Sixteen

We waited a few more nights until we tried again, this time in reverse. It was immeasurably better. Nathan was, I was coming to understand, a brilliant lover. No matter the position or the act, he had perfected the ways in which to make his partner feel good. I revelled in those nights; his touch, his mouth, his cock – as long as it was not inside my hole of course – brought me to orgasm over and over again. But more so, I loved our days together that summer.

He’d hired a tour guide he found on the tourist website forthreefulldays,andhe’dinvited me along with him to learn about how the island survived five years of occupation by the Nazis. We took day trips to Guernsey and Alderney, too. We’d spend days at the cottage where he’d barbecue us lunch and make me wear nothing but his shorts as I lay out on the grass and read something he’d hand me and deem ‘mind-expanding.’ It was always works of American literature, and it gave me a perverse kind of pleasure to know that Caspien would have hated it. Brett Easton Ellis, Upton Sinclair, and Steinbeck were Nathan’s favourite writers. Moby Dick was his favourite book, which I’d already read. I’d pushed back on his other favourite book, Infinite Jest, because I’d watched a YouTube video once about the most unreadable books ever written, and this was number three on it. ‘We only have three weeks together’, I said at the time. ‘I’d rather not put myself through this now.’ He’d laughed and made me promise to read it one day. (I’ve since read it, and I emailed him a few years ago to tell him. He hadn’t been surprised to know I’d hated it.)

I’d call and check in with Luke every other day, but mainly, I stayed away from the house as I didn’t want to face Beth. I couldn’t understand how Luke was able to do it. Now I know it was his last hope that she’d change her mind, realise how much she loved him, and stay. It didn’t work.

Toward the end of Nathan’s second week on the island, he insisted we go out for dinner. He wanted to take me out on a date, he said. I’d been nervous at first, for reasons I wasn’t sure I could explain, but which I didn’t have to because he seemed to know anyway.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself, I promise.” He smiled as he pulled me in for a kiss. Nathan made a lot of promises, and so far, he’d kept every single one. I knew this wouldn’t be any different. “You’re not out here, are you? Just to Luke?”

I nodded, the word ‘sorry’ on the tip of my tongue, unspoken. He’d chastise me for apologising for things that weren’t my fault. He said I shouldn’t apologise for feelings I had, or didn’t have, and for things I had no control over. There was no reason to be sorry for these things; it was just who I was. And who I was, was perfect.

I wasn’t sure my not being out in Jersey fell into any of those categories.

“So then tonight, we’re just friends. Or I’ll go back to being your professor.” He winked. “I’m whatever you want me to be, baby.”

“Friends is fine,” I said, smoothing down a stray hair at the side of my head. It was too long, that mid-stage where the curls would thicken and become close to untameable.

He stood behind me at the bathroom mirror and grinned at me. “Besties it is.”

I laughed and turned to plant a kiss on his mouth. I’d rather have stayed home, but I figured this was another thing I could give him to make up for all the things I couldn’t.

He’d booked a table at one of the more expensive restaurants along the beachfront. I’d never been inside it before but I knew Luke and Beth had come for their anniversary once. It was that kind of place. Marble floored and glass-fronted, though the large windows were pulled back tonight so it was open to the sea. A waiter showed us to a cosy table overlooking the seafront.

We might be posing as friends, but it really wasn’t the sort of place you’d come with a mate. I felt a little conspicuous as I looked around. Most of the tables seemed to be straight couples, though some were groups. There were no tables where two men sat across from each other.

Nathan, sensing my growing discomfort, shot me an encouraging look. If he thought I’d have allowed it, he’d have reached across for my hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

I’d driven so I ordered a sparkling water from the waiter who’d sat us down while Nathan ordered a white wine. We perused our menus – made up of mainly seafood – and discussed what we’d share. As we gazed out at the sea, I began to relax.

“Hi there, are you ready to order?” the waitress said, interrupting our quiet conversation.

