Grey

by Aundrea Ascencio

  "Because everyone else seems to think so."

  "You're the smartest girl I know, Chant. Girl, you're summa cum lade. How is that stupid?"

  "I don't mean book smart," Chantel replied. "I mean in everything else. People think I'm so naïve, like every decision I make about my life has to be scrutinized. Like I have no clue what's in my best interests. What have I done to make people believe I'm so helpless?"

  "I don't think you're helpless. If anything, you've always been the moral compass between us, and I would trust your intuition over mine any day," Mia told her. "Whoever told you you're naïve has no idea what they're talking about and they probably don’t even know you at all. I think you're very capable to make your own decisions."

  "But you're not my mother," Chantel said miserably. "I have done everything right for her. I have worked so, so hard to be the perfect student, to be the perfect choice, to be the perfect example of the daughter they wanted but couldn't biologically have. Despite my shortcomings and my differences, I have spent my life trying to get as close to their vision of perfection as I possibly can, so they would never have a reason to regret taking me into their home."

  There were people who thought Olivia and Wesley made a mistake by adopting Chantel. Friends, skeptical family members, neighbors. Chantel used to hear them through the doors when they thought she was playing outside. They were concerned about how Chantel would react with the other kids at school, and asked why her parents would put her through the psychological hardship of trying to fit in.

  "They wanted to know exactly how my parents would deal with me if I 'went black' one day," Chantel told Mia bitterly. "As if I were some kind of liability. I didn't know what 'going black' even meant, but I was terrified that I would one day. That I was this disaster waiting to happen and I had no control over it. I worked my ass off so no one would ever see me in 'that way', or even bring up the question again. I made them proud. I did not once let them down. Never. So why is it so damn hard for them to trust me now?"

  "Oh," Mia said, gradually catching on to what had inspired this distress. "Your mom was not thrilled about you seeing Eric after all?"

  "It isn't about Eric," Chantel declared. "It's about me. I feel like I can't breathe, like the life is gradually being squeezed out of me. I've spent so much energy making them proud and walking between these narrow lines of expectation. And I've done absolutely nothing with my life that I can claim for myself. There's so much more out there for me and I want it. I want independence and establishment, but none of that is possible when they're suffocating me like this. They're so afraid to let go of the image of me as that little orphan girl they saved from the big bad world."

  "I understand what you're saying, and I get that you're angry, but I think your parents see you as something more than just the black Annie they rescued from the orphanage," Mia told her. "I think they deserve more credit than that, and despite them being overbearing sometimes, I don't think they mean to make you feel trapped. They love you, and they want everything for you, whether you are their biological child or not. When you want everything for someone, it's easy to freak out when something comes along and threatens all of that. Often times, that fear is misplaced."

  "What she did tonight was unacceptable."

  "Whatever it was, you have to forgive her. I know she didn't meant it," Mia said. "Look at what happened with my parents when they found out I liked girls. It was hard for me too to accept their judgment at first, but after a while, I was able to show them that I was still the daughter they raised and that I actually was better off. You have no idea what kind of mental torment it was to keep that a secret for so long and it affected everything I did.

  "Once I told them though, and we worked pass it, my grades started improving and I was a lot more social and mentally sound. It was just a matter of making it known to them. People are like that. We're terrified of the unfamiliar. Your mom just doesn't know Eric that well, and she's running off of her own interpretation of what she thinks guys like him are like. You just got to work with her, and show her that people never fit into nice little categories like we want them to. Eric's weird and different. Nobody's denying that. But he's also got a lot of good in him, and I'm sure he'll make her see that once they give each other a chance. I wouldn't let this one night be the deciding factor of your relationship with him, and I also wouldn't let it put distance in the relationship between you and your mother. You guys just need time and a second chance at it."

  "After what happened tonight, I doubt that's going to happen," Chantel said. "What did it even accomplish, besides showing what a horrible judgmental person I am? It's so ironic, you know. For years, I've been fighting people's assumptions about me, but when the tables turned and it was my turn to be the judge, I let Eric hang. I left him behind in the dirt. I totally understand why he won't answer my calls or texts. What reason does he have to talk to me?"

  "Do you want me to try talking to him?"

  "No!" Chantel said quickly. "I've done enough to him tonight. I don't want to make it worse by pushing him to talk when he doesn't want to. I mean, if he doesn't get back to me, that's on me. I'm the one who screwed up."

  "He'll get back to you," Mia assured her. "Eric likes you too much. He might be bugged out about what happened for a bit, but he'll bounce back. He's not one to drag things out like this."

  "But you don't understand what happened. I totally let him down."

  "He'll forgive you," Mia persisted. "Girl, you must not believe me when I say that Eric really, really likes you. You're the only thing he seems to care about around here. It'll take a lot more than your mother to keep him away from you. Just give him some space for a while and I bet you he'll come around."

  "I just wanted it to be different," Chantel said dolefully. "Tonight was supposed to go right, and it started out so perfectly, and he was so perfect, and then I screwed up."

