It seemed to have come around impossibly quickly, but my first semester at Yale was rapidly drawing to a close, bringing with it several deadlines. I spent my Monday morning scheduling the upcoming week that saw the end of my studies until the new year. Thankfully, I had only two exams left, on Tuesday and Friday. Then, I'd have a week left in the States before I flew back to England to spend Christmas and New Years at home. As much as I'd miss Maya and Alice, I was excited about being back in England - as long as my beloved old dog, Pippa, still recognised me upon my return. It was only when I brought Carter into the equation, and contemplated how I'd feel being away from him, that it got complicated.
But, right now, I simply didn't have time to worry about him. It may have been my first year of uni in London that got me here, but my grades had never felt more important; I had to do well here because I had so much to prove. I had to prove to everyone who'd questioned me that coming here was worth the cost, the struggle, the potential upheaval in my education. But, more than that, I had to prove to myself that I'd made the right choice, that it was worth working such long, exhausting hours at the local McDonald's in order to save up for this, that I was good enough to be somewhere so prestigious. I'd come to love it here, and I just hoped that my grades would reflect this.
So, more than ever, studying overwhelmed all other parts of my life. I spent my entire Monday in the library, not even bringing my phone, so that I wouldn't be distracted. I met Michael for a study date over lunch, tactfully avoiding his inevitable curiosity about Carter ("Michael, I'm pretty sure my love life is not going to be one of the questions on the exam tomorrow. Paradise Lost, however, will be.") Besides that, Carter barely crossed my mind, temporarily pushed out by the likes of Orwell, Atwood and Milton.
When I got home, arriving back at the apartment in the dark, I could barely keep my eyes open. Trudging to the kitchen, I planned on reheating my leftover pasta bake from yesterday night then going straight to bed. The table inside was strewn all over with notebooks, loose sheets of paper and textbooks, which I'd come to recognise as a clear sign Maya had been studying in here.
It occurred to me abruptly that I'd been so preoccupied with myself, I hadn't found out what happened between Alice and Sam after he called last night to resolve, or perhaps simply continue, their argument. The moment the microwave pinged, I grabbed my food and carry it across to their room.
"Hey, Alice, you in?"
I heard her shuffling to the door and unlocking it before it swung open. She looked remarkably happy, so I hoped it meant that the outcome of the argument was a positive one. "Sydney! Come in!"
We sat beside each other on the bed, both cross legged, as I scoffed down my pasta. Without prompting, Alice began to explain her change of mood since I last saw her.
"So, Sam called me last night, and everything was sorted," she said, beaming. "He said he wanted to keep it a secret, so that it could be a surprise, but it was better to tell me early than let us fight over it."
I nodded along, no idea where this was going but relieved that she was happy and her relationship with Sam was still secure. Between Maya's aversion to anything but quick flings and my, shall we say... complicated situation, we needed Alice's undying optimism when it came to anything romantic to balance the three of us out.
"Basically, I've always wanted to spend our anniversary - new year's day, how romantic is that? - in Paris. You know, it's the city of love and everything. But obviously it's so expensive. But Sam's been putting in a ton of extra shifts at work, so he's got this whole trip booked to finally get the whole experience to celebrate three years."
This was sweet, certainly, but one thing didn't add up. "How does his ex fit into this?"
Alice went on to explain how Tara's brother owned an apartment in Paris that he stayed in for business trips but also let out for vacations. It was always popular around the holidays, so Sam had asked Tara to put in a good word for him, because they'd ended on good terms. It seemed that, essentially, Sam had only been in contact with Tara to book the apartment for the trip and when she'd messaged him the other day it had simply been to confirm the booking.
Although, I can't say I particularly followed the rest of what Alice rambled about as my tiredness swept over me in a wave. After a minute, Alice noticed the way my eyes were glazed over.
"Am I boring you?" she teased.
"I've been up since seven thirty doing last minute exam prep."
"Don't think I wasn't aware of your little late-night rendezvous, too," Alice added, raising her eyebrows suggestively.
I rolled my eyes, partly at my own indiscretion the night before. "Yeah, but my mind is now officially a Carter-free-zone until after exams."
It was only as I said this that I wondered for the first time whether he was taking the same attitude at the moment. He hadn't texted me at all today, although that wasn't hugely unusual. Was he blocking out everything for the sake of exams the way I was? Given the impression I'd got of him since I'd been here, his strengths didn't seem to include dedication to his studies. Perhaps he was busy with some other girl, or something else in a part of his life entirely unknown to me, with people I'd never met.
