Hate Notes

“Here are the expense-report summaries on the Hudson property that you asked for.” I placed a file on the corner of Iris’s desk. She had papers strewn all over. Even though it was almost seven in the evening, it didn’t look like she was leaving anytime soon.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

I nodded and turned to walk out but had to say something. “Iris?”

She looked up. “Hmm?”

“I’m really sorry about this morning. It was totally unprofessional, and it won’t happen again. I promise.” Unexpectedly, tears welled in my eyes.

Iris took off her glasses. “Shut the door, Charlotte. Let’s talk.”

She walked from behind her desk and sat on one of the four oversize upholstered chairs that faced each other on the far end of her office. “Have a seat.”

I’d never been nervous around Iris before. This was the woman I’d spilled my guts to within the first three minutes of meeting her in the ladies’ room. Yet my palms were sweaty, and I had to fight the urge to wring my hands.

“Do you want to talk about it? You know that anything you tell me is between me and you, right?”

“I do.”

“Tell me about the man who sent you those beautiful flowers. Is your heart torn? Maybe you want to move on but you’re struggling? I know you care about Reed.”

“Yes. No. Yes.”

Iris smiled. “Clear as mud.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I’m not struggling or torn. Blake is a guy that I knew in college. I went out with my friend last night and ran into him. We talked for a little while. He asked me out, but I said no. The flowers were nothing more than him trying to get me to change my mind. But I didn’t exactly explain that to Reed when he saw the flowers. He got the wrong impression, got jealous, and I liked the way that felt.”

“I see.”

“Every time we start to get close, he puts up this wall.” I began picking imaginary lint off the arm of the chair I was sitting in. “I’ve tried to get him to cross the line by . . . well, he’s your grandson so I don’t want to freak you out. But let’s just say that he’s rebuffed every advance that I’ve attempted, even the half-naked ones. I’ve even gone as far as telling him I was going to go out with Max.”

“Because you thought making him jealous might get him to react?”

I shook my head while staring at the floor.

“Well, normally I’d say that a man who doesn’t show his interest without games is a player and not worth your time. But we know my grandson’s struggle isn’t about being a bachelor who doesn’t want to settle down. He’s afraid to burden someone he loves with his condition.”

“That’s the thing. Reed thinks he’s a burden. But the truth is, he has a burden, and it’s easier to handle when it’s shared.”

Iris stared at me. “You’ve really fallen for him, haven’t you?”

A warm tear slipped down my face as I nodded. “I know he cares about me, too. I can see it.”

“You’re right. He does. The two of you fight like an old married couple, flirt like you’re in high school, and confide in each other like you’re lifelong best friends. My grandson isn’t pushing you away because he’s afraid to fall for you. He’s pushing you away because he already has.”

“What do I do?”

“Keep pushing back. However you need to. He’ll come around. I just hope it’s not too late when he does.” Iris reached out and took my hand. “You’ve been hurt before, and with Reed you’re fighting another uphill battle. Don’t forget to put yourself first. Push Reed, but keep pushing yourself, too, Charlotte.”

The more I thought about my conversation with Iris, the more I realized she was right. I needed to push myself, keep working on the things that I’d let slip over the years. So I vowed to at least make progress on my Fuck-It List each and every week, no matter how small that might be. Digging out the list I’d printed and tucked away in my drawer, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat at my kitchen table, ruminating over which item I should work on first.

Sculpt a Nude Man.

Dance with a Stranger in the Rain.

Learn French.

Ride an Elephant.

Go Skinny-Dipping in a Lake at Night.

Well, that one I can cross off, can’t I?

Find my Birth Parents.

Make Love to a Man for the First Time in a Sleeper Cabin on a Train Ride Through Italy.

I’d added a new entry to my list last week while sitting in the back of an Uber on the highway and watching the big rigs glide down the road.

Learn How to Drive an 18-Wheeler.

I chewed on my pen cap while deciding what to tackle first. There was one that I kept coming back to. Honestly, it was time.

Find my Birth Parents.

I’d been curious about my biological parents my entire life. My mom and dad had always been open about the fact that I was adopted, and they’d encouraged me to talk about it. Yet I was always afraid that if I did, I’d make my parents feel like they weren’t enough, when in fact they were more than enough. They were everything a child could have wanted. Somehow, though, that still didn’t plug the hole I had from not knowing anything about my family history. I wanted to know my birth parents’ story. Had they been young? Had they loved each other? I also wanted to let them know that I was okay—that the decision they’d made was the best one for me, and that I’d turned out pretty good.

