by Claire Cain
By Wednesday, when I still hadn’t heard from Mr. Berry, I called him.
I felt like I was going into battle. I closed my door to my office and did some jumping jacks and jumped around on my tiptoes like I’d seen Jake do before a round of fighting. I smoothed down my blouse and skirt, sat in my chair as straight as I could, and crossed my legs. It was my power pose, despite the well documented reality that crossing one’s legs creates a disadvantage and lack of blood flow to the extremities. Fine, but I felt coiled this way, ready to spring and make my point, reclaim my dignity, or at least pressure this guy into giving me something I didn’t already know. I read through each of the emails we’d exchanged, reviewing everything, and dialed the number.
“This is Ber,” a voice said in a rush on the other end of the line.
“Oh, Mr. Berry? This is Elizabeth Kent, and I’m calling—”
“Kent! Yes. I’ve been meaning to get back to you, just piled up under a bigger case right now. Listen, you’ve got the proof, and this, what is it…” he trailed off and I heard clicking and tapping of a keyboard on the other end. “Cathy Matthews, yeah, we’ve got her scheduled for a conference call later this morning. We’ll see what she says.”
“Really? Well that’s… good, right? Your email last week didn’t sound hopeful at all.”
“Yeah, it’s good. In a perfect world, she’ll confess, and it’ll be a done deal. But we won’t know what we’re dealing with until then. I’d advise not to get your hopes up,” he said.
He said I could call back around noon, at which point he’d have more news, and hung up. Two hours had never crawled by so slowly.
“Mr. Berry? What’d she say?”
“No show.”
“Sorry?”
“She was a no show—we couldn’t get her. No response from her whatsoever yet. So now, we wait to hear from her.” He sounded matter-of-fact, like this wasn’t a huge part of my life for the last several months being wagged in front of me, all the power held by some unoriginal jerkface. “I’ll be in touch.”
And he was gone.
I spent the rest of the day trying desperately not to watch the clock and mostly failing. As I was shutting down my email and signing out of my computer, my phone rang.
“Dr. Kent, it’s good news. Matthews finally called us.”
“Oh, thank God. You sounded like you expected not to hear from her. What’d she say?” My heart was pounding out of my ribcage and I stood, one hand bracing me on my desk.
“I thought maybe she’d make more of an effort to claim the work, but she hasn’t. I doubt it’ll change, and I’m thinking we’ll get it worked out. I’ve seen it before, and it’ll get worked out,” he said, and relief flooded me even though I could tell he was busy working on something else while we talked. I guessed this was him, all the time.
“That’s such good news. Do you have any idea what a timeline would be?” I couldn’t keep the happiness out of my voice. I asked him every question I could think of, most of which didn’t have answers yet. He didn’t know the timeline—depended on Matthews a little bit. Didn’t know what Quint would want to do, though he did warn me they didn’t like to pick up authors with even a whiff of something like this on them. That was certainly a disappointment, but if I’d found an agent once, I felt like I could do it again.
By the time I hung up with “Ber” I was so excited, I could hardly be contained by my office. I knew who I wanted to see. I texted Alex and told her, and she called and screamed in elation through the phone. I texted Jake and told him and asked him to come over for dinner when he was home from work.
I made spaghetti—nothing fancy, because my kitchen skills were less than stellar. But I could do spaghetti, and garlic bread, and salad.
By the time Jake knocked on the door, my energy level had settled a little bit. My hope, my excitement, and my general demeanor were all so much better than they’d been the last time I saw him. I wasn’t nervous to see him—just ready.
And then I saw him. He smiled brightly, like full-on, teeth and all, smiled at me as he stepped into my apartment, and I’m pretty sure I forgot everything that had happened that day. That month.
He was wearing jeans and a dark t-shirt, the combination he adopted for anything but our most formal occasions together. Somehow he seemed more muscular, taller, and more striking than he’d ever been before.
I kid you not. Maybe it was the light. Maybe I’d shrunk. Maybe the glee from earlier was still shading my eyes, contouring his chest and shading the angles of his jaw in a more brilliant line, like the change from pencil to charcoal. Whatever it was, he was stunning.
He brushed his jaw against mine as he kissed my cheek, and in a daze I turned my mouth toward him and kissed his cheek lightly in return before he pulled away. His skin was smooth and warm, and he smelled so good. Not even the smell of garlic bread wafting from the kitchen could compete with the clean laundry and mint and a hint of something else.
Before he pulled back all the way, he pulled me close into a hug. “I’m so glad it’s getting cleared up,” he said, and the low rumble vibrated through my chest where he held me close to him another moment.
I smiled into his chest and said, “Me too. Although it’s not cleared up, but I am hopeful it will be eventually and without me having to get my own lawyer, thank goodness.”
“I have some bad news, but I wanted to come see you. Henry called—Grandma is in the hospital. I think she’s going to be fine, but I need to be there.” I saw the stress in his shoulders, now that I was looking for it.
“I’m so sorry—of course you do. Are you leaving tonight?”
