Officially, he’s the facilities manager of our townhouse village. As far as I can tell, that means he’s in charge of maintenance, but I know there’s more to it.
Like maintainingme.
I start to ask him about his other work—something you would think I’d know after a year, but the speakers are blasting my song when I open the car door. He gets a kick out of playing “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” like I really do get my own walk-up song when I’m in his car. And since my fiancé has enough problems without dealing with mine, I’m in here a lot lately.
He grabs my hand after I click the seat belt, and I fight to pull back knowing he’s going to blow raspberries or lick it or some other gross slobbery thing. Oddly enough, he doesn’t.
“Stop fighting me. I’m trying to sing you my favorite song.” He clutches my hand to his chest for a dramatic performance about a girl with kaleidoscope eyes. I don’t even try to stifle my snort-laugh. The weight of my paper’s deadline has lifted, and the rest of the night should be easy-peasy.
I let the song play for a minute, listening to his easy rasp, then skip tomyfavorite. This is our thing. We listen to all kinds of music, but we always start here. He likes Lucy, but I love Jude with my whole heart.
Now let’s hope that dose of serotonin lasts me the rest of the night.
Chapter 2
Manic Monday Night
Daniel pulls around to drop me off at the back door and says he’ll be back around eleven unless I tell him otherwise. That’s ten thirty in Daniel Crawford time.
“Later, Skater,” he says, reaching a hand toward me.
“See ya, weirdo. Thanks for the ride.” We slap our hands, fist-bump, and wiggle our fingers in the dumbest handshake ever before I hurry inside to clock in.
Obviously, a diner isn’t my dream job. I loved my work study position in the admissions department, but the pay was so low, I was practically a volunteer. I gave it up to work more hours at Pop’s, but I keep checking back for new opportunities that might pay more.
My parents managed restaurants like Pop’s most of my life, so this was the easiest job to get when I moved here for school. I’ve done office work and some retail, but I’ve been running a cash register during dinner rush longer than I’ve needed feminine products, and customer service has been drilled into me since birth. I barely have to think here.
The goal is to have a completely uneventful night and get home in time to call Nathan on his break. Who knows what’s happened since I saw him yesterday, and the last thing we need is for him to do something stupid.
He’s on edge lately and snaps with the slightest provocation. He was a bit of a partier before we met, and a girl he was, well …withbefore me claims to be eight months pregnant with his child. Apparently, that causes some inner turmoil (please note the sarcasm), but I’m trying to be supportive.
Wait, though, it gets better.
She’s married.
He insists he had no idea. They met at a sports bar and hooked up after a New Year’s Eve party. Nathan thought she was divorced, but she was only separated from her husband.
According to him, it was a one-time, alcohol-induced thing. The woman let her family believe her husband was the father and convinced him to reconcile. Nathan heard she was back with her ex in February but swears he hadn’t seen her and had no idea she was pregnant. The reconciliation didn’t last. Go figure. Maybe her husband’s good at math.
A few weeks ago, she called Nathan to announce she’sverypregnant and her husband isn’t the father. That’s totally fabulous, since we met in March, started dating on April first (April Fool’s—ironic, huh?), and he proposed tomeon the fourth of July.
My luck stands consistent, because she called three days later to rain on my parade. The math checks out, sadly.
I hate math.
I know that seems fast for us, but despite theunforeseen circumstances, Nathan and I want the same things. He comes from a stable, churchgoing family, and his parents have been married for more than thirty years. He has an older sister and brother, nephews, and a stable job with health insurance.
I didn’t grow up with the luxury of stability, and before this admittedly devastating speedbump, Nathan seemed to have it. Maybe I want a life with boring health insurance and church on Sundays. So, sue me.
Expensive gifts and princess treatment were never on my radar, but a partner to enjoy good food, music, and maybe some lowkey adventure with—that’s the dream. His kisses and compliments drew me in, but I won’t lie—I crave deep connection and security—someone to laugh with, who’s actuallymine, and those things always seem just out of reach.
Nathan and I met when he was working at Pop’s as a second job to pay off some debt. I thought that was a sign of maturity and personal growth, but so’s brushing your teeth twice a day, so what do I know?
I’m a big fan of owning your mistakes and making them right, but I didn’t anticipate how difficult he’d be to support. Or that the list of things I’d be supporting him through would keep getting longer. Not that I expected life to be all lollipops and rainbows, but I don’t understand why we can’t have a little sugar and sunshine here and there.
We don’t see each other as much since he quit Pop’s, but he works hard and makes good money. I’m proud of all he’s accomplished in such a short time, but he’s …moody.
I think Nathan resents me because he’s in a situation I’d never get myself into, but I’m not judging him. He’s human. He lived in the moment and that moment is soon to deliver lifelong consequences.
