The next morning, I was awoken at eight in the morning not by birds, not by a noise outside, and not even by roommate forcibly dragging me by the feet out of my bed and towards a class.
Instead I was awoken by the incessant beeping from my phone, that seemed to literally have no end.
“What…?” I groaned out, flipping over and glaring at the white device in question. Who the hell would be calling me at this hour? Ava would’ve just come in here, and everybody I’ve seen in the last twenty-four hours was probably too hung-over to even construct a coherent sentence at this time in the morning.
I cleared my throat and picked up my phone. I didn’t recognize the Caller ID. All I recognized was that it certainly wasn’t a number I’d never seen before. The digits looked all wrong. “Hello?” I asked hesitantly.
“Good morning. May I speak to a Miss Candice Sinclair?” The voice was female, and had the distinct, posh clip of a British accent. The voice, I knew immediately, was one I had never heard before.
“This is she,” I told her, sitting up in bed, and attempting to run my fingers through the tangles in my bed hair.
“Hello, Miss Sinclair. My name is Katarina Waldorf. How are you today?”
“I’m great, thank you,” I said politely, frowning. “What can I do for you?”
“I work for the London Institute of Culinary Arts, and your cooking ability has been brought to our attention. We’ve checked over your transcripts, and are willing to offer you an all-expenses paid scholarship to fly over and study with us in London. You’ll also have the chance to work at the upstate restaurant Rive La Belle, if you’re interested. We’ve never done this before, but after reading your letter of submission, we couldn’t help but be impressed by your skills.”
“Letter of submission?” I responded. “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong person. I never submitted any kind of letter.”
“Well, then someone must have sent it for you. Because it has your address, name and phone number, and thus far they’ve all matched. Is there someone who may have sent the letter to us?”
And then it clicked. It had been suggested by my culinary teacher, Mr. Mangrove, that is submit an application to London, but I’d never actually done so. He must have sent one in on my behalf. I guessed I had mixed feeling about that.
“Yeah,” I responded, clearing my throat. “My teacher, actually.”
“You should be very thankful he did so. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The Institute wants you to be a part of them very much. They’re willing to pay for all costs. Ultimately, it’s your choice, but you’ll only ever receive this offer once, and it’s potentially life changing. I’m urging you to think very carefully about this decision.”
“You want me to… fly to London?” I replied, frowning. Despite her long speech, that seemed all I could grasp from the situation. I’d never gone to another country before, especially not to live with little to no knowledge of the place at all. I’d been a Californian beforehand, and now I was a Floridian. Both were far cries from the world of London.
“Yes,” the woman on the other end of the line—Katarina Waldorf, was it?—answered. “On a temporary basis so far, that is. We’re willing to pay for your flight and accommodation, so long as you’re willing to at least greatly consider our school. Our scholarship only lasts for a trial of three months. If you want to stay longer, we’re happy to pay so long as the work you submit is of a high standard, but this is just for a provisional. It’s a wonderful opportunity.”
“It is,” I said, feeling like my heart had permanently seized in my chest. “Thank you. It’s an honor…. But it’s also a really big commute.”
“We acknowledge that,” Katarina replied in a clipped voice. “And that’s why we’re willing to give you a month to decide whether or not you want to go. Talk it over with your parents, your teachers, and mostly yourself. We will understand if you’re not interested, but we sincerely hope to see you here in February.”
“I—I will,” I stammered out, rubbing my forehead where the beginning of the hangover had kicked in. That seemed minor, however, to the option I was currently being faced with.
“We look forward to hearing from you,” Katarina told me warmly, before reciting their number to me—which I hastily scribbled down on a notepad—and telling me the exact name to ask for.
After that, she bid me adieu, and hung up. I stared at a random place across the wall, and then slowly slid out of bed.
I walked through the door and into the living room, where both Chance and Ava already were. Ava was flicking numbly through the channels in search of some easy watching, and Chance was swallowing two aspirins with a mug of strong black coffee.
In the quick, unexpected start of the morning, I’d totally forgotten about the drama that had gone down the night before, between Jamie, Chance and Seth, and now it all hit me like a ton of bricks.