“Yeah, I’m going to head out now. I can make it before midnight, I think, or soon after, and be there for the morning visiting hours. Hopefully she’ll turn a corner soon. It’s pneumonia so it can go either way, but the doctors seemed happy Henry made her come in tonight, and they didn’t wait ’til morning.”
I grabbed him and pulled him to me again, thinking of how much this woman mattered to him. I knew she was all he had left of his mom and dad, the only remaining relative who he cared much about other than Henry.
“She’s going to be fine. Get going so you get there, and don’t speed too much, and be careful,” I said, starting to babble.
His eyes brightened and one side of his mouth quirked up. “I will Ellie, and we’ll get together when I’m back.”
“Yes please. And text me when you get there, ok? So I’m not lying in bed imagining you stranded on the side of the road?”
“I will. See you soon,” he said, and with another quick kiss to my cheek, he was gone.
I stood there, facing the door, and my heart constricted. He was devoted to his family, and in that moment, watching him practically racing out the door, I knew he would be that way with me—if I let him.
He’d been showing me that, bit by bit, all along.
That thought was a force. It was like a tornadic gust of wind pushing me across a field. I’d started at one end, feeling interested, but safe from any possibility of falling. As the wind began whirling, I knew the potential for danger—for the risk of my heart, for the potential to fail in a relationship I actually wanted and would certainly feel invested in. But when the full gale-force wind arrived in that moment, all I could do was welcome it. I’d arrived at the other side of the field, forced there by each encounter with Jake.
His character, his loyalty, his love for his family. His desire to be with me, and to tell me how he felt was a gift. Each moment of surprising sensitivity, clearly wrought from years of self-assessment and some amount of therapy, pushed me farther.
And if all of that wasn’t enough, his support of me—his investment in my success, his desire for me to see my dreams realized—it was almost painful, and yet this was the moment I realized, as he drove south away from me and toward his family to care for them, to be their rock, that I absolutely and irretrievably loved this man.
This was a truly terrifying thought. I’d
never loved anyone but my family and Alex. I’d never loved someone like Jake. But maybe that was because I didn’t know anyone like him.
Part of me wondered if it was too soon to feel this way. I had barely known him for six months—not quite, even—and here I was, in love with the guy. We hadn’t even been on more than one official date.
But then, as soon as I worried it was too soon, I thought of all the interactions we’d had that jumped past the initial flutters of first dates and trivia and dove right into the heart of who we both were. I thought of him telling me about his mom, sharing his grief and anger and sadness. I thought about his comforting me when I felt my parents’ disapproval so sharply and his encouragement to tell them the truth.
The excitement and terror of love settled around me. It was maddening and yet a relief to have this realization now, just after he left for an unknown amount of time. I wouldn’t blurt out my confession of love awkwardly, at least not yet. I would wait until we were together and would start with the fact that yes, I did want to be with him. I’d go from there, if he was receptive. And I would be patient until then… I would not obsess about this.
I would not obsess about this.
I shook off my daydreaming and ate dinner. As I ate, I felt the nagging begin.
Since I had the evening free, I knew what I had to do.
Chapter Eighteen
“Ellie? It’s been weeks! How are you?” My mom sounded frazzled, and I could feel my jaw locking up, my shoulders tensing. If she was already stressed about something at work, or even about the last few weeks of no Sunday calls, now wasn’t the time.
But no. I’d been putting off honesty with my parents for the better part of two decades. Time to woman up.
“I have a lot to talk to you and Dad about regarding my career,” I said, keeping my voice low and calm and making sure not to speak too quickly. There was no way I was going to spend this conversation having them claiming they couldn’t hear or understand what I was saying.
“Ellie, what’s going on,” my dad said impatiently.
“In the last few weeks, I’ve learned a lot. I did not get awarded the extension on my research project—”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I know you were excited about that,” my mom said, and before she finished, I heard by dad pipe in, “but that’s not all bad because you can take on a full load in the fall somewhere, get back on track with your teaching—”
“I’m going to need you both to listen for a little while. Please.” So much for that calm. I’d raised my voice and they were silent. I needed to be firm so they would listen and try to understand me before arguing or suggesting alternatives.
“I do not want to teach. I do not want to earn my place as university faculty long term. I do not want to be a tenure-tracked professor.” I stopped and let that settle around us. They were silent. I did what little I could to tell myself I’d asked them to stay quiet, and that their silence was not judgment.
“I got burnt out during the last few years, and I saw a lot of ugliness in the department I don’t want a part of. I know universities and departments differ, and I’m open to the fact that someday I may change my mind. But for now, my choice to move away from New York and not reapply for other teaching positions has been strategic. I wondered if being away would make me miss it, but my absence has only served to solidify the fact that I am ready to move on.”
Silence. Stillness. Nothing. Not even breathing.
“I can tell you that I will teach again, maybe even full time for a while, but I want to make clear it is not my goal.” I stopped here, because this was it. I’d done the I don’t want to teach and now, the big one.
