Chapter Thirteen
CHARLIE
April 2017
Graduation is three weeks away.
I look at the four tickets I’m holding in my hand, the embossed lettering and swirly bullshit announcing the culmination of a four-year adventure. Every graduate gets four tickets.
No more, no less.
I heard once that some of the students who don’t need all four tickets auction them off at some underground night during grad week, some of them going for as high as $500 bucks. When I mentioned it to RJ, her eyes lit up like it was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard.
I’m pretty sure she’s inviting her brother, her boyfriend and her boss from the part-time job she’s had since freshman year, which would leave her one extra ticket to auction off.
Me, on the other hand… I’ll need all four.
Maybe.
If I can convince everyone to come.
If I can convince anyone to come.
I dread the conversation with my parents. They aren’t horrible people, by any means. But they just don’t get me. They still think the whole nursing thing is a mistake. They still want me to just find a man and settle down and have kids, like my older sister. Issy has two kids now. How you can meet someone, get married and have two entire human children only three and a half years later is mind blowing to me. Didn’t she have anything else she wanted to do?
I sigh and flick through the contacts on my phone.
And then I feel like an asshole because I know that getting married and starting a family is exactly what she wanted to do and I should be happy for her. I shouldn’t be upset that she didn’t do what I think should make her happy.
Mom and dad and Issy will come to the graduation. That’s not the issue. It’s that I’m going to invite my brother, who hasn’t seen or talked to my parents since he graduated high school and moved to New York. I get why that happened, and support my brother. When your dad tells you that being gay is a phase and that you just need to keep the exploration to yourself, there are only so many options you have on how to deal with it. My brother wanted to be out and proud, which is hard to do when you live in a tiny town in a red state full of conservative minds.
Grey and I talk a few times a month. He’s living a fun life, working as a waiter and going to school for architecture. I always tease him that he should have gone to cosmetology school and used all those nights when I did his makeup to his advantage. He just laughs and says, “Come on, Lee-Lee, quit with the stereotyping.”
When I find the Davenport section of my contacts list, I hesitate, my thumb hovering over which number I want to call first. If I call my parents, I’ll be on the phone forever and they’ll have all sorts of questions for me about what my plans are and whether I’ve gotten a job yet and am I dating someone. If I call Grey, he’ll get stuck on the cost of the ticket, and then we’ll end up in an awkward conversation about whether mom and dad will even talk to him and whether it’s worth it to fly all the way out to California for just a few days if they’re gonna be ignoring him the entire time.
So I chicken out and flick off two texts. One to Grey and one to my parents and sister.
Me: Grey baby, graduation is May 12th. I’ve got your ticket in my hand! Can’t wait to see you. Text me your flight details once you get it sorted.
Me: Hey everyone, I finally have the graduation tickets. Can’t wait to see you on the 12th! I’ll email you a link to the full schedule. Love you!
Then I put my phone down and lean my head back on the headrest, my headache making me want to call in sick for the first time since I started my clinical rotation at Glendale Adventist. I’ve been here since the start of junior year, and I’ve never missed a single day.
I glance at the side entrance and watch doctors and nurses coming and going, starting or ending shifts. There’s an eerie calm that overtakes you when you’re going into an environment as chaotic as a hospital. It’s almost like your body knows that you have to be calm in order to exist in such a place.
I really do enjoy working here. It has always been my dream, to help people, to find a way to make others’ lives better, even if it’s just with a smile and caring hands. I love those times when I get to see kids who need someone to give them a positive attitude when they’re all scraped up, or when I get to make things less scary for the person that’s never been in a hospital before.
But what I really enjoy is going through rooms and chatting with the people who seem to be here alone. There’s a sadness that permeates hospital walls. It’s like a unique form of cancer that can suck life out of people who don’t have anyone by their side when they’re wondering what’s happening with their body. Sometimes, if I let myself focus on it for too long, I can feel it leeching the natural optimism from my body, leaving only the rumblings of melancholy behind.
During my junior year, I cried after having to help a single mother with her newborn. The mom had been so clearly alone and scared for her little guy that needed stitches. But she had also been brave, so focused on making sure her son’s needs were taken care of. Of course, I was a brand new intern without really any capabilities to help her other than asking her how she was doing and trying to provide encouragement and support. By the time she left a few hours later, she had a smile on her face – an exhausted smile that didn’t entirely reach her eyes, but it was better than the look of loneliness and feeling of being lost that had been stamped on her face when she first arrived.