  "I'm sure that wasn't it. Sometimes, things just happen," Mia told her. "Chant, don't cry. It's alright. You're going to make me cry if you keep it up, and then I'm going to have to start taking names. I hate seeing you like this. You're always so happy and innocent. I just want to protect you."

  "You want to protect me?" Chantel repeated distantly. "Why does everyone feel the need to protect me? You. Eric. My mom. What is so dangerous out there that I'm not capable of protecting myself?"

  "No, I didn't mean it like that," Mia told her. "I'm sure you could throw a punch if you really wanted to. It's just you live in this private little happy world all the time. People envy that. You're always smiling and it always seems like you're never affected by all the other shit going on in the world. You have no idea how lucky you are for that. So when bad things happen to you, of course people feel the need to shelter you. You're so untainted and nice to everyone, and if we can't all be that way, we want to keep you that way."

  "Naïve, you mean," Chantel whispered. "When you say it like that, I'm just everyone's poster girl."

  Before Mia could reply to that, Chantel's phone vibrated twice on her pillow.

  Eric's name lit up on the screen, a single text responding to the previous five apologetic messages she had sent him in the heat of emotion. Compared to the long flowing paragraphs she had sent him two hours earlier, Eric's message was a brief, staccato sentence.

  No, not ignoring you. Am asleep. Will talk later.

  "See?" Mia nudged Chantel. "I told you he would text you back."

  "Well, he's forbearing, I'll give him that. I wouldn't have texted me back," Chantel said, still staring at his message on her screen.

  "Eric's just not complicated. That's a good thing, girl. You want him that way. You should get some rest, though. It'll eventually work itself out."

  Mia turned onto her back and closed her eyes. It wasn't longer than ten minutes before Chantel heard her snoring in deep slumber.

  As much as she wanted the night to be over and done with, sleep did not come easy to Chantel. Every five minutes, she checked her phone ag
ain to reread Eric's message, analyzing and picking apart every word.

  How could he really sleep after all that? Or was that just an excuse to get her to stop texting him? Was he really asleep or was he too lying in bed with insomnia?

  Yet as dubious as his text had been, nothing was more questionable than the last three words of his text, as she couldn't help but think how vague and impersonal the phrase was. What would will talk later lead to?

  She tried to make ready for whatever outcome that might be by imagining every possible scenario in which such a conversation could materialize. Ultimately, whatever resolution awaited her the next morning, she could be sure that it would conclude as either A or B, a reconciliation or a rejection, a beginning or an ending.

  Though she rehearsed for anything and everything Eric might say to her, she knew where he stood. It wouldn’t change.

  In reality, it was her own stance that she was scared of. It was her actions that would decide the fate of these two lives, her word that would make him stay or banish him forever.

  Liebe

  Eric opened the door quietly, and stepped aside so Chantel could walk into the room first.

  She did not take the invitation immediately, giving herself time to note the standard wood floors and plain gray walls that encompassed the boxy space. It was smaller than she imagined. Only eight rows of indigo cushioned folding chairs lined the room from front to back, four rows occupying each respective side of the room to create an aisle down the middle.

  It was nothing like the aisle she had envisioned when cutting out favorite wedding dresses and veils from magazines as a teenager. Instead of leading to a white arbor adorned with lace, calla lilies, and roses of her own careful choosing, the dusty, unpolished walkway led straight to a small barred window in the back, guarded by an American and Californian flag hanging on either side of it. The aisle was also shorter than she had dreamed, and though she dismissed this fact as a minor infraction compared to the presentation of the rest of the room, she couldn't help but wonder if the shortness of the aisle was an ominous sign of brevity in things to come.

  Besides the rows of chairs, the only furniture in the room was a clerk's desk in the left-hand corner, a podium standing directly in front of the imprisoned window, and a water cooler topped with a stack of tiny paper cups, the kind used in bathrooms for mouth rinsing. The smell of antiquity rather than scented candles and flowers met her at the door.

  She walked in, not like a woman on her wedding day in a flowing white gown, but as a young girl playing hokey in leggings and a cardigan. Instead of her honored guests and the people she loved waiting for her in tearful episodes of elation, she found strangers in pairs scattered throughout the dark corners of the room, staring hard at her and the young boy accompanying her.

  Initially, their gazes were dubious and full of suspicion for a cause that Chantel could only guess at. However, when their judgements were finally made, they looked away from her and Eric in indifference, and resumed interest in nothing else but their own lives. Chantel wondered what those lives were? What possible circumstances or unexpected events (or accidents) could have led to them choosing a place like this? Hadn't they dreamed of anything more creative? Were there not people out there who loved them enough to be a part of such a meaningful occasion? Did they have no other choice but this?

  "Next couple, please," the clerk called to the lobby.

  A Hispanic pair stood up toward the back of the room. They looked no older than 16. They gathered all their paperwork together for the clerk, in addition to a huge diaper bag and two identical carseats stuffed with soft pink blankets.

  Eric walked over to claim their empty seats, and let Chantel sit down first before he took the seat on the end of the back row. Once they were seated, the room swallowed them in silence. They didn't talk to each other. They wouldn't even look at each other, keeping their eyes firmly on the front of the room.

