Emancipating Andie

Colin whirled on him. “Dude, are you kidding me?” he asked, his eyebrows nearly in his hairline.

“For once, I’m inclined to agree with my son,” Chase’s father said.

The room fell silent again, and Chase finally stood and turned, catching sight of Colin’s uneasy expression before his eyes landed on his father.

“I keep telling you, Chase,” his father said, his voice detached and his eyes still on his paper. “Do you really think soccer is what’s going to make you a great man? If you spent half the time and effort you put into that ridiculous game on something that was worthwhile, you might have been able to make a name for yourself at that school.”

Chase dropped his eyes before he turned away, his jaw flexing as he reached for the handle of the fridge, just to be doing something. He wasn’t even hungry anymore.

Did his father have to do this now? On the tail end of his victory?

Right in front of his friend?

“We have cold cuts,” Chase said to Colin, his voice straining with the effort to remain upbeat. “You want a sandwich?”

But Colin wasn’t listening; his eyes were focused on the man sitting at the island counter. “Um, with all due respect, Mr. McGuire, Chase’s name is known,” Colin said, and Chase knew his friend well enough to detect the irascibility behind the politeness in his voice.

Chase pulled his brow together, trying to focus on the food in the fridge instead of the conversation behind him. He knew Colin was trying to defend him, but to Chase, it was like watching a puppy playing on the side of a highway. He knew how it would end, and he didn’t want to watch.

“And not just for soccer,” Colin added. “I mean, he’s graduating in the top five percent of our class.” Colin’s eyes were wide, as if he couldn’t comprehend having to explain the merits of such a thing, especially to Chase’s father.

The newspaper rustled again, and Chase turned to see his father staring at Colin over the top if it.

“But not at the top, right?”

Chase closed his eyes and shook his head, wishing that Colin would just realize he couldn’t win, wishing that his dad would get fed up with the conversation and leave.

Wishing that he hadn’t come home in the first place.

“I’m sorry?” Colin asked, clearly u

“He’s graduating in the top five percent, but not at the top. There were kids above him, correct?” his father asked, his eyes still on Colin and his voice even.

Silence.

“That’s my point,” he said, folding his newspaper. “He could have done better. He should have done better.”

Chase closed the fridge and turned then, knowing he had to save his friend from what he had inadvertently started. Colin’s eyes were downcast, and Chase was relieved that he didn’t have to look him in the eyes.

“You want the shower first?” Chase asked, not even trying to maintain his cheerful façade now.

But before Colin could answer, Mr. McGuire turned toward Chase for the first time since they’d entered the kitchen. “A little focus is all I ask from you,” he said with a reproachful sigh. “I know you’re not worthless. I wish you’d stop acting like it.” And with that he stood and walked out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

It was quiet for a few seconds, the only sound being his father’s heavy footsteps fading down the hall, until Chase cleared his throat softly. “So…you want a sandwich?” he asked, turning back toward the fridge, his forced indifference pathetically transparent, even to him.

“No, I’m good,” Colin said softly. “You wa

Chase didn’t answer. Instead he shut the fridge as he leaned over and grabbed his empty soccer bag, swinging it over his shoulder and walking briskly toward the stairs. He could hear the sounds of Colin following him, although he said nothing.

Chase walked past his room, throwing his bag haphazardly into the doorway as he continued down the hall to the linen closet, reaching in and grabbing two towels. He walked back toward Colin, tossing him one as he turned into his room.

“I’m sorry,” Colin said suddenly. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Chase forced a smile. “He would have found a way to make that point without your help. Don’t worry about it.”

Colin looked down, nodding softly as he turned the towel over in his hands. He was just about to turn and head toward the bathroom when he stopped and faced Chase again.

“Can you do me a favor?”

Chase looked up at him.

“Can you just try and remember how you were feeling ten minutes ago?”

Chase closed his eyes and laughed humorlessly. “I’m not go

Colin shook his head. “I could give a fuck about the party, Chase. Just humor me. Do you remember how you felt ten minutes ago?”

Chase pursed his lips, his eyes trained on the ground, and nodded slowly.

“Good,” Colin said. “Remember that feeling. Because as good as that felt, it’s go

Chase raised his eyes just in time to see Colin smile softly; he banged on the doorframe twice with the side of his fist before he pushed away from it and walked down the hall to the bathroom.

They never spoke of that conversation again.

But Chase often wondered if Colin realized what he had given him that day. More times than he could even count, he found himself clinging to those words like a life preserver.

Sometimes they were the only thing that kept his head above water.

The sounds of movement on the other side of Andie’s door pulled Chase from the memory, and he blinked quickly, refocusing on the present.

He shouldn’t be here.

And just as that epiphany dawned on him, he heard the sounds of the deadbolt sliding aside as the door opened a crack. He could see the outline of her peeking out, and it felt like his heart stopped in his chest as the door finally swung open.

She stood there, her expression somewhat stu

“What are you doing here?” she asked quietly.

He had no idea what he was thinking, why he came there instead of just calling her. It was such a stupid move, he realized.

But he couldn’t leave again. Not until he made this right.

Chase took a breath, his eyes dropping for a second. “Last night,” he said, looking back up at her. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry again—”

“It’s fine,” she said, cutting him off.

“No, it’s not,” he said with a shake of his head. “I shouldn’t have done it. I invaded your privacy, and I had no right—”

“I’m glad you did it,” she said, and he froze.

“You are?” he finally managed.

She nodded, her eyes on his. “Yeah…I mean…it’s ridiculous for me to spend all that time and effort on something and then never let anybody read it.” She glanced down, licking her lips before she looked back up at him. “And thank you. For being honest about everything.”

He stared at her for a second before he nodded, completely taken off guard. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy, for her to be so understanding of his blatantly insensitive behavior.

Chase stood at her threshold as another silence fell over them. There was nothing left to say, and yet there was everything left to say.

He should go now. He knew he should. He had served his purpose for coming. He apologized, and she forgave him. There was no reason for him to stay any longer.

And yet there he stood, his mind searching for any excuse to prolong this time with her.

“Do you want a lesson?” he asked suddenly, nodding over her shoulder.

She turned her head to the side, looking in the direction he had indicated, at the piano up against the wall. It was a moment before she turned back around to face him.

“It helps a headache,” he added with a tiny shrug.