On Monday, sitting in the lobby of the school and waiting for my name to be called, I relived the moments before my admissions interview.
A tall, chic woman stepped out of the administration offices and called my name. I stood, walked to meet her, and offered my hand, feeling very sophisticated and English.
“I’m Caryn,” she said. “My desk is this way.”
I followed her into the offices, noting the bright colors and updated posters. We turned a corner and stopped at what I assumed to be Caryn’s cubicle. “Have a seat,” she said as she gestured toward the chair on the opposite side of her desk. “How are your classes going?”
“Good,” I said, smoothing my trousers. Granted, I’d been so busy I hadn’t been paying nearly enough attention to them. But my first quilt had sold, and the second was nearly done, and by the time they were both off, I’d be ready to face my finals with complete attention. “I’ve enjoyed the material and learned a lot.”
“Very good.” Caryn glanced over some papers. “You’re planning on staying in the fashion design track?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of design in particular, if I may ask?”
“Haute couture, red-carpet gowns.” I folded my hands to keep them from fidgeting. “That sort of thing.”
Caryn nodded and leaned forward. “So, keeping that in mind, let’s talk about how to set you up for success. I checked in with your instructors. They say you’ve done excellent work in the past, but you’re not putting in your full energy these days. I’ve also heard you’ve had trouble staying awake in class. Is there something that’s keeping you from getting your assignments done?”
“There have been some…challenges lately. I’ve had to work particularly late hours,” I answered carefully.
“Is that going to be an ongoing thing, or is it just temporary?”
“Temporary,” I was quick to point out. “Things should calm down soon.”
“Good. We try to give you the tools to succeed, but fashion design is very competitive, and couture even more so. Your clients will expect perfection, and you’ll demand it from yourself as well. Do you have anywhere in particular that you’d like to be working?”
“I—I hadn’t thought about it.”
“You might want to start. It could inform you of what kind of internships you’ll be looking at. L.A. and New York are obvious choices. Italy, France if you’re willing to relocate to Europe. You’ll be more competitive for domestic internships, but planning ahead is wise.”
My head was spinning. Los Angeles? New York? I had never traveled outside of Oregon or seen a city larger than Portland.
“And the Pacific Northwest?” I hated to even ask.
“You know,” Caryn said with a shrug, “There just isn’t the market for it around here. A shortage of red carpets.” She laughed. “Obviously, we do have other design options here. Nike, for instance. Columbia.”
Athletic apparel? I restrained a shudder. “Good things to consider.”
“Excellent. If you can, try to really succeed during your finals. Finish the term strong.”
“I will,” I said. “And I’ll think about what you said. About the locations.”
I left and did exactly what I said I would. It was all I could think about.
I was still thinking about Caryn’s words as I walked through the hallways to class. “Sara! Hey!”
I heard Arin before I saw him, turning around to see him jogging toward me. “Hey,” he said, “slow down. I never talk to you these days. Are you doing okay?”
In truth, okay was not a word I’d use to define myself.
“I’m fine.” Actually, I wasn’t. The possibility of complete and total failure took up all of the space in my head. I just didn’t want to talk about it.
“Wanna get coffee? Talk or something?”
I ran a distracted hand through my hair. “I’ve got five minutes here, but I really don’t have time.”
“I…I just wanted to tell you that I didn’t like how things were with us last, you know, the last time we went out.”
“It’s okay,” I started to say, but changed my mind mid-sentence. “Well, it wasn’t, not really. But I’m over it.”
“I really, well, I really like you.” I watched as Arin’s normally cool facade started to slip. “I just—I mean—are you sure you won’t go to coffee with me? Or water, if you’re not drinking coffee these days?”
“I know you mean well, but, see—I’m seeing someone from work.”
“Work?” Arin’s face rearranged itself in confusion. “You and that Will guy?”
Just hearing his name made me like sunshine inside. “Yeah.”
“Does he know? I mean, does he know about you—”
“He knows all about my family,” I finished for him. I wanted my friends to know, but I wasn’t sure I wanted it announced in the hallway.
“He makes you happy?”
I couldn’t stop my smile. “He does.”
Arin shrugged. “Then he’s the better man. Or something like that. Classes going well?”
“Well enough.” I said, feeling the knot of dread forming in my stomach all over again.
Tuesday night, Livy was out at a missions meeting of some sort, and Will was helping me look for a car online.
A mysterious place, the internet. I didn’t think I would ever get used to it.
We sat on the couch together, me leaning on Will’s chest, his arms around me, the laptop on my lap.
“Here’s a ’95 Honda Civic. Good car, even if it’s a cliché.” He kissed the top of my head. “What do you think?”
“It’s a maybe. I don’t know how I feel about being in a creative, competitive field and driving a cliché car.” I traced a circle on his knee with my finger.
“Interesting point. What else…a Ford Taurus…I wouldn’t. There’s a Saturn, they’re pretty reliable. Oh—this is interesting. A ’92 Subaru Legacy Sedan, and I think it has all-wheel drive. Nice. That’s a good deal. Tell me if you hate it fast, otherwise it’s going in your definite pile.”
“I never thought you liked cars much.”
