by Nan Higgins
“Aside from some arthritis flare-ups, yeah, she’s doing really well.”
“I’m glad.” London sipped her iced tea, and after a moment, Reggie did the same. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”
“I am. You know you’re always welcome, and of course, my parents love to see you. But we are taking time apart.”
“I know. I won’t take much of your time, I could just really use your advice on something.”
“All right. Shoot.”
“Well, I know Tate filled you in on the papers I got from my mother’s lawyer. I appreciate the referral and just wanted to let you know Tate asked for it on his own.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Okay. Well, long story short, and after conditional approval from Ross, I’ve decided to try checking off a few items on the list from the letter I wrote myself. Do you want to see the letter?”
Reggie shook her head. “Tate sent me the screenshots.”
“He did?” She couldn’t keep the astonishment off her face.
“He’s worried about you. I am too.”
“Well…well, okay, I guess I get that. Anyway, I met with Joan Robinson yesterday, from Compass. You know her pretty well, right?”
“Of course. She’s one of the board members at Stonewall, and there’s a lot of overlap between the two organizations.”
London explained what had happened during her interview.
“Yeah.” Reggie chuckled. “That sounds like Joan.”
“So it’s not just some brush-off because she doesn’t want me working there? I thought maybe she was trying to drive me away with some hazing or something.”
“Nope. That’s just how she operates.”
“I see.”
“Are you gonna go for it?”
“I don’t know. No. Maybe? Probably not.”
Reggie didn’t speak, letting London process her thoughts. She was still as confused as she’d been the day before at Compass. She’d gone in with a clear idea of what she wanted to accomplish and how her time with the organization would help her cross items off her list. Her meeting with Joan had mixed everything up.
“I don’t know, Reg. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I’m supposed to dress in smart suits and sit in an office, or at least a cubicle, and bring in big donations. Even if I used this opportunity to cross the volunteer work off my list, that would be great. I could make art projects with the kids and make a difference that way. But cooking? Kitchen duty?”
“I’m sure those meals make a big difference to the kids.”
“You’re right, but…you know what I mean.”
“I do. But according to that letter, you’re also supposed to fall in love with a man, right?”
“Yes.”
“And unless something has drastically changed, you’re not doing that, right?”
“Right.”
“So is there any reason you can’t make adjustments to other parts of the list too? I can’t tell you what to do here,” Reggie said. “If you need to go on this pilgrimage to your past to reconcile something within yourself, I’d never tell you not to do that. But life doesn’t go as planned. Sometimes you’re thrown into what you need when you’re seeking what you think you want.”
“That’s true,” London said.
“Just think about it, okay? You don’t have to decide what to do today. Process. Breathe. Then decide.”
“I will. Thank you. I know you may not have been ready to see me yet, but I really appreciate you talking this out.” Taking in Reggie’s profile as she looked out the window, London had to admit that while she was grateful for Reggie’s advice, this visit had been as much an excuse to see her as it was getting feedback about her meeting with Joan.
“You’re welcome.” Reggie took another drink of sweet tea. “I saw that getting married was on the list. Are you putting the same kind of thought into that item as you are into these career goals?”
“I…I’m not there yet. I’m honestly starting at the beginning as best I can and going from there. I’ve barely made it past number one on the list.”
“I see.”
“Please don’t take this personally.” London pushed back the desperate need to grab her hand. She wanted so badly to pull Reggie out of the distance she’d put between them.
Reggie shook her head. “I’m not.”
“Reg—”
“London, I said I’m not. You told me once that I was the love of your life. Is that still true?”
“Of course it is!”
“Then you not being ready to think about marriage is one hundred percent not about me. Take this time, do your thing, become the damn CEO of JPMorgan Chase Bank, for Christ’s sake. Do whatever you have to do to find the pieces you feel are missing, and once you put yourself together, come see me. Tell me if we are going to get married or if I’ve spent these years with you wasting my time loving someone who can’t give me what I need.”
Reggie’s words tore into London like pieces of hot shrapnel. The pain of them would’ve brought her to her knees had she not been sitting.
“You don’t mean that,” London said. “You don’t mean we won’t be together if I can’t marry you.”
“You can marry me. If you won’t, it will be the end for us.”
Tears pricked London’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “I can’t believe you. After everything we’ve been through together, I can’t believe you would throw us away because I won’t sign a piece of paper.”
“And I can’t believe you won’t sign a piece of paper to keep us together. Looks like we’re both blindsided.” Reggie squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples. “I can’t do this. This is the exact reason we shouldn’t be talking to each other yet. We need to get some space between our emotions and our decisions. Go visit with my parents. I’m going to take a walk.”
As Reggie walked past, London reached to grab her hand. Reggie stopped and looked at her, and London couldn’t bear the pain in her eyes. She was too aware of the emotions Reggie had been concealing with her carefully neutral mask. Knowing Reggie was in as much pain as she was made it worse. She ached so badly, for both of them.
