Stella and the Boxer

Chapter 47

***

3 months later

I lie in bed alone, listening for some sign of Charlie moving about in his office. It’s been fifteen minutes since he left the room angry, after another one of our arguments about the fall.

Charlie had let me take my time and consider his offer, not pushing too much until just a few weeks ago.

Gloria, his neighbor, had stopped by to bring us bread that she’d baked as compensation for our cookies. She told us that she would be putting her house on the market soon, though she regretted the decision already. Her daughter was still adamant that Gloria live closer to her – to someone in the family – and there were still no houses available nearby for her daughter to purchase.

Charlie and I turned to each other as Gloria explained her situation, and I’d given him a slight nod before he had turned back to her with a defeated sigh, and admitted his plans to move, come early fall.

Before that day, Charlie had still been making threats to stay in Clemson if I refused to move to New York with him. But less than a week after Gloria’s visit, a real estate contract had made his decision final.

Since then, he’d become more angry with my continued resistance; and his begging, his attempted convincing, had turned to fighting.

“Where will you stay? You haven’t signed any contract for next year,” he yells.

“I’ll figure it out, Charlie,” I say tiredly, repacking my backpack with a textbook and notebook. I couldn’t concentrate on studying any longer, not when he was angry with me.

“Of course you will. I suppose you don’t want my help, anyhow. We’re too young to be so involved with one another.”

“You know how much thought I’ve put into this, Charlie—” I attempt to yell back at him, but my voice breaks, so I turn my head back down towards my backpack and pretend to resituate my books.

He lets out a deep breath and within seconds I feel his arms wrap around me from behind.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I’m just not ready to give up on you coming with me. I’m sorry.”

 

And that’s how many of our fights went. Sometimes, it would be me who apologized after pushing too far. Regardless, one of us would give in before the other broke down, and we would come together again.

Tonight though, neither of us gave for the other.

We’d showered together, and he’d wrapped me in a towel and backed me into the bedroom after, his lips not leaving mine. Just as we’d reached the bed though, he had pulled away suddenly, turning with his back to me and rubbing a hand over his face.

When I asked what was wrong, he turned back, his eyes red and watery.

“What’s the point of this, Stella?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask defensively.

“You have absolutely no remorse about us being apart next year, and however many years after that. You can’t blame me for believing that you’re just going to find someone else to play house with and forget about me.” He doesn’t yell, but his words hit me harder than any shouting could have.