AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Simon
She’s nervous, bouncing from the ball of one foot to the other, her mind already on the big event. “I’ll see you at around eight? Is that good?”
“I’ll be there. You sure this is ok with Lawrence? I can always crash in my truck for the night.”
“No, it’s fine. Just, uh, I hope you can sleep with all the dead animals in here.”
I look around again, pretending to study the obscene number of antlers adorning the walls of this cabin, but I’m stalling really. Just letting out a breath and feeling grateful that she’s able to be light and to joke again, because the night has been hard on both of us.
“Does this freak Ethan out?”
“Not at all. He loves animals, but it’s different up here. The people have hunting in their blood, and he spends a lot of time with Lawrence.” She shrugs. “It’s natural to him.”
“Can I bring anything tomorrow? I mean, I feel like I should bring him a present or something.”
“No,” she shakes her head, “you don’t need a treat or anything to break the ice with him. And I’m kind of strict about presents being for birthdays and Christmas only.”
“What does he like to talk about?”
“He’s three, he’ll talk about anything.”
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Neither did I.” She smiles at me in a way that makes my chest hurt. “Don’t worry so much.”
My head is swimming with all she’s told me tonight, so I figure I’ll be staring at the ceiling, processing it for hours. I’m running on no sleep whatsoever, though, and it catches up to me. I fall into a deep, dreamless state, and wake the next day with a start.
It takes a moment to orient myself. The sun is bursting through the window blind’s partially open slats, leaving a trippy striped pattern along every surface, myself included. Shading my eyes, I take in the sparsely decorated room that is not my own, and then register two hostile opposing sounds: the ear-splitting ringtone Samantha programmed into my phone to distinguish her calls and knocking on the door that has now escalated to pounding.
Ignoring the phone, I scramble to my feet and trip on my way to the front door.
The key turns in the lock just as a curse rips from my mouth. You’d think I’d just taken a bullet instead of stubbing my big toe. Her eyes are wide as she takes me in. And then the cloying lyrics of Ed Sheeran’sPerfectstart up again in earnest. We both look back towards the bedroom. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I’m sick, listening helplessly as that line about dancing in the dark rings out through the cabin. I’ve never wanted to sink into the ground more than I do right now.
She taps her foot, looking away from me. It blessedly stops and then starts up again not five fucking seconds later.
“You gonna get that?”
“No.”
“You overslept.”
“Shit.”
“Simon.” She pauses, and my anger flares in response to look on her face, the one that says: You’re already making promises you can’t keep.
“No.” I advance on her slowly. “You don’t get to do that.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You made me wait three years, and before I got here, I was up for two days straight driving back and forth looking for you. You don’t get to judge me right now.”
The phone finally stops making noise.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, chastising myself for the bad decisions I’ve made recently, for taking the easy road. For better or worse, I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past two days.
It’s embarrassing to acknowledge that I like what I see when I look in the mirror these days. I’m borderline smug sometimes, thinking myself an honest man, one who’s done good and is going places as a result. I’ve been shutting down my inner critic, the voice that warns me against morphing into this new, upgraded version of Simon Wade. I’ve been enjoying the perks of being a de facto member of the Westfields’ inner circle. I tell myself it’s nothing, but I’m enjoying the dinner parties that Brett and the others don’t have a standing invitation to, enjoying the impromptu lessons on the finer things in life. Their subtle encouragement to eat, to dress, and to converse in the company of intelligent people in a certain way has granted me access to that oh so elusive thing: I am now in the room.
Being with Samantha benefitted me, so it was easy to let her weave her way into my life. I tell myself I’m still my own man, that I’m not impressed with the trappings of this life. I climb into my beat-up truck proudly, like it’s some testament to my character or a badge of honor—act as if I have a choice in the matter. Tell myself that I’m nothing like those buttoned-up pussies who look on at me with envy, even as they’re stepping out of their flash rides. I’m the chosen son now. I have the connections, have the best-looking girl on my arm, have everyone thinking I’m the smartest guy in the room.
Seeing that envelope shook me up. Prompted me to make those calls, to back out of that lucrative summer associate post and then beg for the less prestigious judicial internship that I’d turned down the week before. Seeing Charlotte’s name in print reminded me of who I am, of the reason I wanted any of this in the first place. She reminded me of the shithole that is my hometown, reminded me of my family.
I’m standing less than a foot from her now. Her face is flushed but she hasn’t backed down. Her lips are fixed in a firm line and her shoulders are squared. Knowing Charlotte, she’s told Ethan about me using a string of superlatives that I don’t feel deserving of right now. I’ve got a clear visual of them sitting at the table waiting, a special breakfast cooked and ready for me, the guest of honor.
