“Jay, why don’t you, uh, grab the car. I’ll push Nathan,” I say. The sooner we get this sure-to-be-awkward drive home over with, the better.
“Sure, babe.” Jay leans over and kisses the top of my head before loping off into the parking lot in search of his red Camaro.
Nathan cranes his neck around to look at me. “Boyfriend? Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I’m asking now.”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“Not important?” Nathan grimaces, and I can’t tell if my lackadaisical attitude toward boyfriend status updates or his bruised ribs are bothering him. Or maybe both. “What else did you gloss over as ‘not important’ yesterday when we were talking all open and honest? I thought we had a connection, Meredith. I did. Now I don’t know anymore.”
“That’s the point, Nathan.” The words come out harsher than I mean for them to. “You don’t know me. You may think you do, but you don’t. You have this idea in your head of what I’m supposed to be like based on some dreams, but that’s not me. That’s a fantasy.”
Nathan shakes his head. “That’s not true. I won’t believe that.”
I’ve been too harsh. I know I have. I’ve hidden behind my layers of hurt and scars from Mom’s death and lashed out at one person who definitely does not deserve it. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m scared. I’m scared of the connection I feel with Nathan. I’m scared of the pull. I’m scared of how that will mess up the organized life I’ve built up since the accident. It’s easier to go with the flow than make waves. If I follow where this connection with Nathan leads me, I can almost guarantee it will make waves. It will be messy. It will wake me up and make me feel alive. Do I want that? I don’t know, but I do know I shouldn’t have snapped at him.
“Look, I’m sorry I said all that,” I say. “If you want to get to know me, get to know me, but as the real me and not the fantasy, okay?”
Nathan smiles at me as Jay pulls up in the car. “Deal.”
I crawl into the back seat next to Jay’s ski gear to give Nathan more room to stretch out in the front. As we drive toward campus, I allow myself to think about the possibility of Nathan’s dreams and my déjà vu moments being pieces of a bigger puzzle. Maybe they’re more than just dreams or wow-that-was-strange moments. Maybe they’re memories of a past life I shared with Nathan in this very town over one hundred years ago. I know better than anyone else that sometimes the unexplained doesn’t have a simple or scientific answer. Sometimes we need to accept things on faith and instinct alone. My instinct says Nathan’s dreams are more than just dreams. Am I brave enough to explore our connection to the past and the impact it may have on our present?
Back on campus, we enter through the double wood doors and enter into the rotunda—the site of the accident—with its intricate chandelier hanging overhead and marble tiled floor and grand staircase rising from it like a spiral wave. There are little cherubs and flowers carved on the railings, leftover relics from the Victorian era when Charles Haunting was way into the go-big-or-go-home show of wealth for his decorating choices for the hotel. He meant to impress, and, no matter how many times I walk through these doors, the beauty still takes my breath away.
“Those guys look like they’re straight out of a horror movie.” Jay motions at a row of cherubs on the wooden railing. “I feel like they’ll turn their heads and blink at me any second.”
“The tourists think they’re charming,” I say.
“Why do you have tourists on campus?” Nathan asks. He winces and grabs at his bruised ribs as we climb the stairs. I slow down so he doesn’t have to overexert himself so soon after the accident.
“The building is a historical landmark. They come to take pictures. When this was a hotel, they used to hold balls here.” I motion at all the opulence around us. “The musicians played from the second floor—that leads to the dorms now—and the dining hall is just up the stairs, before you make the turn for the dorms, so the kitchen staff could bring refreshments to the guests. Now, the rotunda is kind of like the entryway to the school. The centerpiece. The first thing you see when you walk up the main steps.”
Nathan glances into the dining hall as we pass but doesn’t seem to be seeing it. He follows as I lead the way up another short flight of stairs to the second floor of the rotunda that holds the former orchestra pit and the entrance to the first floor of hotel-rooms-turned-dorm-rooms. Jay gets the job of carrying Nathan’s plastic bag from the hospital full of his meager possessions. I didn’t mean to go into tour guide mode, but it helps calm me down and dissipates most of the awkwardness I feel being with both Jay and Nathan. Whether it makes that nervous awkwardness go away, I don’t know, but it pushes it to the side for a while.
“All the dorm rooms are unique since they used to be hotel rooms.” I continue like the good little campus tour guide I can be in a pinch. “Girls and guys are on alternating floors. The main floor that the stairs lead from is just classrooms and storage and stuff. This is a girl’s floor. Second dorm floor—your floor, if you accept Dad’s admission and financial aid package—is a guy’s floor, and then third dorm floor—my floor—is girls.”
“I have nowhere else to go,” Nathan says. It’s not the most enthusiastic acceptance, but it will be good enough for Dad.
“They allow inter-dorm visitation until 7 p.m. After that, everyone has to go back to wherever they came from.” I continue in my campus-tour-guide voice. “Dad doesn’t mess around with dorm room infractions. If you’re caught, you’re in trouble, big-time.”
“Guess I’ll just have to work on not getting caught.” Nathan raises both eyebrows and smiles when I look at him. Jay snickers, which doesn’t help.
“Dude, don’t even try it,” Jay says. “Just enjoy your free ride and milk the fame from the accident as long as you can. Being famous on campus, being famous in this whole town, goes a long way. Trust me, I know.”
Nathan halts. I reach out a hand, thinking his ribs hurt him, but he waves my concern away. He pinches his nose with his thumb and index finger, which is what I do when I get one of my vertigo déjà vu moments. Is it happening to him now too?
“Nathan?” My voice comes out thin and reedy, betraying my fear. Why can’t I play it cool like Jay? I’m so good at hiding my emotions. Why can’t I hide them with Nathan?
“I just need a sec.” Nathan sways in place. I hold my breath, counting in my head. One, two, three, four, five. At six, he opens his eyes and stands up straight. “Well, that was weird.”
I’m afraid to ask, but I do it anyway. “What happened?”
“I saw this hallway, but the lights were gas and not electric. I was running, but I’m not sure why.” Nathan rubs his eyes again before shaking his head. “I don’t know if I was running away from something or—”
“To someone.” I clamp both hands over my mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”