Chapter 9 Chloe
chloe
The chair in my advisor’s office feels different today.
When I first started seeing Mrs. Lawson, her office always felt like a warm hug.
Her desk is adorned with mismatched photo frames of her husband and pets.
A thick glass jar full of Werthers Original caramel candies is always full when I enter, and missing three by the time I leave.
Handmade cloth coasters cover both her desk and bookshelves, which ironically are covered in coffee mugs, not on said coasters.
To a T, the room looks the same as it has since freshman year.
Today, the wide low-back leather chair feels a little off, though.
“Well, Chloe, I think your letter is great.”
“Really?” I shift forward when she sets my application letter down. “The list doesn’t seem too pushy, or Rory Gilmore-y?” I wave my hands oddly in front of myself before clasping them together and cracking my knuckles.
She pushes her green-rimmed glasses on top of her head, pursing her lips with a slight shake of her head. “I’m afraid I don’t quite get the reference, but it sounds negative, so I’m going to go ahead and say no.”
I sink back down, blowing out a breath when she smiles, looking over the paper again. “It’s sharp, well thought out, and hits all the points. I think you have a very good chance at securing that TA position for next semester.”
Suddenly, I’ve forgotten the change in the chair beneath me.
“Now, don’t get upset, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn’t ask.
Are you sure that this is really what you want your focus to be on?
” She looks at me with those soft brown eyes of hers.
The kind that have always felt like they were rooting for me in earnest rather than a woman just doing her job.
Her lips are pressed into a gentle line, and I can hear the concern behind her calm tone.
When I don’t answer, she continues, “I know you’ve dipped your toes down a few different avenues over the last two years.”
I nod my head, because she’s not wrong. I might have a slight overachiever complex.
“And if this is all still about getting a letter for grad school—”
“It’s not,” I cut her off, finally. “I mean, yes, it will be helpful, but that’s not why I’m doing it.”
Liar.
Professor Soto has the record he has because everyone who has assisted him in the last decade have all gotten accepted into the school of their choice, and the only thing they all had in common is a Professor Soto letter of recommendation.
The truth is, I’m twenty-two and still pretending I’ve got a plan.
Mrs. Lawson was half right—I have tried everything under the sun.
When I was younger, it was easy. I was good at pretty much everything I tried, so I did anything I could.
Once people started to notice, though, they assumed everything I did would end in some sort of award or a win.
There was never a question of if I could do it, or would I fail.
It was always ‘Chloe can do anything’. I probably would have quit while I was ahead, because honestly, I didn’t care about any of it, but I know that would have crushed my parents.
They cheered loud and proud through every test, science fair, and after school sport imaginable.
On the surface, I’ve always shown my appreciation for it, because no matter how many things I do, I still just want to make them proud.
Here I am, senior year of college and absolutely nothing has changed.
Now, I’m just tutoring, volunteering, part of the student government, and trying for a TA position I don’t even want, but one I know comes with a letter of recommendation and another clean step forward.
Grad school is really just one more thing I could do well.
It’s another way I can keep moving without actually having to decide anything.
“Okay.” Mrs. Lawson clasps her hands together and rests her forearms on her desk. “I just don’t want you stretching yourself too thin.”
Too late. I’m already so far stretched, my next move is liable to split me in half.
That’s not what the girl who has everything together would say, though. So instead, I smile, pop a granny candy in my mouth, tell her I’m good, and ask about her pets.
When I started volunteering at Creekside my sophomore year, I’ll admit it was because it looked good on my resume. But after Rosie showed up last year, I quickly stopped counting the hours.
Savannah might be my best friend, but Rosie is like the grandmother I never had. I told her that once, but she scowled and lit me up for referring to her as old.
“Tomorrow night is movie night!” I say, looking up from the paper flowers I’ve been cutting out.
“Oh, honey.” Rosie's eyes soften and she sets her cross-stitch in her lap. “You are too young and way too beautiful to be spending your Friday night, watching His Girl Friday with a bunch of old people. And I’m talking about them, not me,” she whispers, nodding her head at William.
I stifle a laugh when he inevitably hears her and scowls at her over the rim of his glasses.
These two might bicker like an old married couple, but I noticed a shift in Rosie after William arrived at Creekside eight months ago.
She’s always been full of spirit, but her quick wit and undeniable charm was able to make even the most hesitant man her friend.
Ever since then, it feels like a light has been turned back on within her.
“First of all, the movie this week is The Awful Truth, which happens to be one of my favorites—” Rosie rolls her eyes dramatically, but I ignore her, setting my scrap-booking crafts on the couch beside me.
“And second?”
“And second, are you ready to go for our walk?”
“In a minute, dear. I want to finish this stitch and say hello to Mr. Handsome.”
It’s not the oddly mischievous smile she wears that makes my spine go rigid and my palms start to sweat. It’s the sweet and salty scent that consumes me, the one I’ve come to recognize as him.