AND MATTHEW IS HOW I’VE THOUGHT OF YOU FOR YEARS
Charlotte
Ten months earlier …
Ever since I started working full time, my days seem to have gotten longer and my evenings shorter. As I’ve grown older, big gatherings have lost much of their former appeal, while letting loose among small groups of friends is something I now very much enjoy. I’m having a birthday today, and our booth holds my best friend Kayla, her boyfriend Sam, myself, and Alan, a sort of a friend/suitor and the one who insisted I celebrate at least for a little while tonight.
“You’re twenty-two today, baby,” Kayla says as she raises her cocktail glass in my direction. “I hope now you will finally drag your ass out to vote in next year’s presidential election.”
I groan, the options so far nothing to get excited about. The current struggling and unlikeable president who is up for a second term? Or the opposite party candidates, some who are just too hard to take seriously considering the radical ideology they’re embracing. Sometimes it feels like they’re just saying the craziest thing that comes to mind to snatch themselves some airtime.
“It’d be exciting if Matt Hamilton stepped up,” Sam adds.
My drink sloshes over my sweater at the mention of him.
“He has my vote on automatic,” Sam continues.
“Really?” Kayla quirks a saucy eyebrow and keeps on hitting the tequila. “Charlotte knows Hammy.”
I scoff and quickly wipe away the damp spot on my sweater. “I do not, I really do not,” I assure the guys, then shoot a scowl Kayla’s way. “I don’t know where you get that.”
“I got that from you.”
“I … we …” I shake my head, shooting her an evil eye. “We’ve met, but that doesn’t imply I know him. I don’t know the first thing about him. I know as much about him as you all do and the press is hardly reliable.”
God! I don’t know why I told Kayla the things I did about Matthew Hamilton . . . at an age when I was young and clearly very impressionable. I made the mistake of declaring to my best friend that I wanted to marry the guy. But even then, I at least had the wits to extract a promise that she’d never tell a soul. Kid promises always tend to seem so childish when we’re adults, I guess, and she doesn’t mind hinting at it now.
“Come on, you do know him, you crushed on him for years,” Kayla says, laughing.
I watch her boyfriend give me an apologetic look. “I think Kay’s ready to go home.”
“I am so not, so not drunk enough,” she protests as he eases her out of the booth.
She groans but allows him to pull her to her feet, and then turns to Alan.
“How does it feel to compete with the hottest man in history?”
“Excuse me?” Alan asks.
“People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, you know . . .” Kayla recounts. “How does it feel to compete with him?”
Alan sends Sam a look that definitely says yeah, she’s ready to go home, man.
“She’s so wasted,” I apologize to Alan. “Come here, Kay,” I say as I wrap my arm around her waist while Sam lets her lean on his shoulder. Together, we help her outside and into a cab Alan has hailed for her, sending them on their way.
Alan and I jump into the next cab. He gives the cabbie my address then turns to me.
“What did she mean?”
“Nothing.” I glance out the window, my stomach caving in on itself. I try to laugh it off, but I feel sick to my stomach thinking of people actually knowing how infatuated I was with Matt Hamilton. “I’m twenty-two, this happened ten, eleven years ago. A little girl’s crush.”
“A crush that’s been crushed, right?”
I smile. “Of course,” I reassure him, then turn to stare out at the blinking city lights as we head across town to drop me home.
A crush that’s been crushed, of course. You can’t seriously crush on someone you’ve only seen like, what? Twice? The second time was so fleeting and at such an overwhelming moment in time … and the first … well.
It was eleven years ago, and I somehow remember everything about it. It’s still the most exciting day I can recall even though I don’t like the effect that meeting President Hamilton’s son had on my teenage years.
I was eleven. We lived in a two-story brownstone east of Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. My father, my mother, a tabby cat named Percy, and I. We each had a daily routine; I went to school, Mother went to the Women of the World offices, Dad went to the Senate, and Percy gave us the silent treatment when we all got home.
We didn’t stray far from that routine—as my parents preferred—but that day something exciting happened.
Percy was sent to my room, which meant that Mom didn’t want him causing mischief. He curled up on the foot of my bed, licking his paws, not interested in the noises downstairs. He only paused to occasionally stare at me as I peered through a tiny slit in my doorway. I’d been sitting there for the last ten minutes, watching the Secret Service walk in and out of my home.
They spoke in hushed tones into their headsets.
“Robert? One last time. This one? Orrrr this one?” My mother’s voice floated into my bedroom from across the hall.
“This one.” My father sounded distracted. He was probably getting dressed.
