Lowell

I could be anywhere but here, and I would rather be too. Somewhere in that, I realize it is better to stay rather than leave suddenly and cause a scene. And it gives me the opportunity to watch Kimberly anyway and Charlotte too. Part of me doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to accept that it’s true. Not because of the responsibility of it or what it does to my life, but because it would mean I missed out on so much—things I didn’t realize I wanted until I was standing here.

Watching Kimberly and her mother walk away, somehow Charlotte is so different but still the same. I don’t have the right words or ability to express how it makes me feel.

“That’s a wrap.”

Thank God.

“Great. Any more photos?” I half talk to the coach, a young guy who somehow loves his job too, and text Donnie to tell him I’ve done my task and not to bother me for the rest of the night. Charlotte’s card weighs heavily in my pocket until I am ready to reach out to her.

“Nope.” He awkwardly shifts around, and I know he’ll ask me for an autograph any second. I have gotten used to being able to tell these things by now. When he does eventually ask me to sign one of their footballs, it’s my last task before I leave.

I head straight home, not much else for me to do. Even though my first instinct is to call Jacob and gripe about the whole situation, I don’t because I haven’t even realized myself what’s happening. And he would have a ton of shit to say about it that I don’t want to hear.

Charlotte and I don’t have much history, and I suddenly wish we did. Sure, I was taken by her when we met, and for a while, she held all my attention. Even though we weren’t exclusive or even worthy of a label, I was never with anyone else while I was with her.

At least I would tell her that. After that homecoming game, it took me a while even to be worth her time of day, and once I had, there was nothing stopping me from pursuing the next pretty girl who walked by. But somehow, I never took it to the next level with them. I never wanted to. Once I had Charlotte, months later over spring break after I wooed her with college-town carnival rides and games, I didn’t want anyone else.

And then I got drafted early, received my degree in April, and I was gone moments later. I never thought I had to call her or even tell her where I had gone because by the time I left, the semester had ended, and I knew she was off working the internship she couldn’t stop chatting about most of the time we were together. But I did call eventually, and when I did, her number had changed, and I didn’t think to try any harder.

It now pisses me off she hadn’t told me when she found out she was pregnant unless she thought the baby was someone else’s, which doesn’t seem likely because I know she was a virgin when we met. I doubt I made her want to continue down that path with someone else. Not within a month, either. So, she knew Kimberly was mine and probably could have reached me, but she didn’t.

I need to figure out why.

Donnie only gives me an hour to myself once I get home before he calls.

“You’re trending on Twitter,” is his first statement.

“That’s not new.” I’ve taken to my living room nursing a beer after skipping dinner because the feeling left me. The television playing a reality television show in the background has kept my wandering mind company.

“Of course not. But this is what we need. After the first playoff game, when you hopefully win, I can land you any deal in the world. An athlete who can get along with kids is golden money, the best commodity out there.”

“That’s great.” There was a time that news would make me happy, but there are other things on my mind right now.

“You don’t sound too happy about it. Anyway, I could come by and show you these pitches I already pushed through today with your publicist.”

“I’ll pass. Business hours are closed.”

“Whatever.” He chuckles. “See you after practice then.”

“Okay. See you.” I hang up before he says anything else.

While I want to sit here and let my thoughts run wild, I know I have to call Charlotte. I want to call her, but I don’t know what I might say or what she might have to say. And Kimberly, if down the line I ever get the chance, I don’t know how I might explain myself. I feel guilty for leaving and resentful of this secret.

I stare at the business card long enough to memorize the crown logo and ‘Crowned Styles’ etched across it with Charlotte’s cell and home number. I don’t know which one to call until I end up typing her cell number in instead. My breath is a hitched mess until she picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hello, this is Charlotte Belmont.”

I’m silent for too long after I hear her voice that she has to say hello again.

“Hey,” I gruff out. My palm runs over the leg of my jeans, and I swallow down a breath. “It’s me.”

“I know.” Her line is silent, but I’m sure she’s at home. It’s almost nine. I waited a long-ass time.

“I want to talk,” I finally say. “In person.”

Charlotte sighs, and I feel her thinking. “Okay. I have to… it’s Kimberly’s bedtime now, so I’ll call my sister, Catherine, to come watch her.”

