Am I the Only One Page 2

  Luckily for me, I’ve been able to distance myself for the most part. Ladies’ luncheons are easy to get out of when you have a job, which I do. Years back, William and Eloise pushed me to quit, insisting that the public wanted to see a wife that was devoted to her husband’s career. At the time, I was able to argue that, as Republicans, we could appeal to the Democratic population if I kept my job at the university. William agreed with the logic, but it still wasn’t good enough for Eloise, who saw my job at the university as trivial. And to be honest, it is trivial. It isn’t a high-paying job, and it certainly isn’t the career I hoped to have, but at least it was mine.

  This was never my dream. My dream was to open up my own private practice, to build my career from the ground up. I took the initial steps by securing a lease on an office space years back, but the endeavor had proven to be more time-consuming than I anticipated while also supporting my husband’s goals.

  Tripp’s career has and will always come before anything else.

  As it stands, I only have two clients, and I pay more for the rent than what they pay for sessions.

  A big part of me has wanted to go back to school to get my doctorate, but the moment Tripp left his job as a state prosecutor and started his path in politics, it was no longer about us or me—it became all about him.

  In turn, my life has become a joke, leaving all my goals in the dust to make sure Tripp could achieve all his.

  “You’re up early,” Tripp remarks as he walks into the kitchen while I’m screwing the lid onto my coffee mug.

  “The weather is supposed to turn bad later today, and I have a lot of work I need to get done so I can leave before the snow hits.”

  “This winter has been brutal.”

  “Which is why I need to get going.” I grab a few student files and tuck them into my bag.

  “Not so fast,” he says, pulling me in by the waist. “You looked amazing last night.”

  Memories of that redhead swarm, and I have to temper my fury so I don’t snap at him. I want to ask why he couldn’t have expressed this compliment to me last night and why he felt it necessary to sneak alone time with that girl instead of me.

  “So, you liked the red?” I pretend to flirt. It’s pathetic, really. My having to tuck my tail between my legs for the tiny bit of hope that my husband will give me the attention I’m so desperate for.

  “Loved it.”

  Tripp grips my hips tighter and kisses me. I want to get lost in the kiss the way I used to, but I can’t. All I can feel is tension, all I can see is him with her. Wanting so badly to erase the images that are taunting me, I push myself into him in an attempt to spur even a shred of passion.

  “Whoa, don’t get too worked up,” he lightly jokes as he pulls back. “What’d you put in your coffee?”

  Sometimes he makes me feel so stupid.

  My response is curt, “Nothing. Just forget it.”

  “What’s wrong now?”

  I gather my belongings and dodge the fight that’s brewing by avoiding the true issue at hand. “Lack of sleep. I’m just exhausted and running late.”

  “Okay. Be careful driving.”

  Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I barely peck Tripp on the cheek. “Will I see you when I get off work?”

  “I have a four o’clock meeting with Bradford.”

  “In the city?”

  “Yes. Dad wanted to come, so I agreed to meet them there.”

  “Well, try not to stay too late. The snow is forecasted to start around four.”

  With a fleeting kiss, I’m out the door and on my way to Georgetown. I’m able to suppress my irritation, but it always has a way of quietly brewing inside me. The once vibrant girl who lived on life’s euphoria is now a thirty-nine-year-old who can only find diminishing glimpses of the rapture that once was.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Montgomery. I watched your husband’s speech on TV yesterday. For an old guy, he’s kinda hot,” Jenny says when I walk into the waiting room of my office.

  Jenny is a freshman who answers the phones and schedules appointments through the university’s work-study program.

  “Old? Really, Jenny?” I tease the perky nineteen-year-old.

  “You know what I mean.”

  I laugh as I pick up a stack of mail that’s on the filing cabinet. “Well, enjoy your youth before things start to droop.”

  “O-M-G! That’s so gross.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  This time, we both laugh as I make my way into my office to check emails before my first appointment arrives.

  Emma

  “That’s it,” I exhaust as I toss the letter onto my bed. “That was the last one.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Luca. I’m sure. I’ve applied for every loan, scholarship, and grant that I’m eligible for.” The burning heat of tears threatens. “I don’t know what else I can do. This isn’t fair.”

  “Can you talk to the university again and explain the situation? Your parents died; it isn’t as if your grades fell because you were out partying.”

  All it takes is the mere mention of my parents to rattle my heart.

  “I’ve been on academic probation, Luca. They gave me a semester to pull my grades back up, and I blew it. They aren’t going to give me another chance. The scholarship is gone.”

  “Will your boss let you switch to full time?”

  A defeated laugh breaks through. “Tuition is around forty grand a semester. Even at full time, it won’t come close to what I need. Unless I start hooking in the evenings, no one is going to pay me that amount of money.”

  Luca’s oblivion to the cost of Georgetown annoys me. His parents are rich, alive, and pay for everything. I, on the other hand, have worked my ass off to earn my way into this private university on a full academic scholarship. But when my parents died in a car crash just shy of a year ago, my grades slipped. Despite his ignorance, I love Luca. He’s been my closest friend since I moved to DC.

