Sunday, March 13th
Cat
These past few days have been exciting. When I got home from school Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, my mom was eagerly awaiting my arrival, each day holding up a new letter from Columbia, NYU, and Duke. She urged me to open them right then and there, but I’ve been determined to hang on until I have the chance to open them with Ronan on the phone with me. Whether the news is good or bad, I want him there with me, even if it’s just his voice.
Admittedly, the neatly stacked letters feel like they’ve been burning a hole into the white wooden surface of my desk. I often find my eyes glued to them as if I could somehow see through the envelope and determine my admission status without having to actually tear open the paper.
My mom shook her head each time I told her I wouldn’t open the newest letter until Sunday, but all effort on her part to convince me otherwise was futile. I want to share this moment with Ronan.
“What time are you talking to Ran today?” my mom asks when she walks into my room with a stack of folded laundry around lunchtime.
I’m in the midst of shoving some underwear into an overnight bag, packing for my trip back to North Carolina tomorrow, for that visit to Duke University. Seems silly to pack for a college campus tour when I don’t know whether I even got in, right? No, not according to my dad.
When my dad found out I had received my Duke letter, he was even more insistent I open it immediately.
I’m so conflicted about the whole thing. Sure, getting accepted to Duke would be an incredible achievement. And maybe I wouldn’t be so defensive if my parents, and more specifically my dad, weren’t pressuring me to attend.
My dad has checked in on me almost daily and has called and texted me several times over these past forty-eight hours. “Kitty, you’re flying out to Durham on Monday. Don’t you think you should open your letter now instead of waiting until you talk to your boyfriend on Sunday?” he asked me.
Each time, my response was the same—that I was going to open my letters with Ronan on the phone.
“Uh, Ran usually calls when he’s done eating lunch, so in an hour or so,” I tell my mom.
“Are you sure you can’t at least open the letter from Duke now?” my mom asks, her tone smooth like honey.
I smile but shake my head. “I want to open them all with Ran, but I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I’m off the phone with him.”
***
My phone goes off later than usual today, but the butterflies in my stomach and the stupid grin on my face when the picture of Ronan’s gorgeous face lights up on my screen are the same as ever.
“I was worried you weren’t going to be able to call today.” I close my bedroom door and wander to my bed to get comfortable.
“Sorry, baby, I’ve been a little preoccupied.” His voice sounds tired.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, feeling uneasy. I hate not being able to see him, to gauge his body language and facial expressions.
“Yeah, I… Miranda’s gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“She left. Last night some time. I don’t know when. I don’t know where. She’s just… gone.” I can hear in his voice how upset he is.
“What happened?” I ask, eliciting a deep sigh from him. Man, I wish I was there with him.
“God, everything is so fucked up, baby.” I can envision him raking his hand through his hair like he does when he’s overwhelmed or frustrated, when his emotions threaten to drown him—unable to express them because he never was allowed to do so safely.
“Just tell me, sweet boy.”
He groans. “Ugh, we got into it yesterday.”
He tells me about the conversation he had with his dad yesterday—his mother’s newest way of tormenting Ronan—how Miranda found him, that he had too much to drink. I swallow hard when he gets to the part about Miranda coming on to him, when she tried to convince him to have sex with her. That by-now-well-known little monster in my chest blinks its eyes open, perking its head up. It does that whenever Ronan mentions Miranda in passing. It growled angrily when he told me Miranda had snuck into his room one night and crawled into bed with him, despite Ronan’s heartfelt reassurances that there was nothing going on between them. He may have been truthful about not having any romantic feelings for her, but he was obviously wrong about her intentions.
“Nothing happened, baby, I promise,” he says, his voice pleading.
“I know,” I respond quickly. “I trust you.”
“I told her she didn’t actually want me; that she was just trying to fill a hole in her life, and she kept arguing with me, saying she loved me, that she had loved me for a long time. And she asked me if I had ever loved her. And I honestly don’t know. So, she asked if I ever felt for her the way I feel for you now…” He trails off, his voice heavy.
My heart skips a beat. “What did you tell her?” I close my eyes, anticipating his response. I’m not sure what I want his answer to be, and honestly, even if he said he loved her when they were together, what matters is that he loves me now.
He pauses. “That I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you and that I would never feel that way ever again,” he says with such profound conviction that my heart threatens to break apart.
I’m at a loss for words, unable to speak.
