9. Charlie
Weird would not quite be the right word for the feeling I’m experiencing after Milly and Troy leave. I’m not really sure what the feeling is called. All I know is, that for at least fifteen minutes after I hear the front door close, all I can do is stand in the kitchen and stare at the breakfast bar.
I invited Troy in for coffee as a thank you for going out of his way this morning. If I’m honest, it was guilt that motivated the decision. Once he was here, though, I realized that I didn’t want him to go. We talked like he had never left me all those years ago. Well, nearly. There was a little awkwardness, which I suppose is only to be expected. But it didn’t take long for us to fall into the same easiness we had always shared when we were together.
In fact, Milly’s intrusion irritated me a little.
Snap out of it, Charlie. This is the guy you said you wanted nothing to do with.
It’s true. Finding out he was moving in next door did worry me, but my resistance to his presence is waning. Maybe it’s because he’s a little different. A difference I’m struggling to define.
He’s still the same old Troy in many ways, but he’s calmer; he feels more grounded. Maybe it’s just an age thing. Maybe he’s just matured. It happens, right?
Yes, Charlie. It’s called growing up.
I smile as I recall him asking about my eyeglasses. It’s probably the most significant change in me—for him, at least. In fact, it was Troy who gave me the confidence all those years ago to wear them and not feel so self-conscious. It was also the first time I really knew that he liked me.
* * *
After school, I’d gone to the Heatons’ house with Milly. I went there whenever I got the opportunity. It sure beat going home to a cold house and finding my dad lying on the sofa, semi-conscious and drunk. We lived off state benefits then, and while there never seemed to be enough money to heat the house, there always seemed to be enough money for his booze.
Of course, Milly knew all about my home life. She was my only friend, and with that, my confidant. We had just started our senior year, and having to deal with the pressures of school as well as the situation at home, was all a bit overwhelming for me. The Heatons kind of adopted me, in some ways.
“I’m going to get some snacks,” Milly announced, jumping off her bed.
We were doing homework in her room, and snacks and drinks were an everyday occurrence. I lifted my head, smiled, and nodded.
When Milly left the room, I scooted off the bed to grab something from my bag. After retrieving my textbook, I spun around and jumped with fright when I saw Troy standing in the doorway.
“Hey,” he said, with that beautiful, full-lipped smile.
I remember croaking out some noise that I felt wholly embarrassed about for days while simultaneously pushing my thick-framed eyeglasses up my nose as my heart thumped in my chest.
You see, I was already head over heels in love with Troy Heaton. I had been for at least a year. After Mom died, I was too busy grieving the great hole her absence had left for me to really notice him. A year and a half later, it was like I was seeing my best friend’s brother for the first time.
Of course, he paid no attention to me. He was far too busy playing football and being a typical jock, hanging around with all the beautiful, popular people. But every time I came to Milly’s house, I would catch glimpses of him, and every time, my heart would thump in my chest.
He was leaning against the door frame, the sports vest hugging his muscular body. He looked relaxed and smiled at me, while I felt the exact opposite of relaxed.
“What are you studying?” he asked, nodding at the textbook I was gripping and taking a step into Milly’s Bedroom.
“Oh, er…” I looked down at the textbook to get my answer while my brain swirled with figuring out how words worked. “Er… math,” I said eventually.
He screwed up his face playfully. “I hate math.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Really? Why?”
He lifted his hand and swirled it near his temple. “All those numbers give me a headache.”
I don’t know why, but I was surprised. “I love math,” I replied, struggling to understand why anyone would hate it.
Troy took another step forward. “Yes, but that’s because you’re really smart. I mean”—he gestured to my eyeglasses—“you even look smart.”
Up until that point, I had hated my glasses. I wanted contacts, but we couldn’t afford them. We couldn’t even afford nice glasses, so I was stuck with the cheapest, thickest, ugliest frames poor people could buy.
I pulled a face and dropped my gaze. “I look like a dork,” I muttered.
“Hey.” A second later, I felt Troy’s finger under my chin. He lifted my face to look at him. He was frowning down at me. “Don’t ever say that about yourself.”
I gazed up at him in awe. My whole body tingled, from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. He didn’t move his hand, and the sensation of his gentle touch against my skin sent my stomach lurching.
“You’re a beautiful and smart woman, Charlotte,” he said. “The glasses you wear don’t define you. Besides”—his face softened with a smile—“I think they rather suit you. I don’t know why you’re not dating yet. Any guy would be proud to have you by his side.”
I don’t know what made me say it or where the courage came from. Maybe I was just caught up in the moment, but I said, “I don’t want any guy.”
“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“I want you,” I whispered, even as my heart thumped so hard that I thought it might burst from my chest cavity.
For the longest second, he didn’t say anything. His eyes seemed to search mine, and then a huge smile beamed across his face. “Good,” was all he said. A second later, he bent his head, tenderly kissed my cheek, and left Milly’s room.
And that was how Troy and I got together. A few days after that, he took me on our first date, much to Milly’s delight. After a few months, we were practically inseparable. Everybody seemed to be happy for us. Milly, their Mom and Dad, and even his grandparents seemed to love me. Everybody but one person.
You see, while I was spending all my time with Troy, I wasn’t there to look after Dad. I wasn’t there to make dinner, clean the house, or do everything Mom had done when she was alive. I was beginning to live my own life, and Dad did not like it. He made it perfectly clear, too. I can’t count the number of times he told me what a bad kid Troy was. But he was wrong. Well, he was wrong until Troy up and left without a single word.
* * *
I put the cups back into the cupboard and think about what I’m doing. Troy’s back in Cherryville, and yes, he certainly seems different. But am I setting myself up for another fall?
The idea of suffering such intense heartbreak a second time makes me catch my breath. It nearly destroyed me last time. In fact, I can easily say that the devastation and grief were on par with how I felt when I lost Momma. I know that might seem hard to believe, but I was only eighteen years old when he left. He was my whole world.
In some ways, he saved me. He had released me from the shackles of living with the man who was supposed to care for me. He filled me with confidence in who I was as a person—something my father had never done. He made me feel special, important, and loved. And yes, he did love me. I know he did. Which is what made his sudden departure even more devastating.
Why? Why did he leave without a word? Perhaps, now that we’re both adults—particularly since I have to live beside him and interact with him—I should bring it up in our next conversation. I need to know.