Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
HUNTER
I drum my fingers against the side of the table, take a bite of the turkey wrap I made for lunch, and then resume staring at my phone.
I asked Conor for Eve’s number before he left for class this morning, claiming she’d left a phone charger in my car. Except…she didn’t, so I have no clue what to text her.
So far, all I have is Hey . Which is a solid, predictable start, but not very memorable. I could suggest grabbing coffee, I guess, but that seems too…basic. I’m hoping she’ll fall in love with me, not encourage her thing for soy milk.
We’re not sleeping under the same roof anymore. Holt’s campus is small, but there’s no guarantee I’ll randomly run into Eve anytime soon. I want—need—to make a move, I just don’t know the right one.
I’ve been attracted to Eve ever since we first met, and I think a part of me thought I’d overhyped that moment in my head. Built her up as the dream girl who got away. Wanted her because I thought I’d never have her.
Maybe all of that was true. But the past week around Eve confirmed that anything—everything—I felt the night we met is still there.
I want her to know how much I wish that night had ended differently. How much I wish several recent nights had ended differently.
I add Eve to the new message so it now reads: Hey, Eve.
Not much of an improvement.
Before I can come up with anything else to add, my phone lights up with a call from my mom.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer, then take another bite of my wrap.
I texted her the name of the hotel Eve suggested a few days ago, but haven’t spoken to her since returning to campus.
“Hi, honey.” I relax some when her voice sounds chipper. “How was the rest of your break?”
“It was great. The rental Aidan found was really nice, right on the water, so we hung out there most of the time. We went bowling, on a rainy day. Nothing too crazy, but it was nice to get away for a bit.”
“Nothing too crazy is what moms love to hear,” she tells me. “I’m glad you had fun, Hunter.”
“Yeah, me too.” I clear my throat. “How are…how are things there?”
“Oh, we’re doing fine. This weekend warmed up some, so I did some gardening. Your father went fishing and had a lot of luck, so we had your grandparents over for dinner.”
“Tell him about the size of the trout,” I hear my dad say.
“You can tell him when you talk to him,” my mom replies.
I smile, realizing they’re on their lunch break together. “That sounds nice, Mom.” I fiddle with the tortilla of my wrap, debating on whether to ask the next question. But I don’t trust my mom to bring it up if there is something to say. “Anything from Sean?”
“No, we haven’t heard from him. I tried calling last week. No answer.”
I blow out a long breath, relieved and also annoyed. Sean tends to disappear after a relapse, like our worry is driving him away. Alarm he only adds to, by taking off.
“I told him to stop calling you.”
“Mom…”
“No, Hunter. It isn’t fair to you. If he wants help, he can call us.”
I don’t argue with her. Mostly because Sean has proven over and over again that he’ll do whatever the hell he wants. He was always stubborn and contrarian, but it’s ten times worse when he’s on…whatever his drug of choice happens to be that night.
“How are your classes going?” she asks, in an obvious attempt to change the subject from my brother.
“They’re good,” I answer. “Busy. I have a lot of work to do on my thesis. But home stretch, you know.”
“Anything from grad schools yet?” There’s a hint of concern in my mom’s voice, and I realize she’s stressed I didn’t get in anywhere.
I rub at my shoulder. Driving all day yesterday and a second surfing trip didn’t help the spot I strained. “Uh, yeah. I got in.”
“Got in? Where?” She sounds thrilled, and I immediately feel like an asshole for keeping the news from her.
“Everywhere I applied. Stanford, Princeton, Yale, Columbia, Rochester, Washington University, Ohio State, Northwestern, UPenn, and UW.”
“Hunter! That is incredible . Wow! Congratulations, honey. He got in everywhere he applied ,” I hear her whisper to my dad. “Your dad says congratulations too. Oh, Hunter, we’re so proud of you.”
I have to clear my throat before I can speak. “Thanks, Mom. Tell Dad thanks too.”
It feels really good to make my parents proud. Yet I can’t help but think mine is the second college graduation they should be attending. Sean had offers, before everything careened out of control. In comparison to him, anything I achieve looks impressive.
“Do you know what one you’re picking?”
She asks the question so easily. So simply, like there should be a choice.
“No.” I lean back in the chair, bouncing my knee. “I just… I kinda wish I hadn’t applied to so many places. Having so many options…I’m not sure where to go.”
“Is there an advisor you can talk to?”
“Yeah, I’m meeting with him tomorrow to go over the options. From an academic perspective. But I—I’m also picking the place I’ll live for the next two years.”
“You’re young, honey. Wherever you end up, it’ll be a new experience. Hopefully a good one, but if not, it’s only two years. Think about how quickly college has gone by, and that was twice as long.”
