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“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 pickedthatsong 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.”
