Chapter Twenty-One — Tessa
Chapter Twenty-One
Tessa
The morning after Rhett told me he loved me, I woke up to seventeen messages.
Six from Paige.
Four from my father.
Three from the Boston firm.
Two from Rhett.
One from an unknown number.
And one from Lakeview Athletics asking whether I would be available for a “brief relationship-centered feature.”
I stared at the screen.
Then opened Rhett’s messages first.
That was new.
Rhett: Morning.
The second:
Rhett: Still love you. Just confirming the overnight status.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
Then typed:
Tessa: Status unchanged.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Rhett: Disturbingly formal.
Tessa: You asked for confirmation.
Rhett: I wanted poetry.
Tessa: At seven twelve in the morning?
Rhett: Love does not keep business hours.
I put the phone down.
Picked it up again.
Tessa: I love you too.
His response came so quickly he had either been waiting or had never put the phone down.
Rhett: Better.
I read the sentence twice.
Then opened the athletics message.
That ruined everything.
The feature proposal included photographs from Family Weekend, the charity skate, the game, and the university courtyard.
Our entire relationship converted into visual assets.
The final line read:
Given the positive engagement around your story, we believe this could be a meaningful celebration of Lakeview connections before summer.
Before summer.
Meaning before Boston.
Meaning the university had already turned our distance into a narrative arc.
I locked the screen.
Paige rolled over in the other bed.
“You’re frowning at your phone.”
“University communications wants to celebrate our story.”
She opened one eye.
“That sounds ominous.”
“It includes the phrase positive engagement.”
“Very ominous.”
“They want a relationship feature.”
“Didn’t you already decline one?”
“Yes.”
“Then decline again.”
I sat up.
“It’s connected to student activities funding.”
“Is it?”
“They imply it is.”
“That is not the same thing.”
I looked at the email again.
No direct threat.
No explicit condition.
Only polished language designed to make refusal feel ungrateful.
Paige pushed herself upright.
“Tessa.”
“What?”
“You do not owe the university access to your relationship.”
“Intellectually.”
“Do you?”
The question irritated me because it sounded like Rhett.
Which meant it was probably useful.
“I understand the principle.”
“You’re already calculating the consequences.”
“That is responsible.”
“That is how they get you.”
I looked down at the screen.
The photographs were good.
That was part of the problem.
Us laughing.
Us on the ice.
Rhett holding my hand.
Moments that had belonged to us before they belonged to everyone else.
“I’ll talk to him,” I said.
Paige’s expression softened.
“That helps.”
“I didn’t say we were declining.”
“I understand.”
That was the look she gave me.
The one that said she knew exactly what I was about to do.
Turn discomfort into a practical trade.
Make it useful.
Make it reasonable.
Make it easier to say yes.
I hated that everyone had learned my patterns.
Rhett’s mother arrived on campus at noon carrying enchiladas and a framed photograph of him dressed as a magician.
I had not known she was coming.
Rhett had not known either.
That helped.
Slightly.
We were walking across the quad when a compact blue car pulled into the visitor lane and stopped illegally beside the curb.
The driver’s door opened.
A woman with dark hair, bright eyes, and Rhett’s exact smile stepped out.
“Rhett!”
He stopped.
“Oh, no.”
I looked at him.
“That is not the reaction people usually have to mothers.”
“She has a photograph.”
His mother lifted the frame.
In it, a ten-year-old Rhett wore a black cape, white gloves, and a red bow tie.
I looked at him.
He looked at the ground.
“This is the best day of my life.”
“It is not.”
His mother crossed the pavement quickly.
Rhett barely had time to set down his bag before she hugged him.
He wrapped both arms around her.
No hesitation.
No performance.
The ease between them softened something in me.
Then she released him and turned directly toward me.
“Tessa.”
Not a question.
She knew exactly who I was.
“Hi.”
She hugged me too.
Immediately.
Warmly.
Like we had already agreed to this.
I looked over her shoulder at Rhett.
He mouthed, Sorry.
I was not sorry.
That was inconvenient.
His mother stepped back but kept both hands around mine.
“I’m Elena.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“I have heard everything.”
Rhett closed his eyes.
“Mom.”
“Not everything,” Elena corrected. “He is emotionally selective.”
“I am standing here.”
She ignored him.
“You’re even prettier than the pictures.”
My face warmed.
Rhett smiled.
I glared at him.
He smiled wider.
Elena looked between us.
Then pressed one hand to her chest.
“Oh.”
Rhett pointed.
“No.”
“You’re real.”
“Mom.”
“I knew the university photos were not fake.”
“They were initially complicated.”
“Tessa sprayed him with a fire extinguisher.”
“I know.”
Elena looked delighted.
“I sent her flowers in my heart.”
I laughed.
Rhett looked betrayed.