“But I told her that didn’t mean I don’t care about her; it’s just not in the way she thinks she needs me to. She said I was abandoning her, baby. And then I fucking let her drive away. She was so trashed. We both were. Fuck….” he says, choking on his words. “When I woke up this morning she was gone. No word about where she was going. She just left me a letter.”
“What does it say?”
“I can read it to you if you want.”
“Only if you’re comfortable.”
“I have nothing to hide, baby.”
I can hear paper rustling. “Okay, here goes,” he begins, and reads Miranda’s letter to me.
Ronan,
God, I don’t even know where to start, other than with: I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me yesterday. I could blame it all on the alcohol, I guess, or the fact that I went to see my dad in the morning and things turned out, well, terribly, like they usually do. But the truth is that all of that would just be an excuse, and I know my behavior was inexcusable. I’m so sorry for hijacking your emotions when you were already so on edge. You’d had a terrible morning. I knew you were working through heavy stuff, and I did nothing but add weight onto your already heavy shoulders. It was so selfish of me.
I could also say that none of the things I said meant anything, but that, too, would be a lie. Everything I said yesterday, even though I was very drunk, was true. I do love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids. And when we finally got together, I felt happier and more complete than ever before in my life. Even though we’re so different in so many ways—hot good boy versus equally hot bad girl—I feel bonded to you. I know it’s because of our shared experiences with crappy ass parents.
But what is also true is that I know you’re fighting a war. I know how hard you’re working to heal from everything your mom did to you. And I know how much you love your feline. It’s so obvious that she’s everything to you. The way your eyes light up when you talk about her, the way you smile when she comes up in conversation, the way you say her name like she’s a poem written only for you—she’s so lucky to have you.
Regardless of how I feel for you, though, I should’ve never told you. I shouldn’t have put you in a compromising position where you had to take a defensive stand because if you hadn’t, you would’ve allowed me to fuck up what you have with Cat, which, I know, is the very last thing you would ever want. It was selfish and disrespectful, and I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to be another person in your life you can’t feel safe with, and it hurts my heart to know that I’ve abused that trust you had in me to be gentle with your soul. The sad thing is, though, that I can’t guarantee I’d never put you in that position again because… well, I love you, and the heart wants what it wants. I can’t truthfully say that my head always wins over my heart. In fact, most of the time the opposite is true—it’s another thing that sets you and me apart—especially when I’m around hot good boys.
So, I have to go. I meant it when I said I can’t be around you. It just hurts too much. And it’s too risky because I might end up doing something to hurt you in some way. I don’t want to hurt you. So, I’m leaving Montana.
But Rony, please know this: you’re not to blame for my feelings. You didn’t do anything to lead me on (other than, holy shit, why are you so fucking hot? And why do you have to be so damn good). You’ve made it clear that we’re just friends, and you’ve made it even clearer that your heart belongs to your feline. I just need you to know that I’ve felt this way for you for a very, very long time and so I’m telling you not to feel bad for your inability to reciprocate. It’s okay. It really is. This isn’t your fault. You’re amazing, smart, kind, fucking hilarious, and have I said hot? If not, GOOD FUCKING GOD YOU’RE SO DAMN HOT. If I was your feline, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off your tight body. Okay, that’s probably just the residual alcohol talking.
So here are some parting thoughts for you, which you should definitely take to heart because I’m older and wiser than you: your mother’s a bitch. She always was a bitch. The things she told you were lies. She fed you bullshit all your life. You deserved none of the things she did to you. She’ll pay for it one way or another. You are good, Rony. You are worthy, Rony. You are strong, Rony. You are enough, Rony. And… have I mentioned how hot you are? It’s okay to be vulnerable. You don’t have to be so fucking strong all the time. Honestly, you should cry sometime. Just try it out. See how it feels. It’s kind of a nice release. Keep trucking. I know you don’t see it or feel it, but you’re coming along. Remember what I told you: talk about the shit you went through. It doesn’t feel great in the moment, but it chips away at the burden and slowly but surely, you’ll feel the pain ease. The people who love you are in it for the long haul. You’re not alone.
Please don’t worry about me, okay? I’m a big girl. I know how to rough it in the real world, and I promise not to do the thing you told me not to do. I know it freaks you out. And please, please don’t try to call me because I will ignore your call. If I need you, I know how to find you.
I love you, both in a romantic and in a non-romantic kind of way. I mean that. You’re loved, Rony. More than you will ever know.
Randi
He finishes with a sigh.
