3. Lottie
Lottie
Twenty-one years old
“ Y ou're going.” Gia leans against the doorframe of my bedroom with her arms crossed over her chest. Her mulish expression says she means business. There's no way I’ll get out of this, but I try anyway.
“I’m really not in the mood, G.” I turn back to my open textbooks on my desk.
“I don't care. It’s your twenty-first birthday. We are going out.” Gia walks through my room and opens my closet.
I know what she’ll find. Simple, plain outfits, a couple of office casual ensembles, and not a single going-out shirt, dress, or the like. It's not something I’m all that fond of doing.
The past three years at UNC have been spent studying, studying, and studying some more.
The journalism program has been more difficult than I anticipated, mostly because I'm not sure it's what I actually want to do.
I like researching stories, finding new sources, and procuring the best leads, but the act of either writing an article or going on camera to report about it is where I've been struggling.
I had all these lofty ideals about becoming a journalist for a small news program or our town newspaper. I’d even been willing to get a job in Greensboro for the local nightly news station.
Now, when I'm a year and a half away from graduating, I’m second-guessing all the decisions I've made thus far. Perhaps Gia is right. Maybe I do need to go out and let loose. Ignoring all my problems isn’t the healthiest idea, but here we are.
“Absolutely not,” I tell Gia as she tries to pull out my slinky black dress. I bought it on a whim for no other reason than I liked it. I felt sexy and confident when I tried it on, but I have yet to find the confidence to wear it.
Gia drops the garment onto my bed. “You're wearing it, and I'm not taking no for an answer.”
“Consent, Gia. It's all the rage now.”
She rolls her eyes, stepping over to my dresser.
“No.” I grab her hand before she can pull my underwear drawer open. “It's one thing for you to pick out my outfit. You are not picking out my underwear too.”
Gia grins at me. “What if you get laid? You're going to want something pretty to wear.”
“That is not going to happen.” What she doesn't know is that it's never happened.
She thinks I lost my V-card to one of the guys I dated when I first got to college.
In all actuality, he was gay and not ready to come out yet, and I was tired of everyone asking if I was dating anyone, so we teamed up to pretend we were together.
A few months later, when we were more comfortable with our new friends, we had an amicable split. It was perfect.
It also made Gia stop asking if I was still hung up on the guy I only spent three hours with years ago. After that, I could relax into my new life at college.
“I’ll wear the dress, but you are not picking out my underwear. Now go.” I shove her in the back to push her toward the door.
I make quick work of my outfit, brush out my brown hair, and throw on a little makeup. I wouldn't normally bother, but G would never let me leave the house without at least putting on mascara.
I grab my phone and house keys and meet Gia at the front door.
We split the rent with two other girls we met at the library.
I don’t love living with girls I barely know, but they’re decent roommates.
We don’t have petty fights over whose food is whose or bathroom time.
All the nightmare roommate stories made me nervous to move in, but we got lucky.
The ride downtown is quick, and ten minutes later, Gia drags me inside the bar. The noise is deafening as we walk through the doors. It’s one of the many reasons why I hate going out.
With my temporary paper ID in hand, we move to the bar to order drinks. Gia’s hips wiggle to the beat playing over the speakers while she silently flirts with the bartender.
I have no idea what I would do without her, even when she’s driving me crazy. I wouldn’t have adjusted to college life without Gia by my side, that’s for sure. There's a good chance I would have transferred to the community college in Westlake, the next town over from Sonoma.
If I’d done that, I wouldn’t have been able to follow my dreams of becoming a journalist. Granted, I'm not entirely sure that’s what I want anymore.
“Two Long Island iced teas,” Gia calls to the bartender when he gets close.
His blond hair swoops around his ears, giving him a California surfer vibe. “You got it, cutie.”
Gia preens. She's always had a way with men. I have no idea what she does to get their attention, but all it takes is a quick smile from her perfectly straight white teeth and a flick of her pin-straight blonde hair, and she keeps them under her thrall.
We take our drinks and find a high-top table to stand around.
It's just off the dance floor and has a great view of the rest of the bar.
