Page 13 of You Met Me There

“I miss you,” Luke says. “I know you want space, and I told you I’d let you go. But it’s not easy. I just—” His voice breaks off, and I can imagine him sitting on the end of our bed, elbows on his knees, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath. “I couldn’t sleep last night. And I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. That you’re safe.”

I nod slowly. How much should I tell him? Should he know where I’m going?

“I’m safe,” I say, my voice a little shaky.

He exhales, his breath whooshing against the phone, making it crackle. I can feel his tornado of emotions shoved through the invisible line connecting his phone to mine.

“Good … Can you tell me where you’re going? Do you”—he pauses—“ have a plan?”

“I do. I’m going home.”

I tell him the truth because, really, what’s the harm in it? It’s not like he’s going to leave our huge house on the beach to follow me into the mountains. He didn’t seem to like Maple Lake that time he vacationed with his parents the summer we met.

“Oh, wow. Shoot, Natalie,” he says. “That’s a big step—that’s … huge. How do you feel about it? It’s been forever since you left. I’m sure you’re nervous.”

Nine years, to be exact.

“I’m feeling a lot of different things right now. But it feels right—that’s all I know,” I reply. Apart from all the possibilities where my family hates me and they run me out of town, going back is the right thing to do. I owe it to my family to give them an explanation; they deserve an apology. I just hope it isn’t too late.

Again, silence ensues until I hear the sound of a pen clicking on the other end of the line—his nervous tell. He must be at the office, and suddenly my image of him in our room is replaced by the picture of him sitting behind his big wooden desk.

“I should get going,” I whisper. I wish he hadn’t called because it makes saying goodbye again that much harder.

“Natalie,” Luke cuts in. He doesn’t sound like himself, and I hate that I’m the cause of it. “Can I still call you? Or at least text you? I can’t handle not knowing if you’re okay or if you’re hurt. Can we just … Can we still try to be friends right now? I think—I don’t know—I think it would help.”

Hearing his voice is too much; it’s weakening my resolve. One might ask why I’m running from a man I so clearly love and who clearly loves me, but life is messy and imperfect, and I’m still trying to figure out who I am. I lost the Natalie I used to be somewhere along the way. The one who thought of others before herself and smiled more than she cried. The girl who didn’t have nightmares and didn’t drink herself to sleep. Maybe I can find her again by going back to my family. Maybe they’ll remind me of who I was when I was young, when I hadn’t even thought about babies yet. Not that it would change my mind in any way, but maybe … I don’t know. I just want something good to come out of this homecoming.

But one thing the old Natalie did was sever contact with her family when she left. I won’t do that again, no matter how hurt I am at the way Luke let me leave so easily or how angry I am that he won’t consider changing his mind on the biggest topic we’ve ever discussed.

“I don’t think calls would be the best decision,” I say softly, “but you can text me. If you’re worried about me, I’ll let you know how I’m doing.”

“Thank you.” He exhales. I understand the feeling. I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t comforted at the thought of keeping a connection open to my best friend.

“I have to go to bed now. I have a few more hours of driving tomorrow to get to Maple Lake.”

“Sure. Yeah.” His tone tells me he’s reluctant to hang up. “I’ll check on you tomorrow. To make sure you get there okay?” He says it as a question, asking me if that’s alright.

“Alright. That’s fine.”

Luke’s voice is more sure now. “I love you, Natalie. I always have, and I always will.”

I nod, wanting to say it back, but feeling like it’s wrong while I’m putting him through all of this.

“I know,” I say, my chin quivering.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Luke.”

I love you.

Chapter 8

Luke

My feet pound against the pavement. Bikers pass me on the path, calling out when they’re near.

Another rolls up behind me. “On your left,” he calls. He passes me, lifting two fingers in a little wave. I wave back without smiling.