Something Special

by S. Massery

  We survived the six months boy-free and plunged back into the dating world. Georgia found Henry almost immediately, and they’ve been dating ever since. I had no luck—not that I was willing to push it. Any guy who showed interest was met with a scowl.

  Tom was right: I am a damn disaster.

  “If this thing with Henry scares you, maybe you just need to jump in with both feet.” I don’t ask her if he’s the one, although if I did, she might have answered yes. I’m not ready for her to not need me anymore. Soon, I’d be replaced by him—that’s what long-term boyfriends did. They became the best friend, too.

  She nods, accepting my advice.

  “I saw Avery,” I say, unable to keep the sudden delight off of my face.

  Her mouth pops open. “What the hell is he doing in Chicago?”

  “I have no idea.” I tell her everything.

  When I’m done, she squeals. “Charlie! This could be it! You’ve been waiting for this for a fucking year. You better get his number and have sex with him. Whether it’s in that order is debatable.”

  My heart picks up speed. Could I do that?

  “It just… feels different with him, Georgie. It makes me want to pass out. Or throw up.”

  Her expression turns thoughtful. She knows my tendency to avoid romance… or rather stomp all over romance. I like order, and keeping everything neat, and keeping my feelings compartmentalized. Romance does not have a place beside practicality. Plus, I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a man before.

  “He could really hurt me,” I whisper.

  Georgia counters, “It’s true, you could never see him again. Like last time. But this time, you can end it on a good note.”

  I glance at my watch. I have about two hours to get ready to see Avery. Butterflies wiggle in my stomach. Since when does that happen? I shouldn’t allow him to make me feel so irrational.

  “Does a good note mean sex?”

  She smirks.

  I throw my head back, laugh, and say, “I guess that means I should shave my legs.”

  11

  Past

  Colby was my boyfriend, and I didn’t know how it happened. One minute, I was shrugging off his arm and dodging invites. The next, we were ‘official’ and girls much prettier than me were trying to befriend me.

  It wasn’t until after Thanksgiving, though, that he insisted on taking me to the movies. He asked in front of my mother, who lingered whenever he was around, and he smirked when she said she was so happy for me. To her, he was everything I wasn’t: popular, charming, social. He was light to my dark, and I needed him to balance myself out. In reality, I wasn’t sure he had a speck of light in him.

  In the theater, he held my hand so tightly that I felt my bones grind together. Ten minutes in, I slid past him and bolted to the restroom. Fifteen-year-old me didn’t know why I was throwing up or why the sight of my red hand made my head spin. When I got back, he picked up my hand again and put it on his thigh. He grinned at me, but there was something hard about it.

  And then later, in his car, he waited until I was buckled in before he leaned over and kissed me. He palmed the back of my head, pulling me into his mouth. Blood rushed in my ears. This was my first kiss, and I was petrified.

  “Open your mouth,” he whispered against my lips. When I hesitated, he nipped my lower lip. I gasped, and then his tongue was invading my mouth. I thought I would die, then, from the way my stomach flipped, and my thighs hurt from how hard I squeezed them together.

  All I thought about was how my mother would be nodding, pushing me forward.

  He kissed me for minutes, but it felt like every second was a year. When he let go of my head, when I was able to lean away, he frowned at me. He started his car without looking at me again. Even in my driveway, nothing.

  I didn’t say anything, either, as I got out of the car and went inside.

  That night, I snuck out of the house and climbed up to the platform in the tree. The toes of my boots peeked over the ledge, and I dared myself to let go of the branch I was holding onto. It wasn’t high enough to kill me if I fell; for a moment, that fact disheartened me. There was a layer of snow that had made climbing it difficult, and it seeped into my sweatpants as I sat.

  I shivered in my coat, but my thoughts cleared for the first time in a month.

  I pulled the small notebook from my pocket, clicking my pen open.

