Call it what you want, p.10
Call It What You Want, page 10
“Should we call an Uber?” Lauren asked.
Before I replied, I looked over to Ethan again. I wanted to stay there with him instead of babysitting Lauren, but I knew if roles were reversed, she would do it for me.
“Yeah, can you?” I handed her my phone. “I’m gonna go say bye to Ethan.” As I walked in his direction, I watched his eyes take me in.
“Hey,” he said. “Are you leaving?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna get Lauren home.”
“Where’s Jordan?” Ethan looked around the room.
“She went to Sigma Chi an hour or so ago.”
“Why don’t I get a sober brother to take you guys? You can make sure she gets home okay, and then he’ll drive you back to the house.”
“You’re sure?” I asked.
“Yeah, we’re gonna postgame, and I don’t want you to go home yet,” he reassured me.
Then, he kissed me. I felt on top of the world.
A freshman drove us back to Ascent and waited in the parking lot until we saw Lauren reach the second floor. She waved to us, and he started driving back in the direction of the postgame.
“So you’re Brady’s girlfriend?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I replied. “I mean, I don’t know.”
Even after all of this time, I never knew how to describe us. Technically, we weren’t dating, but we were exclusive. At least, that’s what I thought. I hated how a title held our entire relationship in its hands. To me, we were very much in love. The most in love I’ve ever been. But to him? Well, I didn’t really know how he felt. All I knew was what his body language told me and what I felt. I knew he loved me. Deep down, I knew. Even if he hadn’t told me yet. He didn’t have to say it out loud for me to know. That was the best part about us.
“That’s cool,” he replied.
This guy probably wouldn’t even remember this conversation when he woke up in the morning, yet the question he asked would loom over me for days, maybe even weeks.
I got out of the car and thanked him for the ride. I couldn’t wait to see Ethan again. Walking into the fraternity house alone was always so nerve-wracking. I entered through the front door and walked through the foyer to find the guys settled in all the old leather couches in the living room.
“Sup, Sloane,” one of them greeted me.
“There she is!” Graham echoed.
I took a seat next to Ethan, and he squeezed my thigh. I was so glad I came back. I loved how it felt when he showed me the slightest bit of attention. The boys passed around slices of pizza, which they ordered once the party died down. They offered me some, but I declined. I hated eating in front of people, especially when I drank.
“Let’s go home,” Ethan whispered in my ear. Home.
Brothers had stopped driving once everyone from the party got home, so Ethan called an Uber and I shuffled into the back seat behind him. He pulled me so close to him that I was almost sitting on top of him. He kissed me, and his breath tasted like whiskey. Fireball, to be specific. I relished it. I parted my mouth to let him in, and I let the happiness flood in too. We got dropped off in the parking lot, and he held my hand up the entire three flights of stairs to his apartment.
As I opened the refrigerator and reached for the Brita, Ethan pulled the string on the back of my bikini top, and it fell to the ground.
“Ethan!” I gasped and covered myself.
“No one’s home.” He smirked. “Let’s do it here.”
“In the kitchen? What if Graham or Jake walks in—”
He put a finger over my mouth, picked me up, and set me on the granite countertop. With the force of his lower body, he spread open my legs and stood between them.
His mouth came so close to mine that I could smell the Fireball again, but he wouldn’t let me taste it yet. His hands found their way to the button on my denim miniskirt, while his lips lingered on my neck.
He lifted me, managing to wiggle my skirt and underwear off so that I was completely naked before sitting me back down on his kitchen counter. Within seconds his swimsuit was on the floor, and he pressed into me.
It was in moments like that when I was in control. I knew how he felt about me when we were intimate; it was written all over his face, but I could never get him to say it. I knew it was more than just sex to him. You don’t make love to someone that you don’t love, and what we were doing, that was making love. You couldn’t convince me otherwise.
***
The next morning the hangover was enough to swear off PJ and vodka for the rest of my life. I guess it was a good thing that yesterday was my last day of undergrad.
“Finally.” Ethan’s voice made my head pound even harder. “Your phone’s been going off for like twenty minutes.”
I snatched the phone off the nightstand and sat up as fast as I could without getting too lightheaded. When I unlocked it, I had two missed calls and a voicemail from a 212 area code. Did I even know where that area code was from? I held the phone up to my ear as I played the message.
“Hi, Sloane, this is Annie Walker. I’m a senior editor at The Gist. I reviewed your application, and I’d love to talk with you about a few positions we have open here. If you have time today, give me a call back on this number. Thanks!”
“Oh my god!” I screamed.
Ethan darted back into the room, grasping a bottle of Advil and a glass of ice water. The look on his face told me that he was extremely worried to hear whatever I was about to tell him.
“I have an interview!” I jumped out of his bed. He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt the condensation from the glass seep through my shirt.
“That’s amazing, but you almost just scared the shit out of me.” Ethan laughed and handed me two blue tablets. I put them in my mouth, followed by a large gulp of water.
“It’s for a company I literally didn’t think I’d hear back from. I was applying as a shot in the dark. I can’t believe she looked at my application! I need to call her back.” I kissed him, grabbed my purse, shoes, and clothes from the night before, and made my way down the single flight of stairs and into my apartment.