  We met freshman year, both of us majoring in culture and politics. Luca is assuredly attractive with his dirty blond hair, tall stature, and bone structure fit for the runway. He’s also a tomcat, which killed the hope I once had that he could be someone who could commit. The fact that we’ve never crossed that line made it possible for us to connect and build a solid friendship. Luca has always trusted me enough to be unguarded and transparent. I used to give him the same in return, but after my parents died, all that changed.

  He takes my hand in his. “What can I do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You can stay with me if you need a place to live.”

  As much as I hate feeling like anyone’s charity case, I understand that living with Luca is going to be my only option if I want to stay in DC after I get kicked out of my dorm.

  “Thanks. I might just take you up on that.”

  “If you need anything, you know I’m here for you. You’re my only true friend.”

  “Whatever,” I tease, nudging his shoulder. “You’re a socialite; you have hundreds of friends.”

  “Those aren’t friends. They’re just people.”

  Through my sadness, a smile grows for the guy who’s holding my hand. It’s a strange mixture of emotions that dangle heavily in my chest as I speak around the knot lodged in my throat. “You’re all I have, you know?”

  Luca moves in closer and holds me in his arms. He has become so important to me this past year, more than simply a friend. He’s my everything.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as I pull back. “But I have to get going.”

  “Where to?”

  “I have my counseling appointment.”

  Luca watches me as I pull on my snow boots and apply concealer under my tired eyes.

  “Did you see her husband on TV yesterday?” Luca asks.

  “I missed the speech but caught a few clips on the evening news.” I swipe on a little lip gloss.

  “I bet you he ties his wife up during sex and spanks
her.”

  My jaw drops. “What?”

  “Oh, come on, Em. A guy of power like that, you know he has to be controlling in the sack.”

  Shaking my head, I laugh.

  “Have you ever checked out her wrists?”

  “No! God, that’s so weird.”

  He stands to meet me face to face, and I can tell he’s happy to make me smile. Luca then rests a still kiss to my forehead the way he always does, and somehow, it soothes.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “For what?”

  “For you.”

  “She’ll be with you in just a moment,” the girl from behind the desk says after I check in for my appointment with Mrs. Montgomery.

  Taking a seat in one of the chairs in the waiting area, I scroll through my emails to busy myself. I started coming to therapy after my parents died because there was no doubt I needed help. In the blink of an eye, I lost my family—my world. Never have I felt so alone. Lost, really. We used to meet at her other office, but since I’m always on campus, she thought it would be more convenient for me to start having our sessions in her advisory office. So, I come here every week and talk through my issues with Mrs. Montgomery in an attempt to piece my life back together. Instead, it continues to crumble even further apart.

  She has done what she could to help, going as far as to petition the university on my behalf for an additional semester of leniency due to my personal hardships.

  The request was denied.

  It’s frustrating because, while this prestigious education is being handed to most students on a silver platter, I have to fight for it.

  “Emma, good to see you.”

  Mrs. Montgomery is standing in the doorway to her office, and I slip my phone into my bag before following her inside. She takes the seat behind her desk, and I take my usual spot on the leather couch by the window that overlooks the parking lot.

  “So, how are you doing today?”

  “Been better.” I exhale deeply, feeling entirely defeated. “I wasn’t able to get the grants or supplemental scholarships I needed to cover my tuition.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, and I can tell in her tone that she truly means it.

  “I guess that’s how it goes for people like me.”

  “People like you?”

  “Poor people.”

  “You’re far from poor, Emma.”

  “I’m even further from rich,” I retort. “Let’s face it, maybe this was just a pipe dream—working in politics.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a pipe dream. You could always transfer.”

  “I already looked into that. The thing is, most of the courses I’ve taken are so specific that there aren’t equivalents at most universities, which means that practically all my credits are non-transferable. It would mean starting over from the beginning.”

  “Have you considered student loans?”

  “I won’t be able get any student loans because my credit is screwed, and I don’t have anyone to co-sign for me. Plus, my part-time job only pays enough to keep my gas tank full and food in the fridge.” I grow more frustrated as I speak. “I am three semesters away from graduating, and I’d have to start all over. Plus, the resources that Georgetown has would guarantee me landing a good internship. This is all I’ve ever wanted since I was old enough to vote, a career in politics.” Slumping my shoulders, I sigh in resignation, adding, “It sucks to be so close but to know that it isn’t going to happen for me. I’m surrounded by students wasting this opportunity, who don’t really care that they’re here, when I’d do just about anything to stay.”

  She shifts in her seat, asking, “If your mother were alive, what do you think she would tell you?”

  This is the very thing that upsets me most. “I wouldn’t be in this situation if she were alive.”

  “Possibly, but people can lose scholarships for all sorts of reasons. So, just humor me.” She crosses her legs and sits back in her chair. “What would she say to you?”