It took almost all my energy to make my way back to my room and get ready for bed. By the time I was lying there, cocooned in blankets, my last shred of energy went into pushing any stray thoughts of Carter to a tightly sealed box in the back of my mind, marked do not open until after exams!
The method worked, because Carter didn't cross my mind at all until the next evening, when my phone lit up next to me on my desk, indicating a text from him.
Hey Syd, what are you up you?
I glanced at the clock – 6:47 – before deciding that this probably wasn't late enough to be considered a booty call. Still, it couldn't be denied that he mostly contacted me at night. Today, though, no matter how badly I wanted to, there was no way I'd give in to the temptation of seeing him.
Studying, obviously. You?
His response surprised me. Me too.
Obviously, Carter was smart and knew how to work hard, just like everyone else here. But he'd not exactly demonstrated much desire to study, between skipping classes and being up until the early hours on way too many week nights (as seen in his loud, blurry Snapchat stories). I knew he was dedicated to his football; a few times I'd texted him while he was at practice but, until now, he'd never shown much dedication to studying.
When are your exams? I asked, figuring that some brief, exam-related discussion was safe territory. Plus, I was a little intrigued by this unseen side of Carter.
Tomorrow and Thursday. Sorry I've not spoken to you much recently I've been so busy with exams and football and stuff.
I felt myself melt, just like that day he'd waited at my door just to tell me that he'd decided against skipping a class. One of my concerns about this new Carter was his nonchalance towards near enough any responsibility. Sure, he didn't take his degree as seriously as others, but he was showing me now that he knew when to put in the effort when it mattered most.
It's cool. Mine are tomorrow and Friday, so I'm too busy to talk/see you until after that.
When I read Carter's quick reply, I couldn't help but smile, feeling myself blush. Promise I can celebrate with you on Friday night.
The reply was obvious: promise.
On my way into the exam hall on Tuesday, I spotted Michael filing into his seat a couple of rows away. He flashed me a smile and mouthed good luck. The exam seemed to go well, as far as I could tell, and I left feeling accomplished.
Later that day, when I was sat opposite Maya on the kitchen table, both of us with our noses in a book, my phone buzzed. Deciding it was a good time to take a coffee break, I checked the notification: a text from Carter.
I know you're not going to reply until Friday, just wanted to say I hope your exam went well (I'm sure it did – you're the hardest working person I know).
"Text from Carter, by any chance?" Maya asked, amused.
"How'd you know?" I picked up her cup from next to her, filling it with the fresh batch of coffee then passing it back.
"You get this dopey grin whenever you see his name on your phone," she said, as though it was obvious. Perhaps it was. Did everyone notice this? I made a mental note to ask Michael next time I saw him.
Just as my eyes were skimming over Carter's words, wondering whether to send a quick reply, the screen changed to an incoming call alert. It was only after a couple of seconds that I registered that the call wasn't from him, but my Dad. I frowned; after my first few weeks here, we'd settled into keeping in touch primarily by text. Quickly, I put down my coffee cup on the kitchen counter and headed to my room, letting the door thud shut behind me.
I clicked to answer, flinging myself back onto my bed. "Hello?"
"Hey, Sydney!" he exclaimed, his familiar voice slightly muffled through the speaker.
In a sudden rush, I realise just how much I'd missed my home and my family. Even though I hadn't lived with my father in almost six years, he still reminded me so strongly of living in England, of that quiet little street where I'd spent my childhood.
"Hi, Dad. What's up?"
"Actually, I have some exciting news," he replied, piquing my interest. "I was wondering, when are you going back to university in the new year?"
I sat up and leaned across to the calendar pinned to my noticeboard, checking January's page. In red marker, I'd boldly written under the date: return flight. "Uh, January 7th. Why?"
There was a pause, and I could picture him on the other end of the line. He was most likely in his office, surrounded by stacks of partially marked papers, empty coffee cups and dog-eared books. The thought was surprisingly comforting. I remembered the time I'd spent there over the years, tracing my fingers over the spines of the books filling his shelves and reading my own (way more interesting) books on the beanbag chair I'd convinced him to squash into the corner.
"Well, I was thinking I could travel with you."
"Is there an alumni event or something?" This seemed like the only reasonable explanation for why he'd be coming to Connecticut. Both my parents had attended the visit day with me last year, but it wasn't like he'd be visiting me in January after I'd just been home for the holidays.
"Actually, no." Another pause, laden with anticipation. "I'm considering a job there, at Yale. I've got no real reason to stay in England, so I may as well consider it."
This took me a moment to process. Of course, I associated Yale with my Dad; he was the reason I'd initially had the idea to study here (well, him and Gilmore Girls). But this was my place now. Even though I was unlikely to be taught by him, a History professor, on my Literature course, I'd still run the chance of bumping into him around campus. But I had to admit, it could be kind of nice to have a piece of home over here in America with me.
