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Cat nods.
“I’m just tired of feeling anxious and scared all of the time when I’m in a relationship. I’m tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don’t want to be with Carter if I’m just going to spend the entire time feeling horrible about it. If I can’t trust him, then what’s the point?”
Cat digests this for a moment. “You are very wise, Ange. And you know your own heart. But trust isn’t something that magically happens over night. Maybe Carter is trying to show you that he’s not going anywhere. That he can be trusted to stay.”
“And how will I know which it is? Is he staying this time, or am I just another stop along the way?” I ask.
“Judge him by his actions in the present. By who he shows himself to be right now.”
I consider that for a moment and then my phone chimes on the couch, and Carter’s name lights up on the screen.
Maybe Cat is right.
28
CARTER
On Monday,I spend all day at home working on my dissertation, and I nearly finish drafting the last chapter. Still, the day hasn’t been as productive as I’d like, which is mostly due to the fact that I refresh my email every ten minutes to check if I have any job news in my inbox.
I submitted the application for the teaching job at the University of Maine this morning, so I don’t expect to hear from them for a while. But it’s been nearly two weeks since I interviewed for the postdoctoral position in Iceland and I’m anxious to hear back, even though I’m fairly certain I’d turn it down. Since getting back to Harborview, I’ve been trying to show Angela that I’m around for good. And leaving for Iceland for months isn’t exactly going to reinforce that I’m serious about our future. In fact, it will just demonstrate the opposite—especially since the job would start before the end of June, which is next month.
As much as I’m excited about the project, which will investigate the impact of climate change on seabirds and propose possible mitigations, my path forward is clear: I need to focus on getting a job in Maine, close to Harborview. And I need to do more to make sure Angela knows how committed I am tothis. From the way she’s responded to my texts, I think she’s open to more from me.
I close my laptop and check the time, and see that it's 6:30 p.m. The perfect time to pick up some take out, and surprise Angela with it. From our texts this morning, I know that she has the day off, and was planning to spend it at home. I call Luigi’s, the local Italian deli, and order a few pasta dishes and sides, including the clam pasta. Angela ate clams both times we went to Shaky Jane’s, so I’m assuming they’re a favorite of hers.
I drive into town to pick up the food, and on the way, I stop at the wine and liquor store and grab us a bottle of chilled Italian white. From there, I sprint over to Beth’s Bakery and Café, and manage to catch Beth herself as she’s closing up and bringing the chalkboard sign back inside for the day.
“We’re closed,” she says.
“Beth,” I say, panting, “take pity on a man.”
“Last I checked, you were still a twelve year old who was only this tall,” she says, and motions with her hand. “I see no men here to take pity on.”
“Man or not, I desperately need some of your plum pie, if there’s any left. And I’ll pay double for it.”
Beth shakes her head and narrows her eyes. She’s plenty nice, but known to get snappy by the end of the day, and being a baker requires a certain inflexibility of personality. When she says she’s closed for the day, she means it.
“Please,” I try again. “It’s for a woman I’m trying to woo.”
She sniffs, and then heads inside, slamming the door shut in my face. But a few moments later, she’s returning, a white box in her hands.
“There’s only one piece of plum pie left. And it’s not for you. It’s for whoever this woman is. If you eat it, I’ll know, and I’ll never sell you another pie again,” she says sternly, looking mestraight in the eye despite being about half a foot shorter than I am.
“Yes ma’am,” I tell her. “I won’t touch it. It’ll all be for Ang—for the woman I’m wooing,” I say, catching myself.
Beth gives me a knowing look, and then takes the twenty-dollar bill I hand her. She doesn’t give me any change, but the look on Angela’s face when she sees the feast I’ve procured for her is going to make it all worth it.
I head to her house, and get lost on a few back roads before I remember the way. The car ride with Jamie the other day was the only time I’ve ever been. I pull into Angela’s driveway, load my arms up with the food, and walk up to her house, where I find her sitting on the porch. She’s facing the woods, and doesn’t notice me for a moment.
“Hey, Angel,” I say.
She jumps up and whirls to face me, her blonde hair flying in all directions. “Oh my god, Carter, you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?”
I hold out the paper bags that have Luigi’s Deli stamped on the side. “I brought dinner.”Angela just stares at me, her gaze unwavering, and I scramble. “It’s for both of us, but if you want me to leave it with you so you can eat alone, that’s fine. Or you don’t even have to eat it at all and?—”
“Thank you,” she says, leaning back against the chair. “I appreciate it.” Then she swoops past me and into her house, the screen door banging shut behind her. “Are you coming in or not, Steel?”
I hurry after her, somehow managing to open the door despite both hands being full. The house is small, but has Angela’s touches all over it. Her yoga mat laid out on the floor. Her sweater draped across the couch. There’s a painting above the mantle of the ocean, and I bet it’s one Angela did. For a moment I marvel at the fact that she invited me into her space.
