There's something you should probably know about Frederick Thomas Wentworth - Just an itty bitty blurb, really. The thing is, Fred kind of played in a huge chapter of my life. Okay, so he was the actual chapter itself. Hell, he's probably in most of them. I'd just be blatantly lying my ass off if I watered him down as something else.
Okay, here's how it went down.
Nearly four years ago, I was a scared-shitless freshman who had been ushered into some smoke-filled frat party I had no place in by my slightly promiscuous roommate, Kay, the first week of college. Imagine my surprise when I found that the hiding place I had already mentally designated in the kitchen (to escape from potheads and y'know, potential rapists) was currently filled by a slightly tall, definitely bored, scraggly young man. He was seated at the counter reading, I kid you not.
I had snorted. He had looked up, peeved.
He was there with friends. I was there with friends. Neither of us felt much like getting wasted, that was cleared up pretty quickly. And as we got to talking, I somehow registered that this guy was very smart. And not snobby-smart, but passionate, idealistic-smart. He had dreams, and aspirations and goals untainted by this cruel, cold world that strongly mirrored my own! ...And he was kind of cute, that didn't exactly hurt him. I must have sat with him for no less than three hours in that tiny corner of the kitchen. Words just flowed, nothing was forced or pressured, and it was actually quite astonishing. I think it was because neither of us really expected anything out of this encounter. There was just conversation, as simple as it seemed, and no need to impress the other or be something you weren't.
But after that allotted time slot, I knew this:
1. His name was Fred, we both had a thing for Annie Hall, and old David Bowie records -- and that he was a sophomore at Drexel majoring in creative writing.
2. He had this really, damnable contagious smile - seriously, it was like an infectious plague.
3. I amorously and foolishly began to develop a major crush on him.
I think I let myself get into that crush because I was pretty convinced I wouldn't see this thoughtful, intellectually-stimulating boy again. But two weeks later, we met at a birthday outing, and I was forced to metaphorically eat my words. Not that I minded eating them - I was thrilled to see him. We clicked again, and others noticed that we did, and pretty soon the obvious chemistry kind of had the force of a speeding truck down a highway. It definitely hit, and there was no ignoring it.
I might have done back flips on the way home the night he asked me out, with that shy, slightly coy smile and nervous fidget of his hands. But I'm not really sure, my memory's kind of hazy because I'm pretty certain that that was the night Kay puked on my new shoes on the train ride home. That was more than a distraction at the time.
And for one year, one blissfully, unimaginably wonderful year, I was happy - Whole. I had found a guy I truly began to love, and not only that, he had become my best friend. We saw each other at every opportunity possible, and were practically inseparable in the way that most people would get sickeningly nauseated at. I mean, we didn't complete one another's sentences or anything, if that's what you're guessing (we weren't telepathically close), but we just got each other. It's such a hard concept to explain, really, the notion of that closeness. It was, well, special. A lot of people envied it, and I got a lot of shit from friends that year.
It hit hardest from home, unfortunately. I was bringing Fred back to Kellynch for the summer holiday, and it was made perfectly clear that we were absolutely smitten with each other to my family. Dad, while initially interested, was pretty much instantly turned off when he heard about my then-boyfriend's major. "So impractical!" he later told me. He was convinced that Fred would end up some poor, penniless schlub, dragging me away from my ("already frivolous") studies to pursue harebrained stories with him. It was such a ludicrous thought, and I kind of pushed it aside. Dad has always been, well, ridiculous.
Liz pretty much didn't care. I think she had three commercials in a row lined up for her that summer, and spent any amount of time she could perfecting her "Oh, wow!" expression for the new Chocolate Ovaltine ad that would premiere during Good Morning America one Thursday in July. I was thankful for her lack of interference. And Mary was away at a preparatory school, and knew nothing apart from the fact that I was seeing "some guy" who liked to "write". My family has never really been the attentive bunch, unless their own personal interests were at stake.
But there was one killer - and she came in the form of Cathy Russell. Let me explain about Cathy. First off, her husband (may he rest in peace) used to be golf buddies with my dad. Naturally, she became a close family friend because of that. When her husband died, she leaned on my mom for support. And when my mom died just shy of my eighteenth birthday, she took it upon herself to watch over my family.
Let me clear one thing up, though: Cathy's a good woman. She has been doing a decent job of caring for us Elliots for the last six or so odd years. She offers good guidance, and visits frequently. In the absence of my own mother, she was the only matronly figure I could sensibly look up to. And let's face it; I valued her opinion to no end. It had served me very well in the past.
So, when she called me over the afternoon after meeting Fred with this worrisome little crease on her forehead, I instantly wanted to know what was bothering her to hear her out.
"Anne, sweetie, you know how much I love and care for you - And that I only have your best intentions at heart?"
Of course I had known. I nodded, as she explained to me with a very good argument that while she found Fred "completely charming" and that she respected our little "affiliation", she was convinced that it would not end well. For one thing, he didn't have much going for him in terms of a future. His profession would be very competitive and would possibly wring him out dry, severing any affection he would have for me and turning our relationship bitter. Plus, she pressed, it was obvious that our futures rested in two very different fields and we both wanted very different things out of life.
Being programmed to respect my elders' opinions and pretty much obey them, I dwelled on her reasoning for an entire two weeks. They were the crummiest days of that entire year, I swear. I could totally sense that he knew something was up, too. I was just unconsciously distancing myself. And when I finally broke it off, I don't really know what hurt the most. To this day, it's a cross between that unimaginably hurt, angry look on his face, and those unbearable words: "And here I thought you had a mind of your own."
I hadn't seen anybody in the three, almost four years since then. I think I tried, with friends' encouragement, but nothing really worked out. Nobody was quite like Fred, and I was still very, very attached. Since then, I hadn't heard a word from one, Frederick Wentworth, and was perfectly convinced that I never would again. He could have fallen off the very face of the earth, for all I knew.
But then again, this world doesn't really play out fairly in the long run.
Author's Note: Eeh, okay, so I'm getting this second chapter out super fast because I really wanted to introduce some Wentworth. Plus, these introductory, family-history bits are weighing me down, and I'm pretty sure they're cleared out for the most part - so from now on, I can just go on with the actual plot!
Yes, I totally improvised Frederick's middle name. And yes, it is mostly for shits and giggles because his initials have turned out to be: FTW! ...I would say it was an accident, but that'd just be blatant lying. Anyway, thank you to those who are becoming aware of this story and stopping by, and please (please, please) leave a review!