I pressed the callback number for Annie, my fingers nervously tapping against the cool surface of my phone as I shut my bedroom door behind me. The room was adorned with my cap and gown, graduation tassels, and scattered textbooks, a testament to the chaos of finals week.
“Hello?” Annie answered.
“Hi, Annie, this is Sloane Hart. I just got your voicemail!” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
From the other end, I could hear the subtle ambient sounds of an office—the distant hum of conversation, the clatter of a keyboard.
“Sloane, thanks for calling back so soon. Apologies for the craziness. I leave on a weeklong trip tomorrow, so I was hoping to touch base with you before then,” she explained.
“No worries at all. Sorry I missed it. It’s finals week, so life is a little overwhelming with that and graduation right around the corner,” I lied, glancing at the pile of books and notes on my desk.
Annie’s voice softened slightly. “This is such an exciting time for you. So listen, I’ll just cut right to it. I know you applied for a staff writer position, and while I thoroughly enjoyed some of your work, I’m afraid it’s lacking some emotional depth,” she said.
My heart plummeted into my stomach, and a wave of disappointment washed over me as her words sank in. I absently twisted a strand of my hair, my gaze dropping to the floor.
“But,” Annie continued, “I wanted to see if you were interested in an assistant role that just opened up. We finally got budget to hire an assistant for our senior editors here. The position reports to me. You’d mostly be organizing calendars, handling travel, chasing down writers who are late on deadlines—those kinds of things. I know it doesn’t sound too glamorous, but there’s potential to grow. Your resume is impressive, and like I said, I like your work, and I think you have potential to grow as a writer, which I’m willing to help you with. If this sounds like a position you’d consider, I’ll connect you with HR to start interviewing while I’m gone.”
I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t the position I’d been dreaming about, but it was a step in the right direction. It was also the only interview I’d been offered, so could I really have turned it down?
“Yes,” I finally answered, a tentative smile beginning to form. “That sounds great! Thank you so much for considering me.”
“Amazing. Be on the lookout for an email from me this afternoon. You send over your availability, and then you’ll receive calendar invites for Skype interviews with each of our senior editors. If all of those go well, your last round will be with me in a little over a week. Sound good?” Annie’s tone was upbeat and encouraging.
“Sounds great! Thanks, Annie. Enjoy your vacation,” I said with a newfound sense of optimism as I ended the call. I stood there for a moment, phone still in hand, wondering what my mom would think. I guess I’d cross that bridge once, no if, I got to it.
15
Sloane
May 2017
Although my childhood was filled with so many what-ifs, one thing was for sure—I wanted to be a writer. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t much money in it. I knew that I had to make a career out of a passion, something that I loved, or else I’d never survive decades of a nine-to-five. That passion was writing, an ambition ultimately fueled by my loneliness. Without many friends, siblings, or a steady place to call home, journaling became an escape for me. I was putting the words I was too afraid to say out loud down on paper, in hopes of understanding them myself. When there was no one to turn to, there was always a pen and a notebook beside me. Words had become my sanctuary. My journal would never leave me. Writing would always be there, or so I thought.
Annie offered me the assistant position at The Gist not even ten minutes into my final interview. Even after weeks of rigorously applying to other writing gigs in the city, nowhere was interested in hiring me. I’d really underestimated how hard finding a job would be. Luckily, every editor I’d interviewed with was kind and encouraging. They all knew it wasn’t the position I wanted, but they reassured me that this was a step in the right direction. In my final interview, Annie mentioned the potential to freelance as well. She said I could pitch her one piece a month; no promises they would make it online, but she would give me feedback and help mentor me when she had the time.
While it wasn’t the dream postgrad life I’d envisioned for myself, I was excited. An assistant title wasn’t comparable to staff writer, and The Gist wasn’t as reputable as the New York Times or as popular as Cosmo, but it was a start. It was the beginning of my story, and I couldn’t wait to see how the rest of it unfolded.
I looked around my bedroom at what still needed to be done. I’d managed to fit my entire closet into two large suitcases. Lauren and I decided to sell our apartment decor on Facebook Marketplace, agreeing it wasn’t worth the hassle of shipping to New York. This was a fresh start for us, and we wanted it to feel like that. I just needed to pack the rest of my toiletries, which I couldn’t do until after I showered that night.
I checked the time on my phone; it read 10:54 a.m. Today was my last day in Wilmington, and I was going to spend it with Ethan. He was picking me up in a few minutes, and I was dying to see what he had in store for us.
When I got to the parking lot, Ethan was waiting near our building in Graham’s car. He had the top off and was blasting the new Migos album, his favorite.
“Get in, Hart!” He lowered his sunglasses and reached over the console to open the passenger-side door for me.
“Where’s your car?” I asked, pulling myself up into the lifted Jeep.
“It’s not suitable for today’s activities” He grinned.