I stared at the wall and said nothing, mulling over my choices. There was staying here, in the safe confines of America and literally everything I knew, or I could embark on a whole new journey that may have life-changing results, in a world I literally knew nothing of. Alone, with no loved ones around anywhere. It was like a clean slate, where I had no ties.
“Candice?” Ava asked uncertainly, after I’d failed to speak or even move for two minutes. “What’s up?”
“I just got a call,” I said numbly. It felt like everything I said was coming through a dream, and I’d wake up at any minute to find I was still curled up in bed, the opportunity ripped from my grasp as quickly as I’d received it.
“What? Who from?” Ava asked, looking perplexed as to why I’d be divulging this kind of information under such tense circumstances.
“A woman named Katarina Waldorf,” I answered, tearing my eyes to glance between Ava and Chance. Chance looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, which I didn’t blame him.
“And…?” Ava prompted. Whilst staring into Chance’s hazel eyes, I’d completely lost my train of thought.
“And she works for the London Institute of Culinary Arts,” I continued, swallowing and forcing myself to think straight. “She—She wants me to move to England.”
~ * ~
It was a great while before anyone decided to talk, and when they did, it was Ava in a terrifying screech. “What?”
“I know,” I told her. “But Mr. Mangrove submitted an application in my name to the Institute. They’re willing to offer me an all-expenses paid scholarship there. On a trial basis of three months. If I decide to stay in London, they’ll continue paying my living costs. I even have a job at a high-end restaurant in London, if I so choose it.”
“Candice, that’s… big,” Ava told me, shaking her head wildly. “I mean, that’s a whole new country.”
“I know,” I told her, running a hand through my hair. “But it’s a prestigious institution. And I’ll never have the opportunity ever again. This could change everything.”
Ava rubbed her tired eyes and stood up. “This calls for more coffee.”
She sidled off towards the kitchen, and I leaned against the doorframe, envisioning every scenario. Walking along the pavement in a coat and galoshes, a bagel and cappuccino in my hand and a knitted beret atop my head. Jumping over puddles and cooking in high-end kitchens, making a home by a warm, cozy fire on the freezing winter nights. Studying cookbooks as the gray rain battered down against the window. The England of my dreams was somewhat beautiful, all sleet and gray and warm fires and chirpy accents. Of course, I knew it would be nothing like that, but my imagination didn’t really have much to go off besides British sitcoms and feel-good Christmas movies.
But then there was America, with the home I knew and Giuseppe’s and Chance and Jamie and Ava and the warm apartment I knew I could always come back to. Mr. and Mrs. Donoghue and all of my friends and the warm interior of Joe’s and the familiar college campus. All of my family lived here, and I’d be leaving that all behind. Due to time differences and communicational costs, it would be hard to ever fit them into my life, especially with work and school and whatever else occupied my time.
But this was my future! I’d only ever have one opportunity at this, and it was staring me right in the face, practically begging me to take it. I was the one in a million selected to join their team; probably the only US citizen to ever be offered this incredible thing. How could I turn that down?
More so, what would I regret in the future? Would I look back at my life in America and wish I’d stayed? Would I be homesick and friendless in the new, foreign country, wishing I’d picked a different path? Or would the regret set in twenty years in the future, after I’d grown up and gotten a job and the English life had grown tiresome.
If I stayed in Florida, would I regret not leaving and embarking on my dreams? Maybe the feeling of what it would be like to live in England would haunt me for the rest of my life, constantly leaving me to wonder what could have been. Maybe I’d still lose contact with everyone here and I’d live a crappy, lonely job in some listless apartment. Really, what was there left?
What choice did I have?
How could I decide?
“So,” Chance said, breaking the silence I’d almost forgotten was there. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I told him. I wondered if, in his drunken state, he’d forgotten the conversation we’d had last night. Judging by his still-hurt gaze, I’d say not. “I mean, I want this. I want to go there and try something new, and I know I only have one shot at this. I just… I just don’t wanna look back and wonder ‘what-if’, you know?”
“Just tell me, Candice, what have you got to stay for?” It wasn’t a judgmental question, or even one said rudely. It was just a curious question. And, still, it took me off-guard.
