The Infinite Moment of Us (29 page)

“You will
always
be my little girl,” he told her. “I will
always
be proud of you. I’m sorry if I—”

He choked up.

“Dad, it’s okay,” she said.

He straightened his shoulders. He handed her the book

from behind his back and said, “Well. All right. I dug this

out for you. I thought maybe the kids would like it.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. It was the picture book she

loved, the one he used to read to her in a funny singsong

voice.
Charlie Parker Played Be Bop
.

“You used to like it,” he said gruffly. “You asked me to

read it over and over. Do you remember?”

“I do,” she whispered.

“Charlie Parker,” he said. “That’s funny, isn’t it? Your

Charlie has the same last name.”

Her Charlie. God, it hurt. She smiled painfully.

“Well, don’t forget to pack toothpaste,” her dad said.

“I won’t.”

“And fingernail clippers.”

“Got ’em.”

“Do you have a good English/Spanish translation guide?

Because Rick Steve has a handbook that’s ranked highest on

Amazon. That’s the one you want.”

She had a translation app called Babylon. “Okay,” she

said.

He planted his hands on his thighs and pushed him-

self up. At her doorway, he turned around. “We love you,

Wren,” he said, looking puzzled.

“I know,” she said. “I love you, too.”

Her flight was scheduled to depart late Monday afternoon.

On Monday morning, as she was packing her shampoo and

hairbrush and other last-minute items, P.G. sent her a text

saying that Charlie was in bad shape. He didn’t want to

interfere, but couldn’t she cut the guy a break?

No, not if she couldn’t cut herself a break.

It was going to happen regardless, she told herself. We

were going to break up by default. It’ll be easier for him

this way, because he can decide you’re not worth it, which

you aren’t. And why should you get to see him one last

time? You don’t deserve to.

She kept packing.

Five hours before her flight, she thought, Oh crap. What

if Charlie comes over? What if he comes over and wants to

see me? How will I turn him away?

If she saw him in person, her soul would fly to him like

a honeybee to nectar, and that would be the end of her.

So she grabbed her keys, told her parents where she was

going, and drove to Tessa’s house to say good-bye. She was

supposed to, anyway. She’d told Tessa she would.

She intended on sliding by with small talk and false

cheer, but Tessa wouldn’t let her get away with it.

“Will you please actually talk to me?” Tessa said as they

sat side by side on her bed. “Not about Guatemala. Not

about UGA. I want you to tell me what’s going on with you

and Charlie.” She took Wren’s hands. “
Please
.”

The fake Wren answered. The real Wren, small and

cold, stayed trapped in ice. “Well . . . I guess I just realized how hopeless it all was,” she heard herself say. “Love. Relationships. Being with Charlie.”

“Being with Charlie is hopeless?” Tessa said. “Why?”

“It was hopeless from the beginning,” Wren said. “I just

convinced myself it wasn’t. I convinced myself that because

we loved each other, we should be together, when really,

what
is
love? It’s not something you can prove, is it?”

“Oh, okay,” Tessa said, cocking her head. “Is this because

of Starrla? Because of what she said about Charlie?”

Yes, thought Wren. Because he told her, but he didn’t

tell me. Because he was afraid to tell me, because he knew

it would upset me. Because it
has
upset me.

“I’m not good enough for him,” she whispered. “His

problems are always going to be bigger than mine.”

“So, what, you’re cutting him off like . . . like a tag on

a piece of clothing? Something you can just throw away?”

Wren shrugged. It was easier not feeling things. “There’s

no room for me.”

“Wren. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I know.”

“You’re hurting him, and you’re hurting yourself.”

“Yep.” I’m in the killing jar, she thought, flashing on a

gruesome memory from her biology class. They’d caught

butterflies and needed to kill them in order to study them.

Their teacher told them that the easiest way was to saturate

cotton balls with ethyl acetate, drop them into a glass jar

with a butterfly, and watch it slowly die.