“I love you, London. But I have to go.” Reggie’s hand cupped her chin for a moment, and before London could say anything else, Reggie walked out the front door, closing it behind her.
* * *
London sat on her couch that night after changing into a T-shirt and her favorite flannel pajama pants and absorbed the quiet. She’d always enjoyed being alone, comfortable living in her own silence, so it felt odd that she was so lonely. It was seven o’clock, around the time she and Reggie would normally be sitting down to dinner. Reggie was a great cook and was always thrilled at how much London enjoyed eating the food she prepared.
London pulled up the Grubhub app on her phone, reconsidered, and tossed the phone onto the couch. She’d gotten takeout every night since coming back from Keys Crossing. Maybe there was something she could make for herself. As she’d told Joan Robinson, cooking wasn’t her thing, but she could operate a microwave as well as the next person.
Toward the back of the pantry, behind some ramen noodle packets and ancient Pop-Tarts she ended up throwing away, was some movie theater butter popcorn. Awesome. While it popped away, she poured herself a large glass of Shiraz because of course, nothing classed up a meal like some red wine.
Back on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and wine, London spied Joan’s business card poking out from a pocket on her new leather briefcase she’d spent way too much money on because it looked so polished and professional.
Careful not to spill her popcorn or wine, she pulled out the business card and laptop. Soon she was in the volunteer portal section of Compass’s website. She clicked on the “Volunteer Today” link and was taken to a page explaining what Joan had already told her: every volunteer started in the kitchen and moved on from there. She clicked on the “Calendar” link and viewed meals being served for the next fou
r weeks. Tomorrow was fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans. London clicked on a day next week: meatloaf, broccoli, and potato pancakes. Could she help with that? She wasn’t even sure what potato pancakes were.
“This is stupid,” she muttered and was getting ready to close her laptop when she saw an email come through from the law offices of Larry Kopp.
She opened her account—[email protected]—clicked on the email from Larry, and began to read:
Dear Ms. London Craft,
As you are aware, a sum of one hundred thousand dollars has been set up in a trust as a part of your inheritance from Mrs. Grace Craft, payable upon your satisfactory completion of the terms as described in the letter designated as entry A (copy attached) within one year of receipt of original notification.
This communication is to inform you that as of today, an additional sum has been added to this trust. Mr. Frederick Craft has contributed an additional fifty thousand dollars with a new total of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to be paid to you upon satisfactory completion of these terms.
If you would like further clarification on this communication, please reach out to our offices Monday–Friday, 8:00 a.m.–5:00 p.m., EST, or simply reply to this email at your convenience.
We look forward to hearing from you regarding this matter.
Sincerely,
Larry Kopp
Attorney at Law
London had never truly experienced what it meant when people said they were seeing red before. She assumed it had something to do with bull fighting and red flags, and maybe it was, but in that moment, her anger was so thick that it filled the room, and everything was a red haze.
How dared he? How fucking dared he do this? Somehow it seemed so much worse than the initial proposal of an inheritance from her mother’s estate. Maybe that was because her grief had made her mother’s offer seem softer and more benign. Most likely, that was it. It had all felt like the last-ditch effort of a dying woman who didn’t know how to reconcile and made a final attempt—albeit a pretty offensive one—to connect with her daughter one last time. But this? This felt like a bribe.
The wine and popcorn churned and soured in her stomach. She hit the reply button and wrote her response, her fingers stabbing at the keyboard with every sharp, staccato push on the buttons. Before proofreading it or otherwise giving a second thought, she sent this letter back to Larry Kopp:
Dear Larry,
Since you are in contact with my estranged father, please give him my sincere congratulations. I thought there was nothing my so-called “family” could do to insult me any more than they already have. It’s not often I admit I’m wrong, but this time I was way off.
Please assure my father that while I did not see this offer coming, I have very strong ideas about what he can do with it. If you need further clarification regarding this letter, please feel free to kiss my ass forever.
Sincerely,
London Craft
“There.” Tomorrow, she’d probably feel remorseful about burning a bridge she hadn’t even known was still standing, but tonight she didn’t care. “Fuck ’em.”
The Compass website tab was still open when she closed her email. She clicked again on the calendar, closed her eyes, and clicked on a random day. This Thursday, the meal was going to be pulled pork sandwiches, corn, and salad. At the bottom of the screen, she clicked on the “Register Now!” link. She entered her information, and before she hit the submit button, she saw in small italic print, “Can you bring a friend?”
She hesitated and picked up her phone to call Grant. She’d like some moral support for this, and he was the best cook she knew. Well, the best cook after Reggie, but London knew she couldn’t call her. Before she could press the call button, there was a knock at her door. She looked around the living room, but there was nobody to ask, “Expecting someone?”
Checking the peephole, she saw Grant and pulled the door open. “Hey! I was just getting ready to call you.” Then she noticed his red eyes and puffy cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
“I told Thomas. He kicked me out.” Grant buried his head in his hands.