"That's great, Dad," I told him. "It would be cool to have you here."
***
The week slipped by, so that soon enough I was walking out of my last exam of the semester. It was a relief, as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Now, I had a week until my flight back to the UK to simply enjoy myself. So there was no point denying that there was one person on the top of my agenda for that.
I pulled out my phone, beginning to type out a message then deciding to just start a call as I walked back to my dorm.
Carter answered almost instantly. "Sydney! I take it your exam is done, then?"
"Yeah, I'm all done until after Christmas, now. So, I get to do whatever I want," I replied, relishing in just saying the words.
"And what do you want?" he asked, tone light and playful.
My building was in sight now as I passed the coffee shop where I'd first re-encountered Carter. "Well, if you come over, I'll tell you."
Stepping into my bedroom felt a little strange. It seemed so recent that I'd been nervously stringing up fairy lights and wondering if it would ever feel warm enough, yet the friendships I'd developed with my roommates, and the relationship I'd rebuilt with Carter, felt like they'd been a part of my life for so much longer.
When Carter arrived soon after, he pulled me into a hug, murmuring into my ear, "Well done on surviving the first few months."
I held on, enjoying how the thick material of his jacket felt under my fingertips. My head was rested in the crook of his neck and his arms were strong around me. I didn't want to let go, and he didn't make me. So, we stayed like that for a while, stood together in the middle of my bedroom, until he eventually broke the silence.
"Do you want to go out?"
"I'd like that," I replied, glad he couldn't see my smile. "I like you, Carter."
The words had just slipped out, but I instantly wanted to snatch them back out of the air, where they now hung heavily between us. I felt him tense under my hands so I let go, taking a small step backwards. My eyes avoided his face.
"I meant, like, get some food, or go to a party, or something," he explained, possibly more uncomfortable than I'd ever known him.
"I know that!" I snapped, feeling a whole new level of embarrassment as I realised what kind of 'going out' it sounded like I was agreeing to, then composed myself. "I meant that going somewhere might be nice. I didn't mean the other thing I said."
"Sydney," Carter said. The seriousness of his tone made me lift my eyes to his and he looked at me directly. "I know you well enough to know when you're lying."
"I'm not--"
"You said you liked me, and that's fine. I like hanging out with you and you're a great friend, but you know I don't want a relationship. If you aren't okay with that then we should probably have some space from each other."
I wanted to argue that this wasn't fair - how could we hang out and sleep together and now even go out together, but a relationship was so unacceptable? But he'd never hidden this side of him from me, I'd simply chosen to ignore it.
"I know, I don't want a relationship, either. I just fancy you and then there's our history, that's all," I explained, desperately trying to claw my way out of the hole I'd dug for myself.
This was, for the most part, true. I wasn't entirely sure whether I was after an actual relationship, certainly not when it was as forced as it would be with Carter. And obviously I did fancy him and it was complicated by our history. So why did it feel so much like lying?
Seeming to sense how awkward I was feeling, Carter flashed me a small smile, enough to put me at ease a little. He reached a hand out and touched my arm, though it could be interpreted either friendly or intimate.
"Wanna go get some food?"
As we set off for the restaurant, a place unknown to me but that Carter swore by, he realised he didn't have his wallet. Despite my protests that I'd pay, he insisted on going via his place to pick it up.
I followed him up the two flights of stairs to where he lived, a place similar to mine that I'd only visited a couple of times. His room was fairly bare, lacking in the lights and blankets and trinkets that made mine feel cozy. Besides a few photos on the wall and some clothes strewn across the floor and the back of his chair, there wasn't much to mark the room as his. I glanced around while he searched for the jeans he'd worn last night, when - to the best of his intoxicated memory - he'd had the wallet on a night out.
The walk over here had felt tense, which was so unnatural for the two of us. Carter's mood seemed to have been darkened by the awkwardness earlier, so I racked my brain for something to change the subject.
"Oh, my Dad called the other day, he said he's visiting for a job interview in January, which is pretty cool," I told Carter's back as he retrieved the wallet from the pocket of the jeans he was holding. "You should totally meet him, I bet he'll remember you and he'll think it's such a funny coincidence that I've wound up friends with that annoying boy from across the road again."
I was talking lightly, clearly just teasing him, but I noticed Carter tense up as he turned to face me again. His expression had clouded over as though I'd just brought up something awful. Was it too much to suggest he met my Dad? I'd only meant it as a lighthearted suggestion, not that he had to spend any one-on-one time with him.