The Long Island begins to go down a little too smoothly, so I push it toward the middle of the table.
I have no desire to pray to the porcelain gods in the morning.
“Hey, you're Gia, right?” A man comes up to our table, looking directly at G. His hair is perfectly styled off his forehead, and he’s got on the stereotypical frat boy outfit: button-down shirt, khaki shorts, and boat shoes. “We've got statistics together.”
“Oh, hi. Yeah, Professor Lingley’s class is a bitch,” Gia groans.
“Tell me about it. I barely squeaked out a C on the last test.”
I glance over to the guy's friend. He's looking around the bar like he's never been in one before. He turns, catching me staring. His smile says he doesn't mind. “I’m William,” he says, holding his hand out for me to shake.
My heart gives a sad little thump. Where’s my William right now? I haven't heard from him in several months, which isn't atypical.
He's not your anything.
I give myself a mental slap. Since Teddy left, we've exchanged emails sporadically for the last three years. It's mostly me emailing him, but now and then, I get one back. As pathetic as it sounds, I live for those moments.
“Charlotte,” I introduce myself to William.
“Do you go to UNC, too?” he asks.
“Yeah, I'm a journalism major.” Part of me wants to roll my eyes at the stupid small talk. I don't want to get to know him. I don't want to go home with him. I don't want to date him. And I know that makes me sound like a stuck-up bitch, but I just don't have any interest in dating.
After getting to college, I quickly learned that not all interactions with men make me feel the way I felt with Teddy. I shouldn't compare the interactions, I know that, but when you've felt champagne bubbles in your stomach after spending time with a guy, it's hard to settle for anything less.
“I’m just here visiting Declan.” William tilts his head toward the man next to him. Looking at them now, they look like they're related. Both have light brown hair and light brown eyes, but where Declan is taller, William is a bit more cut.
Declan takes Gia's hand and leads her out onto the dance floor. Somehow, in all my musings, I missed the two of them getting closer.
William glances at me. “You want to dance, too?”
I give him a soft smile. “I appreciate that, but I think I'm going to stay here with our drinks.
He tilts his head. “All good. I'm going to get another drink.” He walks away from the table, and I know without a doubt he won't be back.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and, as I always do, bring up my email. I wait for the little spiral to tell me I have no new emails, but then my heart starts to race. One email pops up with a name that always hits me square in the chest.
I click into Teddy's email faster than lightning, my eyes flying through the words that he sent me.
Sparkles,
The picture you sent gave me more of a boost than I ever thought I needed .
I'm tired.
It's hard for me to even admit that, but at this point, it's sort of an understatement.
Every mission I go on has begun to blur with the one before it.
I love my job, and I love getting a chance to serve my country.
But sometimes, especially when I'm not even sure where I am or what time it is, I wonder what my life would be like away from the endlessly dangerous, high-stress situations.
I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. All I know is the afternoon I spent with you is just about the only thing keeping me going—that and the emails you send. I read every single one of them, even if I'm not always able to respond.
Thank you for being my light.
–T
My eyes burn with unshed tears. All of his recent emails have been very similar to this one. I want to tell him to get out. To come home to me, but I know it’s a little girl’s fantasy.
This is his life; it's his passion, his job. I don't think he’d know who he is without it, so instead of telling him what I want to say, I respond with silly anecdotes about my life. All the dumb things I’ve been up to in college and beyond.
I even tell him about Gia forcing me out tonight for my birthday.
I write about things that will help him escape from the sad direction his brain wants to go.
I hope I give him a sense of joy and make him smile with every sentence.
At the end of my ramblings, I attach the selfie I took tonight before we arrived at the bar.
Call me conceited, but I look fantastic.
If he can’t be here in person like I want him to be, at least he can have a visual to go with my story.
I’m well aware that pining for Teddy is a waste of time. I don't have any silly notions that he feels the same way. I've never told him how I feel, and likely never will, which only makes emailing him harder sometimes.
But I'm never going to give him up. I’ll never stop reaching out because it’s the only connection I have to him. His emails are the only tether I have to the man I have come to believe is the love of my life.