Georgetown October 2014
I’ve been thinking about leave. Maybe not this year, since you’ll be in the middle of classes when I’ll get block leave—aka, vacation—but maybe next year we can pick a place neither of us has been and just go. Just leave everything behind for a week or two and just . . . be. And I know you’ve probably traveled a lot more than I have. There wasn’t money for that growing up, but the only good thing about deployment is the ridiculous amount of money I’ve been able to save. So, if you’re down, send back a list of where you’d want to go with the next letter. Let’s go somewhere warm, Izzy. Somewhere with a beach. Somewhere I can XXXXX
He’d crossed that part out so many times that the pen had ripped through the paper in one place. I sighed and set the letter on the kitchen counter.
How was it possible to miss someone so much when I’d spent so little actual time with him?
“How many times have you read that one?” Serena asked as she finished up dinner on the island cooktop in front of me.
“Once or twice.” Just like Nate, I could find the positives in the bad, and the one good thing that had come from Dickface leaving me for Yale was Serena moving into the two-bedroom apartment when she’d been hired
by the Post. She liked to beat herself up that it wasn’t the Times, but I was just ecstatic to have her with me.
“More like a hundred times,” she muttered, flipping the grilled cheese in the pan.
“You know I’m happy to cook, right?” The exposed side was more than a little charred. “I lived with Margo that last year at Syracuse. It’s not like I don’t know how.”
“Your job is to study.” She pointed a cheese-covered spatula at me. “Study, Isabeau. Not memorize love letters from Nate.”
“They’re not love letters.” I snatched up the paper just in case any of that cheese made a jump for it and landed on Nate’s letter. “He made it clear that we’re not together.”
“Right.” She arched a brow.
“You look like Mom when you do that,” I muttered.
She scoffed, and snatched the letter out of my hands. “Take it back!” she demanded, holding the letter above the grilled cheese, which was now smoking.
“You’re going to set the apartment on fire!”
“Take. It. Back.” She dangled the letter just above the pan.
“Fine, I take it back!” I lunged, but she leapt out of reach and then started to read. “Serena!”
She whistled low, leaning back against the other counter. “The man is good with words.”
“I know that.” I grabbed the handle of the pan and moved it off the burner, then threw open the window in hopes of avoiding another encounter with the smoke alarm and our noise-sensitive neighbors in 3C.
“‘Promise me that you’re out there living and not just existing,’” she read from the end of the letter, blowing out a long sigh. “See, even the guy who is clearly in love with you wants you to get out more. Which is weird, but if it helps convince you, then I’m all for it.”
“One, Nate is not in love with me. Someone who loves you doesn’t turn you loose on the male population and tell you to have at it while he’s gone.” I understood his point, really and truly, but that didn’t mean I agreed with it.
“In this case?” She waved the letter as the scent of smoke dissipated. “That’s exactly what someone who loves you would tell you to do. I have to give the guy some respect. He could have locked you down in Georgia and
left you pining. Instead, he thought of what would be best for you.” She made a face. “I think you may have found the one good guy left on the planet, and I don’t care what Mom and Dad say about him.”
They didn’t know much about Nate, but they’d made it clear they thought dating an enlisted soldier was a major step downward from a Covington. I hadn’t bothered telling them we weren’t dating after that comment, and honestly, whatever I was with Nate was a step up from Jeremy. He’d sent me an Insta DM last week I’d happily ignored. That guy had some major growing up to do.
“So why are you so keen on me getting out more?” I settled on the kitchen stool and started scrolling on my phone for takeout.
It was like we were kids again, fending for ourselves while Mom and Dad were at one gala or another, except we were adults. Kind of. Since my definition of adulting was paying all my own bills, and Dad was still covering tuition, books, and this apartment, I wasn’t exactly the poster child for independence. Not in the way Nate was.
“Because there are plenty of decent ones left who aren’t perpetually unavailable.” She looked up at me. “And you need at least a few nights a week that you aren’t wearing . . . that.”
I looked down at Nate’s hoodie. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Nothing.” She rolled her eyes. “What’s going on with Paul, anyway?
That was your second date a couple nights ago, right?”
“Patrick,” I corrected her, finding a local restaurant that had a reasonable delivery time. “And pretty sure that’s not going to work out.”
“Shocker.” Her eyes flared with mock surprise. “Let me guess. You’re both at Georgetown Law, and that’s just too much in common. He wants to go into politics, and you abhor it. He’s good looking but just doesn’t rev your engine. Nice, but not memorable? Oh, and the death sentence to every potential Isabeau Astor suitor—he’s available.”
