Chapter Seventeen
1354 Words
Scarlett POV
After the Thanksgiving fiasco, I found that Annika was strangely cool to me. Apparently she had looked for me that night and when she wasn’t successful, it got her feathers ruffled having to watch over the kids by herself.
She wouldn’t admit to it, but I think she knew I had gone out with Rhett and she was jealous, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what happened. I wanted to lock it away in a
box, never to be opened again. I was good at locking things away—most things, anyway.
What I couldn’t ignore was my near-constant
thoughts about Dev and how I felt connected to him in a way that made me catch my breath. He had left for school without saying goodbye, but I had stayed in my room for most of that weekend, so I-couldn’t blame him for giving me my space. He must have done a
convincing job with his family because no one ever questioned Rhett’s hasty departure; they believed he had left early to meet his parents in Rome for a last minute reunion. Not more than a week after Thanksgiving, I got an email from Dev. I didn’t even realize he had my address.
Scarlett-
Just checking in to see if you’re
alright.
Please let me know.
-Dev
I didn’t know what to make of it. I waited a
full day and then hit “reply.”
Hi Dev,
I’m fine. Thanks for asking.
Thanks for everything, actually.
How is school?
Scarlett
I could have told him I was fine and just
left it at that. But a part of me wanted to keep the exchange alive. The next morning, he had written again—this time, a bit more. He told me about his classes, the ones that bored him and the ones he actually liked. And he mentioned some of his favorite places in the city.
He was friendly. I replied and teased him about the frigid weather in New York by mentioning it was 75 in Texas, and I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. I also sent him a link to a new
article I had written for Texas Monthly.
He wrote back that same day with sincere
congratulations and told me how much he liked my writing, and asked me what type of writing I most interested in pursuing after college.
Dev,
Don’t roll your eyes, but I want
to write about poverty and social inequalities. It might sound
nuts, but I want to make a difference in the world on some level
with my writing.
His reply made me smile and my confidence
soar.
Scarlett,
You don’t sound nuts—at least not
about your writing. Truthfully, if only there were more people in
the world like you, it would be a much better place. I feel
honored…to know someone like you.
We wrote voraciously to each other for the
next week. I learned more about him—his thoughts, philosophies,
fears and passions—than I ever gleaned from the years I knew him
growing up. Finally, after all this time, I was getting to know the
real Dev, not the cold, calculated image he had crafted. And
I felt like I was…falling in love with him.
I wondered if the feeling was mutual.
I thought maybe he hinted at something one
morning when I opened an email from him with a decidedly different
tone. The time-stamp was three AM the night before.
Scarlett,
I wrote you a long email but
second-guessed it and hit the delete button. Some things are better
said in person. Just wanted you to know I was thinking of
you.
-D
P.S. Do you still have that pink
sari? The one you wore in my room…when I caught you rifling through
my things? ;)
I had to catch my breath. Was he falling for
me like I was falling for him? Was he thinking of me at this very
moment? Something inside of me knew the answer.
I waited until after dinner that night to
write back.
Dev,
I wrote you an even longer reply
but deleted it. Now you’ll share my pain of having to guess what it
said.
Yes, I still have the pink sari.
And no, I was not rifling through your things. I was delivering
towels like a good houseguest. You just happened to have a book
opened to something interesting, and I’m a sucker for a good
poem—and why am I explaining myself to you again?
Scarlett
I got a reply moments later.
May I call you?
I felt instantly nervous. Talk to him over
the phone? Hear his silky voice, his measured breathing? It was
infinitely more intimate than email. Before I could write back, my
cell phone rang. Oh god, it’s him. I grabbed the phone but let it ring one more
time so I wouldn’t seem anxious.
“Hello?”
“You don’t mind that I called, do you?” His
voice was relaxed, calm, like he was lying in bed. It felt
strangely intimate to think we were both in bed talking to each
other. I forced myself to sound normal.
“Dev, hi. No, no, of course not.” Why am I
so nervous?
“Where are you right now?” he asked.
“In bed. It’s eleven here…which means it’s
one AM there. Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Can’t,” he explained.
“Have you tried warm milk?” I cringed
realizing how domestic I sounded.
“I don’t think warm milk can cure my
problem.”
“Oh? What problem do you have?” I asked,
innocently, though I sensed he was leading me on.
“I can’t stop thinking about…someone.”
I guess I would play his game. “That’s
interesting. Who is it? Your sadistic professor in business economics?
“He laughed, his voice silky and deep. “No,
someone infinitely more attractive than Professor
Hicky.”
A painfully long pause. I didn’t know what to
say, but I was relieved he couldn’t see me bite my lower lip, my
cheeks reddening. I chickened out of his open invitation to flirt
and changed the subject.
“Your mom brags about your grades all the
time. And the fact that you’re going to an Ivy League school.
Annika is getting tired of it. I think she’s jealous.”
His response was strangely sullen. “She
shouldn’t be.”
“You don’t realize that around here you’re
the golden boy—a prince. Your parents really love you.”
A pause.
“Not everything is as it seems, Scarlett,” he
said cryptically. It was as if he was hinting at some dark secret.
Before I could ask, he spoke again. “Scarlett…
“
“Yes?”
“Can I call you again? Tomorrow night? I
think it will help me sleep better.”
“I wouldn’t be a friend if I didn’t help you
with your insomnia,” I replied, trying to keep my tone
platonic.
“I’m happy we’re friends.” He sounded sincere
and it made my heart pound and my breath quicken. I tried to sound
calm.
“It’s late…”
“You’re right. Sweet dreams, Scarlett.”
From that day, our daily emails turned into
nightly phone calls, sometimes lasting into the early morning
hours. He was increasingly holding my mind hostage. When I woke up
each day, I thought of him. And he was the last thought I had
before I fell asleep each night.
And no one in the house suspected a
thing.
What would his parents think? What would
Annika think?
I wasn’t ready to find out. “
I often pulled out his sweater—the one from
that night—and wore it to bed, enjoying the soft cashmere against
my skin, and delighting in the knowledge it had once been against
his. I longed to see him again, and with the holidays around the
corner, I hoped he would be coming home soon.
But not everything turns out the way you
want, does it?
- Writer