“I like cars as a method of doing things—traveling, moving. It’s when they become status symbols by shallow people who can’t drive and don’t know how to handle their cars…well, that frustrates me.”
I looked up at him and smiled. “It doesn’t show at all.”
“Want to check this car out during lunch tomorrow?” Will pointed at the Subaru onscreen. “It’s not too far from the shop.”
“We should probably bring Zach a present when we get back. Maybe a cookie or something. Just so he doesn’t feel left out.”
“That’s a good idea.” He stroked my hair. “You’re smart.”
I chuckled. “I’m the fourth of eight children. I know how to keep the masses happy.”
“I see how it is.” He squeezed me in a hug. “We’re just pawns in your game.”
“Yes,” I said dryly. “Because it’s so easy to get you to do something you don’t want to do. That must be it.”
“I was just teasing. Wow, eight kids? I’m embarrassed to say this, but I don’t think I actually know how old you are. I stopped asking people after my aunt got her first face-lift.”
“Ouch,” I said, lifting my hand to my own face. “That sounds painful. I’m eighteen.”
I felt Will’s breathing pause, then return to normal. “Oh.”
It was only fair to ask back. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
I patted his arm. “You’re old.”
He snorted. “You’re young.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t feel young.” I moved the laptop onto the floor. “I feel very, very old these days.”
“You’ve been working hard.”
“I’ll have a birthday in a few months though, in case that makes you feel better.”
Will didn’t say anything. I tilted my neck to look up at him. “Does it bother you?”
He sighed. “It should, probably. I’ve known guys who’ve dated much younger girls and rationalized it by saying they were mature for their age. But you…you actually are.”
“I kind of grew up differently from everyone else. Well, everyone not Amish. Joely calls me Ethel though.”
“I heard her do that the other night. Why is that?”
I stretched my arm out. “She says I’m an old soul.”
“So she calls you Ethel?”
“Yes.”
William mulled that over. “Fascinating. But I’m sure you’re right. You were raised with a lot more responsibility and very different expectations.”
“True. Most of my friends back home are probably either already married or will be by the fall.”
“So my age doesn’t bother you?”
I looked up at him. “Should it?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s not a deal breaker for me. You’ve met my family. I’ve met the family of yours that I can. We’ve known each other for a while. It’s not like I picked you up in a bar.”
“I can’t legally enter bars,” I pointed out. “So that’s very unlikely.”
“True. And…we’re good for each other. At least I like to think so.”
I hugged his arm. “I think so. I have two socks in my drawer that say so.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.” He was silent for several moments. “If you change your mind, change it about us, any part of us—you’ll tell me, right?”
“How do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“If one of us wants out, we’ll say so. No finger pointing. No name calling. Just, you know, say something.”
I pulled away so I could face him. “What if I don’t want out?”
“I don’t want out either—don’t get me wrong. I just want you to know that communication is important to me.” He winced. “Not that I was very good with it for most of the time I’ve known you. I’ll be the first to say I’m probably stunted in some way. But we’re in a relationship now, and I want to take care of us.”
I shifted so I could pull my knees close to myself. “Have you ever thought about moving?”
“Moving?” The question took him aback. “As in, out of my place above the store?”
“Sure. Or maybe even farther.” I was thinking of the conversation I’d had with Caryn earlier that day. “Have you ever thought about leaving Portland? Going back to New York or something?”
Will shook his head. “No, not really. The thought of dealing with New York traffic again makes me want to jump out a window. I have no desire to live in a broom closet again. And if I were honest with myself, I’d admit that I like being close to my family even if they do frustrate me.”
“I understand. I do.” I felt my stomach tighten.
“You look tense.” He stood and stretched, offered me a hand, and pulled me toward him.
“What are you doing?”
“Relax,” he said, lifting the hand that held mine over my head, sending me into a gentle twirl. “I’ll bet you didn’t dance much back home.”
“Um, how about never?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“So you figure skate and dance?” I teased him. “You’re a mysterious man, William Blythe.”
He twirled me again. “My mom enrolled my brother and me in dance lessons. Twirling is the only part that’s stuck.”
I laughed. “Clearly.”
“So tomorrow we’ll go look at that car?”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“Can I tell you something?” Another twirl.
“You said you wanted to be communicative,” I reminded him. “So you probably should.”
Will pulled me close. “I love you,” he said simply. “I just thought you should know.”
My eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“I am.”
From the look in his eyes, I didn’t doubt him. I hugged him close, hoping that if I hugged him tight enough, the constant ache would go away. “I love you too,” I whispered.
I couldn’t sleep that night. The previous two days’ conversations played over and over in my mind. Caryn talking about L.A. and New York and saying how my work had suffered. Will saying he wanted to stay near his family and hated the city.
Will holding me close and telling me he loved me. That part I thought about most.
What would I do? What could I do? I loved Will. I loved the way he thought, the way he read books and carried them everywhere in his mind. I loved the way he persisted in trying to love a family so different from himself.
He made me laugh. He made me feel safe. When I was with him, I didn’t worry about making sure I sounded English enough. I could relax and be the person I was when no one else was looking.
And yet…he wouldn’t leave Portland. And I wouldn’t be able to stay.