  I don’t want to admit that I can almost hear my mother telling me not to give up. But my mom is no longer here, and the world is no longer the same in her absence, so what’s the point of considering a dead person’s thoughts?

  I swallow the emotion lodged in my throat and state, “It doesn’t matter what she would say, or what anyone would say, for that matter. It isn’t their life; it’s mine.”

  “True, but I wonder if you don’t want to consider her opinion, not because it doesn’t seem relevant to you but because of the feelings it might bring up.”

  She hits the nail on the head.

  “Is that the case?” she questions when I don’t react to her statement.

  “Not everyone wears their emotions on their sleeves.”

  “You’re right, but you shouldn’t be scared of them either.”

  “I’m not scared,” I defend, even though we both know I am.

  “Then what is it?”

  My sadness isn’t something I want to show to others, yet she continually presses me to be more vulnerable. The thing is, I used to be able to drop my guard and expose more, but after losing my parents, I can’t.

  I’m scared of opening myself up to only be hurt in the end. If there’s one thing life has taught me this past year, it’s that nothing lasts forever. One way or another, all relationships eventually come to an end, and I know all too well the pain that comes along with that.

  “Like I said, it isn’t their life; it’s mine,” I state with a bloom of defensiveness.

  She nods. “So, what are you going to do with your life?”

  Looking away into blank space, I try and fail to hone in on an answer. “I don’t know. All I do know is that I want a better life; that’s why I came here. I want to be a media strategist for politicians; a respectable job that I would enjoy waking up every day to do. I don’t want all my time and hard work here at this school to be taken away from me when I’m so close to graduating.”

  My words come out in desperation, and I can clearly see Mrs. Montgomery’s sympathy, which bothers me because I don’t want people feeling sorry for me.

  When the hour is up, she assures that our standing appointment will remain.

  Carly

  It’s evident how upset and disappointed Emma is about losing her scholarship. If there were anything I could do for her, I would do it. But it wouldn’t be ethical. I just hate seeing her dreams being crushed right in front of her eyes.

  I have two more appointments on the schedule today, and as the hours pass, the sky darkens with thick, low-hanging snow clouds.

  “Jenny,” I call through my opened office door.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why don’t you go on before the snow gets worse?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I have a few more things to take care of, but then I’ll be leaving myself.”

  Jenny gathers her belongings and pokes her head inside my office before heading out, asking, “What about tomorrow?”

  “If the campus doesn’t close, I’ll email you and let you know if I’ll be coming in.”

  “Okay. Be careful driving home,” she says as she wraps her scarf around her neck.

  “You too, Jenny.”

  When the door closes, I pull out my cell and call Tripp.

  “William Montgomery,” he answers formally, which irritates me to no end.

  “Yes, I know. Didn’t my name pop up on your phone?”

  “Hi, sweetheart. Sorry, I didn’t even notice.”

  His lack of attention, being purposeful or not, scratches through the soft scab the day was able to form over our earlier rift.

  “I’m heading home in a few minutes. Are you still having that meeting later?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can’t you reschedule? The weather is turning bad.”

  “No reason to reschedule. If the roads get too bad, I’ll get a room for the night,” he tells me distractedly before talking to someone else.

  “Wel
l, what time do you think you’ll be home?”

  He continues talking to whomever is in the room with him before responding, “Honey, I’m swamped right now. Can we talk later?”

  “Sure.”

  I toss my phone into my handbag, frustrated that, once again, his work is more important than I am.

  The drive takes longer than usual with the heavy snow, and when I finally make it home, I’m exhausted. I change out of my work clothes, heat up some leftovers for dinner, and get lost in mindless television. The house is empty and quiet as I make my way upstairs to lie down. It’s now close to ten thirty, and I’ve yet to hear from Tripp. I should be worried, but I’m too busy being annoyed, wondering what’s so hard about sending a text to let me know he’s running late. This type of annoyance isn’t anything new. Tripp has made a habit out of staying out late these past few months, claiming that the upcoming campaign is taking up more of his time than he expected. I used to buy into his lies, but I know all too well that it isn’t his job that’s keeping him out so late.

  There was a time I was his priority. Tripp used to make me feel as if nothing mattered more to him than I did. He placed the pedestal in front of my feet, took my hand, and helped me step up. Foolishly, I thought I’d remain there forever, that Tripp would walk through fire to keep me as his priority no matter what anyone else thought.

  Closing my eyes, I drift back to when nothing mattered more to Tripp than my happiness.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this was what you wanted?” Tears stream down my cheeks when Tripp walks into the bedroom. I take a seat on the bed, entirely distraught as I hold the large manila envelope my soon-to-be mother-in-law gave me when we were out to lunch earlier.

  “Baby, what’s the matter?”

  Tripp rushes over to the bed, but the moment he reaches for me, I slap the envelope against his chest, shoving him away. He stumbles back, shock clear in his eyes as he catches the envelope before it can fall.

  “What happened? Why are you crying?”