Page 75 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
Later, over a mug of spiked hot cocoa, I fill Scarlet in on the last several months of my life. Not only about my time in Nairobi. But also the Maldives. Aspen. She and I have each been so busy, we haven’t been the best about keeping in touch—other than my panicked phone calls. But right now, I need more than just triage. I need ... I don’t even know what I need. Probably therapy.
As I talk, Scarlet peers over at me, a line of concern creasing her brow. “I thought this fling with Hart was just temporary. Something fun for you, and youneededthat. You really did. I know how much pressure you’re under. But this, this seems like something different.”
She can be very intuitive. Even with all that’s going on in her life, Scarlet can read me like a book.
“I ended things,” I croak.
The look she gives me is filled with doubt. “You mean things got hard and you fled.”
“That’s not fair.” I shake my head.
“Life’snot fair. You felt something for him—I know you did.”
I fell hard and fast, and even if I never said those words out loud, my heart knew they were true. “There were obstacles, more than just our age gap,” I admit.
“Are you going to elaborate on that?”
I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I lived in a world where everything just magically worked itself out. Where I could pretend that everything was fine and good and normal.
“I told you about the conversation in Aspen, when his friend Vaughn asked if he wanted children and how painfully awkward it was.” She nods. “His answer wassomeday, maybe.”
Her eyes widen, imploring me to elaborate. “And?”
I swallow past a lump in my throat. “I can’t date anothersomeday, maybetype of person, like Sean. I just can’t.”
Anytime I’d bring up the future, like kids or marriage, or whatever, Sean made me feel like a nag. I hate to say it, but my past baggage makes opening up to a guy like Hart feel impossible.
She looks ready to fight someone, until I calm her by placing my hand over hers. “It’s fine, Scarlet. I don’t like it any more than you do, but if I put myself in his shoes, I get it.”
“But you never even asked him, did you? You could have asked him point blank if he wanted kids and when ...”
I shake my head. “No. This is too important, and it means too much to me. It’s my thing to figure out. It’s not even on his radar yet, and I didn’t want to burden him with it. I should never have let myself fall for him in the first place.”
“So you take the burden yourself instead?”
“It’s not like that.” I brush her off.
“It’s exactly like that.” She lets out a long, slow sigh. “It’s what women do. We put the needs of others first. We play nice and suffer so others don’t have to.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe it does,” she says softly.
When I get back to Nairobi just before the first of the year, things are more unsettled than ever in Kibera. A local election and allegations of corruption have left things tense and unstable. Progress for the schoolhas stalled, and I’m at a loss about how to get things moving again when they feel entirely out of my hands.
There’s also a new article online, a lengthy one about how the Winthrop family is funding my project and how this whole thing stinks of corruption. Words likebiasandconflict of interestand sentences likeshe should be ashamed of herselfmake up the bulk of the hit piece. It’s awful.
I’ve always prided myself on staying six steps ahead, so this really throws me for a loop. But I try not to panic, because it shouldn’t matter now. Hart and I aren’t together, so it is no longer a conflict of interest. I tell myself I did the right thing after all when I ended our relationship.
My phone rings and I pick up. “Alessia’s office.”
“This is Richard Winthrop.”
“Hello, Mr. Winthrop.” I manage to keep my voice steady; instead I feel anything but. The fact that he’s calling me directly sends panic racing through me. This is a man who doesn’t have to get his hands dirty. He could have easily had one of his assistants or counsel make this phone call or send an email. Or he could have just pulled the funding entirely if he wanted to.
“I’ll cut to the chase.” His voice is stern.
I brace myself for something terrible; then I begin babbling, like I do when I’m nervous. “I’m guessing you read the article in thePost. And I just want you to know that you have nothing to worry about, and I’m happy to provide a complete accounting for where every last dollar will be spent.”