I fastened my seat belt as he took off, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on my thigh. Out of the corner of my eye, I took him in. His hair, which had grown longer than usual, was flowing in the wind, and he had a huge smile on his face as he recited every word to “Get Right Witcha.” He’d memorized the whole album within a week of its release in January, and it was all I’d heard since then. He and Graham had already gotten in a few beach days this season, so the freckles on his arms and face were peeking through more than usual.
I placed my hand over his and squeezed it, hoping he would know what it meant: I wanted today to last a lifetime, because come morning, I wouldn’t see him for a month. Our lives were about to change; I was just unaware of how much.
We drove south for what seemed like miles until we reached the end of Kure Beach. I didn’t ask questions, though I wanted to. Instead, I chose to live in the moment and soaked in every second I had left with Ethan.
He parked in front of a small office building nestled between sand dunes, then walked around to my side to open my door.
“Is this where we’re going?” I looked at him, puzzled.
“Not quite. We’re driving onto the beach. Let me show you how to take some air out of the tires while I go inside and get the day pass.”
I jumped out of the car and sat with him on the curb.
“So you’ll just unscrew each tire cap and then stick my mailbox key in there to let out the air. The tires should be around twenty PSI; you can check their pressure on the dash. I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes, so when I’m back I’ll help,” Ethan explained.
“Got it.” I nodded.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, Ethan. It’s not rocket science. Go get the pass. I’ll be fine!”
As I sat there waiting for Ethan’s return, my mind drifted back off to the big move. I took in my surroundings, salt air, blue cloudless skies, sand in the cracks of the cement underneath me. I was going from one extreme to the next. Even though moving to New York City had been a lifelong dream of mine, I couldn’t escape the sinking feeling in my stomach. Was I ready for this?
“Secured the pass,” Ethan shouted from behind me a few minutes later. “How’re the tires coming?”
“Two down, two to go,” I replied.
“You can get in the car and take a break. I’ll get the rest,” he offered.
“It’s alright. It’ll be quicker if we both do it.”
Five minutes later, we were back in the Jeep.
“Buckle up and watch your head. The drive in can get bouncy, and I don’t need you to get a concussion on our last day,” he said.
Our last day.
I did as I was told and watched out the passenger window as we maneuvered our way onto the beach. A tear fell down my cheek. I tried to wipe it away as fast as I could so that Ethan wouldn’t see. I didn’t want to look back on our last day and remember tears. I did my best to get it together and look forward to the time that we did have left.
“This spot seems good,” Ethan said as he put the car in park and took the keys out of the ignition. “Wanna help me unload?”
I looked into the back seat, where I saw a tote bag that was packed to the brim. A smile immediately appeared on my face. I couldn’t believe how much effort he put into this; the least I could do was not ruin it by crying.
“What is all of this?” I asked.
“You’ll see.” He winked.
I grabbed the tote bag as he lifted the cooler I’d painted him for beach weekend from the trunk.
“You wanna know something, Hart?” Ethan asked.
“Always.”
“This is probably one of my favorite gifts I’ve ever gotten,” he said, referring to the cooler.
Painting coolers is a tradition most fraternities have—their dates for mountain or beach weekend are supposed to paint and fill coolers, in return for the guys paying for the weekend. I wanted mine to be perfect, so I spent over a month slaving over it. To hear he loved it made all of those hours more than worth it.
Ethan laid out a blanket in the sand and then continued to unpack everything while I sat back and watched. He brought us sandwiches from Jersey Mikes, a bottle of prosecco with a little container of orange juice, and watermelon Sour Patch Kids for dessert.
“This is really nice of you,” I said. “Thank you. I needed this.”
“Anytime, Hart.” He smiled in return. “Do you want to pop the bottle, or should I?”
I started uncontrollably laughing.
“What?” he asked.
“Ethan,” I continued, barely able to breathe. “It’s a twist-off.”
He looked down, and to no one’s surprise, I was right. We laughed as he opened the bottle and made us each a mimosa.
He tried to defend himself. “You know I don’t really drink wine.”
“I know, I know. That was just too funny.”
“So you guys have all weekend to settle in before you start work Monday. What’re you gonna do?” Ethan changed the subject.
“Lauren’s parents are driving up with the stuff we weren’t able to fly with, so I think Friday, they’re taking us to IKEA, and then we’ll go to dinner somewhere in the neighborhood. I can’t imagine we’ll do too much besides get settled in.”
“Are you excited for your first day?”
“I don’t know if excited is the right word. More like extremely nervous. I keep having nightmares that I’ll get on the wrong train or miss my stop and be late. So I’m making Lauren practice the commute with me on Sunday.”
“There you go! I’m sure it seems intimidating, but once you do it a few times, you’ll be a pro. You’re good with directions. Remember when I took that wrong turn on our way home from the mountains? You navigated us back to the highway,” Ethan reminded me.
“Oh my gosh, yes.” I chuckled. “That was scary, but then funny, but then scary again when I thought I might puke from all of the twists and turns. I still can’t believe you couldn’t figure it out. Didn’t you guys grow up going there?”
“Graham mostly drove. I didn’t have my own car for a while.” Ethan shrugged.
A pang of regret came over me. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how different his upbringing was than mine.
***