“Ran…” I search for the right words. I can tell he’s upset by her sudden departure. I don’t quite understand his relationship with Miranda. I know they have a history; I obviously know they were together at some point; I know he was intimate with her, that she was his first, which always leaves a lasting bond. I imagine the reason he’s upset is because Miranda was an anchor in some way; she was helping him through the trauma he had suffered. Now he has one less person to rely on in his battle, and even though I can’t honestly say I’m all that sad she won’t be sneaking into his bed at night, I’m frustrated that she, in a certain way, threw a wrench into his recovery. On the other hand, I commend her for recognizing that she was inhibiting his progress, that she was threatening his healing and decided to leave. Gosh, talk about conflicting emotions…
“She’s right, you know? All the things she said about you and about your mom—she’s right. I’m sorry she left you, Ran.”
A moment of heavy silence stretches the immeasurable distance between us. “I’m lonely, baby,” he says. His words and the deep sadness with which they’re spoken cause my chest to ache. How I wish I could reach through the phone. “I know I’m not alone, but…”
“But you feel like you are?”
“Yeah. And maybe not so much in a physical sense, but… Randi, she understood what it’s like to live in a shitty home. I mean…”
“What happened to her, Ran?”
He hesitates. “I don’t really think it’s my place to tell.”
“Did her dad abuse her?” I remember a line in her letter in which she alluded to a terrible interaction between her and her father, her reference to “crappy ass parents.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Not physically, but he’s a fucking asshole to her. And I don’t just mean he’s rude sometimes, I mean he’s emotionally abusive. And I don’t care what anybody says, that shit is as devastating as being beaten up.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, remembering the effects Adam’s hurtful words had on me, how long it took me to unlearn some of the things he did to me during our brief relationship, the things I started to believe about myself.
“I wish there was something I could do,” I say. “I wish I could give you what Miranda could.”
In a very real sense, I envy Miranda for the way she’s able to comprehend what Ronan has been through. It’s a level I can’t possibly attain. I’ve never experienced the kind of abuse Ronan has. Even though I’ve suffered my own trauma, it’s different in that my abuser was… is an ex-boyfriend, but never a parent—never a person who, by definition, was supposed to love and protect me unconditionally from the moment I took my very first breath.
“Baby, I need you to know that there was nothing between Randi and me. We were friends. I mean, we had history, yeah, but now—”
“Ran, I know. It’s okay. I promise you don’t have to worry about me. I just mean that I wish I could really relate to what you’ve been through because even though on a theoretical level I feel like I can, I know I can’t truly comprehend. And I bet Miranda could because she’s been through something similar. And so, her words—when she tells you what your mother did to you wasn’t your fault—would hold more weight than when anyone else on the outside tells you the same thing. It makes sense, Ran, but I still wish I could be that person for you. I don’t want you to be lonely.”
“Baby, honestly, you’re so much more than what Randi is… was… to me. Don’t think that what you do for me isn’t helping. You’re the only reason I’m still here. But… I don’t know,” he sighs. “I’ve known Randi since I was little, and I feel like such a dick. I know I didn’t do anything wrong, but I still hurt her. Why does that always have to happen? It’s like whatever I do, it’s never good enough for people. I was never enough to my mom, and I wasn’t enough to Randi as just a friend, so she left. And I’m so fucking scared that you’re going to realize the same damn thing one day—that I’m not good enough for you, and you’ll leave me…”
“Ran, you know that’s not true. That’s your mom’s conditioning! Remember what Randi wrote: you’re enough, you’re worthy, and you’re loved. All that is true. She didn’t leave because you weren’t good enough; she left because she couldn’t give you what you needed, which is an uncomplicated friendship that helps you on your road to healing. I think she knew she was hindering your progress, and she recognized that her feelings for you were going to make things more complicated,” I say. “In a weird way, I think she’s protecting you.”
He's silent for a long while, and I’m desperate to be there with him. Words just aren’t enough right now.
“Did your dad say anything about when you’re coming home?”
“No, he’s always so vague about it. He just said that as soon as he knows if and when the trial actually starts, he’s going to bring me home. As far as I know the damn thing is set for next month sometime. It’s fucking frustrating. I have no control over anything,” he groans.
“I know the prospect of testifying and all that is scary, but… selfishly, I want you home. The idea of getting to finally see you in a few weeks is really exciting to me,” I say with a small smile in my voice. “I don’t want to be away from you anymore.” My words trigger the memory of my college admission letters. “Oh, not to change the topic or anything, but I got three letters last week—from NYU, Duke, and Columbia.”
