Page 34 of Nutcracker with Benefits
“So you want me to drop everything I’m doing, my business plans, my strategies, the connections I’ve made, so that I can stay with you?” My voice is raised now, nearly shouting. “Do you know how many bridges I would burn? I have people depending on me. I may not be responsible for the whole of Heartly, but I have small businesses who are planning for my help with their promotions. I have plans that, if canceled, would have wasted so many people’s time and money.”
“I’m not asking you to cancel your plans. I’m just saying that you could compromise a little bit.”
“What does that look like? What does my compromise look like? What does your compromise look like?”
“Think about everything we did here in the city yesterday. It wasn’t just a preview. These people, these cultures, are real and here. You could do something with that.”
“That’s what yesterday was about? It wasn’t about us spending time together or having fun; it was manipulation. It was you telling me to change my business. It was you having an agenda for our lives that you wouldn’t even talk to me about.”
“No, it wasn’t—“
I barrel right over him. “And let’s talk about compromise, Nash. All I’ve ever wanted in life is to travel, and I’m not going to stop doing that. But what about you? You want to compromise, but what are you compromising for me? You work so much that you never take vacation. You’ve got a million things tying you down to this city, and that’s not how I’ll live my life.”
“We can sit down and figure this out together.”
“When Nash?” I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heart racing along. I thought we’d go out quietly, not like this. Not with a crash and burn. “My flight is today, and you’re springing this whole idea on me that we should be together.”
“Clara.” There’s something in his voice this time that sharpens my focus. “This isn’t out of nowhere. You have to know how I feel on some level.”
“I’m not a mind-reader,” I retort.
“All right,” he says, irritatingly calm. “Then you must know how you feel about me.”
The silence hangs between us, and I search myself for any kind of answer that wouldn’t completely upend my life, and there isn’t one. “I have to go,” I say. “I have lunch with my parents.”
“Clara…”
I spin around and dart down the hall, gathering my purse. Kara had left me an overnight bag here, and I stuff all of my things into it.
Except for my dress. This stunning gem of a dress that I will probably never wear again doesn’t deserve to be crammed into my bag. Instead, I throw open the door to Nash’s closet to dig out a hanger. When the light snaps on, I freeze.
The closet is huge, with rows of neatly organized suits on one side, a shoe rack full of leather that shines, big, square cubbies that hold folded soft sweaters, and drawers that hide away the rest.
But the left side of the closet is mostly empty. There were a few dozen hangers, multicolored fabrics trembling from the force of the wind when I opened the door.
I run a hand over the first item that stands out. It’s a dress I wore to a gala, the one in the magazine article, bright blue with a nearly-indecent slit. Next to it is a summer dress I wore two years ago when Nash took me to a museum. Then there are three dresses I recognize from yesterday, the ones that Kara had as backups for last night.
The rest is a simple collection of pajamas, shirts, sweaters, and jackets, classic staples that are all in my size. Whatever I would need to be comfortable for a few days, no matter the weather or the time of year.
It’s pathetic how this makes me feel. I’m sure Kara bought these things, but I’m also certain that Nash is the one who asked her to do it, who paid for it, who leaves half of his closet open, waiting for me to take up space in his life.
Numb, I pick an empty hanger and fasten the pink dress on. The silver strands catch the light and blur while my eyes fill.
Does Nash live like this in every aspect of his life? Just waiting for me to take my place? My heart breaks for Nash, and I wish that he’d said something or that we’d been smarter about how we treated each other. If I’d known…
Would things be any different? Would our relationship have ended years ago?
I don’t bother checking the bathroom for any of my things. I just sling the bag over my shoulder and exit the room. Nash is still in the kitchen.
“Clara—” he starts, rising to his feet.
I cut him off. I don’t want to hear how Nash thinks I should change my life. I don’t want to think about how lonely he is and what expectations he had for us. I feel deceived and like this whole thing has blown up in my face, and this isn’t how I wanted my few days off to end. “I’ll see you next time, Nash. Okay?”
And I leave without waiting for a response.
13
Nash
