In a highly unlikely turn of events, Griffin slept better that night than she had in a long time. She woke up Tuesday morning with an unexpected sense of calm.
Key word: unexpected.
She opened her eyes to daylight streaming in through the windows. She yawned and stretched her arms under the pillows, and her left hand pushed into something hard. It slid off the back of the mattress and clattered to the floor.
It took Griffin a second to remember the fifteen page journal entry she'd written before falling asleep last night. It took a while to chronicle the insane sequence of events leading up to her crawling into bed. She'd shoved her Moleskine under her pillow when she was done because she'd been too tired to get up and put it back in her usual hiding spot. Now it was under her bed, and she really didn't feel like getting it.
She was on her hands and knees, one arm reaching under her bed and her ass in the air, when there was a knock on the door. Had she known this was going to happen when she was picking out pajamas last night, she probably would've thought to wear something other than flowery pink boy shorts and a t-shirt two sizes too small for her.
"Griff—? Oh! I'm so sorry, honey!" her mom said. "Howard, hang on a second. Griffin's changing."
"One sec!" Griffin called out, making a last-ditch grab for her journal. She miraculously got it without dislocating her shoulder; then she wrenched herself out from halfway under her bed and hurried to find something to change into.
For stupid reasons, the architect who designed the Connolly's beach house decided it was a good idea to put a walk-in closet inside her bathroom. Still, it did provide the perfect hiding spot for her journal. The closet itself was hidden well enough on the far side of her shower, but it also had built-in shelves and drawers and shoe racks. Griffin opened the bottom drawer in the shelving unit behind the door and pushed her journal underneath an impressive collection of worn-out sports bras.
She grabbed a bathrobe from the floor and threw it around herself.
"Okay, I'm good," she called back to her parents, feeling suddenly uneasy. She looked around her room for the best place to sit.
Her mom cracked open the door and poked her head in again. "Hi, honey. Can we talk?"
Griffin waved them in and decided to get back into bed for this. Her parents never came into her room. She knew what this was about before they were even through the doorframe. All the calm she'd woken up with was gone.
Howard and Melissa filed in with equally neutral expressions. Griffin wondered if they'd rehearsed. They stood side by side in somewhat matching golf outfits, all clashing pastels and clasped hands.
"Sleep well?" her mom asked.
Griffin nodded. And kept waiting.
"We thought about the conversation we had last night," her dad said firmly. He was never one to dawdle, but there was a softness around the edges of it that made Griffin hold her breath.
Her parents looked at each other, and then her mom said, "We think you should go to Wake Forest, if that's where you want to go."
"But—" her dad said quickly, before Griffin could scream or cry or jetpack off her bed into the stratosphere. "There are some conditions."
Griffin shut her mouth, but it was still hard to keep her smile from spreading.
This was actually happening. They were actually going to let her go to Wake Forest, and they apparently didn't hate her for it, either. This was the best thing to happen to Griffin since—
"First, you're going to call the Washington & Lee tennis coach to let him know you're not coming anymore," her dad said, and yeah, okay, Griffin knew that one was coming. "And secondly," Howard continued, hesitating for maximum emphasis, "we'd like you to consider trying out for the Wake Forest tennis team."
Griffin studied her parents for a moment, eyebrows knitted together, and took a subtle breath in. She wasn't getting defensive because she didn't like the idea of trying out for the Wake tennis team. It had more to do with feeling like her parents were forcing it on her. Expecting it of her. Already.
"OK," she said cautiously. "Why?"
Her dad folded his arms across his chest. "Why not?"
Griffin was about to argue—was about to say that if she wanted to try out, that decision should be on her own terms, not theirs. Her dad had said "consider trying out", though. Which was way more wiggle room to work with than Griffin was used to. And, not to forget the big picture here, they'd officially agreed to let her go to Wake Forest.
She nodded, mostly to herself, and said, "OK. Deal. I'll let Wake Forest know I'm coming, and then make some phone calls to Washington and Lee." She hoped she sounded somewhere in the realm of sounding diplomatic. "And I'll find out information on when tennis tryouts are."
Howard and Melissa looked confused for a second, and then pleasantly surprised.