For a startling moment, Wren both knew and felt the

truth: She was killing the one true part of herself.

Maybe Tessa knew it, too, because she said, “Wren. Who

are you punishing here?”

“No,” Wren said doggedly. “No, because I have to learn

to not need people. To not need Charlie.”

“Why? That’s nuts.”

“Is it? If he doesn’t need me, all of me, then I shouldn’t

need him, right?”

“He doesn’t need you? He’s dying without you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Wren scrunched her shoulders, and Tessa sighed. She

sat with Wren, quietly holding Wren’s hands.

“Sometimes, when a relationship is real . . . God, it

hurts,” Tessa finally said. “Because it’s so raw. Everything.

Right?”

A lump formed in Wren’s throat.

“And if you shut yourself off, you don’t have to deal with

it,” Tessa went on. She was being Gentle Tessa. Wise Tessa.

Wren hated it, even as she tightened her fingers around

Tessa’s and held on. “I get that.”

Long seconds passed.

“But just because it’s easier, is it better?” Tessa said.

“Because, Wren . . . Charlie loves you.”

A tear sploshed onto Wren’s leg, fat enough to leave a

wet spot.

Tessa squeezed her hands. “He does. And I
know
it’s hard, Wren. I do. But you love him, too. Don’t you?”

More tears, hot and salty. (
I do. I do!)

“So I guess you have to ask yourself, is he worth it?”

Wren sniffed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you said love is hopeless. That love doesn’t exist.

But, Wren, you’ve also said there’s no such thing as a tes-

seract, haven’t you?”

Wren let out a sob-laugh. “There
is
no such thing as a tesseract.”

Tessa smiled. “And yet here I am, and I’m solid and real,

and so is Charlie.”

Wren cried harder.

“So, you know, I’m thinking that you can either keep

yourself safe and not feel anything, or you can take the risk

of just loving him and letting him love you.” She paused. “Is

Charlie worth the risk? And if he’s not, what is? What are

you willing to take a risk for, Wren?”

Charlie!
her soul cried.
I’m willing to risk everything for
Charlie. Yes. It’s just scary. But yes and yes and yes.

An infinity of yes.

An infinity of Charlie.

She sobbed, and Tessa held her, and when Wren’s tears

ran out, she continued to hold her.

“I miss him,” Wren confessed. She swiped the back of

her hand under her eyes.

“Of course you do,” Tessa said.

Wren took a shuddering breath. “Maybe . . . I could call

him?”

Tessa let out a small laugh, which made Wren cry all

over again, but that was okay.

“You can’t leave without making up with him, Wren. He

thinks you hate him.”

“I could never hate him! I love him!”

Tessa nodded.

“I’m just afraid, maybe, that I love him more than he

loves me.”

“No,” Tessa said simply. “Call him. Tell him you’re com-

ing over. Hug him and kiss him, and then kiss him again.

All right?”

Wren almost fell apart again, but she knew there wasn’t

time.

“And you guys can Skype,” Tessa said. “They have Inter-

net access in Guatemala, right?”

“Yes, they have Internet access in Guatemala.”

“And you’re going to come home for holidays. And

surely he could go visit you at least once.”

“Yes, and more than once, if he can swing it. He’s been

saving his money.”

“If anyone can make a long-distance relationship work,

it’s you two,” Tessa said. “So
go
. Go to him. Now!”

“Okay,” Wren said with a tremulous smile. She felt a

swell of gratitude for her friend, who was indeed solid and

real.

She rose from Tessa’s bed. She was halfway across the

room when Tessa cried, “Wait!”

Tessa ran to Wren and gave her a huge, rib-breaking hug.

She kissed one of Wren’s cheeks and then the other.

When she let Wren go, Wren felt better. Lighter. She

walked to her car. She thought about Charlie, about touch-

ing him and being in his arms, and her cells rearranged

themselves. She let herself consider the craziest idea ever,

which had been lurking within her all this time but which

she hadn’t found the courage to set free.

