Chapter Seventeen — Tessa
Chapter Seventeen
Tessa
The Boston interview started ruining my life forty-eight hours before it happened.
Not because I wanted it.
That would have been simpler.
Wanting something created direction.
This created spreadsheets.
By Wednesday night, I had three versions of my résumé open, two sample case studies printed, and one father texting me links to articles titled:
TEN QUESTIONS EVERY TOP FIRM ASKS
and
HOW TO SIGNAL PROFESSIONAL MATURITY BEFORE YOU SPEAK
I deleted neither.
That was the problem.
Paige sat at my desk chair, spinning slowly while reading one of the internship packets.
“This salary is offensive.”
I looked up from my laptop.
“Low?”
“High.”
“That is not how offensive works.”
“It is when people expect twenty-one-year-olds to know what they’re doing.”
“They expect competence.”
“They expect blazers.”
“I own a blazer.”
“You own four.”
“Different purposes.”
“They are all black.”
“One is charcoal.”
Paige held up both hands.
“My mistake.”
I returned to the cover letter.
The cursor blinked after:
I am especially drawn to the firm’s commitment to disciplined, strategic problem-solving.
The sentence was polished.
Professional.
Completely empty.
I deleted it.
Then typed it again.
Paige watched.
“You hate this.”
“I don’t hate it.”
“You deleted the same sentence three times.”
“I’m refining.”
“You’re negotiating with yourself.”
“That is not a real thing.”
“It is your primary hobby.”
My phone buzzed beside the laptop.
Rhett.
Rhett: Important question.
I smiled before opening it.
That was becoming automatic.
Tessa: Is it actually important?
Rhett: Emotionally.
Tessa: That lowers confidence.
A photo arrived.
Rhett stood in the equipment room holding two ties.
One navy.
One gray.
His expression was deeply serious.
Rhett: Which one says supportive boyfriend without implying hostility toward Boston?
I stared at the word.
Boyfriend.
It still did something strange to my chest.
Not bad.
Just unfamiliar.
Paige leaned over my shoulder.
“He’s wearing the navy.”
“I did not ask.”
“Navy makes his eyes warmer.”
“I am not selecting based on his eyes.”
“Then why are you zooming in?”
I immediately moved the phone away.
“I’m not.”
“You pinched the screen.”
“To inspect the fabric.”
“Of course.”
I typed:
Tessa: Why are you choosing a tie?
Rhett: Friday.
My fingers paused.
Tessa: You are not coming to Boston.
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
Rhett: I know.
Tessa: Then why Friday?
Rhett: Post-interview dinner.
I went still.
Paige noticed.
“What?”
I handed her the phone.
She read the message.
Then looked at me.
“Oh.”
“It is presumptuous.”
“It is sweet.”
“It assumes I’ll want dinner.”
“You will.”
“It assumes I’ll return immediately.”
“You will.”
“It assumes—”
“That he wants to see you no matter how the interview goes.”
I looked back at the phone.
That was exactly what it assumed.
Not that I would accept.
Not that I would reject.
Only that afterward, he would be there.
The steadiness of it made me uncomfortable.
Which probably meant I needed it.
I typed:
Tessa: Gray.
His reply came instantly.
Rhett: Wrong answer.
Tessa: Then why ask?
Rhett: Wanted confirmation.
Tessa: Wear navy.
Rhett: Knew you cared.
I locked the screen.
Paige smiled.
“Date earrings?”
“No.”
“Post-interview boyfriend dinner?”
“Do not call it that.”
“What should I call it?”
I looked at the cover letter.
The folders.
The future arranged in bullet points.
“Friday,” I said.
Paige’s expression softened.
“That bad?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I don’t.”
She stopped spinning.
“Do you want the job?”
“I want the option.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I understand.”
“Do you want Boston?”
I looked toward the window.
Campus lights glowed beyond the glass.
Lakeview.
The arena.
The student center.
Rhett appearing in economics class because he wanted to see me.
“I want to know I could choose it.”
Paige nodded slowly.
“That sounds like you want freedom more than Boston.”
The sentence landed.
I looked at her.
She shrugged.
“Senior commercial roommate analysis.”
“You are a psychology minor.”
“I contain depth.”
“You stole that from Rhett.”
“He says a lot of reusable things.”
My phone buzzed again.
Rhett: Also, Coach says I’m distracted.
Tessa: You are always distracted.
Rhett: Different kind.
Tessa: What kind?
There was a pause.
