Nathan
Eleven hours in a car with June.
Eleven hours.
And another eleven hours back.
It had seemed like such a fun idea when I'd bought the concert tickets. Not anymore now, knowing what I was going to have to tell her. Every single time I got back to Charlotte, she'd scrutinize me, and every single time, I said: "I haven't told them yet". She'd smile at me sympathetically, and say: "That's alright, darling. I know it's difficult. But you're going to have to tell them sometime."
She was right. I was going to have to. The problem was, I didn't want to.
How couldn't I have realized this was what a relationship with Charlotte was going to lead to? What had I been thinking? That she'd magically turn into an American citizen? That it'd never get this far? That we'd marry and she'd stay?
I had seriously considered the option. Buy her a ring. Pop the question. Remain here. It seemed wrong, though, to ask someone to marry you because you didn't want to leave home. I didn't even want to be married. I was only twenty, there was plenty of years left for me to be that serious.
Moving across the ocean seemed equally serious.
"It doesn't have to be for forever," Charlotte had said. "A year, perhaps. And we can fly back during holidays."
She was right, again. It wasn't as if I was signing a contract that obligated me to stay there for the rest of my life. It'd be an adventure, a way to experience life outside of the US. Like Lena and I had always wanted. Explore other cultures.
"What about Sam?" I'd said. Yeah, at his age, I'd already been looking after myself, but was he capable of doing the same?
"I'm sure June's parents will want to check in on him."
I did love Charlotte. It was just that I also loved two other people, two other people I didn't know if I could be so far away from. But Charlotte was my future; I should be putting her before everyone else, right? And she'd had to miss her family and friends for three years now — what kind of boyfriend would I be if I'd force her to miss them even longer? And I wasn't Sam's dad; I was allowed to have my own life.
It'd all happened so fast. I barely realized what I'd agreed to. A real job, in a foreign city, with adult responsibilities, and the only person I'd know there would be her. It had to sink in before I could tell anyone else. And like that, the days flew by, at full speed, and with each opportunity to tell June and Sam, I figured that there'd be another one, until it was late April, and even I couldn't find any excuses anymore.
"Nathan," Charlotte said, sighing deeply. "We're leaving in little more than a month. They have the right to know. They need to know."
"I'll tell Sam tomorrow," I said with difficulty.
"And June?"
"I don't want to ruin the trip."
"You can't tell Sam and not tell June. That's not how it works, love."
"You're right. I'll tell her too."
I had to. But I didn't want to. Couldn't I be in Palo Alto and London at the same time?
She was already waiting for me in the hallway, sitting on the stairs, phone in her lap, bag at her feet. As soon as I came in, she charged at me, flinging her arms around me like she hadn't seen me in ages.
What would her welcome be like if she really hadn't seen me in ages?
Would she be laughing like that? Would there be the little lights, jumping up and down excitedly?
Would she still look like she did now?
That stunning smile on her face, curls tied back and running down her body, the green from grandma's ring going beautifully with the brown of her eyes, wearing the Pearl Jam shirt Sam got her for her birthday, unable to keep her fingers from moving due to her enthusiasm...
"I haven't slept," she rambled, as she followed me outside to the car and I opened the door for her. "I couldn't. I still can't believe we're going to see Eddie Vedder! Really, I can't believe it!"
There were a lot of things I couldn't believe, for instance, that I was going to be so far away from her, that I wasn't going to cook with her anymore, that she wasn't going to hug me like she did — realizing that, I panicked, grabbing her shoulder to prevent her from getting in the car. Without warning, I turned her around, pulling her towards me to squeeze her tight.
"Well, someone's looking forward to getting away from here," she said, when I let her go. For a second, I wondered if Sam had told her — I was paralyzed, unable to understand how she could've taken it this lightly. But he hadn't told her, of course. She was talking about our trip.
"You have no idea," I said, and I wished it would've been a casual comment to make.
"Can I get in now, or were you planning on another hug?"
Should I have told her then? Ruin the whole ride to Arizona? No, that'd been shitty. So, instead, I told her to go ahead and walked to the driver's side. Feeling someone watching me, from the house, I looked up. Sam. He was standing behind the glass, next to the front door, buried in a hoodie, frown on his face. Again, I was reminded of grandpa.
What would grandpa have thought of me moving away?
Family first, son. But when you find her, you put her above everything else.
He'd always made it sound so damn easy. As if you'd be eager to sacrifice everything for the girl you loved. Maybe he'd lied to me. Or maybe he'd been lying to himself. Grandpa had been a stay-at-home dad, seeing as gran made tons of money compared to him, and in that day and age, it hadn't been something people approved of. I didn't think he ever regretted it, yet now I was older, I was starting to wonder if it hadn't been as straightforward and simple as he'd made it seem like.
It certainly hadn't been simple to tell Sam.
To see him trying to fight angry, heated tears — he hadn't cried in years, and it terrified me, and I almost told him I'd stay, if he really needed me here. He might've been sixteen and a little shit, but it turned out he still didn't want to be without his big brother.
He'd called Charlotte everything under the sun, even surprising me with some swear words I had never heard before. I hoped he didn't mean it — I hoped it was just because he was upset, that he didn't really hate her. I knew he didn't like some things she'd said to June, and I didn't like them either, only I had forgiven her after she'd apologized and promised to better herself. How did people learn otherwise? He didn't know her like I did.
I kept my gaze on him as we backed out of the driveway, June already hooking up her phone to the car's sound system. He waved in our direction; it was only meant for her, and she waved back energetically, shaking her head as he scowled and turned away. "Shouldn't have woken him up that early," she said, scrolling through her music library. "He's been sulking all morning. Might be jealous after all."