"OK," her dad said, the corners of his mouth twitching up just enough to give him away. It almost did Griffin in. "OK. Great."
"We're really proud of you, honey," Melissa said. "This will be great. Really great."
Great, great, great.
So many greats.
Griffin was back on the edge of hysterics now. She was adamant she wasn't going to freak out in front of her parents, but holy fuck, this was actually happening. She needed to calm down.
"Thank you guys, seriously," she managed. She felt like she'd just run a full set of court suicides. "This—this means a lot to me. For real. Thank you."
Her parents nodded, and the inevitable awkwardness that always showed up after having a moment with them seeped into the room. It slowed Griffin down and reminded her of symbiotic relationships and being a little too good at keeping to herself.
"And I'm, um—" Griffin said, trying to figure out how to say this without making herself look too vulnerable. "I'm really sorry I didn't tell you guys about any of this. It was just...kind of a weird situation happening. I promise I'm trying to get better about it."
And by "it", she meant her complete lack of emotional maturity. She left that punch-in-the-gut tidbit out, though. Baby steps.
"We're happy for you, Griff," her mom said. The only thing holding back her tears was the proud grin on her face, and again, it was too much for Griffin to look at.
"Yes. We are," Howard said stiffly. At least now Griffin understood where her natural aversion to emotional interactions came from. "Your mother and I are heading out to play golf, and then we have that fundraiser event tonight. We won't be back until late."
"No worries," Griffin said. And she meant it. "I'm supposed to close the Tennis Hut tonight, anyway."
"You're okay to get dinner on your own, then?" Howard asked. Griffin nodded. "Good. We'll try not to be too loud when we come in later."
And Griffin kept nodding. Nothing had changed between her and her parents on a surface level, but underneath everything felt different. A good different. They said their goodbyes, and Howard and Melissa left for another afternoon spent at CICC. Griffin got out of bed when she heard their front door click shut, and waited another few minutes by the window as she watched them pull out of the driveway in their golf cart.
Once her parents were all the way down the street and out of sight, Griffin finally yelled. And laughed. And screamed. And cried a little. But mostly, she laughed.
Then she started making phone calls.
It was turning out to be a gorgeous night.
Griffin leaned against the Tennis Hut counter, looking out over the deserted courts under the yellow-white bleacher lights. The color of the clouds out over the harbor were turning darker shades of pinks and purples and oranges, and the warm, salty air made her t-shirt cling to her skin, but she didn't really mind.
Griffin had spoken to Bill Hammond first that morning. She'd spent about ten minutes before calling telling herself not to chicken out and email instead. He'd literally done more for her in the last two weeks than he'd ever know, and he deserved more than a quick "Hey I'm coming in the fall!" email.
The conversation had lasted about five minutes. Mr. Hammond gave her the basics again about housing, registering for classes, and paying tuition. Because she was so late with everything, the last available date for new student orientation was August 2nd, but Mr. Hammond assured her everything would get sorted out in due time. The biggest thing was getting a down payment in to secure her dorm (something Griffin and her dad would have to get done immediately tomorrow).
At the end of the call, Griffin had thanked Mr. Hammond for what felt like the millionth time, and Mr. Hammond had reiterated he was delighted she'd decided to become a Deacon. Griffin had another followup moment of, I can't believe this is actually happening, and then the pending dread over having to dial Washington and Lee was ushered in.
Honestly, Griffin blacked out most of the conversation with the W&L admissions rep about getting a refund for the fall tuition her parents had already paid (because of course they had). She vaguely remembered asking if there was anything else she needed to do for withdrawing herself from the university, and she was probably being sensitive, but it definitely had sounded like the rep was giving her some attitude about it.
She took the thirty minutes after hanging up to work up the nerve to call the tennis coach.
Luckily, thanks to strict college recruiting rules, Griffin never really had that many conversations with the Washington and Lee coach. Most of their exchanges were emails, so it wasn't like she'd developed a relationship with the guy yet. That still didn't help with how very obviously pissed he was when she dropped the bomb on him that one of his top recruits was backing out a month and a half before the fall semester started.
