by Lily Foster
I reach over and catch another tear as it makes its way down her cheek. “You’re a great mother, Charlotte.”
“Thanks, but that doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t really want him until I was being wheeled into the operating room and faced with the prospect of losing him. But listen to me, I’m past that now, and I don’t want you to waste time feeling bad over it. Life’s too short.”
“It’s hard to get past it. Those pictures of him in the hospital...”
“All the tubes, the incubator...I know.”
“You look so young in those pictures, but brave. I can’t even imagine how scared you must have been.”
“Petrified.” She smiles. “Ignorance would have been bliss, I’m sure, but I was practically prepared to take the MCATs by the time I delivered Ethan. I knew the stats, the odds stacked against him.” She waves her hand in front of her face. “But he was fine...He is fine.”
“Yesterday was...everything. I still can’t believe he wanted to be with me, to get to know me. It feels like a gift.” I shake my head, feeling ridiculous. “I sound like an idiot.”
“No, I get it. It’s overwhelming.”
“In a good way.”
“Yeah,” she nods, “in a good way.”
We sip our coffee in silence for a few minutes before she looks to me and asks, “Where do we go from here, Simon?”
“I want...”
What do I want? I want to be Ethan’s father, even though I’m not one hundred percent sure what that entails. I want to be near him, I want to be near Charlotte. I can’t deny the pull I feel towards her, stronger now than it ever was. I want a chance at what we had, the chance to be her man again. I definitely don’t want to think about Wes, about what he means to them.
“Who was calling you all day yesterday?”
She’s beaten me to it.
I shake my head. “It’s not what you think.”
She looks away from me. “How do you know what I think?”
“I just don’t want you thinking I’m attached. I’m not...attached.”
“Tell me about her.”
My survival instincts kick into drive. “No.”
She blows on her coffee again, eyeing me over the rim of her cup. “I saw the two of you together.”
“What? When?”
“End of January, I guess? I was in Chicago to meet with Janelle’s lawyer.”
My breath hitches. “Why?”
“You’re in law school, so I’m guessing you know why I was meeting with my aunt’s attorney. Are you asking why I didn’t approach the happy couple, bounce over and introduce myself to your girl? While pushing a stroller?” Her laughter is laced with pain. “Yeah, that would have been awesome.”
“You saw me? And you were with Ethan?”
She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders and nods. “I called you soon after. Not because of her, or because I felt guilty or anything...Just because it was time.”
My nails dig into my palms in an effort to quell the murderous anger I feel towards Samantha and her mother. “And then you never heard back from me.”
“The letter was my last-ditch attempt. When I mailed it, I told myself that I didn’t expect a reply, but that wasn’t true. After a few weeks passed and I didn’t hear back from you, I didn’t know what to think. I knew we were worlds apart, but I never for a minute thought you would just ignore me, ignore your son.” She looks to me. “I’d study the picture of that slick, polished guy on your profile page, and tell myself I didn’t know you anymore.” When I let out a frustrated breath, she adds, “You never knew...That makes more sense”
“Her name is Samantha Westfield.” Just the mention of her name wounds Charlotte, I see that. “Her father is my mentor. He was responsible for securing the scholarship for my undergrad. Sam and I, we were nothing but friends for a long time. It just kind of happened, wasn’t something I was looking for.”
“Friends to lovers...Sounds perfect.”
“Nothing like that. And the perfect thing—”
She stands, gathers her cup and mine. “None of my business.”
I grab her wrist. “I’m talking so you’re going to listen.” She looks down to where I’m holding her. “Me and Samantha, we were never perfect. Not even close. I lost myself for a little while there. Forgot what I wanted, who I am.”
“But you picked that song for her?”
“She picked the song. I just didn’t have, I don’t know, a reason to set her straight. I’ve been taking a back seat and letting her drive for a while now.”
“That doesn’t sound even remotely like you.”
“Sit down,” I urge her, more gently this time. She leans against the deck railing instead, facing me. “I know what I’ve been through over the past few years pales in comparison to what you’ve faced, but things weren’t easy. College wasn’t what I expected. That first year I struggled the entire way through. I wasn’t prepared like those other kids. Academically I felt like a total dumbass, and I was always sweating it. I knew if I didn’t maintain a certain GPA then the scholarship would be gone and I’d be out on my ass. On top of that I was working nights at a warehouse because I didn’t have enough money for books or living expenses. But it was the social stuff that nearly did me in. I was so out of my league. My freshman roommate’s father is a chemical engineer who developed the protective coating they put on nuclear weapons, and the kid across the hall? His mother wrote that book about cleaning up your closets that’s been on the best-seller list for the last decade. Those kids were rich, but more important, they knew how to walk through that world.”