“I…I mean, I’ve got a lot of things to stay here for. Ava and Jamie and my job and college and this apartment… and… and you,” I stammered out. “The life I grew up with. The only thing I’ve ever known.”
“In the end, I’m sure you’ll make the right decision,” Chance said. “But don’t make the right decision for anyone but you. Do what makes you happy, and you’ll never have any regrets. And even if you do, just remember that, at one point in time, it was exactly what you wanted.”
“When did you get so philosophical?” I replied, perching on the edge of the chaise across from him.
He shrugged, and despite the current circumstances between us, he gave out a timid smile. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “It’s a gift.”
I looked down at my hands and at the familiar shag carper beneath my feet. I wondered exactly where my feet would be planted a year from now. Still on this very carpet, or on some rainy sidewalk outside of a delicatessen in England? This decision was life changing, and I knew that for that exact reason, I had to choose my path with the utmost care.
Ava reappeared, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, and handed one to me. I thanked her and took a sip, looking down.
“So, are we all good?” Ava asked, gesturing between the space between Chance and I. “Because my mind is spinning and I am really not in the mood for anymore of this drama.”
“Yeah,” Chance answered, grabbing his glass of orange juice and taking a sip. He shot me a reassuring smile over the rim. “We’re good.”
And, for the first time, I thought that maybe, just maybe, we were.
~ * ~
The next morning signaled the first day of classes, and I dejectedly made my way along the sidewalk, my arms crossed over my chest. Though it was Florida and normally hot enough to melt a flip-flop to pavement, winter had set in brutally over the last week, meriting sweaters instead of tank tops and jeans instead of denim cut-offs.
I walked into class at just after eight, knowing the classes didn’t start for another half-hour, but also knowing Mr. Mangrove would be here early prepping for the next lesson—prime time for talking to him about the offer.
The hospitality kitchens smelled of freshly brewed coffee, and I found Mr. Mangrove with his back to me, writing down coffee offers on the large chalkboard. The hospitality kitchens doubled as one of the campus cafés, and for some assessment tasks we even had to make exquisite meals for students as part of the testing.
I waited until he’d finished an intricate picture of a steaming coffee cup before I spoke. “Mr. Mangrove.”
He jolted so suddenly that the yellow chalk squealed across the blackboard, and he turned around quickly. “Miss Sinclair. You’re here early. Eager to be back in classes?”
I walked over to the tables and started lifting the stacked chairs from the tops to help cut down his workload. “Eager to speak to you, more like it.”
“I’m flattered,” he replied, wiping the smudge of yellow chalk off the board and beginning more of his elegant calligraphy advertising our warm nachos deal. “What about?”
“I got an interesting call yesterday afternoon,” I grunted, bringing down three stacked metal chairs at once and almost causing the whole table to collapse on me—typical Candice Sinclair behavior, of course.
“Well, that’s nice,” Mr. Mangrove said, sounding innocently puzzled. He finished up the drawing and replaced the chalk, before wiping his hands on his apron. “But I don’t see how that concerns me.”
“Well, here’s the interesting thing,” I told him. “You see, it was a woman by the name of Katarina Waldorf from a place called the London Institute of Culinary Arts, and, boy, did she have and offer for me. You see, she wants me to move out to England and take up studying there professionally. But, of course, you wouldn’t know anything about hat, would you?”
The one thing I loved about Mr. Mangrove, my cooking teacher, was that he was young, modern, and could take a joke like no one else. He was the best teacher I’d ever had.
He smiled at me sheepishly. “They approached me, and I simply passed on your name, grades and transcripts. You’re the best student I have, and I wanted to give you the best opportunity you could get. You have a real talent, and I thought it could really be harnessed there. It’s got great kitchens, wonderful teachers, and a fantastic course with an easy workload. I think it’s perfect for you.”
I suddenly realized something; why he spoke so fondly of the school. “It’s your alma mater, isn’t it?” I asked. “You went there for college, right?”
He held up his hands in a surrendering motion. “You caught me. Take it from someone who attended and graduated there, it’s perfect for you. Now you’ve got this opportunity, it would be a tragedy to waste it.”