  Jared, I’m sorry it’s been so long. I guess I was waiting to see if you’d grant me the wish from my last letter—you know, where I begged you to come home for Thanksgiving? Spoiler alert: you didn’t.

  I think I would hate Colby if he didn’t remind me of you. I always saw the confidence you carried around inside of you, but he broadcasts something more extreme. Something more dangerous. He struts around like a freaking peacock, and the world bends at the waist to accommodate him. I shouldn’t tell you, but he kissed me. I don’t think I liked it, but I haven’t ever been kissed before. What if that’s the best I’m going to get? Honestly, sometimes I look at him and expect your words to come out of his mouth.

  He’s the worst parts of you, Jared, but those are the only pieces left.

  I sighed and looked up at the sky. The clouds seemed so far away. But then, I exhaled, and suddenly the clouds were around me. I could barely make out the stars through the boney tree branches. I was utterly alone, and I hated it.

  I laid back, kicking my feet, and thought about what I had just admitted.

  No. It wasn’t right. Colby wasn’t the worst parts of Jared, or any parts of him; Colby was his own person. He was intimidating and crass, but he hadn’t done much to hurt me. Didn’t boys pick on girls they liked?

  That was it.

  I closed my eyes and chewed on that thought.

  12

  I see Avery before he sees me. He is dressed like he was this morning, except his shirt is now a different color. Suit, tie, beautiful long blond hair tied at the nape of his neck. He shaved, as well. He stands by the windows, peering up towards the sky. I am tempted to leave him be, to watch him for a minute. He radiates sadness. When he isn’t putting up a charade in front of people, I can tell that he is miserable.

  I try not to fidget with the hem of my shirt when Avery and I lock eyes. The sadness that I glimpsed earlier is erased—or perhaps overlaid—by his smile. He meets me in the middle of the lobby, lifting my hand. His fingers are calloused, but his palm is smooth and warm. He brings my hand up toward his face and kisses it. I am a ball of nerves, and his lips on my skin send lightning bolts through me.

  “Hi,” he murmurs. I want to hear him say that forever.

  “Hey,” I answer at a whisper. My heart better stop galloping out of control. My brain can’t keep up.

  He threads his hand with mine, fingers laced, and tugs me outside. We wind through the streets of downtown Chicago, all familiar to me from my years in the city. I keep my mouth shut, though, because I feel a bit rebellious. College Charlotte had developed her voice and wasn’t afraid to use it; this new version of me was practicing moderation.

  “Here we are,” Avery says. “Is takeout okay? We can bring it back to my room.”

  I had been excited for a night out, but I nod.

  After we get the food, we backtrack toward the hotel and talk. I ask him why he’s here.

  He sighs and squeezes my hand. “You mentioned you lived in Chicago,” he says. “I’m on my way to Boston, and I scheduled myself an overnight layover here.”

  “Not to see me,” I say. I mean it as a question, but it comes across as an accusation. “How would you have found me?”

  He shrugs. “I was hoping to get lucky waiting outside of your work later today… I may have searched for your name on Google. It surprised the hell out of me when you appeared here this morning. My flight had only just got in an hour before.”

  Wow. “We had a business meeting,” I tell him. I don’t say that they were from Boston, too, or that the meeting—and possible future merger—went
very well.

  Once in his hotel room, I put my purse on the table by the door and slide out of my jacket. He moves through the room, turning on lights, and turns and pins me with a look. I feel a blush rise up through my whole body, a flash of heat. “Charlotte,” he says. “Or do you prefer Charlie?”

  I raise my eyebrows. I don’t recall telling him about my nickname.

  “I heard the man you were with call you Charlie this morning.”

  “Well, you can call me whatever you want. Except Charlotte Harper—that’s my mother’s favorite go-to when she’s angry with me.” I laugh.

  His eyes soften. “I like Charlotte. It’s how I thought of you… before.”

  “I know what you mean. I only thought of your full name in my head. Avery Carter Rousseau. Every time.” I wink and add, “Not that I’ll admit how often that was.”

