“Hello,” Charlie nods politely, offering his hand to Mrs. Little. She shakes it quickly and nervously, Charlie not caring to keep control.

Attempting a friendly smile, she turns towards me again, “Is this – I guess this is your boyfriend?”

I only think for a second before I answer, “He is. He lives in Clemson as well,” and I smile back at her, keeping my lips tight, as if to stop myself from saying too much.

“Are you just visiting together? Or are you from someplace close?” Mrs. Little asks Charlie without eye contact.

“I’m here with Stella,” Charlie says, his voice soft and gentle. I know he must be uncomfortable, knowing everything that I’ve been through with this woman’s son. I’m thankful for his agreeable, mature attitude now, because I know he won’t do or say anything irrational.

“You know, it’s been so long since… everything happened between you and Jason. I know he’d really love to see you. Maybe we could all get together sometime over the holidays.”

“Jason has seen me recently, actually. Did he not tell you? He visited Clemson just last weekend.”

“Oh,” her eyes widen, “I– I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

I give Jason’s mother a solemn nod, willing her to know that while yes, I was unpleasantly surprised, her son hadn’t caused any trouble, thanks to his friend’s interruption, anyway.

“Your mom is expecting us,” Charlie interrupts in an almost whisper, turning and bowing his head towards me.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I take his hand. “It was nice to see you,” I tell the woman before quickly pulling Charlie away, not giving her a chance to speak about a reunion again.

When we near the checkout, I whisper to Charlie, “I’m sorry. What she lacks in self-assurance, she makes up for in audacity. I wouldn’t think of meeting up with him again.”

Charlie doesn’t have time to respond before I’m handing the bag of chips to the clerk and pulling out my cash. Charlie stays quiet beside me at the checkout, not even offering the clerk a “thank you” or “good day” when we exit the counter, proving his shock. It isn’t until we’re in the car that he speaks to me.

“That was –”

“Strange. I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It isn’t your fault. I just – I didn’t know what to say.”

“I know. I always felt the same way with his parents. It’s like when you have an issue with company policy and you’re speaking to a phone operator, you know? They aren’t to blame; they only have so much control over the company. That’s probably a bad comparison.”

“No,” he nearly laughs, “It’s a very good one, actually.”

“I don’t ever want you to feel like you need to defend me, anyhow, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Glad to be let off the hook,” he huffs, implying the same response that I usually have when I’m told not to worry about him.

I continue to direct him towards my house until finally, we’re driving up the long, gravel drive lined with woods on one side and an open field on the other.

“My house is just up there,” I point ahead, though you can’t see it yet. Not until we’re clear of the woods can you see my home, tucked brilliantly away and preserved in its quaint and simple glory.

“It reminds me of my aunt and uncle’s,” Charlie smiles fondly.

I show him where to park, and before the car can come to a complete stop, my mother is opening the front door.

“Remember, don’t be nervous at all. They already like you, and they’re not judgmental,” I lecture quickly, unbuckling my seat belt.

My mom stops before the steps on the porch and waves happily as my dad emerges from the front door, following her. I hurry up to the porch and hug my mom, uttering how good it is to see her.

“Hi, Charlie,” she greets over my shoulder as she squeezes me tight. I’m happy that she’s so friendly and welcoming, it makes things much easier for me, as it will for Charlie.

I pull away from her and look behind me to see Charlie walking towards the porch as well, grinning. My mom starts to speak to him as I go to greet my dad. Once he’s wrapped his arm around me and kissed my cheek, I turn for a formal introduction, just as Charlie reaches the steps.

“Charlie, this is my mom, Betsey, and, my dad, Claude.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” my mom stands on her tiptoes to hug Charlie’s neck. He wraps his arms around her without hesitation. His cheeks, full in his grin, flush a bit at my mother’s embrace, but he does not appear particularly uncomfortable. When she pulls away, mentioning something about making himself at home while we’re here, he continues to smile down at her with sparkling eyes.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he nods at her welcoming.

“Oh you don’t need to call me that – I’m not even fifty yet, you know. Call me Betsey, or Stella’s mom, or anything else that you deem fit.”

My dad steps forward as my mom speaks to Charlie, and finally holds out his hand.

“We’re happy to have you, Charlie. That’s quite a car you have there,” my dad notes, squinting towards the mustang.

“Thank you,” Charlie shakes my fathers hand and then turns towards his car, “You’re welcome to take it out, while I’m here.”

“Ah,” my father shakes his head, “I don’t need to drive it to appreciate it,” and then he smiles, “Do you need help with your bags?” he asks, looking between Charlie and me.

“I can get them,” Charlie insists.

“No, come on. I’ll help you both,” my father leads down the steps of the porch.