First, he'd asked why, and Griffin couldn't remember exactly what she'd said, but it had definitely been something about Wake feeling like a better fit for her. She could immediately tell he wasn't buying it.
Next, he'd asked how he could change her mind, and Griffin had just kept apologizing.
Finally, after a few more minutes of stale attempts to convince her otherwise, he'd abruptly cut the conversation short, wishing her the best of luck in her future endeavors. Then he'd hung up before Griffin could wish him the same, and thank God for that, because it would've been the singular most awkward moment of her life.
Griffin was so shaken after hanging up, she sat on her bedroom floor and cried until the nausea wore off. But, it'd been the good kind of crying. Cathartic. Because after she'd gotten it all out, the only thing left to feel was the good.
She was proud of herself. And it felt fucking awesome.
Eight-thirty rolled around and Rob came by to tell her she could close up early if she wanted. Griffin had already done everything she needed to do out of pure boredom, so all that was left was pulling down the shutters and locking up.
She decided not to mention anything about Wake Forest to Rob yet. She kind of wanted today to just be for herself. She'd tell everyone about it tomorrow.
Griffin took her usual route home, the one that went by the clubhouse patio and all the recent memories attached to it. Of course she'd thought about Charlie today. She'd spent way too much time thinking about all the ways she could throw the Wake Forest thing back in his face now, imagining picking a fight with him over it, getting him riled up, and then casually dropping in "Oh? You didn't hear?" just to watch his reaction.
Unfortunately, Griffin could come up with as many of these situations in her head as she wanted. When she got down to it, though, she couldn't ignore that the unavoidable common denominator in every scenario was she just really, really wanted to tell him.
She passed by the CICC patio and continued onto the main road, heading home.
That didn't mean Griffin was going to overlook the outrageously stupid way Charlie had handled all of this, though. He liked her this whole time, and the only reason he'd been so insistent about the Wake thing was because he was trying to get her attention (??). Griffin would never admit it now, but in hindsight she liked not knowing why he cared so much. There was something kind of romantic about it...
A teeny, tiny portion of her heart was throwing up red flags, telling her she should feel taken advantage of. Charlie took one of the biggest decisions of her life so far and reduced its importance to a quick conversation starter. But she couldn't quite get her brain to agree. Was it really that big of a deal? She'd still gotten her way about Wake Forest... who cared if Charlie had used it to get her attention?
Griffin rounded into her driveway. It was so dark she couldn't see under her house. The dunes in her backyard were blocking any light reflecting off the ocean, and there already wasn't a moon tonight. She hated walking underneath the house at night. She always imagined someone or something hiding in the shadows, among the support beams or behind her parents' cars, and she'd make a mad dash for the door to the stairs.
She could barely see her own hand in front of her face now, let alone watch where she was going. The door to the stairs was dead center, though, so if she kept walking straight, she'd walk right into it. Except, a few steps in, Griffin walked straight into something hard and plastic, sending it clattering to the ground.
"Griffin?"
"Jesus FUCKING Christ," Griffin shrieked, jumping back into her dad's car. Oh God, there's a nearby serial killer, and she may have just scratched a brand new Mercedes.
"Sorry!" the voice said. "I can't see shit right now. Where are you?"
Oh, no. No no no.
"Charlie?" Griffin into the darkness. She probably would've been less startled by a serial killer.
"Yeah," Charlie said. "I'm out in the yard."
Griffin couldn't really wrap her mind around that, honestly. "What the dick are you doing out in my yard right now?"
There was a pause, and then Charlie whisper-yelled, "Language, Connolly."
Griffin could hear his smile. She was already moving toward his voice.
He was there to yell at her about Washington and Lee, no doubt...and it put butterflies in her stomach. It was one thing to spend the day thinking about scenarios like this, but it was a lot more nerve-racking when it was happening in real life.
"Hang on," Griffin said. Her eyes had adjusted just barely enough to make out the silhouettes of her dad's car on her right and the door to the stairs on her left. She had a decent ways of carpark to cross before she got out into her backyard. Which was good. She needed the time to repent for hoping something like this would happen all day.
