Epilogue
Five weeks later...
The Patels’ car disappears around the bend at the end of the drive. I stand at the front door until I can’t hear the engine anymore.
Jill’s face was pressed against the back window, grinning dramatically as if she were being carried off against her will. I press my lips together against a smile, and stay there a moment longer as the late afternoon settles around me.
They stayed here for four hours. Mrs. Patel had cried twice. Once when she saw my room, and once when Miranda brought out the good tea without being asked. I think that surprised everyone, including Miranda.
Mr. Patel had carried boxes with the intensity of a man who considers moving a sport. He even rearranged my bookshelf without being asked. And Jill had been everywhere at once.
She examined every corner of the house and asked Miranda questions that were maybe too direct.
She gave me far too many hugs, and I appreciated every single one.
The only time she was truly quiet was when Ryder was in the room.
She kept whispering in my ear, “I can’t believe you’re dating a legit rockstar. ”
Believe me, neither can I.
I pick up Mrs. Patel’s coffee cup from the front step and bring it inside. Setting it on the kitchen counter, I notice just how quiet the house is now. That is until I hear the low hum of an acoustic guitar.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I run for the stairs and race toward the practice room, skidding to a stop.
The practice room door is open a few inches. I nudge it wider, and Ryder looks up from where he’s sitting on a stool, guitar across his lap and a notebook open beside him on a stand.
“Hey,” he says. “Have your friends left?”
“Yes,” I reply, moving into the room. “Shockingly, they all loved you.”
He laughs, writing another line on the open page. “Good to know.”
I sit cross-legged on the floor and pull out my English reading.
We’ve had this arrangement for weeks now.
Since the three-album deal was confirmed, Ryder finally got his wish and left Ashworth Academy.
He’s finishing his classes virtually, and the online schedule has more flexibility, which is exactly what he’s been craving.
Chase and Brooks are still roaming the halls, but Mr. Kensington relented on Ryder. Without the stress of assignments, Ryder’s working hard on the album. He’s constantly thinking about his parents back home, and wanting to give back to them in a way that will improve their lives.
Secretly, I’m kind of glad Ryder’s no longer at Ashworth.
I can concentrate on subjects I enjoy without being distracted by the brooding hunk during school hours.
Plus, I’m a lot less interesting to my peers without him around.
They’ve either forgotten we’re a couple, or Ryder was right and they’ve backed off because they know the truth about me and my family.
Maybe I judged the masses too harshly, and there really is more sympathy than sensationalism.
But I’ll gladly stay his tutor and camp out in Miranda’s library with him.
Being distracted by this boy at home turns out to be the exact right balance.
I do better work here, on the practice room floor, than I ever did at my desk.
Which probably says something about me, but I’m fine not to delve into it in a therapy session.
Dr. Novak is really happy with my progress. Miranda even joined me for a session, and we worked on some of our boundaries and improving our communication styles.
The guitar starts up again, and then a pause while he writes something down.
I read the same paragraph three times.
I’m not mad about it. I’m so infatuated with this boy.
In moments like this, doing homework on the floor while my boyfriend writes new music and lyrics, I think about my parents.
No suffocating guilt, just a reflection on choices.
My mother chose a life for us, putting us first above anyone else.
It could’ve been a very narrowing and lonely choice, but our life was beautiful.
Some choices aren’t about restrictions. Some choices are just deciding where to put down your roots.
The guitar stops, and I look up to find Ryder watching me with his pen in his hand and an adoring glint in his eyes.
“You’re not reading,” he says.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
I look at him. The boy who came into my life exactly when I needed him. Some might call it fate. I just see it as simple and uncomplicated. The boy who is entirely mine.
“Nothing,” I say. “Keep playing.”
He holds my gaze for a moment, and the corner of his mouth lifts. He looks back down at his notebook, and the guitar starts again. A new phrase this time, something I haven’t heard before. I watch his hand move over the strings, and his lips move slightly as he works out the words to go with it.
I look back down at my book.
I read the same paragraph a fourth time, loving that I’m getting exactly no work done.
***
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