“Yeah.” I pause. “UW would be a little familiar.”
“Hunter. I know very little about political science programs. But I do know UW is not the most competitive program on that list.”
“Rankings aren’t everything, Mom.”
But they do matter. Competitive schools attract top professors and lead to opportunities and connections that other universities can’t provide.
“Honey, your dad and I will support whatever you decide. But make sure you’re deciding for you , not anyone else.”
“I feel like I should be close to home, with everything that’s going on with Sean again,” I confess.
It feels good to say it aloud. It’s still a weight, but it’s a little less suffocating.
My mom exhales. “I’m not going to lie to you, Hunter. Things with your brother are…hard. We’ve gone through the same cycle so many times it’s starting to feel like an endless loop. But you being closer to home won’t change that. In fact, it would only make things harder for me and your father, knowing that you shrunk your dreams. And if Sean were in a better place, he’d tell you the same thing. Make sure you’re considering all that too, all right?”
“Yeah, I will.”
I know Professor Hayden isn’t going to suggest I choose UW during our meeting tomorrow. And…part of me doesn’t want to pick UW for the same reason I feel like I should.
I don’t know where the line is when I let Sean go. I could block his number, prevent him from calling me. Cut off all contact. Snip all ties. He’s isolated himself from our family in nearly every way. Even during the rare stretches of sobriety, the easy dynamic that characterized my childhood is gone. It’s awkward, being around my brother. We don’t banter or share any inside jokes. It’s stiff.
Sean’s made his choices, and maybe I’ve reached my limit on allowing his to affect mine.
“I have to get back to the classroom,” my mom says. “Let us know how your meeting with your advisor goes, okay?”
“Yeah, I will. Love you, Mom. Say bye to Dad.”
“I will. And I love you too, Hunter.”
I end the call and take another bite of my turkey wrap. Conor enters the kitchen while I’m chewing.
“Hey,” he greets, dropping his backpack on the floor with a heavy thump.
I swallow. “Hey. You done with classes for the day?”
Hart scoffs. “I can’t believe you haven’t memorized my class schedule yet, Morgan. It’s on the damn fridge.”
I roll my eyes. I know Conor found Aidan’s insistence we all post our schedules on the fridge as silly as I did, but I can’t deny that it has come in handy before. Saves a text.
“Yeah, I’m done for the day,” he continues. “Came home for some food, and then I’m headed to Harlow’s to study.”
“ To study , huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
Hart flips me off before opening the fridge.
“It’s not a euphemism. I’ve got a paper due Thursday, and Hayes has an exam on Friday. Plus, she’s going home this weekend, so studying seemed like the best shot at spending time together this week.”
“You going home with her?” I ask.
Hart sets some leftover chicken on the table, and then takes the chair across from mine. “No. She’s going to see Landon’s band play.”
“Oh.” Realization dawns.
“Yeah.”
Ever since the mystery of why Conor inexplicably avoided Harlow was solved, I’ve had a lot more sympathy toward Hart about the whole situation. If my dad left my mom and had a family—another son—I’d definitely carry some resentment about it. Avoid any reminders of the situation. I don’t envy Harlow’s spot smack in the middle either.
But, as far as I can tell, they haven’t allowed it to mess with their relationship.
“That…going okay?” I ask carefully.
“About the same.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Landon still thinks Harlow is just a fling for me.”
“He doesn’t know you very well, then.”
“No,” Conor agrees. “He doesn’t.”
“Sorry, man.”
Hart nods. “I knew what I was getting into. Wouldn’t change a damn thing.” He swallows some water. “Hey, did Eve reply about the charger?”
“Huh?”
“Eve’s charger, that she left in your car. I can bring it when I head over there.”
Oh. Oh . Shit.
I clear my throat. “Right. It wasn’t hers, it turns out.”
“Oh.” Conor frowns. “Weird.”
He appears puzzled, not suspicious. Then again, why would he assume I was lying about a phone charger?
I finish off my lunch, then stick my plate in the dishwasher. “I’ll see you later. I’m headed to the library to work on my thesis.”
“Have fun.”
Writing a thesis is a requirement for all political science majors. Not for English, which is Hart’s major.
“Yeah, thanks.” I match his sarcasm.
“I told you to major in English, dude. Then we could have had all our classes together.”
“You mean, the language I already speak? Pass.”
Conor throws a balled-up napkin at me as I head for the doorway. “It’s the study of literature and how it relates to culture and history, you dick.”
“You missed, Hart,” I call over one shoulder. “Stick to hockey.”