I’d said my goodbyes and stolen away to a little closet near my station, letting the tears fall for a few minutes before returning to work. My supervisor had seen me, and decided to have a pretty firm chat with me about not getting too emotionally involved.
“There are too many sad stories, Charlotte,” he’d said. “If you let yourself get upset about all of them, you’ll never make it. And you have to be here, physically and mentally, if you really want to make a difference.”
So now, every time I come to work, I have to put on my Nurse Charlie mask. The one in a permanently pleasant expression, with kind words but not too much empathy or sympathy. The one that helps but doesn’t get attached.
But I feel like this façade is just as draining as it is to emotionally invest in my patients. I’m looking forward to wrapping up my time here and starting my full-time job after graduation.
I haven’t told anyone, but I’ve gotten a job at Pasadena Village, the facility where Nan lives. It’s basically grunt work, but I get to be there with the patients and spend some more time popping in on my hooligan of a grandmother. She’s still a firecracker, that’s for sure. But the past few years have taken a toll on her. And I want more than anything to make sure she knows she isn’t forgotten.
Because, well, isn’t that what any of us wants? To know we are loved and cared for? Not just sitting alone in an elderly home when things are nearing the end?
I sigh, shaking off the emotions that have been wrapping themselves around me over the past fifteen minutes as I’ve sat in RJ’s car, avoiding going in any earlier than I have to.
My roommate and her boyfriend have gone out of town on some fancy getaway, leaving me with the keys to her tiny little death trap of a car. Normally I take the bus to work, which works very well for me. The aggressiveness of the average California driver is enough to send me flying out of my skin on any given day.
But when my shift ends tomorrow morning at 7am, I’ll only have a little bit of time to get home, shower, change and head over to Burbank to help with the basketball game. With time super tight, I have to move as quickly as possible.
I sigh again.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, or why Jeremy wants me involved.
No, wait. That’s a lie.
I know why he wants me involved. He wants to spend time with me. Which would be great if it didn’t set off an explosion of butterflies and nerves every time we’re together. It’s like my brain logically knows that he needs some time to sort out his life before I should even consider starting something up with him.
But how do I tell that to my poor little heart? The heart that has been secretly – okay, maybe not-so-secretly – pining for Jeremy since that first meeting in my room freshman year. How do you listen to what your mind is telling you when your heart is screaming at you that you’re making a mistake?
But I’m scared. No, I’m terrified. I wonder if we have the real ability to start new, with a fresh breath, without the past choking things out too early. And I worry that he’ll start things up again, make me fall in love with him, and then leave me hanging with just the little fragments that are left of my heart.
Because, that’s really the issue. I’m terrified that if I keep giving him pieces of my heart, there won’t be anything left if things fall apart. Just scattered remains and wishes and tears… and regret. Regret that I tried again when I knew things could go sour. Regret that there wasn’t going to be any heart left to give to someone else someday.
Is this going to be just another example of trusting someone, believing in someone, and having the carpet yanked out from under my feet?
I reach down and start rolling up the car window with the hand crank. This car might be adorable, but it would be nice if it had some power.
Just as I’m locking the doors and starting my walk into the hospital, my phone beeps.
Grey: Can’t wait to see you, Charlie girl.
I smile. Even if things are a little uneasy right now in my family, at least I’ll get to see my sweet little brother in a few weeks.
* * * * *
15 hours later, I’m showered, dressed, and waiting for Jeremy to pick me up before we head to Burbank for the game when my phone starts to ring. I dig into my backpack to find it, and when I read the words on my screen, I’m instantly on alert.
Mom Calling
I let out a breath, suck a deep one in for confidence, then lift it to my ear after swiping to accept.
“Hey mom,” I say, leaning against the back of the couch. “What’s up?”
“Charlotte, dear, how’s your day going?” My mother’s voice is strained, and I’m instantly on edge wondering what’s wrong.
“Things are okay. Just waiting for someone to pick me up so we can go do some volunteer work this morning. How are things with you?” I could kick myself for dropping in the volunteer work comment. Even when I’m living my life my own way, according to my rules, and trying to distance myself from this zombie-Stepford-bride person my mom wants me to be, I still can’t help but throw in things to our conversation that I hope will make her proud of me.
“Just getting ready for the annual Scarlet Gala,” she says, not addressing my comment. The Scarlet Gala is this large fundraiser my parents put on each year to benefit the local university. It’s literally the reddest thing that has ever existed in this world, with every table and centerpiece and decoration the bright color of the university’s brand colors, punctuated only by the cream color that is mandatory in the dress code. It’s like those fancy White Parties you hear about happening in the south, where people wear all white and drink champagne in the park surrounded by white flowers and sitting on white blankets.
