Chapter Two: What You Thought You Wanted
That night at six thirty, Haley opened the door of her apartment and walked in, bracing herself for the squeals and laughter that usually occupied it.
"Tay? Peyton?" she called out to her roommates; her big sister and her best friend.
"Hey Haley. What did you do today?" asked Taylor, wandering out of her room, her blonde hair unkempt. Obviously nursing a hangover.
"Um…" she began, quickly filing through her mind for a plausible itinerary.
"No, wait, let me guess: you had sex with your mystery man?" said Taylor innocently. Haley rolled her eyes.
"Give it up, that sounds more like you. Where does this mystery man theory come from, anyway?" demanded Haley, dropping her bag and flopping onto the couch.
"Has she finally admitted to it?" asked Peyton Sawyer, returning home from her job at the art gallery, eager to catch up on the gossip that went between the three of them.
"No, still in serious denial. Is he a rich?" asked Taylor, sitting cross-legged beside her little sister.
"Is he hot?" asked Peyton, sitting on the other side of her. Haley picked up a pillow and pretended to suffocate herself.
"For the last time, no! It's impossible for him to be either rich or hot, seeing as he DOESN'T EXIST!" she said.
"Maybe it's that Jack guy. Nice ass," said Taylor, over Haley's head, to Peyton.
"Jake? No, I was thinking that Ben guy. Strong silent thing going on," said Peyton.
"Jake is involved and Ben is married. And remember my whole no sex before marriage thing?" asked Haley.
"Jake's involved?" asked Peyton carefully.
"Sweetie, at one point we all resolved to do that," said Taylor.
"Yeah, well, some people's resolve didn't fall through at fourteen," shot back Haley.
"Tay, I think you just got told," informed Peyton.
"By my baby sister! I'm going clubbing tonight, you coming?" asked Taylor, looking between her two roommates. Peyton slung an affectionate arm around Haley's shoulders.
"Nope, Hales has a date," she said.
"Ooh, with who? Hot Derek or rich Patrick?" asked Taylor eagerly.
"Hot Derek. What are you going to wear?" asked Peyton.
"Whatever. You've set me up on a thousand dates and it's never worked before," complained Haley.
"Seeing as you're madly in love with your myster…" began Taylor.
"If you dare…" said Haley warningly.
"Fine. Oh, wear my little black dress. Chanel, fifty percent off," bragged Taylor.
"Fine. By the way, Mom and Dad are coming to visit," said Haley.
"Gag me. I think I'm going to coincidently end up in Miami," said Taylor.
"If you dare! Last time you didn't show, I had an hour long grilling session about how I had sold out in my career, and did I have a nice young man friend?" said Haley bitterly. Taylor patted her little sister's cheek.
"And you know what, I think you're a better person for it," she said. Haley slapped her sister's hand away and grinned in spite of herself.
In a different apartment, on a different side of the city, at a later hour, a businessman returned home to his wife.
"Hey," said a voice, coming out of the dark. Nathan Scott jumped slightly as he saw his wife sitting stiffly on their living room of their upper class apartment.
"Hey, you're still up," he said, going over to her to sloppily kiss the top of her head.
"Yeah," she said softly. She inhaled to smell the familiar perfume that wasn't her own.
"So, what did you do today?" he asked, heading for the kitchen. Who did you do today? She silently asked.
"Went shopping," she said briefly. She followed him into the kitchen and wished desperately he'd notice the low cut slip she was wearing.
"Get anything nice?"
"An evening gown. Vera Wang, for the gala thingy," she said.
"What's it like? And it's the Black and White Ball" he asked, popping up from the fridge and pouring himself a glass of water.
"Halter neck, tulle, floor length. Black. You really care?" she asked.
"What?" he asked. Instantly, the wounded puppy dog look on his face made her feel remorseful.
"Nothing. You tired? You look exhausted," she said pityingly.
"Yeah. Night Brooke," he said.
She sighed. When they'd married, Brooke Davis and Nathan Scott had been madly in love. Fairy tale type love. They'd practically guaranteed a fairy tale life. And here they were, ten years later, speaking like strangers. Not even touching anymore.
Growing up, a life like this was all Brooke had wanted. An expensive apartment with a doorman, designer dresses for outings in limousines, handsome, rich husbands. Brooke had never thought hard enough about it to realize she wanted more than that: love. Their love had become a habit; existing somewhere in the back of their minds, always a guarantee, but no longer a passion. No longer anything like it.
Brooke peered cautiously through the hall to the open door of the bathroom. Nathan was brushing his teeth, shirtless and pantless, only wearing his boxers. She felt a tightening inside of her-Nathan Scott was thirty-six, he hadn't been a pro basketball player for years, but still he had an impressive body. Brooke glanced sideways at herself in a mirror. She was, and always had been beautiful, but the past ten years had made her laugh less spontaneous, her eyes less sparkling. Her dimpled smile didn't flash as often as it once had.
Brooke Scott let her eyes wander to the picture that held the place of prominence in the room. Their wedding photo. Him in his expensive tux, her in her designer dress-the white, low cut one with the filmy skirt. It didn't show in the picture, but his hand had sneaked down to pinch her behind. They were looking in each other's eyes. She remembered the feeling she'd felt when the picture had been taken: love, desire, happiness, passion, an overwhelming sense of peace. As though she'd made the right choice. As though she really knew her mind.
Brooke laughed at her twenty-four year old self. So confident. She'd thought that she could pleasure her husband forever. Never considered that in ten years, he'd be thirty-six, she'd be thirty-four, and everything would be different. Everything.