Chapter 3: Lost and Found in Charleston

I booked a homestay in Charleston’s historic district.

Alex wanted to hit the nearby island; I’d been before, so I let him go solo—I needed to find a friend.

At Starbucks, I ran into Emily.

She wore her hair down, loose sportswear, and Yeezy slides. I’d imagined this reunion a hundred ways, but never thought it would happen days before my wedding.

Emily asked, "Saw on Facebook—you’re getting married?"

I stirred my coffee, feeling like I was scrubbing dirty laundry water. "Yeah."

Emily smiled. "Congrats on tying the knot."

I nodded. "Thanks."

Emily: "Why Charleston?"

Me: "To see the sea."

Emily: "Director job must’ve been easy."

Me: "I quit."

Emily: "Why?"

Me: "Needed a break. What about you? How’d you jump into design?"

Emily: "Interned at a hospital, hated the vibe—too stifling. So I taught myself illustration and design."

In Charleston, I spent days lounging in the hotel, picking Emily up after work.

Alex couldn’t stand it. "You came to see the sea but just lay around."

I scrolled through Emily’s Facebook. "I’ve seen enough."

Luckily, Alex ran into a college buddy—a business manager earning $6,000 a month, short-term project needing help. Alex joined for a week.

Big deals, big shots, fancy offices. Alex felt alive.

We all stayed at the homestay, each wrestling our own demons.

October 28, Emily worked late. I played games under her office building.

When she came down, her eyes were red.

A poster revised 40 times, the client still unhappy, deadline pushed.

I took her for barbecue. "Forget work, eat first."

That night, we drank a lot but barely spoke.

We booked a room. I set my phone to airplane mode, tossed it on the nightstand.

Emily lay in my arms. "What are you thinking?"

Me: "I feel like I’m still that sophomore—immature, fake, fragile. Why do I suddenly have to carry so much? I’m not ready to be married, not ready to be a husband."

Emily: "So why come to me?"

Me: "Maybe looking for answers."

Emily stroked my hair. "I don’t have answers. Coming here just brings more problems."

I hugged her, kissed, lingered; my body felt like it was back in sophomore year, flooded with memories—the wind smelling of shampoo, the theater air thick with popcorn, her clear rooftop eyes.

Emily lay quietly. Just before I entered her, she turned away. I touched the tear at her eye’s corner.

She hugged me and whispered, "You didn’t even have the guts to hold my hand then. Why come now?"

I stopped, helped her dress, hugged her, and said, "Sorry. Thank you."

I grabbed a pillow and crashed on the sofa alone.

In the morning, Emily watched me from the bed. "Find your answer?"

Me: "Maybe I’m scared of marriage, scared of losing my future. I’m still young, still have options, still can come to you, still do anything—but after October 31, it’s all locked in. Marriage demands so much but doesn’t give you the tools to handle it."

Emily got up, hugged me on the sofa.

"You had a thousand chances to come to me earlier. Why now? Actually, you know—this choice you’re making is the best and most reasonable. You can face it and fix it."

I bit my lip, silent.

Me: "I’ve got problems."

Emily: "Who doesn’t? We haven’t talked in two years. Why do you think the girl who stuck with you so long can’t help, but the one you ignored for two years can?"

She got ready to leave. Before heading out, she peeled an orange, set it beside me.

"Be happy. Don’t mess up life just when it’s getting good."

I grabbed my phone—dozens of missed calls from Alex.

I called him back.

Turns out, Alex’s business manager buddy worked in loan collection. Alex followed him for a few days. Last night, they tried to collect from a young guy who refused to pay and smashed his car.

The guy drove an Audi S4—Alex’s first car. He couldn’t bring himself to help.

The young man called the cops; everyone got hauled in. Since Alex wasn’t an employee and hadn’t hit anyone, he was fine.

He said, "Ethan, this is how you start from scratch. Their Instagram shows them blowing cash at clubs, never shows them getting arrested."

I said, "Pack up. We’re going home."