There was a pregnant pause, and I could almost feel my mother’s disappointment.
“I think I’ll wear this one,” she said.
My mother always asked Dad what to wear for special evenings. But if he didn’t pick the dress she wanted, she wore the one she’d hoped he’d choose.
I could picture my mother putting away the black one and carefully setting the red dress down on the bed.
My father didn’t like it when my mother got too much attention, but my mother loves it. And why not? She has stunning green eyes and a thick mane of blonde hair. Though my dad is twenty years older and looks it, my mother looks younger by the day. I dreamt of growing up to be as beautiful and poised as she is.
I wondered what time it was. My stomach growled as the scent of spices teased my nostrils. Rosemary? Basil? I got them all mixed up no matter how many times Jessa, our housekeeper, explained which is which.
Downstairs, the chef from some fancy restaurant was cooking in our kitchen.
The Secret Service had been preparing the house for hours. I was told the president’s food would be tasted before it was served to him.
The food looked so delicious I’d gladly taste every morsel. But Father asked Jessa to bring me back upstairs. He didn’t want me to attend because I was “too young.”
So what? I thought. People used to get married at my age. I was old enough to stay home alone. They wanted me to act mature, like a lady. But what was the point if I never got to act the part they’d been grooming me for?
“It’s a business dinner, it’s not a party, and god knows we need things to go well,” Dad grumbled when I tried to plead my case.
“Dad,” I groaned. “I can behave.”
“You really think Charlotte can behave?” He shot my mother a glance, and my mother smiled at me. “You’re not eleven until next week. You’re too young for these events. It’ll be nothing but talk of politics. Just stay up in your room.”
“But it’s the president,” I said with so much conviction my voice trembled.
My mom stepped out of her bedroom in that glorious red dress that tastefully draped over her figure and spotted me eagerly peering down at the excitement downstairs.
“Charlotte,” she said, with a sigh.
I straightened up from my crouched position.
She sighed again, then walked to her bedroom, picked up the phone on her nightstand, dialed an extension, and said, “Jessa, can you help Charlotte get dressed?”
My eyes widened and, miraculously, Jessa suddenly swept into my bedroom, smiling gleefully and shaking her head. “Girl! You’d cajole a king out of his crown!”
“I swear I didn’t do anything. Mother simply saw me peeping and must’ve realized this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“All right then, let’s put your hair into a nice long braid,” Jessa said as she started pulling open the drawers of my vanity. “Which dress are you going to wear?”
“I only have one option.” I showed her the only dress that still fit me, and she helped me carefully slip it on.
“You’re growing too fast,” she said fondly as she ushered me to the mirror. She stood behind me and brushed my hair.
I looked at my reflection and admired the dress. I liked how blue the satin fabric was. I imagined standing next to my mother in her red dress and my father in his perfectly tailored suit. Entering my parents’ forbidden, mysterious world was exciting—but nothing was more exciting than meeting the president.
When the president arrived, a group of men trailed in after him, all of them in suits. They were tall and handsome, but I was too busy looking at the young man directly beside the president to notice much.
He was gorgeous. His hair was the color of sable, and although it was combed back, it was unruly at the ends and curled at the collar.
He was an inch taller than the president. His suit seemed crisper, more tailored. He was staring at me, and although his lips weren’t moving and his expression revealed nothing, I could swear that his eyes were laughing at me.
President Hamilton shook my mother’s hand before greeting my father. I pulled my eyes away from the young man next to him and saw the president’s lips curl a little as he looked down at me. When it was my turn, I took his hand.
“My daughter, Charlotte—”
“Charlie,” I corrected.
Mother smiled. “She insisted on not missing the fun.”
“Smart girl.” The president grinned at me, gesturing to his side with obvious pride as he drew the young man beside him forward. “My son, Matthew. He’s going to be president one day,” he said conspiratorially.
The man that I couldn’t stop staring at laughed quietly. It was a low, deep laugh, and it made me blush. Suddenly, I didn’t want to shake his hand. But how could I avoid it?
He took my hand in his—it was warm and dry and strong. Mine was soft and trembling. “Absolutely not,” he said and winked at me.
I smiled at him shyly and realized my parents were watching us carefully. “You don’t look like a president,” I blurted out to President Hamilton.
“What does a president look like?”
“Old.”
President Hamilton laughed. “Give me time.” He pointed at his shiny white hair and slapped Matthew’s back then let my parents lead him into the dining room.
The adults focused on talking politics and bills, while I focused on the delicious food. When my plate was clean, I summoned the waiter and quietly asked about seconds.
“Charlotte,” my father warned.
