“Ohhh . . . How’d Josh take it?”
I’d just drifted to sleep when Ashley’s playful voice startled me. “Why did you say it like that?”
She seemed to take his negative response as a given.
“Sam, the guy’s a poser.” Ashley caught herself. “That’s not a bad thing. He likes things a certain way, and I can’t imagine he appreciates surprises.”
She was right. Josh doesn’t like surprises. Maybe it was the surprise, not the story or my past, that bothered him. The necklace confirms that. And he’s very excited now.
Debbie came back, and I told them all about Valentine’s Day and Josh’s reaction and the necklace. Debbie said he behaved badly, but agreed the necklace is beautiful. Ashley said to cut him some slack and added that Josh is ambitious, but not mean.
I vacillated between the opinions for a while. I haven’t seen him much because work’s kept him busy most nights, but he’s been very attentive in calls and texts—far better than usual. That’s to his credit.
So I decided to cut him some slack. Second chances are good, right? I called him and flirted shamelessly, telling him I couldn’t wait to see him when I got home. Very Marianne Dashwood.
The rest of the week was great. We sunned, swam, ate, laughed, and talked. The only cloud came yesterday: Mrs. Walker and Constance, Ashley’s older sister, arrived.
“Ashley, Constance and I are going to Saks today. You should join us. You’re looking worn. If this is what you wear every day, it needs freshening.”
“Mother, I’m fine. Debbie and Sam are here. I’m not going shopping with you.”
“What you wear reflects upon your family, Ashley.”
“No, Mother. It reflects upon me. In Chicago, folks look at me, get to know me for me. I make my own decisions.”
“If your decisions lead to sloppy clothes and shabby friends, perhaps you should reconsider.”
“My friends? What are you talking about?”
“Your friends are shabby. Sam’s the worst of the lot. She has no style, no presence.”
“Sam’s a good friend. If you only—”
Don’t say it, Ashley.
Her mom, thankfully, cut her off. “Ashley, I’m not discussing this right now. Clean up and let’s go. You’re a mess.”
Neither had seen me approach from the kitchen. I can’t believe they didn’t hear my heart pounding. I slowly retraced my steps and ate another bowl of corn flakes. Is that how people see me? Shabby? I thought I looked pretty pulled together. I don’t have Ashley’s sense of style, but I’m neat and tidy and, thanks to you, own some lovely clothes. I thought I fit in.
We hopped the plane this morning seemingly happy, but Ashley’s eyes were tight and flat, and I felt deflated. I had tried to stand up straight and thank Mrs. Walker with dignity, even bravado. But my best Edmond Dantes came off limp and got waved away with a flick of her fingers.
Other than those moments, Mr. Knightley, it was an amazing trip, and I got to know Ashley and Debbie better. And they got to know me, the real me—painful and scary, yes, but also necessary and good. I refuse to let Mrs. Walker steal any of that.
Nevertheless, next time I travel to Florida, I’ll visit Disney World. I need more reality. And you’ll never find Mrs. Walker there.
Back home safe and sound,
Sam
P.S. Here’s my spring schedule: Johnson for Civil Writes. Catchy title, huh? The sensible part of me warns I should avoid his classes. They bring down my GPA. But Johnson pushes me, and I’m getting better.
I’m also taking Investigative Journalism, Statistical Research, and Magazine Editing. Just can’t stay away from those math classes.
Still no summer internship. Most of my class is placed, but I’m still here—still writing, still clawing at the ledge, and still applying for jobs . . .
APRIL 1
Dear Mr. Knightley,