"I don't know," Carter said flatly. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"Sorry," I replied, wishing I'd not said anything. "Is that weird to say you should meet him? I didn't mean in like a boyfriend way, if that's what you're thinking."
"That's got nothing to do with it, Sydney," he replied sharply.
I flinched. This was a side I hadn't seen of Carter, who was usually so fun and laid-back. I wondered whether he'd always had a temper, or if that was something new I was yet to discover about him. Regardless, I hated seeing his cold expression.
Blundering on, I tried to keep my tone casual, playful. "Don't you like my Dad, or something?"
"Something like that." His voice was so low and quiet that I barely caught it.
My head was spinning - Carter didn't like my Dad? I thought of how comforted I'd felt by the sound of his voice and the memories of his office during our phone call, and grew defensive. I had no idea what was up with Carter, but I didn't see why he had to bring my family into something that was clearly his problem.
"Are you serious?" I asked, letting an accusatory tone seep into my voice.
"Yeah," Carter shifted his gaze from his feet so that he was staring right at me. It frightened me a little how cold his eyes were. "Yes I am serious. I don't like your Dad."
"Wh-what are you talking about?" I could barely get my words out I was so thrown by the conversation. A sharp emotion, a combination of frustration and anger, bubbled up inside me, burning the back of my throat.
"I don't think you can really blame me," he replied.
I took a step towards him, as though that might help me figure him out better. "Carter, why are you saying this?"
There was a pause, filled with so much tension that it was almost unbearable, before he spoke again.
"You really don't know, do you?" Carter asked, with a hint of something like confusion, or surprise. His mood seemed to have shifted slightly - though to what I couldn't tell - which only made me more irritable.
"Know what?" I snapped.
Carter looked at me for a moment, eyes scanning my face, then asked, "What did your parents tell you about their divorce?"
I frowned, taken aback. "Great topic to discuss with someone who's already kinda pissed off at you."
At this, Carter rolled his eyes. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realised that we were having our first fight.
"Drop the sarcasm, Sydney. Just tell me - why did your parents say they got divorced?"
"Because they fell out of love, drifted apart. No one was to blame, it's just one of those things," I explained reluctantly, recalling the horrible conversation that had taken place only three months after Carter left.
A short, bitter laugh burst from Carter's mouth before he brought both his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes as though to regain his composure. Frustrated, I sighed dramatically and snatched up my bag from where I'd put it down on Carter's bed. I mumbled my farewell under my breath and moved to leave.
"What did you say?" Carter asked, standing in front of the door to block me in.
"I said, fuck this. I'm not going to stand here and listen to you talk shit about my family, or my parents, or my life. So get out of my way."
I stepped forward but Carter stood strong in my way. It wasn't like I could overpower him, he was a quarterback on the goddamn football team and I'd never lifted a weight in my life.
An infuriating smile appeared on Carter's face. "You know, you've become a lot more foul-mouthed since I used to know you."
"Carter, I swear to God, if you don't move out of my way right this second I will --"
"Okay, okay!" Carter said, holding his hands up in mock surrender, but not moving from where he was stood. "But you should know something about that precious family of yours that you defend so righteously."
I tried to take another step forward, but he remained blocking me. We ended up stood about six inches apart. I glared at him icily. My anger was escalating wildly; something in his demeanour brought it out in me, even though I rarely got riled up in general.
"Just say whatever it is you want to say, then let me leave so that I don't have to look at you again, because I am done with you, Carter Pearson."
The mask slipped and something like hurt flashed across Carter's face before it hardened again.
"Your parents may have fallen out of love, Sydney, but that wasn't all. The reason they split up; the reason my family moved away; the reason we're in this mess right now is because your Dad was screwing my Mom!" Carter shouted, the words spilling out of him with no regard for phrasing them gently.
I reeled backwards, recoiling from his words. I felt like I'd just been punched in the stomach. My bag slipped from my grasp and its contents spilled across the floor, but I barely noticed.
"You're - you're lying!" I stammered, shaken at first then becoming spiteful. "You're lying to me; you made that up. My Dad wouldn't do that. He wouldn't!"
Carter's face dropped, like all his anger had drained out of him. He reached out to me, but I flinched away from his touch.
"Get off me!"
"Syd," he said gently. "I'm not lying to you. I'm sorry."
My anger shifted its target from Carter to my parents. How dare they hide this from me for all these years? How dare they let me find out like this?
But the anger quickly seeped out me, replaced by an overwhelming heartbreak.
Slowly, I made my way to the bed and sank down onto it. I couldn't think straight. There had to be a mistake; my Dad was a good person. This was the man who brought me breakfast in bed every Sunday when I was young; who read to the sick kids at the local hospital; who had more 'best teacher' mugs than we'd ever had room for.