I nod to myself, I hadn’t even known she had a sister. That’s how little I know her. The thought is unsettling.

“Okay.”

“Should be an hour or so.”

“I’ll text you my address.”

“Okay.”

I swallow. “Okay.”

And the line cuts off before I figure anything else to add. I feel like I have to prepare. I get off the couch with a purpose and walk through my living room filled with moonlight since all three walls are pure glass. Three steps lead out of the lower ground level and onto the main floor leading to the kitchen where I trash the two beer bottles and pretend to look through my fridge. It’s not like Charlotte would want to do anything other than sit and talk with me. If that.

There has to be a reason I wasn’t worth the trouble to her, or that things were so lost in translation, we didn’t know what the other would do. Maybe me leaving hurt more than we can both admit. Maybe we should have never gotten together in the first place.

I don’t want to think about these things any more than I have to. To kill time, I retreat to my bedroom on the third level of the house and shower the day away using products that aren’t the same brands as the one I did commercials for. I feel like a sell-out seeing all the things I lie about for the money and extra fame. I never planned on being that kind of a player, but as a kid who grew up amongst literal trash in a trailer park, anything with dollar signs made me feel better—more like a person, more like a man. And I didn’t know when to stop. I don’t know what I was trying to achieve.

Until I saw Kimberly with eyes like mine and learned she was my daughter, I had a feeling I never had before. Now that I know, I knew I had more to want than money and a good time.

I get dressed in flannel pants and a simple t-shirt, combing down my wet hair so that it’s less wild when I set out for the living room again. At the same time, Charlotte texts me saying she has arrived. I’m shakier than I have ever been when I go to the front door to let her in.

Through the clear glass, I see her before I open the door in tight, black leggings and a white t-shirt so long it fits like a dress, hangs off her shoulder, and peeks at her blue lace bra strap and slight neck and shoulder. Her brown curls hang down her back, one loose strand on the left of her face, and her eyes brighten as she blinks me down. She clutches her black purse in front of her like it’s what’s keeping her here. And I finally open the door for her to step closer to me, and her scent to flag me down like I am running back into the past—light, airy like flowers surround you but not quite in sight.

“Is your entire house made of glass?” Her low voice is even but lacking the usual happy octave I was accustomed to. I haven’t heard it in so long, not even at the party.

“Mostly.”

She steps inside. I take time locking the door and walking behind her until she stops at the entrance under the dual staircase.

“Some days I feel like going left, others right.” I try to make a joke and laugh, but it doesn’t quite come through. She does giggle a bit, though.

“You want something to drink or anything?” I ask.

She turns to face me, dropping her purse on the mail table under a huge painting I haven’t yet deciphered.

“Just water. Thanks.”

I nod and lead her into the kitchen. She sits at the breakfast nook attached to the end of the counter, and I meet her with two water bottles. She sips at hers for a moment before looking me over like she is holding something back.

“I wish I knew what to tell you, Lowell.”

I lean forward on the table on my forearms, inches closer to her. And she leans in too, filling that space.

“The truth would be nice,” I say with more sharpness in my tone than I planned. I let out a deep breath and settle my gaze on her.

“I don’t know how to feel about this right now, Charlotte. You lied to me, withheld the truth, whatever you want to call it. And I know I left but… those years between us don’t matter much anymore. There’s a bigger issue at hand. I guess I can’t call Kimberly an ‘issue.’”

“You haven’t had to deal with her in the mornings.” Charlotte laughs, but it trails off as fast as it starts.

“Fair enough.”

She nods, blinking once as we stare at each other through the haze. And somewhere along the way, my eyes drift to the curve of her lips, the tanned beige color plump and still ripe as ever.

“Lowell, are you?”

“What?”

“Mad at me.”

I shake my head clear. “No. Are you?”

“No, just…”

Confused, lost, dreading the conversation that comes next. I could finish that sentence any number of ways. We could start talking the same way too, but I can’t seem to do so yet—not until I fill the rest of the gap and taste her lips with mine once again, to know what it’s like again. Just to remind myself I did miss it, and that it did mean something to me.

Even though it was years ago, I have to know what we mean to each other now.