Our phones buzz seconds later after he texts the picture to our ongoing group text thread, so we can both save it to our phones.
He kisses her, then me. “Thank you.” His voice sounds…well, choked up.
Group hug time.
I’m reminded that this isn’t all about me. That Carter and Susa both get things they need out of this arrangement, too. Personal, emotional things.
Maybe I’ll never know everything that happened to Carter in Germany, when he was introduced to things that helped make him the bastard extraordinaire he is now. I suspect I probably don’t want to, because there’s not a damn thing I can do about what happened.
Maybe it’s better I simply accept the mannow, thewayhe is, forwhohe is, and give thanks he walked into my dorm room and my life.
Because he damn sure accepts me for who I am.
* * * *
In the weeks following our return from Las Vegas, once we take our finals and get moved out of the dorm, Susa goes from living a borderline spartan life to wanting to completely furnish the house, full-on nesting mode—engaged.
Since neither Carter nor I bring furniture with us, we don’t have anything to contribute. Carter doesn’t want her blowing a small mint on furniture, even if she can afford it.
He also knows if I don’t contribute at least a little, I’ll feel like a mooch.
The man knows me damn well, what can I say?
So some of our afternoons are spent at thrift stores, and some of our weekend mornings are spent at yard sales, in addition to more IKEA trips. The house that already felt like a home starts to come together in a way that I feel like I’m an integral part of.
Both of them ask my opinions, want me to make decisions.
It’s actually a tough thing for me to do, at first, but it gets easier with time and experience. I gain confidence I never realized I lacked.
Turns out I don’t have to have a “conversation” with Mom. She unfriends me on Facebook after I move in with Susa and Carter and belatedly post pictures from the Vegas trip, including making my profile picture a smiling selfie taken with Dad.
The allowances stop then, too, but I don’t freak out, because Carter has already switched my banking alerts to his phone. So I don’t even know they’ve stopped until months later, when he tells me.
I still get a small allowance, enough to put gas in my car and little incidentals I might need, but now it comes as a weekly direct deposit from Carter. I don’t need to know my bank balance, because I okay purchases through Carter first.
I realize my stress levels are the lowest I can ever remember them being.
Three weeks after I move in with Susa and Carter, he has me send my last text to Mom.
I love you, and if you want to text me, you have my number.
She never replies.
I hate the almost-lie, because at this point I’m pretty sure I do not love my mother. But Carter wants to handle it professionally, his thoughts always on the future and potential weaponization of anything by her against me.
“You’re done trying to force her to love you when she’s not capable of it,” Carter says as he takes the phone from my hand and sets it on the counter after I send the text.
Susa wraps her arms around me from behind. “You’ve got family,” she says. “Us, your dad and Katie, my mom and dad, and Carter’s family.”
“I haven’t even met Carter’s family,” I remind her. “Neither have you.”
“They’ll adopt you,” Carter says. “I wouldn’t put you through something traumatic with them.”
“No,” I snark. “Just with Benchley.”
He grins. “Hey, I needed your emotional support.”
“No, you wanted a witness in case he tried to kill you.”
