XIII

I’ve never turned to Mom for comfort, not in recent years anyways: I learned the hard way that Mom is not the kind of woman to dirty herself with the likes of the ill-fated. All of my short-comings were faced by me, and only me.

Ava never played a maternal role for me, she was never responsible enough for that, and Dad, despite what I hope is love for me, doesn’t like to cross Mom only for my sake.

Then there’s Mayor Smythe who could never seem to look past my last name for long enough to tolerate my presence. Not my sister, or Mom, I would remind myself but the mayor disagreed with my beliefs.

Then there’s the newest addition: Sheriff Stock, and even if I’ve only had one encounter with her and it was strictly profession, I’ve already decided I don’t want to lean on her anymore than I do my own mother.

That’s why I’m surprised when Rosemary, with the blessing of her own mother, agreed with my request: she took Blake in the same night and told me he was welcome to stay with her and her parents for as long as he needed. They’re of the same kind, the Rutherfords and the Webers, so it wouldn’t have been too hard for her parents to allow his extended presence.

So Sunday night, I’m free to meet at Lowe’s Bowl like normal. And too, like normal, I’m the last to arrive. As I suspected Amelia isn’t there, it’s just Carmen and Mark in the booth.

“Hey,” I greet as I drop my bag onto the table and take a seat next to Mark. I drape an arm around him which he promptly removes and places back at my side. I just grimace. “Are we playing tonight or just eating?”

Normally it’s Amelia who pays for the games but seeing as we are without her and her wallet, I suspect we are just dining on fries and fountain drinks tonight.

“Just eating,” Carmen responds. “Help yourself, I got the large fries and over estimated how much help I’d have with them.” She looks pointedly at Mark who raised his arms defensively.

I grin at Mark and raise my eyebrows questioningly.

He rolls his eyes. “She didn’t consult me first and I already had dinner.”

“Yeah, well⸺” Carmen starts.

“I’m going to go to the washroom and then I’ll be back to help you with your fries,” I tell her while looking at an ungrateful Mark who should appreciate me coming to his aid. “Be right back.”

Leaving my bag but with my phone in my back pocket, I walk by Mr. Lowe and smile at him, exchanging no more than pleasantries⸺he never talks about Ava for which I’m thankful⸺before I’m in the washroom.

I look at myself in the mirror and probe at my face until I decide that I should probably not take my time. In the stall, I sit down and relieve myself before standing up, flushing and going to wash my hands.

My phone buzzes and I ignore it for a moment. Then it buzzes again. Then again, and I can’t disregard it forever. Pulling it out of my pocket, my screen lights up with texts from Ethan.

Waters, the first one says.

Amelia left my house five minutes ago. She’s going to the bowling alley.

Waters!

I open the texts knowing it’ll leave him on read.

Dammit all.

I wash my hands likely too quickly to do any good and then I’m out of the washroom. Phone still in hand, I halt at the door to the girl’s washroom because sure enough, Amelia is approaching a dumbstruck Carmen and Mark.

Even from here, she look solemn: her hair is natural, her face seemingly bare, and she even traded her contacts for her glasse, something she’d never do if she was still ‘self-respecting’ version of herself⸺her words, not mine.

Dammit all.

I tuck my phone into my pocket, and resign myself to accept the fact that the days in which I haven’t seem Amelia Smythe have come to and end, because there she is, in the same building, in the same room, waiting on me. She must be. The days of worry, the days of Ethan being my only and reluctant form of communication with the girl whom I considered my best-friend, those too are also over. Because there she is, waiting for me, right?

The sleepless nights, the unresponded messages, the bus rides to school, the primal and guttural fear of losing the next girl, it all comes to an end right now. Because Amelia Smythe is waiting for me, I know she is when she turns around and looks to where I stand.

Her smile is soft, apologetic, but she has nothing to be sorry for because there’s no forgiveness she hasn’t already been granted by me. Her smile is familiar from all the times she’s granted it to me: sitting where she does now for years, in her house at her dining table as Mayor Smythe serves us wonderful food, and in her car when I could reach across the middle and hug her, and thank her. When I should have done that, I guess.

My smile back us just as soft and shy and that’s when I know everything is behind us, maybe not for Mark and Carmen, but that’s for them to figure out because if I left people every time they’d wronged me, I’d have no one to come back to. That’s just how life works.

So I do smile at Amelia. I even laugh a little because even if she didn’t talk to me, didn’t return my calls, or respond to my messages, she’s here now. Here in Lowe’s Bowl, with a Coke in her hand and with a grin on her face.

Within the confines of the bowling alley, I can pretend all is right in St. Jacob’s again. All is right when Amelia’s back.

“So do you have a dress yet?” Amelia asks once we’ve finished Carmen’s first order of fries. She sits next to Mark who’s clearly very grateful his girlfriend is back: he has his head on her shoulder.

“No, I plan on looking sometime this week.” The gala is a week yesterday. I have no time, but as much as I want to panic I don’t feel too worried. I have no obligation to go, I never promised Amelia I would. Or Ethan. Okay, I kind of promised him.

I need a dress.

“My parents and I agreed that I’d wear the dress for the gala and prom, cheaper that way,” suggests Carmen, and I know where this is going. “You could try that with your Mom.”