I turned and sat bolt upright. Ellie stood smiling a blinding hospitality smile at me. Her face faltered with shock, before she glanced at Nathan, back at me, and then at Nathan again.

“Ellie, hello, how are you?” I said, overly polite. “I didn’t know you worked here?”

“Um, yeah, it’s just for the summer.” It took her some effort to force her eyes from Nathan to me. “I’m home. For the summer. How are you, Jude?” She was flustered, I could tell. Shifting this way and that, on her feet. Cheeks pinking from embarrassment or something close to it.

“Ah, ok. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

She smiled even wider. “Yeah, really good.”

“How’s Edinburgh?”

“Great, yeah. I’m loving it. How’s Oxford?”

“Hard.” I laughed. “But great, yeah. I’m enjoying it. It’s a great place to learn.” I glanced at Nathan to find him watching the exchange with increasing amusement. He lifted his wine to take a slow taste and raised his eyebrows at me, playfully. He was enjoying this.

“I’ll bet.” Ellie looked at Nathan again, who was still looking at me.

“This is Ellie,” I told him. “We went out in high school.” I’d only told him there was an Ellie, not that I’d broken her heart and made her hate me because I couldn’t stop thinking about the boy who’d gone on to break mine.

He turned his dazzling American smile on her. “Ellie. Of course, nice to meet you. I’m Nathan.”

“You too,” said Ellie, dazzled. “So, are you both ready to order?”

I suspected she’d asked to switch sections after that because for the rest of our dinner she was on the opposite side of the restaurant, hidden mainly behind a low wood-panelled wall. I was glad of it. Glad I didn’t have to make polite conversation as she brought out each course. As she explained the cheeses and the sauces. Though Nathan I’m sure would have enjoyed every second of it.

He’d said it had been adorably awkward.

Later that night, as we walked along the beach, he’d asked me to tell him about Ellie. Whether I still thought about her. Whether I’d loved her. I’d told him the rest.

“She’s exactly the sort of girl I imagine you with,” said Nathan. “Naturally gorgeous, girl-next-door type.” She was gorgeous, still; thick dark hair she’d now cut to just above her shoulders, warm brown eyes that sparkled when she smiled, a dusting of freckles over her forehead and nose.

“You imagine me with girls?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “I think you’re doing gay wrong.”

He laughed. “You know what I mean. She fits you. Actually, she’s almost like the girl version of you.”

I stopped walking and turned to him. “Wait, is this your way of trying to get me to dress up as a girl for you?”

“That could be fun,” he said. “Schoolgirl? I’ll be your teacher.”

“Obviously,” I said.

It was an idyllic three weeks. Nathan inspired me to write again; something beyond emails to a ghost – I hadn’t written a single email to Cas for months.

I watched him work for hours in various places all over the cottage. Gold-rimmed glasses framing his face, brow creased in concentration, fingers flying over the keyboard. He’d stand up, stretch his back and neck, and hand me his laptop as he made himself another pot of coffee.

He was talented, I already knew this, and I thought the script he was writing would win him another Oscar (it hadn’t), but just watching someone sit there and knit together a story from nothing but a few tunnels and some old photographs was like alchemy.

If Caspien is the reason this story exists, then Nathan is the reason I am writing it.

”Come to New York with me,” Nathan said, a few nights before he was due to leave. We lay in bed, sweat cooling on our bodies, all windows of the cottage opened, two bottles of wine swimming in our blood.

“And do what?” I asked, sleepily.

“Be with me.”

I laughed. “You have to work.”

“I’ve been working here and being with you here. I can multi-task fairly impressively.”

“That’s definitely true. That thing you do with your mouth and your finger at the same time,” I groaned. “Impressive.”

He moved to sit up, his skin peeling away from mine as he did. “But I’m serious. Why don’t you? Term doesn’t start until when, October 13th?”

“I’m helping out with Freshers so I said I’d be back on the 3rd.”