Then:
Rhett: The kind where I keep thinking about whether you’re scared.
My chest tightened.
I stared at the screen.
Paige watched my face.
“That one got you.”
“He is becoming inconveniently perceptive.”
“That is usually what happens when people care.”
I typed:
Tessa: I’m prepared.
He replied:
Rhett: That wasn’t the question.
Of course it wasn’t.
I closed my laptop.
Paige’s eyebrows lifted.
“Done?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I need air.”
“Or Rhett?”
I stood.
“Air.”
She smiled.
“Sure.”
Rhett was waiting outside the economics building twenty minutes later.
I had not asked him to meet me.
I had only texted:
Walk?
He had answered:
Already moving.
Now he stood beneath the stone arch wearing a Lakeview beanie, dark jacket, and the same expression he always wore when he was trying not to look worried.
I recognized it now.
The false ease.
The smile prepared but not deployed.
He looked at me.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You brought folders.”
“I forgot I was holding them.”
“That seems serious.”
“It is paper.”
“It’s Boston paper.”
I looked down.
Three internship packets pressed against my chest.
He reached for them.
I held tighter.
“I can carry them.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then why?”
“Because you’ve been carrying them all day.”
The answer was too precise.
I let go.
Rhett tucked the folders beneath one arm.
Then held out his free hand.
Not dramatic.
No question in his face.
Just an offer.
I took it.
We walked toward the library.
Cold air moved through the bare trees.
A few students crossed the quad. Nobody stopped us. Nobody raised a phone.
For once, the campus seemed uninterested.
I liked that.
Rhett’s thumb moved lightly over my knuckles.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“No.”
“Strong start.”
“I’m thinking several contradictory things.”
“I can handle several.”
“You cannot handle one schedule.”
“I follow emotional schedules.”
“That is not a thing.”
“It is now.”
I looked ahead.
The library windows reflected the dark sky.
“I want the interview to go well.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t know if I want the job.”
“Also okay.”
“I don’t want Dad to think I wasted the opportunity.”
“Less okay.”
I turned toward him.
“Why?”
“Because his opinion isn’t the same as your decision.”
“I know that intellectually.”
“And emotionally?”
I looked away.
“Under review.”
He squeezed my hand.
Not teasing.
“I’m scared if they offer it, I’ll accept because saying yes is easier than deciding.”
Rhett was quiet for several steps.
Then he said, “What would make you say yes for the right reason?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“What would the job give you?”
“Experience. Money. Connections.”
“What would Boston give you?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
He waited.
“Distance,” I said.
The word surprised me.
“From your father?”
“From everyone.”
“Including me?”
The question came gently.
That made it harder.
“I don’t know.”
Rhett stopped walking.
I took one more step before our joined hands pulled me back.
He stood beneath a campus lamp.
The light caught the edge of his face.
Not angry.
Not wounded.
Careful.
“Tessa.”
“I’m not saying I want distance from you.”
“But you’re thinking about it.”
“I’m thinking about everything.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
He stepped closer.
“Do you think dating me makes the Boston decision less yours?”
The question went directly to the center of it.
I hated that.
“Yes.”
His expression tightened.
Barely.
I continued quickly.
“Not because you pressure me.”
“Then why?”
“Because now every choice has consequences for someone else.”
“That’s relationships.”
“I remember.”
“You say that like it’s a flaw.”
“It’s risk.”
“Yes.”
He did not argue.
That unsettled me more than reassurance would have.
“You could tell me Boston doesn’t matter,” I said.
“It might.”
“You could say we’ll be fine.”
“We might be.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It’s honest.”
I pulled my hand free.
Not because I wanted distance.
Because I needed to think without touching him.
Rhett let me.
That mattered too.
“I don’t know how to choose something when I can’t predict the cost,” I said.
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then held out the folders.
I took them.
“What?”
“You keep asking the wrong question.”
My frustration sharpened.
“What is the right one?”
“Not what choice costs less.”
He stepped closer again.
“What choice feels like yours?”
The words settled.
No solution.
No plan.
Only the thing I had been avoiding.
Mine.
The job.
Boston.
Law school.
Rhett.
Every decision felt dangerous because I could no longer pretend somebody else had made it.
I looked down at the folders.
“I hate when you sound wise.”
“It’s rare.”
“It’s disruptive.”
“Also rare.”
I smiled despite myself.
He saw.
The worry in his face eased slightly.
Then my phone rang.
Dad.
Of course.
I looked at the screen.