  “Probably not a lot. It has been a year, after all.”

  “Well, a little more than that.” I slowly close my eyes, trying to control the blush. I open them again and meet his gaze. He looks tanner than the last time we saw each other. “What have you been up to? I’ll admit, I was pleasantly surprised to find you here. Although definitely shocked.” I study my fingernails. “I didn’t really think I’d ever see you again.”

  “Hey,” Avery mutters. He crosses to stand in front of me. “I’m sorry about that.”

  A well of emotions surges in me. Anger that he is sorry. Relief that he is sorry. Disappointment that he didn’t come back to me. All the feelings from before: the worry, the confusing heartache after having met him twice. The fear that I’d never meet anyone that made my stomach twist.

  “I looked for you.”

  Oh, god. There is a lump in my throat, but it’s nothing compared to the avalanche of misery flowing across Avery’s face. I just pulled up some pretty painful memories.

  He bows his head for a minute, then meets my eyes again. “That phone call, in the garden?” He waits until I nod. “My dad was calling to tell me that my grandmother had passed away. That’s one of the reasons I decided to pack up and move back home.”

  Impulsively, I grab his hands. They are familiar already, and I can count on one hand the number of times I have been able to touch him. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss him. And why shouldn’t I? I pull him toward me, tilting my face up. He raises an eyebrow for a split second before meeting me halfway. Butterflies swirl in my stomach, but this kiss feels different. It lacks the intensity from our last kiss. I press away the doubt and redouble my efforts, opening my mouth and sliding my tongue into his.

  Suddenly, he responds. He presses me against the wall, caging me in and taking over. I don’t object when his hands go to the button of my pants. It feels hurried and unreal—all before we’ve eaten dinner—but I push away the thought that he’s anything similar to my past. Finally, I have him alone. His fingers slide into my underwear, eliciting a gasp from me.

  He pulls away and unzips his fly, freeing his erection. He has the nerve to push down on my shoulders.

  And that pulls me out of the mood.

  “Stop it.”

  I don’t have enough air in my lungs, and I’m trapped between the wall and him. I push at his chest until he takes a few steps backwards.

  Avery blinks at me.

  “I don’t really like how that just went,” I tell him. “You went from nice to demanding a blow job in about two seconds.”

  He sniffs, and his eyes get distant. “Charlotte, I’m sorry, but—”

  I’m not interested anymore, I fill in. Message received. It stings a bit, especially after the warm welcome this morning. I nod at him. I smooth my hair down and stride toward the door.

  I can’t believe this.

  Before I make it very far, he latches onto my wrist. “Wait, please,” he says.

  I stop but don’t turn to face him. I feel like I am going to burst into tears. I had put a lot of weight on this date. Why? Why had I done that? We don’t even live in the same city!

  He sighs. It moves my hair a bit, and he wraps his arms around my waist, still behind me. His hands lace together over my navel. There is a pressure at the top of my head, and I know he is resting his chin there. I am encased, anchored to him. “Please, I’m sorry, I lost myself for a moment. Let me explain and we can finish dinner.” He slowly turns me to face him. We’re close enough to touch, but we aren’t; there’s a hair’s breadth of space between us. “We have more than a year to catch up on. And… all the time before that, too.”

  I wait, watching him. He lets go of me and wrings his hands together. He steps back, dropping his head. Perhaps he assumes I will say no, run away, and never look back. The defeated look, more than anything, spurs on my answer.

  “Okay.” We both sit on the edge of his bed, angled toward each other. I’m not sure what to do next, because he just stares at me.

  I wish the urge to kiss him would go away, but it doesn’t. It thrums under my skin like an extra pulse. It feels like I am on fire when he brushes my hair back from my cheek.

  No fair, I want to say. He can touch me, but I can’t do the same?