One year, I refused to wear cream, instead putting on a neon green leotard and tutu I’d borrowed from a friend. I was probably in the 4th or 5th grade at the time, but my mother had been so upset. It was like I had ruined everything because I was a kid who liked bright colors. It had sparked a huge fight between her and my dad, who had allowed me to get into the car like that while my mother had been busy at the venue getting final touches completed.
“Well, what would you have had me do, Diana, leave her at home alone?”
My mother had thrown her razor sharp eyes in my direction so hard, it felt like a physical blow. “It would have been better her stay home than let her show up here and cause a ridiculous scene, looking like that.” She’d stormed off in a huff, and my sister had laughed. But my brother had reached over and tucked his little hand into mine.
I’m so lost in the memory I don’t realize I’ve missed whatever my mom has been saying.
“Sorry, can you say that again?”
There’s a pause. “I said we won’t be able to come to your graduation. The Scarlet Gala is just taking up so much time this year, you know, and there really isn’t anyone else who can…”
But I stop listening as a sharp ringing starts in my ears.
I can’t have heard her correctly. Surely not. There isn’t… I can’t even believe what I just…
They’re not coming to graduation? Is she fucking serious?
I knew things were strained, but I’m their daughter. I’m supposed to be important. What is happening?
She’s still talking on the other end of the line, but I just let my hand drop from my ear and stare at my cell screen, watching the tiny numbers click by. Before I can think better of it, I hit the giant red X to end the call. Even in my most rebellious times, I’ve never hung up on my mother before.
I don’t know how long I’m sitting there, my mind numb, when I hear a knock on the door. I stand woodenly and grab my backpack and water bottle, make sure I have my keys and phone, then slip my shoes on at the door before opening it.
Jeremy stands there with a small smile on his face, but it falls quickly when he sees me.
“What’s wrong?”
I just shake my head, push a pair of sunglasses onto my face and give him the best smile I can muster up. “Rough morning. Lets go.”
I push him lightly out of the way when he doesn’t move, so I can turn and lock the door. But when I start walking out to his SUV, he grabs my wrist and stops me.
“Charlie, what’s going on?”
I pull my wrist out of his grip.
“Nothing I want to talk about, okay?” My tense stance deflates slightly at the tenderness and worry on his face. “Like I said, rough morning. I just need to focus on this game and whatever before I think about this, okay?”
When he finally nods, reluctantly I can tell, I turn and walk out to the car where Malory waits for us.
The morning is a blur, which I hate. Combine the exhaustion from my overnight shift with the emotion from hearing my parents are skipping my graduation, and I just feel like one big exposed nerve. I stand on the sidelines with my clipboard and whistle and pen, contributing absolutely nothing but fragile smiles as the team plays their first game. They look so precious in their little blue and black uniforms, and they have so much energy and I want so badly to be emotionally present right now. But I just can’t.
So I let out a huge sigh of relief when the game is over and the kids and families are all packed up and heading home. I sit quietly in the bleachers and wait as Jeremy finishes up his conversation with Patrick. I keep replaying what my mother said to me, trying, trying so hard to understand where she’s coming from. But I just can’t.
When Jeremy wraps up and they shake hands, I lug the massive mesh bag of basketballs towards the exit.
“I got it, Char,” Jeremy says, taking the bag out of my hands. He’s still looking at me with worry, like I’m a wounded animal. And maybe I am. I sure feel like I’ve been discarded. Maybe hit by a car and left for dead. It’s amazing what a few inconsiderate words can do to your psyche.
“Thanks,” I say, and then start walking over to his car.
After we’ve buckled into the backseat and Malory has started driving, Jeremy turns to face me.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on, yet?” he asks.
When I sit in silence for too long, he gets impatient.
“I know I might not be able to fix the problem, Charlie, but you’re the person who espouses the virtues of talking about your problems. You’re the one who always encouraged Rachel to go to therapy, and who called me on my shit for not talking about my own problems. Well, it’s time for you to say what’s going on.”
I take in the encouraging smile on his face and sigh.
“My parents are skipping my graduation.”
His head jerks back.
“What?”
I nod. “I know. My mom does this big gala every year to benefit the University, and she said they have too much going on right now to make it.” I turn to look at him. “But I know it’s just a bunch of bullshit. They don’t want to come out here. They don’t support me and what I’m doing, so they aren’t coming.” I shrug and look down at my hands, picking at my nails. “I guess I just always thought that even if they didn’t support my choices, they would at least still support me. But after what happened with my brother, I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess.”