It must've taken Sam some effort to keep the real reason from her. Usually, she could spot a lie from ten miles away. At any rate, this wasn't a lie. It was a truth that had to be said out loud.
Not now, though.
For now, I could just forget about it. No use springing it on her at the beginning of an eleven-hour drive.
Talking to her was something I could do. Chatting about traffic, about the differences between California and Arizona, about the first time we'd crossed state lines, about the way we'd spent vacations when we were younger, about shared memories, because did I remember that time we'd bought the new cutlery, and did she remember the time we threw out that useless artsy carpet, or that Christmas when I'd received the first recipe card? The reminiscing had been fun at first, until I realized it almost sounded like we were already saying goodbye.
Should I have told her then?
After a few hours, we pulled over at a roadside McDonald's, June already screwing up her face at the thought of the fast-food she was going to have to eat. The kids playing outside stared at her, and one pointed; she merely smiled at them, sweetly, like it didn't affect her in the least. She was too good for this world, really. I did what she should have done, burn them down with one look, and linked my arm through hers, no idea what for. Protection? She shook her head at me, laughing bewilderedly.
Later, I carried our tray to the table, and it did me good to see she wasn't bothered by the fact she couldn't do it herself. She took off the ring to prevent it from getting greasy; it was in its box, right in front of her, and every few minutes she glanced at it to see if it was still there.
"Never tell abuela about this," she said, as she picked up some fries and examined them as if they could show signs of being poisonous. "She'd die instantly."
I chuckled, thinking about the recipe cards, safely stored in my wallet. "Even your abuela must've had fast food at some point in her life."
"No. Never. Only pizza sometimes, and that was because Donald, the pizza guy, was a friend of abuelo." She seemed to have decided the fries were safe to eat, because she put them in her mouth — or at least, tried to. Her hand made an unexpected movement, and one of the fries missed its target, tumbling down onto the napkins she had spread out before her. She blushed, avoiding my eyes, even though this had happened hundreds of times before. Swiftly, I stole the fallen French fry from under her nose, eating it myself.
"What's going on with you today?" she asked, laughing at my random action. "You're acting weirder than usual."
"Looking forward to the concert. And it's nice to spend some time with you, away from... from..."
"...the hecticness of daily life?" she finished for me. "Fuck, how did we get this busy? I rarely see you anymore. I don't even know how you do it — I'm still in high school and barely keeping up with everything."
Suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore. I put down my burger, which she had tried to prevent me from ordering earlier, staring at her earnest face. "Yeah, well, you're working much harder than I ever did in those years," I heard myself say. "I'm sure you know things I never even came across." She opened her mouth, clearly having a witty response ready, when she changed her mind and kept on eating. "What were you going to say? You were going to say something."
She smiled mysteriously, shrugging, and took a sip from her coke. "Nothing we haven't said before." I must've looked puzzled because she added: "I was going to be your own personal defense lawyer, but that's getting old, don't you think?"
"That never gets old."
"You're getting old, though. Old enough to be your own lawyer." She grinned at me, and I took another one of her fries. "Hey! Eat your own damn food!"
Content, I made a show of chewing on it. "Your food's always better, even if you haven't cooked it yourself." She laughed at that, throwing her head back, and once again, a surge of homesickness came over me. Great. I hadn't even left yet. "Do you really think I'm old?"
She narrowed her eyes momentarily, probably surprised by the question, because I was as well. "No," she said then. "You're stealing my French fries. That's kindergarten behavior in my book." She frowned, licking some salt from the top of her finger, then focused on me again. "Do you think you're old?"
"I think I'm supposed to be pretending I'm old." I hadn't realized what I was saying until I was.
She only stared at me, frowning, examining me from top to bottom. It made me nervous for some reason. "Well, I'm not sure who's making you pretend," she said, "but you don't have to keep it up during our trip. It's just me, Nathan. It's okay. You can relax." Oh, she was being clever again, something tugging at the corners of her lips.
"I rarely relax when I'm stealing food from pretty girls." I grinned at her, seizing her bag of fries — she burst out laughing, pulling my arm and hitting me in the chest, something I hardly noticed — I laughed as well, pushing her away, trying to keep the fries on my side. "Watch out! Your hair's in the ketchup."
I abandoned my mission to pick up her locks, inspecting the ends of her ponytail. Blood red. Without hesitation, I took one of the fries, used it to scrape off the ketchup of her hair, and ate it.
"Nathan, that's gross!"
Yeah, it was, maybe. "Nah, it's pretty good."
Her shoulders were shaking from joy, and tears welled up in her eyes. "You're — being — really — weird — today," she managed to get out. The sight of her like that was precious, and I had to snap a picture.
Should I have told her then? No. Of course not.
In the car then, her singing along to all our favorite songs, me sometimes joining in, but mostly trying to memorize what she looked like, what she sounded like. Yeah, her voice was very far from a choir of angels; it was the way she gave all, didn't hold back, thoroughly enjoyed the music, that always got to me.
No. It'd have ruined the moment.
At night then, when her eyes were drooping, and she was lying back in the seat, soft music playing in the background. But no, not when she was saying the kind of things she was saying. "It's one of the best feelings in the world," she said, gazing through the side window. "Racing through the dark, no hurry, stars above, the driver being someone you love."
I almost crashed the car then and there. For a second, I wondered if it was too late to beg Charlotte to stay here after all. No, I was being a coward. What kind of guy would I be if I deserted the girl I loved because I was too attached to other people? Whatever I did, I was going to end up missing someone. And I'd made my choice. Suck it up, Nathan. You just had to gather the courage to tell her. Didn't have to be now. Later.