I look away as the feelings come flooding back with the memory of that night. “I was at a party once, a book signing or something that Professor Westfield encouraged me to attend. He introduced me to a friend of his who happened to be on the admissions committee for Northwestern Law.” I shake my head, cringing as if I’m back in that room watching the moment unfold. “So I’m trying to keep up with the conversation, contribute something that doesn’t make me sound like the imposter that I am, when a server comes around with a tray of shrimp cocktail. I’d never had it before. I can still remember the look on that guy’s face when I proceeded to plop the entire shrimp into my mouth, tail and all. I remember trying to smile my way through the next few minutes, even though it felt like that little piece of shell was splintering and puncturing my esophagus on the way down.” That earns me a sympathetic smile, but I can’t shake it off. “I was in the bathroom down on my hands and knees, wiping my vomit off the toilet seat and the floor. God…I just didn’t want it to smell, you know? I didn’t want anyone to know what happened.”
I catch her wiping at her eyes. “Oh, Simon.”
“I was afraid of being found out, of people figuring out that I didn’t belong. There were two people who kept me from giving up that first year, Professor Westfield and my brother Mike.”
“Mike?” I’m grateful for the topic change, and even manage a smile when she adds, “Is he still with that same boyfriend? Brandon, right?”
“Yeah, they’re together. They actually got married last year.”
“Wow.” Charlotte reclaims the chair next to mine. “So Ethan has uncles.”
“They’re going to love him.”
I rub at my temples then, remembering that I still need to break this news to my mother—she's going to freak—and to Mike. But the pressing items on my to-do list have to wait. I need to make her understand.
“I used to escape to their apartment, just to get away from school.”
She rests a hand over mine for a moment before gently pulling away again. “I’m glad you had them to lean on.”
“I had them but then they left, moved out to Portland in the middle of my sophomore year. Brandon’s father owns a repair shop and he had the opportunity to take it over. They’re happy, seems like they have a nice life out there.”
“Was it hard for you when they left?”
“I was used to
just plugging along, so I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but yeah, it was. Brandon was pretty much repairing my truck on a monthly basis, and I used that, and anything else I could think of, as an excuse to crash at their place whenever I could. They always made me feel welcome. I never had to pretend when I was there.”
“It’s hard for me to imagine you that way, lacking confidence.”
“Why?”
She’s back to picking at a string on the blanket. “You were always larger than life to me. You were strong and you knew exactly what you wanted.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“So, the Westfield family filled the void when Mike and Brandon left?”
“In a way. They tutored me in that way of life, I guess. Professor Westfield was always showing me how to navigate, how to network and open doors for my future. He took me under his wing from day one. And being a guest in their home just made it so things rubbed off on me. Suddenly I knew how to dress for every occasion, I was a pretty decent golfer, and even knew which wineglass to use for a full-bodied red as opposed to a white.” I look over to see her barely concealed look of horror. “I’m fully aware that I sound like an absolute dick right now.”
“Um, yeah.”
“But this is what it takes to be one of them, to get your foot in the door at one of those white shoe law firms and climb the ladder.”
“Corporate law?”
“I know it’s not what I envisioned for myself, but now I don’t know. I see Westfield and guys like him...They can teach and focus on the philanthropic side of criminal defense from the comfort of their homes on Lakeshore Drive, only because they made a killing early on in their careers.”
“Made a killing, huh?”
“Poor choice of words.”
“You want that life?” It doesn’t sound accusatory when she asks, but it feels that way.
“I don’t want to be poor, and I don’t feel like I should have to apologize for that.”
“No one’s asking you to.”
I rake my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know what I want.”
After a minute she asks, “How does Samantha factor into all this?”
My jaw clenches at the sound of her name, but if I want to know Charlotte’s truth, I need to be willing to share my own.
“She was pretty obvious about her feelings from the start, but I, uh, wasn’t ready for anything like that.” I face Charlotte. “I was straight with Samantha, told her I was still hung up on a girl from home.” She looks away, shaking her head. “Believe whatever you want, but I was a mess after I left you.” It hurts to read the mistrust in her expression. “Nothing happened with her for, I don’t know, two and a half years. We were just friends.”
Now I’m shaking my head in frustration, because that isn’t really the way it was, and I want to get it right this time. “No, we were never truly friends, it was more like I was playing a part. I didn’t use her or anything, but she was Westfield’s daughter. I had no choice but to be around her. My future depended on it.” I look to Charlotte. “Do you know how hard it is to say all of this to you?”
It’s a full ten seconds before she turns back to me. Her voice is gentle when she says, “Keep going. I need to know.”
I look down to my sneakers, torn between the right thing to do and what I want to do. I don’t want to stay and suffer through this conversation. I want to run, to jump into my truck, to speed away from all this. I can’t take her judgement, can’t bear to look weak in her eyes.
“I got really sick during my final year of undergrad. It was right after finals, a week before Christmas. I think my body just kind of gave out. A simple virus that would have put another person down for a day or two, it knocked me out of commission for close to a month. Looking back, I know the crazy workload I took on, and just all the stress and pressure of the last couple of years wore me down. I wound up in the hospital for nearly a week.”
