look out the window and try to tune out the sounds coming from beyond the open bathroom door. I know when she has stepped from the tub, I know when she has dried off, but it’s quiet and I don’t know what she has been doing for the last minute, and it has the contents of my stomach on a teeter-totter. Will she be dressed when she comes out here? What if she’s dabbing perfume in all the right places? Is she planning to take us to a place we’ve never dared to go? Natalie’s mirrored image slams back into my thoughts, how soft her skin looked as she gingerly climbed into the tub.Why not us, Aidan?
A moment later she emerges from the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel and a second towel covering her body. Two different and distinct emotions flood my body. My brain doesn’t understand the disappointment I feel, but my heart does. My heart doesn’t understand the relief I feel, but my brain does.
“Thanks for coming to save me,” she says, gliding past me and to the front door. In all our years of friendship, this might be the first time she has made it clear I need to leave.
“Thanksgiving,” I blurt out as I stand up from the couch, and her hand pauses on the lock. “Pound Ridge house. My mom’s having it there this year. She wants you to come and stay the weekend, if you can.”
Natalie turns to face me. “We’re both supposed to be at a wedding up there on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, remember? Malachi and Karis?”