I began stacking straws. “I know, it’s just hard, you know? My friends, my family…”
He nodded. “I know. It was a hard move for me, too. Take it from someone who knows. But you know what, Candice?”
“What?” I replied, turning to look at him.
He smiled. “I did what I knew was right, and I went there. Even if it meant leaving everyone. And I have never looked back since.”
“Thanks, Mr. Mangrove,” I said. “For sending my application in, for this…. I don’t know what I’ll do yet, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
He nodded. “Do what you think is right, and you’ll never be wrong.”
Something about what he said and the way that he said it made me realize he was talking about more than one thing. And it made me realize some other things about my life.
I’d brought myself up in a world where I refused to even consider the possibility of finding someone else. I just thought it wasn’t possible for me. But something about that phone call had been a catalyst for change within me. On a lot of things.
My future was uncertain. I had no idea whether I was going to be stepping onto a plane to England in one month, or whether or not I was going to stay in Florida and the life I knew. But life is full of unexpected changes, and so you have to seize every opportunity while you still have the chance.
I couldn’t fix everything and form some kind of clear-cut answer that would map out the rest of my life. I wasn’t a miracle worker, and nothing was ever going to be that easy.
But what I could do was grow a pair and rectify the situations that I could fix. Because this was life, and I had to do what was right in my heart, even if in my head it was screaming that I was wrong, wrong, wrong.
I grabbed my bag and hitched it over my shoulder, before starting for the door. “Candice, where are you going?” Mr. Mangrove asked, watching after me as if I had suddenly spouted horns and was reciting some kind of Latin incantation at him.
I spun around and threw my arms around him. “Thank you,” I whispered. “And you’re right. I have to do what’s right. You’re a genius.”
I pulled back and ran for the door, and Mr. Mangrove stared after me, looking unsure as to whether he should call for backup or not. “Candice!”
“I’m sorry,” I called. “But there’s something I have to do.”
I left the room without allowing myself a second of thought as to the consequences of my actions. Everything was coming together and sliding past each other like tectonic plates; falling back and forth. I’d spent my whole life trying to plan out every miniscule detail, but for once I had to let go and do what I wanted, not what I thought was best.
Do what you think is right, and you’ll never be wrong.
~ * ~
When I knocked on his door, there was not a single moment of hesitation in the sure and steady thump of fist meeting wood. Not a shaky breath, not a trembling hand, and not a moment of doubt. It wasn’t certainty, per se, but a kind of happy medium; a flow.
Chance opened the door with upraised eyebrows, his hair still slightly damp from a shower and a clean gray t-shirt clinging to his masculine torso. He paused and frowned. “Candice?” he asked perplexedly.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t allow him to say anything more. Instead I dropped my bag at my feet, stepped forward, threw my arms around his neck, and kissed him as hard as I could.
There was no more denying feelings, no more lying to myself. I was still the strong and independent Candice Sinclair I’d always been, but now I didn’t feel like I had to be single forever to achieve that status. Maybe I could, for once in my life, let myself go.
It took Chance a few seconds to recover from shock, but when he did, he kissed me back with just as much passion, if not more. His arms twined around my waist and pulled me closer and into the warm apartment. He kicked the door shut behind us and then pressed me against the surprisingly cold wood. I’d never been kissed like this before.
I liked it.
He tasted of coffee and something else—cinnamon, maybe?—and his hands were warm on my hips. His lips were soft against mine, and it felt like I’d finally achieved that heavenly happiness, like I’d achieved that nirvana in life that they talk about. That moment of self-acceptance and true bliss.
Finally, breathlessly, we both pulled back, and he rested his forehead on mine, panting heavily. “Whoa,” he muttered, swallowing thickly. “What brought that on?”
“I’m tired,” I whispered, my heart palpitating wildly in my chest. “Tired of denying what I know is right in my heart. Trying to pretend I don’t need you when I really, really do. Lying to myself and everyone else and pretending that I don’t love you. Because I do.”
“What?”