“Holy shit, baby!” I smile at the excitement in his voice. No matter what he goes through, he never fails to show up for me. “What do they say?”
I grab my letters. “I haven’t opened them yet. I wanted to do it with you,” I say, blushing, which is so dumb.
“Alright, let’s hear it.” I picture him sitting on his bed, eyes closed as he listens to me.
“Real quick, before I do, tell me what you’re doing,” I say. “I want to be able to visualize you.”
He chuckles. His laugh will forever be one of my favorite sounds in this entire world. And particularly right now when it feels as precious as a rare gem. “Umm, well, I’m lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, which is not at all interesting.”
“Uh-huh, and what are you wearing?” I ask with a small giggle.
“Jeans and a black hoodie.”
“And how about underneath that?” I ask and blush again.
“Black boxers and a white shirt,” he says, his voice low now. “And now you have to tell me what you’re wearing.”
“Okay, I’m also wearing jeans—the low-rise ones with the worn knees,” I remind him because I know he likes those jeans on me. “And a stone-washed black t-shirt.”
“Is that it?” His voice is my favorite kind of husky.
“I’m also wearing a navy thong and a matching bra,” I say, my voice imitating his.
“A thong?” There’s a hitch in his breath.
“Uh-huh. Vada and I may have gone shopping recently and I thought I’d try something new for when you get back.”
“God, baby,” he growls. “The fact that I’m not with you is fucking maddening.”
“I hope this at least helped you create an image?”
“Are you kidding me? I told you my imagination is very vivid when it comes to you. I’m getting hard just thinking about you.”
I blush again. I’m still not completely used to discussing all things sex so openly, but I more than enjoy the effect I have on Ronan. “Really?”
“Cat, we need to change the subject. I’m really pent-up and thinking about you in a thong, or, fuck, just thinking about you at all isn’t really helping the situation.”
“Sounds like you need to do something about it,” I tease, like he has teased me in the past.
“Oh, trust me, I do,” he chuffs. “Way too much, but it’s just not the same as feeling you. So, why don’t you open those letters. Please.” He chuckles.
“Okay, which one first?”
“Close your eyes, shuffle them, and pick one randomly.”
“You’re so brilliant.” I close my eyes and mix the letters before grabbing one between my thumb and index finger. “Okay, Duke first.”
“Go for it,” he says, and I think he’s holding his breath. I put Ronan on speaker, put my phone on the bed, and slowly tear open the envelope. It feels monumental, which I know has a lot to do with the pressure my dad has been putting on me.
“Oh god, I’m so nervous,” I say as my heart hammers in my chest. I suddenly don’t know what I want the letter to say; do I want it to be a yes or a no?
“Dude, me too, and it’s not even my letter,” Ronan huffs.
I giggle at him calling me dude. I pull out the piece of paper, unfold it, and begin to read.
“Cat?” Ronan says after several seconds of silence on my end. “What does it say?”
“I got in,” I say, blinking in total disbelief. “I got into Duke. Holy shit!” I exclaim and my eyes flit back to the beginning of the letter, scrolling through the first paragraph to make sure I didn’t misread. But I didn’t. It’s an acceptance, and I feel happy… and torn.
“Baby, that’s incredible,” Ronan says. “I’m so proud of you! Congrats!” I could crawl through the phone and hug him.
“Thank you, sweet boy.” I put the first letter aside. “Shall we open number two?”
“We shall.”
I repeat the process, closing my eyes, shuffling the remaining two letters, and taking the top one.
“NYU,” I say, and tear open the envelope. A huge grin forms on my face when I spot the word Congratulations. I almost scream into the phone. “It’s a yes!”
“Baby, you’re killing it,” Ronan says with a smile in his voice. “You’re fucking amazing.”
“I wish you were here with me,” I say, already grabbing the last letter from Columbia.
“Me, too. Soon though… I hope.”
“Ready for number three?”
“Born ready.”
“Well, not surprisingly, I didn’t get into Columbia,” I say, feeling just a tad deflated. I didn’t have high hopes of getting in—Columbia’s acceptance rate is only about four percent, it’s considered an elite school for a reason—but the idea of going to the same school as Ronan in the fall was one I could definitely get used to.
“I’m sorry, Cat,” Ronan says. “But hey, Duke and NYU, that’s a fucking feat. You already got into more colleges than I did.”
I giggle. “But you only applied to Columbia.”
“That’s beside the point,” he chuckles. “Who are you still waiting to hear from?”
“Only Brown and Montana.”
