“For being so understanding,” he replied. “I know I can…take a little getting used to. I tend to be a little intense. I try to rein it in, but it doesn’t always work.”
“I don’t mind,” I told him. “Really, it’s kind of refreshing.”
I got the double-barreled smile, and I was pretty sure I was going to have to keep a fresh supply of underwear around for when I was near him. That thought brought on another one.
“Actually, as long as we are being straightforward, I have a question.”
“Anything,” Ethan said.
“Should I, um, bring a change of clothes for tomorrow?”
Ethan’s grin lit up the room.
“I’d really like it if you did,” he said.
I added my information on Ethan’s phone before I headed out, and he immediately called me so I would have his number, too. Then he insisted on taking my picture for his phone. I wasn’t too thrilled about it. I hated having my picture taken, and my hair was a mess—but he blushed and shrugged.
“It’s the only way I know who’s calling me.” He showed me his contact list, and every entry included a picture. “Since I can’t read the names, the pictures make it a lot easier. I use the voice control to call the right person. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Yes, it is.” I wasn’t sure if I considered it cool or sad that he had to use such devices just to communicate with people. It did make a lot of sense, but it also made me think about all the ways Ethan’s life without reading was more difficult than the average person’s. “I guess using a phone wouldn’t be possible for you otherwise.”
“It was really frustrating in the beginning,” he said, “but I got used to it. I don’t even think about it much now.”
Ethan called me a cab and walked me down to the front of the building to meet it. He kissed me softly on the cheek before I climbed into the back seat and gave the driver my address. During the time it took me to get home, Ethan sent me about fifteen picture messages. The first was of him waving at me, his hair loose around his shoulders and dripping wet from the shower. Then several more pictures came through, including one showing me the leftover French toast, a picture of a carry out menu from a Chinese restaurant that was all in Chinese—so I had no idea what it said—and pictures of three DVD covers depicting movies that were not based on books. I found myself wondering just why the heck he bothered to get texting in the first place if he couldn’t read. At least he seemed to have found a unique way of using technology.
I reached my building, greeted the doorman, rode the elevator, and slipped the key into the lock of my apartment. As soon as I walked in, I immediately noticed that something didn’t feel the same. The feeling stayed with me as I entered my bedroom though all the same items were present in the large master suite—mahogany furniture, original paintings of seascapes, the duvet my father’s second wife picked out for me when I still lived at home, and my favorite childhood stuffed rabbit—but the room felt empty and lifeless. Normally, my apartment was my haven—the place where I could do what I wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. No one was in my way, and no one told me how to run things. I loved the space in all its “just me” glory.
I shook my head as if the feeling would fly from my hair like raindrops. It didn’t, but I tried to ignore it as I shuffled to the kitchen and made myself a quick salad. I poured myself the glass of wine I had desired the night before and picked through my mail, throwing every piece into the recycling bin except for the credit card bill and a donation request from Make-A-Wish.
Once I had a load of laundry going—including my borrowed clothing—I did a little general cleanup in the kitchen and bathroom, pulled out some of my economi
cs books, and got to work on the studying. The strange feeling stayed with me while I went through the study guide, finished the reading, and worked out a few practice essay answers.
I finally figured out what it was. I should have known it moment I walked through the door. I didn’t want to be here, alone and with no one to share my thoughts. I wanted to be somewhere else, with someone, maybe sitting in a pink bean bag chair.
My cell phone rang and I jumped, an instant smile and stomach full of butterflies accompanying me across the room to my purse. The butterflies all halted in midflight and dropped to the bottom of my gut in a rock-like lump when I saw “Dad” flashing over the screen.
“Hi, Dad,” I said with a quiet sigh.
“Hey there, Ash!” he called out. “You did an absolutely fantastic job yesterday, of course. We need to go over your schedule for next week. Now, when are you done with classes?”
“Two more weeks, then a week of finals,” I told him. “Dad, I’m not going to have time for a full schedule…”
“Great! That gives us a little bit of prep time to get things worked out before you start officially,” Dad said. “Now I know there’s one day you don’t have any classes—Tuesday, is it? I’ll need you to come in during the morning, and plan on lunch in the company café. There are a lot of people who will be working under you, and they need to see your face a few times. After lunch we’ll go to the pro shop and get some clubs that are a better fit for you. The ones you were playing with last fall are way too short for my grown up girl!”
Dad laughed and continued his ramblings for at least ten minutes before I had a chance to say anything.
“Dad, I still have to finish school!” I finally cried into the phone. “It’s the final semester of my master’s. I have a thesis to finish and four final exams coming up. I’m not going to be able to be at the office that much, and I certainly won’t have time for golf!”
“Oh, Ashlyn.” Dad laughed again. “Don’t worry about all that stuff. You know I’m just excited to have you there. I’m going to retire in five years, and there’s so much for you to learn before then. I’m just excited the time is finally upon us!”
“I know, Dad.”
“How about we stick with just Tuesday morning and then golf after Vanessa’s luncheon on Sunday? We can go to the pro shop Sunday morning, so you’ll be all set. That leaves the whole rest of the week for school, okay?”
“I can’t promise you all of Sunday,” I told him, “but I will be at lunch, and we can at least do the pro shop and the driving range for an hour, deal?”
“You are one tough negotiator, Ash baby!” Dad chuckled into the phone. “I can’t wait to see you start taking on the board! I’ll talk to you Monday.”