Finishing the glass of wine, I took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

It rang once.

Then a second time.

My mother answered on the third ring.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Charlotte? Is everything okay?” I heard the panic in her voice. I called every Sunday afternoon like clockwork, but it was Friday night now.

“Yes. Everything is great.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, that’s good. What are you up to this evening?”

“Umm . . .” I thought about chickening out. But then I thought about what Iris had said—“keep pushing yourself.” “I’m actually making a list of things I want to do. Sort of like a bucket list but not, since I’m not sick or old.”

“Are you sure everything’s okay, sweetheart?”

I’d called off-schedule and started talking about making a bucket list. I should’ve realized that she’d be alarmed. I needed to explain myself better, or she’d be worried. “Yes, everything is really good, Mom. I just . . . I kind of forgot who I was when Todd and I were together. I sort of merged into his life and put things that I wanted out of life on the back burner. So I made a list of things I wanted to do, to remind myself to live my life for me. If that makes any sense?”

“It does. And it sounds like you’ve done a lot of soul-searching. I’m happy to hear you say you’re going to focus on yourself. I hope none of the things are too dangerous, though.”

“They’re not.”

Mom stayed quiet for a long time. She knew me. “Is there anything on your list that I might be able to help with?”

I took another deep breath. “Yeah, Mom . . . there is.”

“I’ve been thinking about taking a trip into the city. Why don’t I come in on Sunday, so we can talk in person?”

“I’d like that.”

“Okay. How about around noon, then?”

“That’s perfect.”

We talked for a little while longer, skirting around the issue we both knew was on the horizon. She asked the usual—about my job, friends, finances. Right before we hung up, she said, “Charlotte—you have nothing to feel guilty about. I know you love me.”

My shoulders relaxed. “Thanks, Mom.”

On Monday morning, I arrived at the office earlier than usual. I’d planned on getting a head start on my day so that I could leave on time and go over to the Centre for Arts to sign up for a sculpting class.

But I’d gotten so distracted reading on my phone while I waited for the coffee to finish brewing that I hadn’t even realized the sensor had beeped, indicating it was done, and that someone had walked up behind me. “Baseball? I didn’t realize you were a fan.”

Startled, I bobbled the phone, and it fell to the ground. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Reed bent over and picked up my cell. “You’re extra jumpy this morning, even for you.” He glanced at the screen. “Are you going to the game tonight?”

“What game?”

He smirked. “Guess that answers that question.” He handed me my phone, pulled our mugs down from the cabinet, and began to pour coffee. “I saw the Houston Astros logo on your phone when I walked in. You were reading stats, weren’t you?”

“Oh. Yes.”

He arched a brow. “Baseball fan?”

“Not really.”

“Gambling?”

“Huh?”

“Why else would someone be reading baseball stats if they weren’t going to a game, a fan of baseball, or gambling?”

“I just . . . I find statistics fascinating.”

Reed gave me a face that said bullshit.

“What? I do.”

He finished making our coffees and handed me my mug. Sipping his, he looked straight into my eyes. “What’s the real reason, Charlotte?”

I sighed. I had no reason to lie to him. Yet talking about wanting to find my birth parents out loud always made me feel like I was betraying my adopted mother. I struggled, even though she’d assured me that wasn’t the case last night. Reed had already seen my Fuck-It List, so he’d understand. “I spoke to my mother about my adoption yesterday. I pretty much knew almost everything she told me already. The only real new information I found out was that when they found me at the hospital, I was wrapped in a Houston Astros blanket.”

Something flickered across Reed’s face. “A Houston Astros blanket?”

I nodded. “I didn’t know what the logo looked like, so I searched for it on the internet, and I wound up on the team’s site. I guess I got sucked into reading all the statistics while my mind wandered.”

He stared at me, yet his eyes seemed to lose focus. Reed was definitely acting strange. I joked, “Are you a Yankees fan, and we can’t be friends or something? Since I was swaddled in an Astros blanket?”

“I gotta go,” he said abruptly. “I have an appointment I’m late for.”