The waiter looked at my father, wide-eyed, then at me, just as wide-eyed, and I tried to very quietly repeat the question.
The president regarded me with interest.
Feeling worried, I wondered if it was bad manners to ask for more before they all finished.
Matthew had a serious expression on his face, but his eyes seemed to be laughing at me again. His gaze didn’t leave me as he said to the waiter, “I’ll have seconds too.”
I shot him a grateful smile, then started feeling nervous again. His smile was so powerful. I could feel it piercing my heart.
I glanced down at my hands resting on my lap and admired my dress. I hoped Matthew thought I looked pretty. Most of the guys at school did. At least, that’s what they told me.
As my parents talked with the president and Matthew, I fiddled with my braid, placing it on the side of my shoulder, then behind my back. Matthew’s attention returned to me, and when his eyes sparkled with more quiet laughter, the pit in my stomach returned.
The waiter brought us both new plates full of stuffed quail and quinoa. My parents were still looking at me as though it was too bold of me to ask for seconds in front of the president.
Matthew leaned over the table and said, “Never let anyone tell you you’re too young to ask for what you want.”
“Oh, don’t worry, sometimes I don’t ask.”
This earned me a very nice laugh from Matthew. The president frowned at him, then winked at me. As Matthew turned his attention back to the group, I noticed his eyes appeared a shade lighter than black, like chocolate.
I sat there, trying to absorb everything, knowing that that moment, that night, would be the most exciting experience of my life.
But like everything in life … it wouldn’t last forever.
I watched with disappointment as the president rose from his seat and began to thank my parents for dinner.
I got up as well, my eyes fixed on Matthew. The way he stood, the way he walked, the way he looked. I started to wonder what he smelled like, too. I followed the group quietly toward the foyer. The president turned and tapped his presidential cheek. “A kiss, young lady?”
Smiling, I rose up on my toes and kissed his cheek. When I dropped back down, my gaze caught Matthew’s.
As if on automatic, my toes rose again. It seemed only natural that I give him a farewell kiss too. When my lips grazed his jaw, it was hard and it tickled with a little bit of stubble. It was like kissing a movie star. He turned his head and kissed my cheek in return, and I almost gasped out loud from the surprise of feeling his lips on my cheek.
Before I could compose myself, he and the president walked out the door, and all the hustle and bustle of the day turned to dead quiet.
Hurrying upstairs, I watched them leave from my bedroom window. The president was ushered into the back of his shiny black chauffeured car.
Before he got in, the president slapped Matthew on the back and squeezed the back of his neck in a friendly gesture.
The pit in my stomach grew into a ball as they disappeared into the car.
The car started and drove down our quiet neighborhood street, little American flags flapping in the front. A trail of cars followed them, one after the other.
I shut my window, closed my drapes, then took off my dress and hung it carefully. I then slipped into my flannel pajamas and eased into bed as my mother walked in.
“That was a lovely evening,” my mother said. “Did you have fun?”
She smiled as though she was laughing to herself about something. I nodded honestly. “I liked listening to the conversations. I liked everyone.”
She kept smiling. “Matthew is handsome. You noticed, of course. He’s also smart as a whip.”
I nodded in silence.
“Your father and I are writing a letter to the president to thank him for spending his evening with us. Do you want to write him too?”
“No, thank you,” I said primly.
She raised her brows and laughed. “Okay. You sure? If you change your mind, leave it in the foyer tomorrow.”
Mother left my room and I just lay in bed, thinking about the visit, about what the president had said about Matthew.
I decided I’d write Matthew a letter, just because I couldn’t stop feeling awestruck and amazed by the visit. What if I not only ended up meeting one president tonight, but two? That had to take the cake of meetings, for sure.
I used the first page of the stationery my grandmother sent me for my birthday, and in my best handwriting, I wrote, “I want to thank you and the president for coming. If you decide to run for president, you have my vote. I’d even be willing to join your campaign.”
I licked the seal and closed it firmly, and set the letter on my nightstand. Then I flipped off the light switch and got under my covers.
I lay in bed and in the dark. He was everywhere. On the ceiling and in the shadows and on the duvet.
And I wondered if I’d ever see him again and suddenly the thought of him never seeing me grown up felt like an ache in my chest.
I’m so lost in my thoughts I had not realized Alan was studying my profile.
“A crush that’s been crushed, right?” he asks again.
I turn to him, startled to realize we’ve already pulled over in front of my building. I laugh and get out of the cab, peering inside. “Absolutely.” I nod more firmly this time. “I’m focused on my career now.” And I shut the door behind me, waving him off.