I follow to help, but I don’t end up with anything to carry except for the grocery bag of chips, reminding me that I’ve just seen Mrs. Little, and that I need to decide quickly whether or not it’s appropriate to tell my parents.

Inside, my mother and father have already set out snacks for our arrival. Charlie and my father leave our bags at the foot of my staircase before we’re all together again around the kitchen island.

“Sorry again that you all had to take a detour, Charlie. My mind is forgetful.”

“But she’s not,” I remark, taking a bite of my chip.

“No worries,” Charlie assures, he, too, eating from the snack assortment.

“Charlie got to meet Mrs. Little at the store.”

I say it quickly – point blank. It’s the best way, really. If I don’t make a big deal of hiding the fact, and I don’t make a big deal of saying it, either, it’s sort of like it really isn’t a big deal. It isn’t, anyway. I have no reason to think anything of it.

Of course, my parents silence discourages my own mental downplay.

“She spoke to you?” My mother asks.

“Of course she did. You couldn’t possibly expect her to wander past me, wide-eyed and wary, and not pipe up.”

My father tries to hide his chuckle.

“Ugh, that woman,” my mother mumbles, shaking her head, “In that case, Charlie, I’m extra sorry for the detour.”

I look to Charlie to find him frowning at me, while he makes a noticeable attempt to turn his head towards my mother – to respond. After only a few seconds, his brow softens, and his eyes almost look sad, like they’re begging for something.

“Stella, what did she say to you?” My mother asks, clearly having witnessed Charlie’s wounded gaze.

“She just –” I make a quick decision to be honest, because the worst that could happen is that one or both of my parents overreact. “She suggested that we get together – that Jason and I see each other again over the break.”

“And you told her –“ my mother encourages.

“I told her,” I look at Charlie, and it’s as if he’s willing me to be honest, to tell them that Jason has been making visits to Clemson, that he’s been trying to contact me, and that he nearly – “I told her I wouldn’t be in town for long. It’s true, and it gets me of the hook,” I take another chip and hastily shove it into my mouth, without even adding my favorite dip.

My mother relaxes and backs away from the counter, “Well, you don’t ever need to feel like you’re on the hook with her. Just a simple, ‘No,” will always suffice. Who wants something to drink?”

Snacks call for light-hearted banter. And, after the recount of Mrs. Little, the talk is just that. When we’ve finished eating, my mom and dad remain in the kitchen to clean up while I lead Charlie upstairs to my room with our bags.

Before we reach the top of the stairs, I stop and turn to him, “What are you expecting?” I ask.

He turns his head slightly, “Um – Should I be expecting anything?”

“No – I just mean, have you ever thought about what my room would look like?”

He appears amused with my sudden inquiry, “I expect a bit of purple – maybe because of your dorm room. Comfortable lighting – lamps and decorative lights, but I bet your main lights are never on. I know you prefer most of your light from windows. So I think there will be big windows, too. Um –”

“Okay,” I giggle, before continuing up the stairs, “Creeper. I knew you’d been stalking me.”

I lead Charlie into the room that somehow isn’t unfamiliar to him. Rather than unpack, we end up lying on my bed together. We aren’t even touching, but as I close my eyes and listen to his long, steady breaths beside me, I smile at the fact that he’s even here, in my room.

“Stella,”

“Hmm?”

“I want you to tell your parents that Jason was in Clemson. I think you should. They would want to know.”

I sigh deeply before opening my eyes, and turn my head to face him as he turns simultaneously and props himself up on his elbow.

“Charlie, you don’t need to hear my parents overreact to an issue that has long-since been resolved. I don’t want you to have to –”

“Stop,” he interrupts, reaching his free arm across my body and pulling me into him, “I don’t want you to try to protect me from anything. It kills me to think of someone hurting you, I hate it, but I would also hate to think that you felt the need to suppress the effects for my own good.”

I scoot closet to Charlie, so that my nose is pressed against the fabric of his shirt and his chest, and I think before I speak.

“Do you think it’s bad that I don’t want closure? I mean, do you think that I should – need – to see Jason again and talk to him to feel…okay? I mean, I feel okay, but I wonder sometimes if –”

“You don’t needto feel any obligation to him, baby. Don’t let anyone convince you that you have to react a certain way. Hate him, forgive him, let go, find closure – there isn’t a right answer. Every situation is different. You certainly shouldn’t let anyone convince you that you’re only allowed to be okay after a calculated step in the process of “’okayness.’”

I chuckle against Charlie’s chest, “Thank you. You’re a good advice giver, particularly for your age and gender.”

“I’ve just had a lot of problems,” He says with a light laugh, before I feel his lips press against the top of my head.

“It probably helps that you’re a little bit smart, too. A little bit,” I tease, “I’ll talk to my parents though. They may react like civil human beings, but if not, you’ve been warned.”