“So, that’s more than two months. You’d love New York.”

“I’m sure I would.” I turned to him. “I promised Luke we’d hang out for a bit this summer and I’ve spent a lot of time here, fucking my professor since I got home.”

It was meant as a half-joke, half-distraction, but some sad look bled into his eyes and I knew I’d missed the mark. He smiled a cheerless little smile.

“Okay. I get it.” He leaned in and kissed me softly and slipped out of bed.

I heard the shower turn on and I sat up against the headboard and stared out of the window. The sea was a calm landscape over the cliffside, moon glittering silver on its surface. He came back about twenty minutes later, body dappled with water and his sculpted back and shoulders pinked from the heat. I watched him pull on some clothes, outdoor clothes.

“You’re going out?” I asked.

He shot me a tender smile over his shoulder. “Just for a walk down to the beach.”

Guilt and sadness swelled in me like the tide.

“Do you want me to come?”

“No, baby.”

“Nathan, I’m...” I tapered off because I knew what I was about to do. I was about to apologise for something I couldn’t help. For how I felt. “I’m sorry,” I said regardless.

With a sigh he came and sat down on the bed near my feet.

“There’s nothing you need to apologise for, Jude.”

“No? So why do I feel like shit?” There was something thick and hot in my throat.

“Because you’re a good person who cares about people.”

“So are you. You’re inviting me to New York with you, because you care about me, and I’m saying no because...” I really was going to bloody cry. Christ, I was pathetic.

Nathan reached out and put a hand on my thigh. “…Because you know what it will mean if you say yes. And you’re not ready for it to mean that. Not yet.”

My shoulders dropped with relief. He got it. He got it, and he didn’t fucking hate me for it. Or at least, I didn’t think he did.

“Do you hate me?” I asked.

He frowned and shifted forward, closer, and held open his arms.

I went into them and let him hold me.

“You know I don’t. Jude, sometimes you’re so fucking childlike, it scares me a little.” He said, “I think I hate the person who hurt you, but then I remember that he was a child too.”

“I hate feeling like this. But I don’t know how to stop,” I admitted. “I wish I could just love someone else. I wish I could just love you. You’re so much better than him.” I was crying now. Stupid, childlike, tears I knew I would be ashamed of later.

Nathan only held me tighter. “Love doesn’t work like that, baby.” He laughed gently. “But for what it’s worth, I wish you could too.”

Hurting Nathan was the worst thing I’ve ever done. Worse than Ellie. Because Nathan I’d gone to for all the right reasons. Nathan I could have easily had a future with; a happy one filled with growth and love and everything a healthy relationship should be.

I just decided that I didn’t want it.

I had no one to blame for what happened between us but myself. I suppose I could blame Cas, but by then I’d decided to start taking responsibility for my own emotional shortcomings.

As it was, I’d taken the goodness Nathan offered me, sucked him dry, and returned to some dark dead place like the emotional vampire that I was.

As we said goodbye at the airport, he’d turned to me, that beautiful smile on his face even then, and told me I could always call him if I needed him. No matter how far in the future it was. If I changed my mind, if I decided I wanted to see New York after all, I could call. He’d always answer.

And this went on to be true, he always answered when I called.

We’ve met up once or twice through the years, whenever he came to London or when I went to New York, but whatever spark had been there when I was his guileless, wide-eyed student had been well snuffed out by what was to come soon after.

He’s married now, to another screenwriter he met working on a hit TV show – it actually became a bit of a cultural phenomenon. They have twin boys and two dogs and live in Santa Barbara; their Instagram is something of a viral sensation from what I can gather. He looks happy.

We haven’t spoken in a few years, but he did send me a card and gift (a framed photo he’d taken that summer of me reading at the beach) when I published my first book.

The book’s dedication page had read: For Professor Alexander; I guess he was finally good for something, huh?

I’d named the book after Tarkovsky’s film, The Sacrifice.