It was like we were kids again, fending for ourselves while Mom and Dad were at one gala or another, except we were adults. Kind of. Since my definition of adulting was paying all my own bills, and Dad was still covering tuition, books, and this apartment, I wasn’t exactly the poster child for independence. Not in the way Nate was.
“Because there are plenty of decent ones left who aren’t perpetually unavailable.” She looked up at me. “And you need at least a few nights a week that you aren’t wearing . . . that.”
I looked down at Nate’s hoodie. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Nothing.” She rolled her eyes. “What’s going on with Paul, anyway? That was your second date a couple nights ago, right?”
“Patrick,” I corrected her, finding a local restaurant that had a reasonable delivery time. “And pretty sure that’s not going to work out.”
“Shocker.” Her eyes flared with mock surprise. “Let me guess. You’re both at Georgetown Law, and that’s just too much in common. He wants to go into politics, and you abhor it. He’s good looking but just doesn’t rev your engine. Nice, but not memorable? Oh, and the death sentence to every potential Isabeau Astor suitor—he’s available.”
“He’s a 2L who wants to go into corporate law, and I’m pretty sure he’s more attracted to his phone than me.” Patrick didn’t look at me like I was the answer to every question. He’d only kissed me once, and it had all the heat of three-day-old leftovers. And . . . I sighed.
He wasn’t Nate.
None of them were.
“I’ll trade you.” I waved my phone. “Dinner for my letter back.”
She cocked her head to the side and stared at the paper. “I really wish he hadn’t redacted this part. I bet it was hot.”
“Serena!”
“Fine. Have your non-boyfriend’s letter.” She gave it back to me and entered her order into my phone.
I folded it neatly and put it back in its envelope so I could store it with the others. He’d sent a package this time, complete with three newly highlighted books. I had mine ready to go back for him, too, and had started a birthday package that needed to get out in the next couple of days if it was going to have any hope of making it to him. So far it had spearmint gum, the brownies he’d revealed a secret weakness for, and a Georgetown hoodie to wear around the base, or the FOB, as he called it, on his downtime.
“You know, you should really watch the congressional race back home,” Serena said, handing my phone back.
“Someone interesting?” I slid the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. “Or someone you think is interesting because you’re a high-powered reporter on a mission for truth and justice?”
“Can’t it be both?” She dumped the burnt sandwich in the trash can and set the pan in the sink.
“Not usually.”
“She’s running on a platform of ending the war in Afghanistan.”
My gaze jumped to hers.
“Figured that might get your attention.” She leaned toward me, bracing her elbows on the small island. “Not sure she’s got the numbers to get elected, and honestly, I don’t see legislation like that passing. Not with the makeup of the Hill right now. But still, I bet Dad could pull a few strings to get you an internship if she wins.”
“Politics?” I shook my head. “No, thank you. Any string Dad pulls comes with more, and I’m going into the nonprofit sector.” Somewhere I could make a difference.
“Dad’s going to be thrilled.” She grinned. “You should tell him at Christmas, just so we can watch him turn red like one of the decorations.”
“He took your journalism major okay.” I grabbed the closest notebook to me and opened it to the first blank page, numbering one through ten on the left side.
“Because he was still hoping you’d be his key to gaining a little political power with Covington. Dad wants a politician in the family more than he’s ever wanted us.”
“Isn’t that the sad truth.” The past few years had only made that glaringly obvious. “The least we could have done was given him one kid with an MBA for Astor Enterprises.”
“I’m not working my ass off to rid myself of his leash just so he can slap a harness on me and take me for a little walk in whatever direction he sees fit. Nope.” She shook her head.
“On that we agree. And let’s spare the awkwardness at Christmas. I’ll break the news when they come out for my birthday in March.”
Serena grimaced but quickly covered it. “Look, I know you’re excited that they say they’re coming, but just don’t . . .” She bit her bottom lip.
“Get my hopes up?” I finished the sentence she obviously didn’t want to.
“Exactly.”
“They’ll come.” I lifted my brows at her skepticism. “They will. They promised. Besides, they booked a hotel already.”
“I just don’t want to see you disappointed. Again. I wouldn’t exactly call them reliable, which is why I think you would benefit from dating someone who actually is.” She glanced pointedly at my paper.
“Nate has yet to let me down.” I stared at the empty numbers on my list, my brain spinning with my favorite word—possibilities. Somewhere with a beach. Somewhere Nate could kiss me in the water. That’s what I pretended was in that scratched-out portion of the letter.
“Oh, and it’s Lauren,” Serena said.
“Who?”
“The woman who’s running for Congress. Eliana Lauren.”
“I’ll look her up.” The least I could do was see if she was worth voting for.
I tapped my pen next to the number one, then wrote a single word.
Fiji.
By December, my collection of letters had grown exponentially, as had my stress. Law school was even harder than I’d expected. Finals left me almost no time to read, and I wasn’t exactly holding up my end of the conversation with Nate.
And true to Nate, he didn’t say a single word about me ghosting him for nearly a month, just kept writing, telling me how proud he was that I was conquering law school.
Christmas had been an awkward extravaganza of overpriced gifts and awkward, two-pat hugs, but January arrived, and I got my rhythm back.
Never apologize for doing what you need to. That’s what Nate said when I got a letter at the end of January.
February, I managed not to screw up a relationship for all of three weeks.
By the fourth, I cut him loose. It just happened to be the same week Mom and Dad canceled their trip to DC for my birthday in favor of opening Dad’s new Chicago offices.
I didn’t know Nate’s dad, and he’d never told me why he feared becoming like him, but I was starting to feel the same way about my own. I didn’t need to be my parents’ number one priority, but making the top ten would have been nice every once in a while.
“Again?” Margo asked in March on our weekly call.
“Hey, I gave it four dates,” I told her, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear as I folded the last of my clean laundry and put it away. “Not all of us are happily married at twenty-two.”
“You’re not twenty-two,” she reminded me. “Not until tomorrow.”
“You get my point.” I hung my favorite shirt and put Nate’s hoodie in the drawer beneath my bed. “I just don’t see a reason to string someone along when I know it won’t work.”
“It’s never going to work if you don’t give it an actual shot,” she lectured.
I glanced at the box of letters on my desk. “Totally agree with you there.”