"Grumpy as hell. Do you have his ticket?" I asked.
"Right here," he said, holding up the plane ticket we'd decided to purchase for my father so he could fly to Woodfalls to come see us in July.
"Dad, we have a surprise for you," I said, coming back into the formal living room with the plane ticket in hand.
"Let me guess, you've decided to make the move permanent," he said sarcastically, glaring at Nathan.
"Daddy," I sighed. "Don't be a grouch. We bought you a ticket to come see us in Woodfalls in July. So now you can wipe the scowl from your face."
"You did?" he asked, breaking into a wide grin. "I thought maybe you two wanted to get away from me."
"Oh, Dad," I said, throwing my arms around him. "That's not why we're going to Woodfalls," I said as Nathan chuckled lightly behind me. I pulled away from my dad so I could glare at Nathan, but failed miserably when he winked at me. My insides still liquefied from his wink. Judging by the wicked grin on his face, he was well aware of that fact.
"Let's go," he said abruptly, grabbing my box off the floor and heading out to his Range Rover. I followed behind with Wilma in my arms while my dad dragged along my two suitcases. I placed Wilma next to her new best friend, Fred, on the blanket Nathan had spread across the backseat. "You two be good," I said, petting each of them. >My father was fixing my breakfast when I joined him. He looked at me warily, obviously trying gauge whether I was holding a grudge. "So, you told Nathan I was in the hospital," I stated.
"Yes," he answered, setting a plate with pancakes in front of me.
"Is he this fishing buddy of yours?" I asked as pieces of the puzzle came together. I remembered a conversation with Nathan where he told me his favorite pastimes were scuba diving and deep-sea fishing.
"Yes," he answered, sitting across from me with his own plate.
"Why didn't you tell me you were friends?" I asked, nibbling at my pancakes. I really wasn't hungry, but eating was the only thing that would help restore my body.
He sighed before answering. "I wanted to, but you seemed so closed off to the subject."
"How long has he been here?" I asked, acknowledging his comment with a small nod of my head.
"Since October."
"So he lives here now?" I asked, ignoring the fluttering in my heart.
"Yes. Are you going to see him?" he asked nonchalantly.
"No," I answered, leaving no room for argument as I forced myself to finish my breakfast.
We didn't speak about Nathan for a long time after that. Christmas came and went and January bled into February. My body went into semi-remission and the doctors put me on a regimen of medication. They were once again optimistic. I decided against counting the days down to the five-year mark this time. Instead, I measured the days in increments as my body began to recover and my hair began to grow now that I was no longer having chemo treatments. I also joined a gym and slowly began to build my body back up. Ironically, my exercise of choice turned out to be running, which of course reminded me of Nathan every time I stepped on the treadmill. When I wasn't working out, I was interning at the local hospital in the psychiatric department while I waited to get into the master's program I had applied to. My days were full as I worked to keep busy, but no matter how busy I kept myself, thoughts of Nathan were always lurking just below the surface. As my body became stronger, I didn't shove them away, knowing that soon I would see him again. I knew that he doubted my feelings for him by things my father had let slip, but in the end, I would show him just what he meant to me. I would tell him I fought the battle for him.
I should have expected fate to jerk the carpet out from under me since I seemed to be some kind of cosmic joke to it, but when it struck, I was completely unprepared. Ironically, it was me who opened the floodgates.
"How's the fishing been going?" I asked my father casually over breakfast one morning at the end of February.
"Good. Nathan can't go out as much as we'd like now that he's so busy," he said, not looking at me.
"Busy?" I asked, parched for any information about him.
"Yeah, he's been dating this girl he met over at the News Journal," he answered, looking unconcerned as he added eggs to my plate.
"Dating?" I asked, not sure I had heard him right.
"Yeah, I guess he finally got the hint that you had moved on."
"Right," I said weakly, not looking up from my plate. I should have known if I continued to push him away he would eventually get sick of waiting. I wasn't even sure I could blame him. Our whole relationship was based on the one week we had shared. It suddenly seemed completely ridiculous that anyone would wait almost six months for someone they really didn't know that well. Chances were he'd discovered what he thought was love was really nothing more than lust during a stressful time. I finished my breakfast in an agony-filled haze before excusing myself from the table.
I didn't cry as I slowly walked to my room, or when I began to get dressed or even when I pulled out his old navy blue t-shirt that I preferred to work out in.
"You okay?" my dad asked as I headed for the front door a few minutes later in my running gear.
"I'm fine," I lied. "I'm going to work out."