Rhett said nothing.
No judgment.
No suggestion.
Choice.
I answered.
“Hi.”
My father’s voice came sharp through the phone.
“Did you revise the case-response sample?”
“Yes.”
“Did you review the partner biographies?”
“Not yet.”
“You need to know who’s interviewing you.”
“I will.”
“The Boston office is extremely competitive.”
“You’ve mentioned that.”
“And Tessa?”
I waited.
“This is the kind of opportunity people regret not taking seriously.”
There it was.
Not forcing.
Not exactly.
Only fear dressed as advice.
I looked at Rhett.
He stood several feet away now, giving me privacy.
Still there.
“I am taking it seriously,” I said.
“Then why haven’t you called the alumni contact I sent?”
“Because I didn’t ask for one.”
Silence.
My pulse climbed.
Dad’s voice changed.
“Tessa.”
“I appreciate that you’re trying to help.”
“I am helping.”
“That doesn’t make it easier.”
“Then call him.”
The old answer rose automatically.
Fine.
All right.
I will.
I swallowed it.
“No.”
The word came quietly.
Still, it felt enormous.
Rhett looked at me.
My father went silent.
“What?”
“I’m not calling someone just to create an advantage I didn’t earn.”
“That is not what networking is.”
“Maybe not. I still don’t want to.”
“Tessa, you’re being emotional.”
The sentence struck.
Not because it was cruel.
Because it dismissed the very thing I was trying to learn to trust.
“I’m making a decision.”
“Based on what?”
“What I want.”
The line trembled.
Barely.
I kept going.
“I’m doing the interview. I’m preparing. But I’m doing it my way.”
Another silence.
Then Dad exhaled.
“You sound different.”
I looked at Rhett.
He did not smile.
Did not take credit.
Only watched.
“I think I am,” I said.
Dad’s voice softened.
“I don’t want you to close doors.”
“Neither do I.”
“I want you to have choices.”
“So do I.”
“Then use them carefully.”
“I will.”
We ended the call without a fight.
That felt more significant than winning one.
I lowered the phone.
Rhett waited.
“Well?”
“I said no.”
His mouth curved.
“Rebellion.”
“It was one phone call.”
“Every revolution begins somewhere.”
“You already used that line.”
“Still true.”
I crossed the space between us.
Not slowly.
Not cautiously.
I wrapped my arms around him.
Rhett went still for half a second.
Then his arms closed around me.
Warm.
Strong.
No joke.
I pressed my face against his jacket.
He held me without asking what the hug meant.
That was what I needed.
After a moment, he said, “You okay?”
“No.”
“That helps.”
I pulled back enough to glare at him.
“Why would that be good?”
“You chose discomfort.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It’s growth.”
“You’ve spent too much time with me.”
“Not enough.”
The answer came easily.
It still landed deeply.
I looked up at him.
His hands rested at my waist.
Public enough that we should have stepped apart.
Private enough that I did not care.
“I don’t know what Friday changes,” I said.
“Nothing until you decide it does.”
“And if they offer me the job?”
“Then you decide.”
“And us?”
“Nothing between us has changed.”
“Because you keep checking.”
I looked away.
He touched my chin lightly.
Not forcing.
Guiding.
My gaze returned to his.
“I’m not going to punish you for having options,” he said.
The sentence broke something open in me.
Not tears.
Close.
“You might hate the option I choose.”
“I might.”
His honesty hurt.
Still, I trusted it.
“And then?”
“Then we talk.”
“That simple?”
“No.”
A faint smile.
“But we don’t invent the ending before we get there.”
I breathed out.
The cold air clouded between us.
“Post-interview dinner,” I said.
His eyes warmed.
“Navy tie.”
“You’re not wearing a tie.”
“I already committed emotionally.”
I laughed.
He leaned closer.
“Can I kiss you?”
“You’re my boyfriend.”
The word moved through me again.
Boyfriend.
Chosen.
Real.
“Yes.”
He kissed me softly.
Not long.
Not enough to make the quad disappear.
Just enough to remind me I did not have to solve the future before accepting the present.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
“You’re wearing the earrings Friday,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“Date earrings.”
“It is an interview.”
“Power earrings.”
I smiled.
“Maybe.”
“Renewable?”
“Wrong context.”
“Still hopeful.”
He took my hand again.
We kept walking.
The folders felt lighter beneath my arm.
Not because the decision had changed.
Because for once, I was carrying it as mine.
And Rhett was beside me without trying to take it away.