He was a Biology Major when I was studying Literature. He was planning to pursue medical school at the time. We both graduated University with a bachelor’s degree a little over 9 years ago, so I guess he’s done with school now.
And, more importantly, I remember him mentioning his parents were working in real estate. Owning, among others, a large private beach with five individual houses near Los Angeles. Nathaniel was set to take over this particular set and couldn’t stop ranting dreadfully about it.
We barely talked in our email exchange. He answered that I could rent one of the houses but was uncertain about the sale. I told him I’d be arriving in a couple of days and we could talk about it when I’d be settled. Then we just agreed on a date and time so he could give me the keys and a tour of the house.
Now, I’m nervous. Our last exchange before that was not pleasant. And it was my fault. I wish I could go back nine years ago with the knowledge I have now. Maybe I wouldn’t have been such a prick.
“We’re here. Which house is it?” The driver asks, leaning slightly to check the number next to the doors we pass.
“House number five.”
He nods and drives further down the little street, up until the end. All the houses are on the right side of the car and the whole left side looks like a park. All green grass and sparse trees, a large pond that a few people circle with their dogs and children playing.
It’s perfect.
Now I just need to make up with my old university friend and convince him to sell me the house. This is the kind of place I would want Prudence tolive in. It’s quiet, warm, close enough to the city that she won’t need to drive hours to do anything, but far enough that she won’t be bothered by the city noise and bustling people. After years of traveling the country together, I know what she likes. What makes her happy. Now is the time to get her to settle down. To build her own life. I need her to be happy, to not feel like she needs me.
That’s why from now on, I’ll be dealing with myself on my own as much as possible. I want her to go out, find a job that she actually likes, meet people and make friends. She won’t do any of that if she’s constantly worried about me and helping me. I do need help, but I can hire people for it. Right now, I need her to just be my sister, and her own person. Plus, the pain is getting worse every day. The less she witnesses it, the better I’ll feel.
The driver stops in front of the last house. With a quick glance through the tinted window, I see my old friend, sitting on a small step next to a ramp. He’s frowning at his phone. I pay the driver and he helps me get out of the car and into the wheelchair. When I look back towards the house just as the driver goes back behind his wheel, my gaze meets Nate’s.
His eyes are so cold that I’m not sure if he’s still pissed at me or if he just doesn’t care at all. Not sure what’s worse either.
I swallow through the knot in my throat and wheel towards him, my hands shaking and my palms clammy.
It feels like seeing a close relative and a stranger at the same time. Although, some would say—me, for example—that relatives can become strangers.
He barely changed one bit. Still way too handsome for his own good. The same deep blue eyes framed by dark lashes. The same thick chestnut hair that looks like he spent two hours blowdrying it even though I know that he just shakes his head like a lunatic and slides his hand in it a couple of times before he heads out for the day.
“Hi,” I smile, stopping just a few feet away in front of him.
“Hi. Hope the road was not too much trouble?” He asks, but his tone couldn’t be flatter even if he tried.
My smile falters slightly. “No, it was alright. It’s good to be here and see you again though.”
He nods. “Should we see the house?”
Okay, I guess he’s still mad at me.
“Sure.”
I follow him to the door without adding anything. Maybe now is not the time to chat…
He steps aside to let me in and I hold in a gasp.
That house isperfect. It’s open and large, ideal to allow me to move around with the wheelchair. There are three bedrooms and two bathrooms on the first floor, and Nate tells me there are two more bedrooms with their own personal bathrooms upstairs. The floor is a light hardwood and the walls white with beautiful canvas and paintings. The whole house seems to be decorated and furnished in cream, gray, and light woods.
“As I told you in the email, the only problem is that the kitchen is not adapted to wheelchair users,” Nate says, crossing his arms on his chest.
“I’m still a terrible cook so it doesn’t matter,” I smile shyly.
He nods once and turns around to lead me to the back terrace.
Per-fect.
We could just walk from the back of the house to the sea. Actually, just taking the stairs and we could have our toes in the sand.
Well, I would if Icould. But Prue’s gonna love it.