  Chantel intently watched the couple with the twin baby girls, studying how the mother reacted with them when the babies cried, and how smoothly she switched from motherhood to the life-altering task at hand. The mother was still a baby herself in so many ways, but she wore a brave face. How was it that this girl could have so much courage in the face of such a gamble and so many obstacles?

  Chantel trembled at the idea, but she hardly knew it. Her mind raced with every kind of thought, every kind of risk, and every kind of everything that could possibly go wrong.

  Eric finally glanced over at her, and contrary to her own thoughts, he had only one concern.

  Her.

  Despite his own desires and intentions, love made a selfless observer out of him. He saw the fear in her face, and he saw how her hands shook because of it. It was not what he expected from someone who had only an hour earlier claimed to love him more than anything, so much so that she couldn't imagine another moment of her life without him. He believed her then, or at least he wanted to believe her.

  Now, seeing the look in her eyes, he couldn't help but wonder what they were doing there, and why he had agreed to it? Was it really love that had brought them there, or was it revenge? Was she still angry at her mother, and doing this to get back at her? Had she came to him on behalf of honest feelings, or was she merely saying the things he wanted to hear?

  In some ways, the oddly abrupt offer she made him felt artificial, as if it were her last resort to keep him from walking away.

  But if she didn't love him, why would she go through so much trouble to keep him around? What other purpose could he possibly serve for her, except for the pleasure of tormenting him for not being able to have her?

  He doubted she was sick enough to do that. Perhaps, she only looked nervous because she was still thinking about all the initial consequences that would follow after marrying him. There was no way of avoiding those, but he never planned on facing them now and all at once. He would rather have not put her under that pressure. He wanted to work things out with time and patience, even if it meant marrying her far into the future.

  Chantel, however, had a different plan in mind, and though Eric was willing to do anything for her, including the legal bind of becoming her husband, he couldn't shake the feeling that something seemed off about the suddenness of it.

  "You're shaking," he finally pointed it out to her.

  "It's cold in here," she replied.

  "Nice to know I'm not the only one who thinks so," he muttered.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

  "I thought it would be different," he said. "Maybe I watch too many chick flicks, I don't know, but this doesn't feel right. I'm sure this isn't what you had in mind either."

  "No, it isn't," she admitted. "But I always imagined a groom to be there, of course, so at least we got that part down."

  "What else did you want?"

  "Umm, well," she said, trying to envision the most romantic setting she could. "I pictured a beach and a Marilyn Monroe style wedding dress that whips in the wind. I pictured orange, yellow, and pink hibiscus, like the sunset. I pictured my hair flowing in sea air, and squeezing your hand as we stumble barefoot through the sand."

  Eric smiled.

  "I want to give you that," he told her softly. "There's still a chance to make it happen. We don't have to speed pass this. Time isn't a bad thing, you know. Time makes things perfect, the way moments like these should be."

  "Here you go. Trying to change my mind again."

  "I know it sounds scary, indefinitely being in a long distance relationship," he said. "But you'll be so busy planning for our real wedding that you won't even realize we were separated for a year, and I'll be with you again before you know it."

  "Yes, and that sounds easy because you're still here with me."

  "But I'm not really leaving you. I'm just stepping outside for a minute," he told her. "Think of it that way."

  "I can't think like that," she said. "I know exactly what's happening, and I know how long distance relationships usual
ly end up."

  Eric gently took her hand in his, stroking her trembling fingers with his thumb. "You don't have to do this," he whispered. "You have to trust me when I say this, and give yourself a chance to make the best of it. You have so much going for you right now. I know I'm leaving in these next couple of days, and I know the closer we get to that day, it gets harder. But you can't just give up everything you've worked so hard for. I can't let you do that."

  "I thought this conversation was over when we left campus," she said. "I've made up my mind. It's you that seems to be having second thoughts now. If that's the case, we can walk out of here right now and be done with it."

  "Are you at least going to tell me what's going on?" Eric asked.

  "You act like I'm hiding something," Chantel accused him. "I'm not hiding anything, Eric. Not anymore. I am being totally honest about my feelings now. I'm taking initiative for once. I want this more than anything, and nobody's going to stop me from doing the things that make me happy."

  "Me, right?" Eric asked gravely. "I make you happy?"

  "Yes," she said, smiling. "You make me happy. Of course. You know that."

  "Ok. I was just confused because you said things make you happy, not specifically that I make you happy."

  "Why are you being so technical?" she asked, laughing.

  "Because this isn't the same game," Eric told her, remaining starkly serious. "I'm about to give my life to you right now. It isn't like at school when you get tired of me and can just shoo me away. We're playing a different game now. This one never ends."

  "I understand what marriage is, Eric."

  "But marriage with me?"

  "I can't see marriage in any other context unless it's with you," she told him. "Why can't you just accept that I love you? If I let you go alone to Colorado on Thursday, you'll never come back. A year is a long time, Eric. That's reality."

  "I would come back," he insisted. "I promised you I would, and I respect that promise."

  "I can't live with the risk of you not coming back," Chantel answered. "Anything can happen in a year. Things could change."