It wasn’t a new idea, and maybe it wasn’t crazy. But . . .

what if she decided not to go to Guatemala? Was it possible

that it wouldn’t make her weak, but strong?

She’d have to figure out how to handle her parents. She

didn’t want to slip right back into being their little girl and nothing but their little girl. She’d also have to figure out

a way to give back to the world here in Atlanta, because

giving back was a true need inside her.

As for Emory? Maybe yes, maybe no. She didn’t have

to work out all the details this very second, and she could

still change her mind if she wanted to. But maybe with

Emory, just as with Project Unity, she could be open to

compromise? Even if she didn’t yet know what that would

look like.

It felt enormous to say yes to such uncertainty. It felt

terrifying, too. Could she really trust the world—and her-

self—enough to take such a leap?

She missed Charlie so much.

She wasn’t happy without him.

She loved him, and the proof of their love was inside

her.

You’re my home, Charlie
, she’d told him once. Was he still?

Hope filled her chest as she pulled out her phone. She

clicked on Charlie’s name. She hit call. She raised the

phone to her ear and prayed for the right words, whisper-

ing, “Please.”

c h a p t e r t w e n t y-t w o

Ever since Charlie could remember, the adults in

his life had told him one of two things. The ones who hurt

him told him that he was born a failure and would die a

failure; the ones who wanted to help him told him to fol-

low his dreams, that he could do anything.

For years, Charlie had rejected both perspectives,

believing life was a crapshoot. There was no “good” or

“bad.” No grand scheme. You were born alone, and you

died alone, and if you got lucky, maybe you’d have some

decent moments along the way. Or not.

Then he was placed with Pamela and Chris. They fell

into the “if you can dream it, you can do it” camp, but

unlike the rah-rah foster parents who liked to show off

Charlie as their example of Christian charity, Pamela and

Chris seemed to mean it.

When they brought Dev into their lives, they told him

the same thing.

“Screw your wheelchair,” was how Chris put it. “Screw

your handicap, or your ‘challenge,’ or whatevah the hell

you want to call it. Listen, buddy, there are things you can

change and things you can’t, and when it comes to the ones

you can’t, screw ’em.”

He rapped his head. “Take me. You think I choose to

mix up my sixes and nines like a damn five-year-old? I’m

serious here. You think I choose that?”

“No?” Dev replied.

“Hell no,” Chris said, making Dev giggle. Dev was eight

at the time, and such a sweet kid, always wanting to show

Charlie stuff or offering him dirty, beat-up sticks of gum.

“Now, let’s take a look at your brother, Chahlie,” Chris

continued. From the day Dev joined the family, Chris and

Pamela referred to them as brothers. “Poor guy’s so ugly,

he can’t even throw a boomerang. Know why?”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll nevah come back. Ha! Whatcha think of

that, huh?”

Dev giggled and glanced at Charlie.

“I ain’t lying,” Chris said, holding up his right hand as if

he were in court. “Am I lying, Charlie, or am I lying?”

“He’s lying,” Charlie told Dev. “He’s jealous because I’m

better-looking than he is.”

“Ah, you got me, son,” Chris said, clapping Charlie on

the back. “Other than Dev here, you’re the handsomest

guy around.”

Partner, buddy, son—that’s what Chris called Dev and

Charlie. Pamela called them “her boys,” or sweetheart,

or darling, and before Dev joined the household, Charlie

had felt like a phony. How could he be good enough to be

Chris’s son? Pamela’s sweetheart?

After Dev came, Charlie started to get used to it. He

saw that Chris and Pamela weren’t playing games, because

he saw for himself how great Dev was. Any parent would

be proud to have Dev for a son, just as any guy worth

knowing would feel lucky to claim him as a brother.

If it was true for Dev, might it be true for Charlie?

After Dev came, Charlie also started praying, despite

remaining unconvinced of God’s existence.
Thank you
, he said silently. Nothing more.