“God, I’m so sorry. Come on.” She took him by the arm and guided him to the couch. They sat next to each other, her facing him and him staring directly ahead for several moments. Every once in a while, he’d use some part of his fist to push a tear from his face.
“Can I get you anything? I opened a bottle of wine.”
Grant shook his head. After several more minutes of silence, he spoke. “I told him everything. I didn’t even plan it. Me, the man with the plan. I wasn’t going to tell him. I know how you felt about it, but I decided nothing good could come of it. It only happened once, I’d never be that stupid again, and it would only hurt him if he found out.”
“Okay, so what changed your mind?”
He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “I don’t know.” His voice was muffled, and his shoulders shook. London rubbed his back while he sobbed. “He says it’s over. No second chances, no starting over. I know I fucked up, but don’t you think, since it was just the one time and just a kiss, he could see if we could have a fresh start? Do what you and Reg are doing and take some time apart and start with a clean slate after a while?”
“I wish he could.” She felt a twinge of guilt. She was the one who’d told him to tell Thomas the truth, and now he was devastated, and his relationship was destroyed. “I know you love him, and that’s what you would like to see happen.”
He lifted his head. “You don’t think I deserve a second chance either?”
“That’s not what I said. It’s just not up to me. We knew there was a chance if you told him that things could go this way. Should you have a chance to prove yourself and rebuild your relationship? As far as I’m concerned, yes. I know you; you’re not a cheater. This was a once in a lifetime slipup. It’s not my choice to make. Hopefully, after Thomas has some time to process through the pain he’s feeling, he’ll be able to see things a different way.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
London bit her lower lip. She’d never seen her friend like this before, not in over ten years of friendship. She’d seen him cry once, at his grandmother’s funeral. But of all the relationships and breakups they’d been through together, she’d never seen him upset like this over anyone. He was desperate, a word she’d never attributed to him. And as much as she wanted to give him the sliver of hope he so badly wanted, she couldn’t build him up for what could be a terrible downfall.
“Then you’ll have to find a way to respect that and move on.”
He picked up her wine glass from the coffee table and took a long drink. “There’s another reason I’m here.”
“Yes, you can stay with me.”
“Really?” His eyes, normally a deep hazel, were bright green after all of the crying.
“Of course. There’s the…well, it’s not exactly a bedroom, but it’s semiprivate. It’ll do until you figure out what your next move is.” There was an alcove off the living room that was supposed to be a dining room, but London and Reggie had always sat on stools at the high counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. They’d put a bed and small dresser in the alcove and closed it off with Asian screens shortly after they moved in when Reggie’s cousin had a summer internship in Columbus and had crashed at their place for a few months. It hadn’t gotten much use since.
“I really appreciate this; you have no idea,” said Grant.
“Yes I do. Besides, it’ll be fun, slumber partying it up with you.”
He smiled for the first time since he arrived. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be a party animal. I even brought some board games.”
Chapter Seven
“Explain to me again why we’re doing this,” Grant said.
“You want me to explain again that I hope I’ll figure out why we’re doing it after we get in there?”
They walked toward the red door that led into Compass Youth Center
. There’d be no entering through the lobby tonight; kitchen volunteers used the same entrance as the kids. She was surprised how many kids there were once they got inside. Rooms that had been completely empty last time were now packed.
“They’re so young,” Grant whispered, nodding toward a couple boys who were playing video games. “That kid looks like he’s only ten years old. I was expecting them all to be older teenagers.”
“Me too.”
They walked toward the kitchen and found an older woman in her sixties and a younger man in his thirties already taking food out for preparation. The woman noticed them first and nudged the man.
“Hey, Michael,” she said, “fresh blood.”
He turned and looked at them, seemingly unimpressed. “I don’t know how much use they’ll be, Doris. It doesn’t look like either of them even brought a ladle.”
London and Grant exchanged confused looks. “Uh,” London stammered, “the volunteer website didn’t say anything about—”
Doris and Michael burst out laughing. “You scared the poor things!” Doris had the deep voice and harsh wheezy laugh of a woman who’d been smoking since she could drive.
Michael laughed. “We’re making pulled pork sandwiches. You don’t even need a ladle.”
“You owe me for this,” Grant mumbled under his breath, and London elbowed him.
When the pair had finally stopped laughing, they came over to the kitchen’s doorway and extended their hands to shake.
“I’m London, and this is Grant. We’re the fresh blood, as you already know.”
“Great to have you here,” Michael said. “Thanks for letting us joke a little at your expense.”
Doris grabbed two aprons from a hook near the door and handed them over. “Here you go. It’s going to be pretty easy tonight. We’ve already started the pulled pork. The two of you will make the corn and salad as well as set up the plates and get them out to the kids. We’ve already set everything out that you’re going to need.”
“Sounds simple,” Grant said.