“You like her more than me.”
“I raised you. I’m familiar with the flaws.”
She picked up the framed photograph and handed it to me.
Rhett reached for it.
I moved it out of range.
He wore a paper mustache.
I looked at him.
“You said you did card tricks.”
“I was ten.”
“You had gloves.”
“It was a professional period.”
Elena pulled a foil-covered dish from the passenger seat.
“Lunch.”
Rhett stared at it.
“You drove two hours with enchiladas?”
“I wanted to meet your girlfriend.”
The word still did something to me.
Not because it was new.
Because it sounded permanent in her voice.
Rhett glanced at me.
Checking.
I smiled.
He relaxed.
A small thing.
Still visible.
Elena noticed too.
Of course she did.
“Where can we eat?”
Rhett picked up the dish.
“Anywhere without cameras.”
I looked at him.
He had not forgotten the communications issue.
Neither had I.
“Student activities conference room,” I said.
Rhett’s eyebrows rose.
“Romantic.”
“It has plates.”
Elena linked her arm through mine.
“Lead the way.”
Rhett followed behind us carrying lunch and his childhood dignity in ruins.
Elena Callahan was exactly what Rhett would have been if he had been born without the instinct to hide.
Warm.
Quick.
Funny.
Emotionally direct in a way that left no room to retreat.
Within fifteen minutes, she had asked about Boston, my father, my major, and whether I preferred dogs or cats.
“Cats,” I said.
Rhett frowned.
“You never told me.”
“You never asked.”
“This relationship has gaps.”
Elena pointed her fork at him.
“Ask better questions.”
“Thank you for the support.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turned back to me.
“Boston is exciting.”
“It is.”
“And frightening.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I looked at Rhett.
He smiled faintly.
Apparently his entire family believed fear was proof of growth.
Elena continued.
“Rhett told me ten weeks.”
“He told you?”
“He called last night.”
I turned toward him.
“You called your mother after our conversation?”
He looked almost embarrassed.
“She answers.”
Elena’s expression softened.
“He sounded happy.”
Rhett looked down at his plate.
The gesture was so unlike his public self that my chest tightened.
Elena touched his wrist.
Then looked at me.
“He also sounded scared.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“That was private.”
“You called me.”
“I did not authorize publication.”
She smiled.
“Family exception.”
I looked at Rhett.
He was trying to joke.
I could see it.
Then he stopped.
Let the truth stay visible.
“I am scared,” he said.
Not to her.
To me.
The room quieted.
I reached under the table and took his hand.
Elena looked away politely.
For approximately three seconds.
Then she smiled into her enchiladas.
I ignored her.
Mostly.
After lunch, Elena pulled three containers from an insulated bag.
“One for you,” she told Rhett. “One for Tessa. One for the hockey house, which I understand is a nutritional emergency.”
“It is,” I said.
Rhett looked wounded.
“You’ve met them.”
“Exactly.”
Elena handed me a container.
“Also, Thanksgiving.”
I froze.
Rhett closed his eyes again.
“Mom.”
“What about Thanksgiving?” I asked.
“You’re invited.”
Rhett opened his eyes.
“You did not have to say yes.”
“I haven’t.”
Elena smiled.
“No pressure.”
It sounded sincere.
That made it more dangerous.
“I don’t know my plans yet.”
“Of course.”
“No pressure,” she repeated. “But I make two kinds of stuffing.”
“That is persuasive.”
Rhett looked at me.
“I told you.”
Elena began packing the empty dishes.
Then said casually, “And if Boston makes summer complicated, we have a guest room.”
Rhett stilled.
I did too.
“A guest room where?” I asked.
“At my house. Halfway between Boston and Lakeview.”
Rhett looked at his mother.
“You planned this.”
“I considered logistics.”
“That is Tessa’s personality.”
“I like her.”
The offer was kind.
Practical.
Possibly useful.
It also made the relationship feel more established than anything I had prepared for.
Family homes.
Visit routes.
Summer plans.
I looked down at my hands.
Elena noticed.
Her voice softened.
“You don’t have to decide anything now.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean it.”
“I remember.”
And I did.
That was the problem.
Kindness could still create pressure if I turned it into obligation.
I was learning that difference slowly.
Rhett’s knee touched mine beneath the table.
Not demanding.
Present.
I breathed.
Then smiled at Elena.
“I’d like to think about Thanksgiving.”
Her face lit.
“Perfect.”
Rhett leaned toward me.
“That was almost a yes.”
“It was exactly what I said.”
“Potentially renewable.”
“Wrong context.”
“Still hopeful.”
Elena laughed.
“You two are exhausting.”
“Thank you,” Rhett said.
“It was not praise.”
He smiled.
Apparently it did not matter.
The communications email waited until after Elena left.