“No,” I say, “She already bought me a dress but returned it. She’s sworn off helping me.” Why didn’t I just agree to wear that? Why didn’t I come out of the bathroom with a smile on and an appreciative attitude? “Thanks anyway.”

“I have that dress that I wore to Mr. and Mrs. Rochester’s wedding last year, you could use that for the gala,” Amelia suggests and as much as I remember being glad Amelia didn’t take me as her plus one to her Mom’s work associate's wedding, right now I wish I had gone. Then I’d at least have a gown I could wear that would fit me.

“Amelia,” Mark begins to Amelia and I mentally thank him, I don’t want to have to say what I know he is about to. “But I don’t think it would fit Char.”

No, that’s not what I was going to say.

“Don’t comment on other girl’s boobs, Fernandez,” Carmen scolds him.

“Amelia,” I say.

“I was just being nice,” Amelia says slightly sour.

“Amelia,” I repeat.

“Sure you were but remember what happened at grade eight grad?” Mark asks.

“Amelia,” I sethe, “the dress was in your house. It’s gone.”

Amelia’s head, as if newly back on her shoulders, takes on a stiff position. Her posture, tall and elegant makes her seem a head taller than me and I don’t like the way she uses her height to look down her nose at me. It’s too much like something Mom would do.

My comment, although maybe uncalled for, is frightfully true. I don’t regret it, but I regret how coldly the words left my mouth.

“Right,” she says, her body taught. “Well good thing my gown was still at the tailor’s.”

Behind my eyes, there’s a burning and it doesn’t go away until after we’ve finished our outing and I’m on the bus home. No one offers to drive me, understandably since I ruined our long awaited union with Amelia.

I’m not really in the wrong, I decide when I step off the bus at the top of my street. I was trying to be helpful not mean, but when they ignored me I lost my temper and Amelia had to suffer because of it.

In the silence of the night, a car honks right beside me.

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaim, my hands flying to the sides of my face to hide the swollen appearance of my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan says sheepishly from inside his truck. He’s opened the passenger door, and I know it’s to invite me into the car with him. “I thought you’d have seen my headlights.”

I drop my hands and just shake my head sadly. “No, I was just distracted, I guess.”

Just a few doors down is my house, and with the porch light on, I know Mom and Dad are expecting me home. But with Ethan Stock just a few feet from me, watching me with such a remorseful expression I can’t seem to remember why I’m not sitting in the passenger seat yet.

I accept his silent invitation and get into the seat, closing the door behind me. If I wasn’t watching his face so closely, I’d say I imagined the small smile on his face.

“When Amelia got home she was in a really bad mood,” he says and I cringe. “I figured she was upset with you so I wanted to check on you and hear your side of the story.”

I sigh. “There’s nothing to tell, really.”

“I’ll still listen,” he tells me so softly I can’t deny him or myself.

“She was offering a dress of hers that I could wear for the gala,” I begin but he cuts me off.

“You still don’t have a dress?”

“No.”

“Oh,” he says, “Well then I don’t know if I want to go then, without your company.”

His tone is joking and it makes me grimace.

“No,” I say, “Don’t not go because of me, clearly you’re looking forward to it.” I smile softly while he rolls his eyes.

“Furthest thing,” he insists, “furthest thing.”

I look back out the window and I realize we’re not going anywhere in particular: Ethan’s just driving us slowly through my neighbourhood, turning onto courts and dead ends only to kill time.

His fingers aren’t tense on the steering wheel, they’re loose and almost relaxed which isn’t something I’d say lightly when around Ethan. His eyes beneath his glasses aren’t hard or stony, he watches the road calmly and I almost call his name just so he’ll turn and look at me the same way.

Furthest thing, he said, his wish to go to the gala without me, the furthest things from what he wants. God, I’m in too deep.

But maybe he is too.

I look at Ethan only to find he’s doing the same. He’s parked the car on the side of the road, not mine, but still somewhere in my neighbourhood.

Just by the light of the streetlamps, his face is shadowed but I can still make out his slightly parted lips. His remorseful eyes. His red cheeks. And just by the light of the streetlamps, I can almost pretend this is all this is: Ethan With-No-Last-Name and Charlotte With-No-Last-Name just hanging out because that’s what they want to do. Not because he owes her or she owes him. Or because there’s some kind of arrangement because of Charlotte With-No-Last-Name’s sister.

Just me and him.

His hand reaches for mine the same moment as I remember the nature of our relationship. Two kids who were in the same class all through elementary school, who knew each other’s names and not their stories. That is until his mom became Sheriff and Ethan was able to learn everyone’s business. He knows Ava’s business, he knows Mom’s business, and he knows mine: that’s the only reason he’s here now.

I made a promise to be in his debt if he helped me and that’s all this is. All it should be.

I put my hand back on my lap.

I’m too deep with my feelings.

He’s too deep with his involvement in my life.

It’s in this moment, when I ask him to take me home, that I decide, Ethan’s served his purpose and it’s best to split him from this as soon as possible. It’s best to split myself from him.

Before I can’t.

Before I won’t let myself.

Before he won’t let me.

Ethan drops me off at the end of our driveway and I don’t give him a second glance when I leave the car, no matter how much I want to.