“I sincerely hope you get a rejection from Montana,” Ronan says, making me laugh.
“Why? You don’t want me moving up there?” I ask with a grin.
“Not really. I’d much rather have you close by. Or at least close-ish. Definitely not two thousand miles away.”
“And why is that?” I ask, flat-out flirting with him.
“Easier to get into your pants that way.”
I snort out a laugh. “Oh, is that all you’re concerned about? Getting into my pants?”
“It’s a huge priority of mine. Especially now that you told me about your new taste in underwear.”
“I can’t wait to show them to you,” I say, lowering my voice again.
“I can’t wait to see them on you… and then take them off you,” he growls.
“What are you going to do once you take them off me?”
“Maybe the better question would be: what do you want me to do once I take them off you?”
Already that familiar feeling of need begins to gather in my stomach. This has been a pattern of ours when we talk on the weekend; we have a real knack for getting each other way too worked up while we’re unable to do anything about it.
“Are you sure you want me to tell you right now? Because I recall you telling me that this doesn’t help your pent-up situation,” I tease.
“Too late,” he says. “I’m already rock-hard, might as well keep going.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, because all I’m craving right now is—”
There’s a single loud knock on my door, followed by my mom throwing open the door and stepping over the threshold, an expectant look on her face.
“I heard your voice, so I figured you’re talking to Ronan. Have you opened your letters yet?” she asks giddily, her eyebrows raised.
Ronan sighs. “To be continued, I guess.”
“Oh, hi Ran!” my mom shouts into the room more loudly than necessary.
“Hey, Jen!”
My mom wrings her hands. “So? Have you opened them?”
“Yes,” I say with a grin. “I got a rejection from Columbia, but I got into NYU and Duke!”
My mom squeals and does a weird kind of dance before rushing me and pulling me into her arms. She knocks my phone off my bed and it lands on the floor with a loud thunk.
“Sweet pea! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I can’t wait to tell your dad! Can I tell your dad or do you want to? Oh my god, I’m so proud of you!” she says, still squeezing me tightly.
“You can tell him.” I free myself from her hold, then stoop to pick up the phone. “Are you still there, Ran?”
“Still here.”
“Ahh, I can’t wait,” my mom screeches. “We should celebrate tonight, okay? Let’s go to dinner. I gotta head out—emergency call from a patient—but I’ll be back in a couple of hours and then we’ll go commemorate this incredible achievement of yours, Kitty,” she jabbers, already on her way out of my room, not waiting for a response from me.
“Safe to say she’s excited,” Ronan says, making me laugh again.
“Oh yes. She’s been bugging me to open those letters since the first one arrived on Wednesday.”
“You’ve been holding on to your college admission letters since Wednesday?”
“I wanted to open them with you on the phone. My parents weren’t really excited about the wait, but it meant a lot to me,” I say sheepishly.
“Thank you for making me a part of such a big moment,” he says, his voice laden with emotion.
“It meant a lot to me to have you with me, at least over the phone.”
Ronan clears his throat. “Alright, so you’re going to have to do some stewing and figure out where to go.”
My heart squeezes in my chest with the truth of his words. Maybe I never really believed I had a shot at getting into Duke and was therefore so much more reluctant to entertain the idea of being anywhere but in New York when Ronan is set to attend Columbia.
“Uh, yeah, I… I guess I do,” I say, feeling less certain. Now that I have an acceptance from Duke in my hands, now that admission isn’t just a remote possibility, my future suddenly seems less clear.
“I just… I don’t really want to be away from you,” I say in a small voice. “I don’t want to…” I don’t finish the sentence, don’t say that I’m afraid it’ll mean the end of us.
“I don’t want to be away from you either. But baby, you have to do what makes you happy; you have to go where you’ll be happy. That’s all I care about, that you’re happy, whichever shape or form that takes and wherever that might lead you,” he says. “And if Duke is where you see yourself being happy, then that’s where you should go. We can make anything work. Fuck, we made this shit work.”
My lips curve into a smile. God, he’s so good to me. If only my dad was as supportive, would see that I’m capable of making decisions for myself.
I sigh deeply. “Ran, if you only knew how—”
My phone vibrates pleasantly against my cheek, then twice more in rapid succession. I move it instinctively and nearly faint as my heart drops into my stomach at the sight of the three new messages in my inbox.
Unknown:
Break’s over. I need a re-up on my funds.
Unknown:
And you know what? I wouldn’t hate a new picture.
Unknown:
Also, I never realized New York can be so nice in March...