I drop my head forward onto my raised knees, a keening sob coming from my mouth.
Oh God, I miss him. Already I miss him, even after everything. How am I going to stay away? How am I going to keep myself from giving in and showing up on his stoop, begging him to make me feel better? Please, please, cure me.
Swallowing hard, I shake my head. No, I won’t do it. I won’t.
I’ll throw myself into work. I’ll get a third job. I’ll focus so hard on saving money and contributing to the household that I won’t have time to feel this terrible—
“Charlotte?”
I jump to my feet when my mother walks into the room, my next sob getting stuck in my throat. “Mom. I didn’t know you were home.”
My mother, Priscilla, comes toward me with a look of concern. “Tonight’s appointment for a cut and color got rescheduled.” She hesitates a moment, studying me, then comes forward to take my elbow, guiding me toward the couch. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I hate burdening my mother with problems. She’s had enough of her own to last a lifetime and doesn’t need to add mine to the list. “Nothing. Really, everything is fine.”
“Char.” She tilts her head, a small smirk playing around the edges of her mouth. “You’ve been spending the night somewhere. Now, you’re a grown woman and you can do whatever you want. That’s not the issue. I’m just speculating that…this crying jag has to do with a man.”
“He’s not a man. He’s the Messiah. Haven’t you heard?” I say bitterly, swiping at my cheeks. “Sorry I’m being a jerk. I’m just hurting…everywhere. Everywhere.”
Priscilla makes a sympathetic sound and begins to rub circles onto my back. “Oh honey. I’ve never seen you like this. Please talk to me.”
I look down at my hand where it claws at the center of my chest and drop it down to my side, sighing shakily. “You’re right. I’ve been seeing someone…” If that’s what you call pretending to clean his house, before spending the rest of the night on a sexual and emotional high. “He’s a surgeon. You remember him—he spoke at my college graduation.”
My mother starts a little. “Not…Dean Fletcher? The man who operated on the president?”
“The very one.” Even though I’m angry at him, I can’t help but feel a squeeze of pride in him over that. “We met backstage that day at graduation and he pursued me. To put it very lightly. After some twists and turns, I eventually agreed to see him and…” I blow out a halting breath. “I fell in love with him, Mom.”
She presses her lips together, visibly torn between sympathy and interest. “Then it was him that broke it off?”
I have to laugh at that. “If you ask him, nothing has been broken off. But he’s wrong.” Saying those words makes the nerve endings behind my eyes throb. “He’s wealthy. Family money, plus the income he makes as an in-demand surgeon. And he wanted to use some of it to send me to medical school.”
My mother slowly draws her hand away from my back, shrinking into herself. “I see.”
“I refused to take it,” I say quickly. “Just like I promised. I’ll never let a man hold money over my head. Never let myself owe a man. I wouldn’t do that, Mother.”
It takes her several moments to speak. “Charlotte, tell me about this man. Dean.”
“I did tell you. He’s a respected surgeon. People part like the Red Sea when he passes. They talk about him like he’s the second coming and really, he is…he’s just so brilliant. And thoughtful and passionate.” My face heats at that, but I force myself to continue, because talking about him is lessening the agony slightly. It’s a reprieve from having to forget him. “He’s protective and…generous. In a lot of ways.” I think of what he confided in me about lung transplants when we were at the rooftop pool. “He internalizes his stress, but he opens up to me when we’re alone. He’s determined and ambitious and compassionate,” I finish in a whisper when I remember how he held me, kissed me so sweetly when I told him about my father. “Really, he’s such a good man. He’s just too used to getting what he wants and—”
“He’s stubborn.” My mother leans into my line of sight to catch my eye. “I know someone like that. When she formulates a plan, the plan is set in stone.”
“I’ll own that,” I sigh. “But I wouldn’t try and interfere with someone else’s plan.”
“No, my girl wouldn’t do that,” my mother says, patting my hand. She seems pensive for a moment. “Why did Dean want to pay for medical school, Char?”
I lift a shoulder and let it drop, suddenly feeling a tad jumpy. “He thinks I’m gifted. He’s read some of the papers I submitted to the medical journals and…well, we have a lot of conversations about various methods and clinical trials and procedures. I can keep up with him and even challenge his theories. And well, he just can’t stand that I’m putting off becoming a doctor when it’s something I’m clearly suited for, I guess.”