“He’s a 2L who wants to go into corporate law, and I’m pretty sure he’s more attracted to his phone than me.” Patrick didn’t look at me like I was the answer to every question. He’d only kissed me once, and it had all the heat of three-day-old leftovers. And . . . I sighed.
He wasn’t Nate.
None of them were.
“I’ll trade you.” I waved my phone. “Dinner for my letter back.”
She cocked her head to the side and stared at the paper. “I really wish he hadn’t redacted this part. I bet it was hot.”
“Serena!”
“Fine. Have your non-boyfriend’s letter.” She gave it back to me and entered her order into my phone.
I folded it neatly and put it back in its envelope so I could store it with the others. He’d sent a package this time, complete with three newly highlighted books. I had mine ready to go back for him, too, and had started a birthday package that needed to get out in the next couple of days if it was going to have any hope of making it to him. So far it had spearmint gum, the brownies he’d revealed a secret weakness for, and a Georgetown hoodie to wear around the base, or the FOB, as he called it, on his downtime.
“You know, you should really watch the congressional race back home,” Serena said, handing my phone back.
“Someone interesting?” I slid the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. “Or someone you think is interesting because you’re a high-powered reporter on a mission for truth and justice?”
“Can’t it be both?” She dumped the burnt sandwich in the trash can and set the pan in the sink.
“Not usually.”
“She’s running on a platform of ending the war in Afghanistan.” My gaze jumped to hers.
“Figured that might get your attention.” She leaned toward me, bracing her elbows on the small island. “Not sure she’s got the numbers to get elected, and honestly, I don’t see legislation like that passing. Not with the makeup of the Hill right now. But still, I bet Dad could pull a few strings to get you an internship if she wins.”
“Politics?” I shook my head. “No, thank you. Any string Dad pulls comes with more, and I’m going into the nonprofit sector.” Somewhere I could make a difference.
“Dad’s going to be thrilled.” She grinned. “You should tell him at Christmas, just so we can watch him turn red like one of the decorations.”
“He took your journalism major okay.” I grabbed the closest notebook to me and opened it to the first blank page, numbering one through ten on the left side.
“Because he was still hoping you’d be his key to gaining a little political power with Covington. Dad wants a politician in the family more
than he’s ever wanted us.”
“Isn’t that the sad truth.” The past few years had only made that glaringly obvious. “The least we could have done was given him one kid with an MBA for Astor Enterprises.”
“I’m not working my ass off to rid myself of his leash just so he can slap a harness on me and take me for a little walk in whatever direction he sees fit. Nope.” She shook her head.
“On that we agree. And let’s spare the awkwardness at Christmas. I’ll break the news when they come out for my birthday in March.”
Serena grimaced but quickly covered it. “Look, I know you’re excited that they say they’re coming, but just don’t . . .” She bit her bottom lip.
“Get my hopes up?” I finished the sentence she obviously didn’t want
to.
“Exactly.”
“They’ll come.” I lifted my brows at her skepticism. “They will. They
promised. Besides, they booked a hotel already.”
“I just don’t want to see you disappointed. Again. I wouldn’t exactly call them reliable, which is why I think you would benefit from dating someone who actually is.” She glanced pointedly at my paper.
“Nate has yet to let me down.” I stared at the empty numbers on my list, my brain spinning with my favorite word—possibilities. Somewhere with a beach. Somewhere Nate could kiss me in the water. That’s what I pretended was in that scratched-out portion of the letter.
“Oh, and it’s Lauren,” Serena said. “Who?”
“The woman who’s running for Congress. Eliana Lauren.”
“I’ll look her up.” The least I could do was see if she was worth voting
for.
I tapped my pen next to the number one, then wrote a single word. Fiji.
 |
By December, my collection of letters had grown exponentially, as had my stress. Law school was even harder than I’d expected. Finals left me almost no time to read, and I wasn’t exactly holding up my end of the conversation with Nate.
And true to Nate, he didn’t say a single word about me ghosting him for nearly a month, just kept writing, telling me how proud he was that I was conquering law school.
Christmas had been an awkward extravaganza of overpriced gifts and awkward, two-pat hugs, but January arrived, and I got my rhythm back.
Never apologize for doing what you need to. That’s what Nate said when I got a letter at the end of January.
February, I managed not to screw up a relationship for all of three weeks.
By the fourth, I cut him loose. It just happened to be the same week Mom and Dad canceled their trip to DC for my birthday in favor of opening Dad’s new Chicago offices.