“I want to write. I want to write novels, and I want to do that full time. I’ve had work accepted by a reputable agent, but it was stolen by someone who I allowed to read and give me feedback on the draft, and so it may not end up getting—”
“What? Someone stole your work? How dare they? Who is this person? We’ll call Mark. Mark can find someone who knows about this—”
“Wait, wait, Dad. Please. I don’t need you to call your lawyer. Thank you for your outrage on my behalf, but I think it’s going to work out ok. I don’t know what will happen with the novel, but I feel pretty confident I’ll be able to find a place for it eventually, just probably not where I thought it was going.”
There was a beat of silence, and then my mom spoke, her voice raw with emotion. “You’ve always loved writing. I’m so proud of you.”
I pushed out a shaky breath. I wanted to say thank you, but I was overcome. It wasn’t that I lived for their approval, but this acceptance, at least this first positive volley, was more than I’d hoped for.
“Yeah, I have. And I’ve been resisting it for years and years. I decided I needed to take time when I wasn’t grading or writing for my academic profile and give it a go. Even if everything I’ve written is utter crap, it has brought me incredible joy.”
“There’s no way it’s crap!” My dad was an expert at defending my honor, even from myself.
“I’m sure it’s wonderful, Ellie,” my mom said in her calm voice.
“Well, your blind faith in me has always been pretty overwhelming, but right about now, I’ll take it. Thank you.” I chuckled to myself and shook my head.
I knew even if I didn’t teach another class in my life, the accomplishment and the process of completing my PhD, of writing that infernal dissertation, and of this discovery, was invaluable.
“I also need to say I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve given you guys enough credit.”
“What do you mean sweetie?” my mom asked.
“I have always wanted to write. I was good at the other stuff, but since I can remember, I’ve loved writing. I should have done it in college, for my master’s, maybe even for my PhD. At this point, I’m making peace with what I did do, but I’m sorry I didn’t trust you guys enough to tell you what I wanted.” They were quiet for an agonizing minute.
“I’m sorry too, Ellie. I’m afraid we pushed you into things you might not have wanted.” My mom’s voice was soft.
“We can’t go back, and I’ve had a wonderful life. I love school, and I would have always wondered about teaching, so it’s good I got to do it. In many ways it makes me even more sure writing is what I want, and it’s helpful I have a breadth of knowledge from which to draw.” And there it was.
In that moment, I felt so grateful. Grateful their high expectations pushed me to do things that weren’t automatic, but that I succeeded in with hard work. Grateful for this moment of reconciliation that was far too long in coming.
“You are our greatest accomplishment, Elizabeth. I hope you know that,” my dad said, a little wobble in his voice when he said my name.
“Thank you, Dad. I love you both, so much.”
“We love you, honey.”
“But… Ellie. Can you support yourself with that? I don’t want to sound critical, but we do worry, especially since you left your salaried job for the much less stable grant-funded position in Podunk, Kentucky.”
“Hey, I wouldn’t call Morrisville, Kansas a bustling metropolis, ok?” We shared a moment of laughter together, and my heart felt full and whole.
“Fine, fine,” my dad conceded.
“I can’t right now. It will be a while before I can. Alex helped me see that even though I am ready to transition away from teaching, it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. My plan is to teach as a full-time temporary professor, or something like that, where my obligations for committees and projects and such aren’t as intense, and then write. Or maybe adjunct, but I’d only be able to do that if I get a contract somewhere for more novels or this one sells well and soon. That’s a long shot.” I was shaking from the surges of adrenaline that had raced through my body at the beginning of the conversation. I wrapped myself in the blanket that lay across the back of my couch and snuggled into it.
“Where will you live when your lease is up there?” my mom asked.
The word boyfriend was ill-fitting for Jake. If anyone had ever not been a boy, it was this man, all hard muscles and square jaw and lethal fighter and blazing mind. Mmm.
“Oh, do you now?” my dad said, and I could hear him smiling.
“Yes, and he’s a soldier, so you’ll have lots to talk about. He already knows you’re both staunch pacifists,” I said, feeling a little thrill at the prospect of watching Jake battle wits with my parents.
“A soldier? I guess that’s no surprise,” my mom said.
“Really? I thought you guys would be… upset, or…” I couldn’t hide my shock.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want us to be disapproving? You’re nearly thirty Ellie…”
“I’m nearly twenty-eight, but ok,” I corrected.
“Sure, but the point is, you’re a grown woman. You’ve been half in love with the idea of soldiers since you met Alex your freshman year and heard about her childhood love who, I believe, is also a soldier.” They knew all about the love story that was Alex and Luke. They’d heard many of the ups and downs for the past year, but I’d told them about Alex’s friend Luke who went into the Army years ago.
“Huh, that’s true. I thought it was so romantic.” I was a sucker for a childhood romance. Maybe it was because I’d never had any such prospects. Or maybe because when I met Alex and heard her talk about Luke those first few days of our freshman year, I knew they had to be together. Of course, that was the hopeful romantic in my seventeen-year-old’s heart, but still. Score one for my heart on that one.
“I’m sure he’s a special person, if you’ve chosen him, Ellie.” My mom’s voice had turned soft, and, dare I say it, even a little sentimental.
“He is. He really, really is.”