I felt the bed dip on my left as Carter sat down beside me, then felt his arm go around me. This time, I didn't have the energy to resist. In fact, I welcomed his presence beside me.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I know it's a lot to deal with, but you do get used to it."
I nodded. I felt like maybe I should cry, but I'd become too numb. Instead, I let my head drop onto Carter's shoulder. His arm tightened around me in response, thumb slowly rubbing my arm.
A few minutes passed like this, in a silence that wasn't quite comfortable, wasn't quite happy, but was at least safe. Then Carter spoke up, voice hushed. "If it makes you feel any better, your Dad is actually a decent guy, as far as Dads go."
He fell quiet again but I didn't speak, sensing that there was more he had to say. I waited, staring straight ahead at the photos of his friends pinned to the noticeboard on his wall. There were lots of blurred photos capturing drunken smiles and bright lights. I only saw one picture of his family: a selfie with his mother, looking far older than I remembered her.
"Obviously what my Mom did with your Dad was wrong, but my Dad... he wasn't a good guy. When he found out about the affair, he made us move back here. I don't think he was ever a good husband, but after the affair it was like something in him snapped. He started hitting her - my Mom. Never enough to cause serious injury; not often enough to make her leave, either. Like that made it okay."
I felt my stomach sink. The thought of Carter spending his teenage years watching his Dad hurt his Mum broke my heart. Instinctively, I wrapped an arm around him.
"Oh, Carter," I murmured. "That must have been so hard. I'm sorry."
"The worst part is I used to resent my Mom for it, too," he said slowly, voice tightening. Even without seeing his face, I knew he was fighting to keep his composure. "I didn't get why she didn't just leave him. I thought she was so stupid for just letting him get away with it. But now I think she just accepted the outbursts as punishment for what she'd done. She accepted it because she thought she deserved it. But more than anything, definitely more than I hated my Mom, sometimes even more than I hated my Dad, I hated myself for it. I should have helped her. I should have found a way to get her out of there."
The pain in my chest was so intense I felt like I could barely breathe around it. My own turmoil from moments ago was now pushed to the back of my mind as I wished more than anything that I could do something to ease Carter's pain.
"You were just a kid, Carter. It's not your fault, and it's not your job to help."
Another long, drawn out silence.
When he next spoke, his tone had shifted, sounding slightly more like himself. "But, hey, I guess a little underlying self-resentmentment is all part of the bad boy thing, right? And we all know girls love a bad boy."
"You're not some bad boy, Carter," I told him softly. "In fact, I don't think there's any bad in you at all."
He coughed sharply, then shook his head. "You're wrong about that. There's bad in me, I just don't want you to see it."
"Why not?" My voice was scarcely more than a whisper.
This moment of openness felt so fragile, I was afraid that one wrong move and it would be shattered.
Carter was quiet for a moment, contemplative, before he answered, "I don't really care what people think of me, normally. But then there's you. I want you to think the best of me, and I don't know if that's possible if you know the worst of me, too."
Before I could reply, tell him that I would always be able to see the best of him, he sniffed and straightened his posture, like he was shrugging off the vulnerability.
I finally glanced across at him to see his eyes were glassy with tears. I shifted, letting his arm slip from my side, and pulled him into a hug. He resisted at first, arms hanging limply by his sides, before giving in.
"Sorry," he said into my shoulder, voice muffled. "I've, uh, never told anyone this before."
"You know you can tell me anything," I told him, but I wanted to say so much more. "I'm always here. I promise."
I wanted to tell him how badly my heart hurt at seeing him upset, at knowing he had all these bad memories that I couldn't protect him from. I wanted to tell him that I knew how lonely it must have been to carry around that secret for years, and that he never had to be lonely like that again. I wanted to tell him that I loved him.
I loved him. I loved him when I was thirteen years old and he was the exciting, cute boy from across the street who watched movies with me and let me win our bike races. And I loved him now that I was nineteen and he was the reckless, charming, damaged boy I couldn't bring myself to stay away from.
But that wasn't what he needed to hear, not now and maybe not ever.
He didn't want a relationship, he'd made that clear, and with a now very understandable reason. I'd thought my parents' divorce had left me with some complicated feelings towards commitment, but that was nothing compared to the example of marriage he'd grown up with.
Despite his popularity, what Carter really needed right now was a friend. Not a friend to get drunk with, or go to class with, but someone he knew and trusted, someone that could simply be there when he was in desperate need of a hug. So, I decided, if that was the person that Carter needed, then that was the person I would be.