Page 107 of Secrets in Love
The horrified gasp Evie released was a sound I never wanted to hear again, as was the expression of pain and betrayal possessing her face. “You told her?”
Like Evie had been seconds ago, I seemed incapable of movement, remaining fixed in the same position even when every muscle in my body called me to action. “No. No, I swear I didn’t. I don’t even know why she’s here. I was drunk at the pub last night, and I remember leaving and walking home. I must have passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow. That’s all I remember, but I’m sure nothing happened. Tell her, Polly. Please tell her nothing happened.”
Polly ignored my pleas and continued baiting her victim.
“Come on, Evie. I know you’re not a virgin anymore. What’s wrong? Don’t tell me it wasn’t just Luke Bailey who couldn’t get you wet. If you don’t like Nate fucking you either, maybe you’d like it better with just me.”
She leaned down and chastely kissed Evie’s lips. “Unless, of course, you’re still just a cold, frigid, little bitch.”
Her cruel laughter was drowned out by the sharp slap of Evie’s hand across her cheek, then hurried footsteps as she fled my room.
“Evie! No, no, no!”
Years of nameless faces—girls I could’ve been nicer to that I maybe hurt, girls I should’ve stayed away from and that should have stayed away from me, girls that I owed heartfelt apologies to—flashed before my eyes. The accumulated shame burned to my core, but right then and there, only one apology, one perfect, precious face mattered.
Only then, once it was too late, was I capable of movement. Though my frozen state may have been a blessing in disguise, as it was only when I fell from the bed that I realized that I, too, was stark naked. Dressing as quickly as I could, I watched Polly proudly pop herself back into my bed and snuggle between the sheets as if nothing had happened. I was so angry at her I could have screamed, but this was on me…well, maybe a little was on her too, but this fuck-up was my cross to bear. It was my accumulated disgrace, arrogance, and ineptitude as a man that led me, and Polly, to this point.
If only I’d been brave enough to tell Evie how I felt years ago, none of this would’ve happened. We could be married, living by the beach, surfing every morning, making love in the sand, whispering promises we’d keep forever. Fuck, we could be in the heart of New York or the fiery pits of hell—I wouldn’t care. I’d go wherever she wanted. I would endure anything and more for her.
“Come back to bed, Nate.”
Anger and a sprinkling of sickly-sweet nausea surged through me as I snapped my head back to Polly. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? For months, I’ve told her I’m not the person everyone has said I am. The slut. The fuckboy. The cheap whore she couldn’t trust. She was finally starting to believe in me, and now she must think… Christ, what she must be thinking of me.” I slipped my shirt over my head and searched for my keys. “Fuck, Polly. I love her so fucking much. Why?”
My guest sat up straight, looking genuinely surprised but not the least bit remorseful. “So, you really do love her, then?”
“Yes, I really love her. What the fuck do you think I flew to America for? A fucking ‘I heart NYC’ mug? She’s the first and only woman I have ever loved, and she is going to fucking hate me because of whatever sick little game you’re playing. I may have been off my face last night, but I know I didn’t fall asleep with you here, and I’m sure as hell that my cock was in no state to fuck you, even if I had wanted to…which I didn’t.” Keys in hand, I slid on my boots and clomped my way to the door. “You need to leave.”
“Natey, please. Where are you going?”
“Where the fuck do you think, Polly? I’m going to find Evie.”
I didn’t have to search far.
Evie
Janet Myers had done a wonderful job looking after Mum’s garden. It was immaculate. Dad would have been proud but equally jealous of the lawns. I didn’t think he’d ever had them so neat. There was no way he’d have let us play soccer out back if he did.
I was surprised to find the flower bed looking just as it did the day Mum died. Not that I could see a lot. My vision was completely blurred by tears as I knelt on the ground, picking daisies, snapdragons, and sweet peas.
Finn talked about this damn garden all the time, but he was lucky like that. He had the ability to look back at Mum and Dad and see the good things, the happy times. Reciting stories of weekends away, of Dad losing his shorts and mooning the entire beach while surfing, of Mum cursing a blue streak when I cut my own bangs as well as Bluey’s, Finn’s horse’s, mane, and tail, was one of his favorite things to do. For him it kept them alive as well as filled the heart of the granddaughter they never knew with love.
My heart and I were stuck on the day they died. On the pain and sorrow. I remembered the bad things. The frustration my smart, teenage mouth caused Mum, and the headaches my silly drive to be independent caused Dad. Wallowing in the depths of negativity came so naturally I deliberately avoided thinking of them too often. Maybe that was why I clung to Finn so much. His memories nurtured my soul like Janet and her compost had done for Mum’s flowers: all the goodness without the shit.
The dress I bought last night in Sydney was, like my life, ruined—covered in dirt, grass stains, and whatever else it collected while stuck in the car door and dragged along the ground on the drive back to my childhood home.
It was supposed to be part of the surprise.
I flew into Sydney last week with Finn, Scar, Iris, and Ben. It was Scar’s and Ben’s first time in Australia, so I’d been tagging along as they did the usual touristy things. We drove down the coast, stopping at every bakery until we reached Wattamolla. Finn was more vanilla slice and chocolate Big M than man by the time we set up camp and slept for a solid two hours before the kids dragged him out of his sleeping bag. We swam at the beautiful waterfalls and trekked through the national park before winding our way back to town the next morning. Yesterday, Scarlett and I did partake in a little shopping, and that was when I found it—or rather, Scarlett did. Hidden in Forever Vintage, my favorite store in Woollahra, was the dress my dreams were made of.
I knew what was coming the minute she held it up before me. She did too.
My ass was on the next flight to Byron. Despite my desperation to see Nate, it was after one am when I arrived in town. I was exhausted and looked and felt like shit after picking up some kind of bug or food poisoning on the flight, so I spent the night at Mum and Dad’s, surrounded by memories and mementos.
It also gave me time to girly myself up. Turning up in a white dress after weeks apart was a play on a white flag of surrender, the white dove of peace, and I hoped it would send a subtle sign to Nate that if he still wanted me, I would be his bride someday.
I looked like a fool, and Polly made sure I knew it.
Waves of tears continued. I couldn’t clear the image from my mind—her naked and taunting me as Nate, white as the sheets, doing a shithouse job of hiding his morning wood, lay behind her.