I didn’t know Nate’s dad, and he’d never told me why he feared becoming like him, but I was starting to feel the same way about my own. I didn’t need to be my parents’ number one priority, but making the top ten would have been nice every once in a while.
“Again?” Margo asked in March on our weekly call.
“Hey, I gave it four dates,” I told her, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear as I folded the last of my clean laundry and put it away. “Not all of us are happily married at twenty-two.”
“You’re not twenty-two,” she reminded me. “Not until tomorrow.”
“You get my point.” I hung my favorite shirt and put Nate’s hoodie in the drawer beneath my bed. “I just don’t see a reason to string someone along when I know it won’t work.”
“It’s never going to work if you don’t give it an actual shot,” she lectured.
I glanced at the box of letters on my desk. “Totally agree with you there.”
A loud giggle sounded from the living room.
“Sounds like someone’s having a good time,” Margo said.
“Serena has her boyfriend over, which is why I’m hiding in my bedroom.”
“And how are classes?”
“Fine, Mom.” I smiled when she scoffed. “Really, I’m oddly caught up, and it’s Friday night. I have the entire weekend to binge TV or—”
“Write Nate,” Margo suggested in a singsong voice. “You’re starting to sound like Serena.”
“Serena adores Nate. I’m . . .” She went quiet.
I tossed my empty laundry basket on the floor of my abysmally small closet. “Just say it.”
“I’m withholding judgment until it’s a little clearer if you guys are some destined fairy tale or if it’s the initial trauma of the crash that bonded you.”
“And how are your classes, psych major?” I asked, not that I hadn’t wondered the same thing once or twice. But the way I missed him all these months later had to mean something more. Between our letters and the short bursts of time we’d had, I almost knew Nate better than I had dickface Jeremy. Letters didn’t leave a lot of space for bullshitting the way empty movie dates did.
“I’m barely passing one of my classes,” Margo admitted.
“Like actually barely passing?” I asked, pausing. “Or in danger of getting a C?”
“They’re basically the same thing.”
I grinned. “No, they’re not. But seriously, is there anything I can do?” “Besides moving back to the tundra of upstate New York and
personally taking me to coffee every afternoon so I can see your pretty face?”
“Right. Besides that.” The doorbell rang, but I flopped onto my bed, knowing Serena would get it.
“Nope. Just listen to me whine on our calls.” “Always happy to do so.”
“Izzy!” Serena called out.
“I have to let you go; I think our dinner just got here.” We said our goodbyes, and I ended the call.
“Izzy!” Serena shouted again.
“Coming!” I hoisted my soft flannel pajama pants up higher on my hips and zipped up my Georgetown hoodie over my braless boobs so I wouldn’t freak out Serena’s company in the two seconds it would take to snag my dinner and fade back into the cave of my room.
I opened my bedroom door to find Serena grinning at me with an eerie resemblance to the Cheshire cat. “Yes?”
“I’m getting out of here for the weekend. Luke’s roommate is out of town, so we’ll have his place to ourselves. He’s throwing some stuff in a
bag for me right now.” She looked so happy that I couldn’t bear to remind her that tomorrow was my birthday.
“That sounds amazing! Have a great time!” I forced a smile and prayed she didn’t see through it.
She squeezed me tight. “You’re going to have the best birthday.
Promise me you’ll actually leave the apartment.”
“Will do.” That was a blatant fib. I’d leave the apartment long enough to fetch coffee down the block, but that was it. I was already planning out a full binge-fest on the couch.
She pulled back and studied my face like she could detect lies. “Okay.
Dinner is on the kitchen counter. I love you, Iz.” “Love you.”
She squeezed my hand and then raced out, grabbing her boyfriend’s hand and shutting the front door before I even made it to the living room.
“Weird, but okay,” I muttered, turning toward the kitchen and the scent of freshly delivered Chinese food.
I jumped at the sight of the handsome man leaning casually against the counter, like he was supposed to be here and not half a world away. He was dressed in jeans and a coat he hadn’t even unzipped yet, and a travel-worn camouflage backpack rested on the floor next to his feet. Despite the exhaustion in his blue eyes, he looked so damned beautiful that I could barely breathe.
“Nate?” He was here. In the States. In my kitchen. “Hey.” He smiled, flashing that dimple.
My heart took off like a racehorse, and so did I. It took less than a second for me to dart over the couch. Who cared if pillows went flying? I wasn’t wasting time by going around. He caught me in his arms before I could land on the other side.
“You’re here,” I mumbled against the warm skin of his neck, my feet dangling as he hugged me tight.
“Happy birthday, Isabeau,” he said. Best present ever.