Jeremy’s silent as I vent, but I can feel the anger simmering from him, radiating towards me.
“I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better, but I know this is just one of those things you have to sort through on your own,” he finally says.
I nod but keep my eyes in my lap, which is why I’m startled when Jeremy reaches out and lifts my chin with his hand, bringing my eyes to his.
“But I can tell you this,” he says, his face too close to mine and yet not close enough. His face is suddenly so stern, so focused. “Your parents are fucking idiots if they don’t realize what they’re missing out on. I can promise you that I’ll be there, cheering you on as you walk across the stage. You’ve worked so hard for this, and you deserve to be proud of yourself, pretty girl.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes tracking his movements before they come back to looking into my soul, his expression softening. “You are a rainbow that exploded out of a black and white movie. Don’t let the fact that someone else is color blind rob you of your ability to brighten the world.”
I can’t help myself when I lean forward and press my lips against his. He’s startled enough to pop backwards for just a second, to look at my face, before he leans forward and crashes his mouth to mine.
It feels like coming home, when I truly don’t feel like I’ve had one in a long time. His tongue caresses mine, sweeping into my mouth and sending euphoria shooting through my veins. He keeps his hands on my face, holding me in place, almost like he’s afraid I’m going to back away, chicken out. But I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
I moan into his mouth, let my hands reach for him. I grab his shirt and tuck it tightly between my fingers, grabbing onto anything I can find, anything I can grasp that makes this a tangible reality. Where my problems aren’t bigger than what’s happening right now.
Jeremy breaks the kiss but doesn’t let go of my face. He keeps me close, his breath rushing out in pants against my face, the cool mint smell puffing at me as he catches his breath.
“Tell me you actually want me to kiss you right now,” he finally says, which is not at all what I expected him to say. “Tell me this isn’t just you trying to distract yourself from what’s going on with your family.”
It takes a second for his words to register, and by the time they do, I must have paused for too long, because Jeremy lets out a sigh and leans backwards in his seat, his hands falling away from me.
“Jeremy…” I start, but can’t find the words to say, so I don’t say anything. Am I supposed to say that I paused because I was pumped so full of bliss I couldn’t translate his words into actual English? I settle back into my own seat, tucking into myself slightly. Or do I say that I don’t really know why I kissed him? That it just felt right in the moment and I didn’t want to let the moment pass.
“You know as well as I do that using something to numb the pain you’re feeling isn’t healthy.”
I look over to Jeremy, who sits staring out the window.
“You’ve worked really hard to get to a point where you don’t use your body to make things feel better. Isn’t that what you told me? That it took you months and months of reminding yourself that your body isn’t something you want to trade for a few minutes of feeling good?”
Shame washes over me as I remember the words I spoke to Jeremy just a few weeks ago. How was I so quick to jump back into bad habits? Hadn’t I taught myself anything?
“We’re here.”
Malory’s voice breaks the spell I’m under, reminding me that we aren’t in the car alone. That someone else is bearing witness to my moment of weakness.
I glance over at Jeremy, but he's already out of the car and rounding my side. I open the door and slide my legs out just as he reaches me, but I avoid his eyes and his attempt to help me out of the car. As he walks me to the door, the silence between us is awkward and uncomfortable.
“Thanks for…”
“If you need…”
We both smile lightly.
“Go ahead,” I say.
Jeremy tucks his hands into his hips and leans back on his heels.
“I was just gonna say, if you need anyone to talk to, feel free to give me a call. Okay?”
I nod, feeling uncertain. Because I do want to numb this ache I feel. But I’m not entirely certain the sadness I feel has anything to do with my family. I want to tell him to come in, but not because his body can make me feel better about the shitty circumstances I’ve found myself in.
No. I want him to come in because he’s the only person I can imagine talking to right now. I want to spend time with him. I want to snuggle next to him while I cry, and get mad at him when he makes jokes to get me to laugh even though I’m in a shitty mood. But just as quickly as these revelations flood into my mind, the reality that it won’t happen crashes down.
He’s letting me down easy, because he thinks if I reach for him now, it’s because of what happened with my family. So, today, I have to let this go. Today, I have to give him a hug, say thank you, and go deal with my problems in a way that works.
And I’ll keep focusing on dealing with my problems until I feel like I’m in a better place, just like I told Jeremy to do.
But then?
Once we’ve both worked through the shit that life has been throwing at us?
Then it’ll be time to give in.