Her flip-flops hit the grass and the butterflies in her stomach surged. She could see Charlie leaning against one of her house's support beams. He shrugged away from it when Griffin stepped out into the yard.
Griffin held up her hands. "Um?"
Charlie walked toward her and said, "So, what'd you decide?"
"You really came all the way over here just to ask me what I decided?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
"Yep." He stopped in front of her, a little too close for Griffin's liking. It was distracting. "So?"
Griffin squinted up at him and took a step back. "Dude, you're not really entitled to an answer here, just because you've been lurking outside my house for...however long you've been here."
"I've only been here, like, ten minutes," Charlie said. "Stop skirting."
"I'm not skirting."
"Yeah, you are."
Griffin's eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness. She studied the expectant look on Charlie's face. It made her want to shove him away and pull him close at the same time.
"Why are you here? For real?" she asked.
Charlie shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked into the balls of his feet. "Because I know you either had to tell Washington and Lee you're not going anymore, or you had to tell that guy from Wake you're not actually coming. And I wanna know what happened."
Griffin bristled.
"I'm surprised you're even here after you blew your cover last night," she said, because she actually was skirting now.
"Since it was such a cover to begin with. You knew I liked you then, just like you already know I like you now. Are you going to Wake Forest or not?"
Griffin would probably never understand how easily candor came to Charlie. How could he just blurt something out like that so casually?
"You seriously think I knew you liked me? What, with all the dates you've been going on with Mary Kyle Bowman?" she asked, trying to keep her voice low. The Bowmans lived just down the beach from them.
"I told you Mary Kyle asked me on those dates, Griffin."
"And you still went."
"So? You've made it pretty clear you're not interested all summer."
"Because you were being an asshole about Bill Hammond all summer! What did you expect?"
Charlie shut his mouth and scowled at her. Griffin had him on this one. She could tell by the way he scrubbed a hand at the back of his neck.
"I didn't mean to—" he started, then cleared his throat. "You know I didn't mean to come off like an asshole."
And deep down, Griffin did.
"Well," she said, feeling brave (hoping he'd catch the implications behind what she was about to say without her having to spell her feelings out for him). "It's not like you being an asshole really deterred me from...anything."
Charlie's head whipped up. "So you aren't going to Wake," he bit out, and he looked unreasonably offended by it. It pissed Griffin off.
"What're you gonna do if I'm not? Find some other girl to be obnoxious around?"
"You're not what?" Charlie asked, shoulders tense, eyes cold. "Come on, Griffin. I wanna hear you say it out loud. You're still going to Washington and Lee, aren't you?"
"Why is this so important to you?" Griffin shot back. "Did you really think I'd find this attractive? You pushing and prodding me all the time?"
"Can you just be straight up for once?" Charlie mocked, throwing his hands up. It was the closest Griffin had ever seen him to losing his cool, and something gave way in her defense. She was so tired of this.
"Jesus Chr—I'm going to Wake, alright? I called Bill Hammond today. It's official. So can we just stop yelling at each other? It's freaking exhausting," she said, feeling the immediate effects of having that weight lifted off her chest.
But then, two absurd things happened:
First, Griffin watched all the tension drain out of Charlie's shoulders, and the smile that showed up after almost knocked the wind out of her.
Then, well... Then.
Suddenly Charlie was up in her space, hands sliding over her waist and pulling her against him. Griffin had a hard time understanding what was happening. He looked so...happy? Fond? Relieved? She couldn't put a word to it, and she was so busy watching it all unfold she was only vaguely aware of Charlie muttering, "About damn time, Griff," before he came in close, nudging his nose against hers. Then her train of thought caught up and she pushed a hand against his chest.
"Wha the hell do you mean, 'About damn time?'" she asked, trying to put some room between them.
Charlie laughed and leaned all the way forward.
When he pressed his lips to hers, Griffin's first thought was of course Charlie kissed the way he did everything else in life—all pushy and self-assured and...oh, time-out. Charlie was kissing her.
And it was the best thing to happen to her all day.
Copyright © 2023 by Alex Evansley
All rights reserved.
Instagram | Twitter | TikTok: @nonfictionalex
nonfictionalex.tumblr.com