I stepped back and away from him, needing the space to clear my head and work through my thoughts so that I could phrase it just right. “I always say that I won’t fall in love and end up having my heart broken just like my mom did. But I’m tired of living like that. I’m forging my own future now, and to hell with the consequences. Because this here is what I’ve needed all along, even if I was too stubborn to admit that. I needed you. And what you said to me yesterday morning is so, so true. ‘Don’t have any regrets. And even if you do, just remember that, at one point in time, it was exactly what you wanted.’ Right? Well, that’s what I’m doing. Right here, right now, this…” I gestured between us. “…Is exactly what I want.”
He grinned like a little boy on Christmas morning and stepped forward, bringing his lips down to mine yet again. It was the sweetest, most euphoric feeling, being able to finally let myself go and accept everything without being so scared of life all the time. I just had to let it happen. And happen, it did.
After what felt like forever, we pulled back. “What about England?” Chance asked. “And the scholarship at the London Institute? What about your future?”
“I don’t know,” I told him. “But before I have to decide, I want to make amends with everything first. I want to live my life without worrying about my future or heartache. I wanna live my life as me. Well, not the real me, because she’s a lonely, scared little girl who wants to be loved but would never admit it to herself. But I want to be the Candice Sinclair I would have been if my parent’s divorce hadn’t happened. The carefree girl totally open to love.”
“I like that Candice,” Chance told me, his warm hazel eyes alight with happiness.
“I also wanna be this girl of forgiveness. I want to be a different Candice to the one I’ve always been. So I’m going to call my parents and make amends. I’m going to talk everything through with Jamie and Ava and Seth and make it right again. Because when I look back in twenty years, whether it be lonely or with kids or in England or America, I wanna look back at this time in my life and remember the good times. I want to remember this apartment, and you, and the moment my whole life turned around and I stopped being a scared little girl. The moment I started being who I was supposed to be. Me.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me up, pulling me above him so that, for the first time, I was taller than him.
“I think,” Chance told me, gently placing me on the ground. “That that’s a great idea.”
He leaned in to kiss me, but I pulled back and grabbed my phone from my pocket. “So, now I need to call my parents.”
Chance’s face fell. “Really? But I was just getting into the spirit of things.”
I grinned. “Don’t worry. You’ll have your time. Plenty of it. But for now, I have to call my parents and make up with them. It’s been long enough.”
He shrugged and let out a long breath. “I’ve waited this long for you. I guess I can wait a little longer.”
I dialed their number and pressed the phone to my ear, but stayed close to Chance anyway, who was absentmindedly playing with my fingers, making it very hard to concentrate.
“Candice, is that you?” my mom answered hurriedly on the fourth ring.
“Hey, Mom. Yeah, it’s me.”
“I thought I’d never hear from you again,” she said, sounding relieved to have me back. I didn’t know she missed me that much. I’d never viewed her as someone who missed people. Weird.
“I called to apologize for being a total bitch and freezing you out. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry for not returning—or answering, I guess—your calls. But I just wanted to say congratulations. If you and Dad are happy, then I’m happy for you.”
“Really?” my mom asked, sounding tearful. That’s right, I was actually going to make my mother cry for the first time in her life because of me.
“Really,” I affirmed.
“Look, is there anyway we can see you soon?” my mom asked. “I’ll book and pay for the tickets. I need to see you again. We need to be a family again. Please, Candice?”
I sighed. “Yeah. I guess I can make it back to Oakbridge for a few days. But on one condition.”
There was a moment of silence, and when she responded she seemed almost hesitant to ask. Fair enough, I supposed. “What?”
I smiled and looked up at Chance, who was silhouetted against the wan sunlight as if he were an innocent angel. “Can I bring a plus one? There’s someone I’d really like you to meet.”
Chance’s head snapped up like he’d been electrocuted, and his eyebrows puzzled as he tried to mull over what the hell I could possibly be talking about.
“Oh, really?” my mother asked. “Do I finally get to meet the infamous Ava? I’ve been waiting a long time to be introduced.”
“Not exactly…” I said vaguely.
“Then who?”
“A boy, actually. I’d like you to meet a boy. My… boyfriend.”
There was a long moment of silence, and I wondered if maybe she’d had a heart attack. I’d never introduced her to any guy friends before, let alone an actual boyfriend.
“That sounds perfect,” she said finally, her voice sounding a mix between excitement and overwhelmed.
But you know what, it did.
Sound perfect, I mean.