Page 89 of Check You Out

Aidan

“What does this mean?” Charlotte whispers in my ear. Her eyes widen with both confusion and excitement. Her mouth opens and her brows crinkle. “If Gott resigned, then what’s happening with his budget?” Murmurs ripple through the room, echoing our sentiments. A camera shutters behind us and someone shouts out a request for the press release.

“I don’t know,” I whisper back, gripping her hand. “I think we’re about to find out.” I gesture to the front of the meeting room.

The chairperson continues, ignoring the soft commotion. “According to the Douglass County Constitution Article 4 Section 3.4, in the event of the death, resignation, impeachment, or otherwise removal of the County Executive, the Chair of the Council will resume the duties until a special election can be held, no later than ninety days after the said removal. As of this morning, I have taken my oath and assumed the position.” She proceeds to introduce the rest of the meeting.

“This means nothing,” Charlotte says with an exasperated sigh and slaps her hands against her thighs. She’s wearing that burgundy dress from before. “All that work and this means nothing.”

“Not necessarily,” I say in a low voice. “Gott is gone, as the lead proponent of the budget cuts, the only person to speak up for them is Bridgett Hartlett.” I quickly scan the gathered crowd. “She’s not here. There’s no longer a loud minority.”

“Typical,” she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest. “So typical. The guy fucks up the entire system and doesn’t want to accept the blame.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter now.” I plant a kiss on her forehead, breathing in the scent of lavender and vanilla. “He’s gone, and we’re going to do great. We’ve got the entire community behind us.”

“I know, and you’re right.” Charlotte peers up at me with those wide blue eyes and her lips spread into a warm smile. Heat radiates through my limbs. “Sorry, I just get a little passionate about things.”

“Don’t apologize,” I say. “I love your passion.” My stomach flips, and I realize that I may or may not have implied that I love Charlotte.

Which I do. I love her. I love her with every fiber of my being. She’s intelligent, and the kindest person I’ve ever met. She’s funny and brings so much sunshine to the world. She’s passionate and devoted. Not to mention, Charlotte is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.

When I’m with her, I feel like I can be my most true and authentic self. She sees me, and all my awkward parts and simply embraces them. In the last two weeks, if I need to isolate myself from everyone or go hide in a corner, she only smiles, suggests a book, and tells me when the coast is clear.

There’s nothing I want to do more than lean over and whisper into her ear the full extent of my feelings.

But that would be a bad idea, because I have no idea if she loves me or not. If I say it too soon, would that ruin things?

“Aidan Talbot.”

Hearing my name cuts through the depth of my thoughts. My vision darts to the source, the Chairperson of the Council. I throw myself onto my feet and reply, “Yes?”

“You’re the first speaker on our list?” she asks with a raised brow. “Please come up to the lectern and deliver your comment.”

I forgot I signed up the minute the registration opened two weeks ago. I always volunteer to go first when it comes to any sort of potential vulnerable situations. You get it done and out of the way. Less time to ruminate on the potential disasters and dramatic pit falls.

“Yes, yes,” I pat my pocket to make sure my speech is there.

“You’ll do great,” Charlotte whispers, running her hand over my arm. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whisper back without thinking. As I make my way over to the lectern. I pull out my speech, and the words become a jumbled mess of letters and symbols on the paper. Sweat pools in various crevices. My hands quiver, and my mouth feels like sandpaper. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can’t conjure up Mr. Talbot and fake being confident.

My gaze finds my father, expecting him to be scowling or some other expression of disapproval. I can find none on his face. In fact, he’s smiling like he’s proud of me. I’m not exactly sure what to think of it. I can count on my one hand the times that he’s outwardly shown his approval in me. That time when I didn’t stutter or misspeak once during a debate. Graduation from high school. Graduation from college. Warmth seeps back throughout my chest.

My eyes locate Charlotte, and she’s beaming up at me like I’m the greatest thing ever. Realization hits me, she just told me she loves me. Charlotte told me that she loves me, and I almost missed it because I was so nervous about this damn speech. At least I returned the sentiment.

My girlfriend loves me and I love her!

I can do this!

The words in front of me come into focus with laser precision. The sweat pooling throughout my body dries up and my hands are steady. My mouth moistens and the sandpaper dissolves. I take a breath and start speaking. The words flow out of me, and I’m surprised at how good I sound. My voice is loud, but not overwhelming; clear, but not harsh; affirming but not demanding.

This must be what it feels like to be confident. To have confidence.

I finish my speech and return to my seat without any applause, as per the council’s rules regarding Open Comment sessions. Relief washes over me when I basically collapse next to Charlotte.

She presses a kiss onto my cheek. “You were incredible,” she whispers, and a blush overwhelms my face. I grasp her hand and bring her knuckles to my lips.

After several other speakers present their cases for supporting the library, it’s Charlotte’s turn. She walks up to the lectern with a powerful swing to her hips that makes me want to holler, “That’s my girlfriend! She loves me!” Her speech is wonderful. People laugh at the right spots. My heart swells with pride and love as she finishes and takes her seat beside me.