“And I bet you never called your mother or Mike to help you.”
“I couldn’t. That would have been ridiculous to, what, call my mom and have her blow a thousand bucks on a plane ticket to come feed me chicken soup?”
She’s wide-eyed. “You were in the hospital.” Then Charlotte shakes her head. “But I’m not surprised. You were always stubborn, you never wanted anyone’s help.”
“Yeah, pride comes before the fall.”
“So, your very own personal Florence Nightingale swooped in when you were down and out?”
“It went something like that.”
“I guess I should be grateful you had someone.”
“It was the first time in my life when I felt alone, truly alone. And the entire family came through for me. Her mother had the spare room ready for me when I was discharged from the hospital, her father squared things away with my other professors when I missed the first few days of the spring semester, and Samantha...”
“Spoon-fed you, gave you a sponge bath?” She’s trying for humor, but I can see that she’s hurt, jealous, or some combination of the two.
“She took care of me.”
“Did you fall in love with her?”
“No.” My response is immediate because it’s true and I need her to know that. “I appreciated her, saw her in a different light.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s complicated.” I take a few seconds, wrestling with how to put my thoughts and feelings into words. “I mean, I don’t want to give you the impression that she’s a bad person…She’s not.” Not entirely sure why I’m defending her right now. Lately she’s done plenty to earn herself ‘bad person’ status. “But when we first met, and actually for a long time after, I saw Samantha as someone who’s used to getting her way, maybe a little on the judgmental side. The way she reacted when I got sick was different, though. She was selfless and I gave into it. It was easy, and it was nice to be cared for.”
“To be loved.”
I hang my head. “Yes.”
“So how long have you been together?”
“I’ve broken it off.”
She sucks in a breath but then her voice comes out measured and even. “You were engaged?”
“No! Holy shit, no! We’ve been together since, I don’t know, last January? A little over a year. And I broke it off the other day when I found out what she did. She burned the letter.”
“My letter?”
“Yeah. I still can’t fucking believe it. She destroyed the letter and hid the picture of Ethan. I randomly came across that torn envelope with your return address on it. I don’t think she ever planned on telling me.”
“God,” she shakes her head, tears threatening, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say, it just sucks.”
“Yeah, it does.”
Charlotte
I’m lost in a fantasy, a new one where I dial that same phone number and bitch out the bitchy bitch-girl who practically hung up on me the last two times I called. I’m so worked up that Simon’s words barely register when he says, “I have to leave tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’m committed to a summer internship with a judge. It starts this coming Monday.”
Before I can think it through, I lodge a complaint. “That’s nearly a week away.” It comes out sounding accusatory and shrewish, same way that I feel. All this talk of his babe and her treachery has left me stomping down the warpath.
“I know, but I have to clear out of student housing this week and move into the studio I’m subletting for the summer.” He pauses then adds, “And I need to get back to take care of a few other things.”
I take a calming breath and rein it in. He’s not my boyfriend, I’ve made no demands where Ethan is concerned, and therefore, I have no claim on his time. I do my best to sound neutral and understanding when I ask, “Were you living with her?” When in reality, the very thought of him sharing his space, his bed, his life with her is crushing my soul to bits right now.
<
br /> “No.”
He doesn’t offer up more, but I’m pretty sure she’s front and center when it comes to the “things” he needs to take care of.
That scene in the movies, the one where broken-up lovers say their goodbyes and exchange the belongings accumulated over the course of a relationship—will it be like that? Will she hand over his razor and a few of his books, but hang on to a t-shirt that smells of him? Will it be a tearful event? I’m now picturing Simon looking at that blond beauty with longing and regret as he hands over a box filled with cashmere sweaters and really pricey hair-care products. Gah!
“I’d come back this coming weekend, but my new boss left me a load of files to read over before I start on Monday. I think he’s punishing me.”
His voice shakes me out of that warped and very painful storyline. “Why would he do that?”
“I applied for this internship and I got it, but turned it down when I got a better offer. It’s a long story, but I kind of had to crawl back and beg him to take me on.”
“Oh.”
“Can I plan to come back a week from this Friday? You think it’ll be all right with Lawrence if I use the cabin again?” When I don’t answer right away, he apologizes, “Sorry, I should be asking you if that interferes with your plans first, shouldn’t I?”
“I never have any plans.” Way to go, loser. “I mean, I’m spending the entire summer here.”
“If I said I wanted to come and spend weekends here this summer, would that be all right with you?” I think my heart stops beating momentarily when he says, “I want to get to know him, Charlotte.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Yes,” I repeat, collecting myself. “And Lawrence doesn’t really use the cabin anymore, so I’m sure it’s not going to be an issue if you want to stay there.”
He smiles. “It’s either the cabin or a tent in your backyard. This internship pays crap.”
“The bears would enjoy the tent set-up.”