  “I met someone back home,” he says. “But it just—”

  I tilt my head to the side when he abruptly closes his mouth. “Ended?” I supply.

  “Do you ever look at someone and only see their good pieces?” he asks.

  I do when I look at you, I think. Instead, I ask, “What do you mean?”

  “It means I was foolish. She turned my world upside down and I didn’t even realize until….” Avery rubs at his neck. It’s hard to watch him fumble his way through this.

  I look away, my eyes burning. I feel a desperate need to save him from his past working its way up my throat.

  “It was the kind of break up that made me leave the state,” he finishes.

  I wonder who did the breaking: him or her. It’s clear that he hasn’t moved past it. He can barely look at me. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. And I am: I’m sorry that he had to go through that, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to save him, I’m sorry that he’s not staying in Chicago so I can heal him. I’m sorry for a lot of things that aren’t my fault.

  “I meant what I said earlier. I wanted to find you. I had some idea that you’d give me the closure she couldn’t.”

  Closure.

  How does one word echo and bounce around in my skull as if it’s the only thing left in an empty room?

  He lifts my hand and holds it like I’m the delicate one. “Charlotte, I’m glad I found you. I felt like we were unfinished, and I needed to see you.”

  “I’m glad you found me,” I murmur.

  “I missed you, even when I barely knew you.”

  I wish the urge to kiss him had gone away, because those words are undoing me.

  The first time I met him, he had been a flurry of movement, a bit chaotic, and utterly devastating. Now, he is quiet. There is a storm locked beneath his skin.

  I want to bring it back out. He’s a shadow of who he used to be, and I need to remember that he’s only in my city for a night. I manage, “You’re going to Boston.”

  Avery looks down at his fingertips, which are pressed together. “That’s probably just as well.”

  What?

  My face pales, and then I feel it turn an ugly shade of red, so hot it burns. “Why do you say that?”

  “I think I’d push myself to get into something with you and I’m still effected by my past relationship. It would end badly; can’t you see that?”

  Suddenly I, too, see the future he talked about: fighting that disintegrates our relationship before it’s begun. Misunderstandings. We would be unable to talk about our feelings, or learn about each other, or grow.

  Well, on that note… “You’re right.” I smile at him. Perhaps I show too many teeth, because it doesn’t make him relax. “I’m going to go. Avery, it was really nice to see you. To… close this chapter in my book.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not…”
<
br />   “No,” I say. The word snaps out faster than I intend, sharp like the crack of a whip. “No,” again, softer, “that is what you meant. I’m going home. I am not foolish enough to think that after meeting me three times, you’d want to pursue me. So. I’m going to walk out of here with my dignity intact. We won’t see each other again.”

  Silence.

  He can’t even look at me anymore, but his lips press into a thin line. He knows I am right.

  We’ve ended before we even had a chance to begin.

  Part III

  Life is about to change...

  Forever.

  13

  Eleven Months Later | July

  Georgia smirks at me. I can’t see her lips behind the giant box she is carrying through my door, but her eyes are twinkling. I almost tell her to shut up—but I realize that I’m acting like a giddy fool. She goes to set the box labeled Pillows in my bedroom.

  I’ve been on turbo-speed all morning. The movers finally arrived from Chicago with all of my stuff. The apartment that I’ve been drooling over for a month, ever since I put down the deposit, is finally mine. The windows are large, the space is perfect for one person, and who cares if my view is of a muddy little river?

  Mom breezes into the apartment, carrying another box. Kitchen is written on every side. “Charlotte, I think there are utensils in here. Should I start putting things away?”

  I take a sticky note and write Utensils, slapping it to a large drawer. It was her idea to label where everything should go, so everyone can help put things away. And then I’ll be able to find everything. I keep labelling the kitchen while the movers shuffle my bigger items into the apartment. Bed frame and mattress, dresser, an embarrassingly large bookcase, couch, coffee table. In and out they go, and in between them slip Georgia, me, and my mother with other boxes.