Clementine
Three years ago
The dorm is hectic. Doors slam as people bustle in and out, laden down with boxes and potted plants and instrument cases.
They call to each other, their voices loud and excited, and out on the quad, the story’s the same.
With the window open above my new bed, I hear people hollering all the way down to the sports field.
Honestly, it’s kinda overwhelming. Fun but overwhelming.
Everyone is so loud. Since I got here, I haven’t made a single peep.
Some folks have made the trip along the corridor four or five times by now. I know, ‘cause I recognize their voices passing by my closed bedroom door, chatting to each other about dinner plans and winter break and the classes they’re taking this semester.
Me? I made it up here in a single trip from the bus stop. Not hard when you only have one suitcase.
Another pair of voices pass right by my door, and my heartbeat spikes. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, the campus guidebook held limply in my lap, I try to look natural.
The voices fade away.
Not her, then. Not my roommate.
Swallowing hard, I glance around our new home for the next year.
It’s a pretty big room, with white walls and a high ceiling.
Old marks on the paint show where last year’s posters hung.
Two twin beds are pushed against opposite walls, and we each have a desk, a shelf, a closet, and a small bookcase.
I took the bed by the window when I got here, but I’m regretting that now. Is it selfish? Will she hate me when she sees? Sure, the other bed gets a little more space and a better desk, but this breeze…
Nothing can beat this breeze. I turn my face, soothing my flushed cheeks in the air slipping through the open window. It smells like cut grass and car exhaust from all these drop offs.
College. Oh, boy.
My eyes drift closed, and I take slow breaths. Moment by moment, some of the tension drains from my body… but not all of it.
I’ve never shared a room before. I was an only kid growing up, left to my own devices for hours and hours at a time, and I’d have paid any price for a sibling. Especially a sister.
More voices in the corridor. More creaking footsteps. My heart lurches, and I press my lips together.
By the time our door knob twists, I’ve gone through the stages of grief. In my mind, my roommate has already met me, wrinkled her nose, and asked for another room. I’ve gone through denial, anger, bargaining, depression—and I’m working on acceptance.
“Oh, hey.” A young woman stands in the doorway, her face lighting up when she spots me. No sign of bitterness over the window bed. “You must be Clementine. I’m Meg. We sent a couple emails?”
“Yes. Hi.” My voice is way too quiet compared to the racket of the dorm, but Meg must lip read or something, because she shoots me this big, goofy grin. She scoops up a box of books at her feet, toned arms flexing, then crosses to the unclaimed bed.
Damn. Is my roommate an Amazonian warrior? I blink at her long limbs, her muscles, her spiky dark pixie cut. If we stand beside each other, I’ll barely reach her shoulder.
But then another figure fills the doorway, and it all makes sense.
“Clementine, this is my dad Duke,” Meg says.
No kidding. They’re a whole family of giants. If Meg is tall, Duke is stratospheric. Is her mom all stretched out too?
However tall she is, Meg’s mom is a lucky lady—that’s the first thought that flits through my brain as Duke steps into our bedroom.
Because he’s huge and broad-shouldered, his black t-shirt stretching over his barrel chest and curved belly.
Everything about this man screams safety and sturdiness.
If a storm battered campus right now, we could shelter by his side.
So freaking handsome. I’m short on breath.
He nods when he meets my eye, beard shifting as he smiles. His brown hair is flecked with bronze. “Clementine. So, are you gonna help keep an eye on my baby girl?”
His strong arms are laden with bags and boxes, but he hasn’t even broken a sweat. Meg scoffs, saying something about how she’s grown now and he doesn’t need to fuss anymore.
“I’ll always fuss,” Duke says, but he winks at me.
I fight the urge to squirm, my skin suddenly so hot and itchy under my leggings and t-shirt. It takes me a minute to realize that the ache in my cheeks is from smiling.
They’re nice. They’re both so nice.
Thank god. I won the roommate lottery. And Meg can blast loud music in here and stumble in drunk late at night if she likes; she can borrow my stuff and leave her clothes on the floor. I don’t mind about any of those usual gripes, so long as the two of us can be friends.
Will Duke visit often?
Where is Meg’s mom? Is she not in the picture?
Chewing on my lip, I dismiss that idea right away, because there’s no way a sane person could ever walk away from the man now sliding books onto Meg’s shelf. He works calmly, methodically, putting away Meg’s stuff while his daughter scans through the campus guidebook left on her desk.
“Ew,” she says to me, flicking through the pages. “Did you read the rule about no boys in our room?”
“Um. Yes.”
Duke glances back at me over his shoulder. I pluck at the cheap yellow bedspread I bought on sale at Walmart—and try not to catch fire under his probing gaze. Why is he staring at me like that? What is he thinking?
“So heteronormative,” Meg says with a sniff, closing the guidebook. “I could bone the whole cheerleading squad and not break any rules. Typical.”
“Please don’t.” Duke turns back to his work, sliding another book onto the shelf. “Or at least buy them dinner first.”
Meg smirks. “Don’t mind my dad, Clementine. He’s a fusty old romantic.”
My insides quiver.
And of course he is. This bearded giant with crinkly eyes and beautiful manners is my dream man. Bet he watches classic movies too, and cooks pasta from scratch. Bet when he takes a lady to dinner, he pulls out her chair for her and offers bites from his plate.
Seriously. Is he married or not?
This is killing me.
An hour later, Meg’s side of the room is a lot fuller than mine. It looks lived in and cozy, with colorful movie posters on the walls and books on the shelf, and a threadbare stuffed zebra slumped against her mound of pillows.
My side of the room looks like a monk lives here. Three old paperbacks and my journal slump on my shelf, and there’s a single flat pillow on my bed. No extra blankets or fluffy throws. If you opened my closet doors, you’d find it two-thirds empty.
Duke glances around the dorm room, and I watch him notice the difference between our sides. His mouth turns down at the corners, and his forehead crumples in dismay.
“I have more stuff,” I lie quickly, because I can’t stand this man’s pity. It’s so much nicer when he winks at me and teases his daughter. “I just haven’t unpacked it yet.”
“Oh. Good.” Duke smiles at me, so warm and sweet, and I pretend not to see Meg’s knowing look over by her bed. It’s an obvious lie: I only have one suitcase, after all, and it’s already pushed beneath my bed frame, but she’s kind enough not to call me out on it.
“Dinner,” she says loudly, clapping her hands together. My chin drops, and I pick at a loose thread on my leggings.
That came around so fast. And Duke probably won’t stick around much longer after that, will he? So this is it. Goodbye.
Will he visit again soon? Often, maybe? Will he chat to me when he does? I fiddle with that loose thread, my stomach twisted with longing, and I’ve barely known this man for an hour, but already I’m gonna miss him more than my own parents. He’s certainly shown more interest in me.
“Italian or Mexican?” Meg asks. There’s a long, awkward pause. “Clementine? Italian or Mexican?”
“Oh!” I sit up straighter, flushing with pleasure, because it never occurred to me that I’d be invited. When was the last time I ate dinner at a restaurant? A real one, without a drive-through attached?
Not that I’ll be picky. If Duke and Meg want fast food, I’m in. So in. It’ll be kinder on my bank balance, anyway.
“Um.” They’re both looking at me—Meg’s head cocked, Duke so patient. He pushes his big hands into his jeans pockets, like he’d happily wait hours for me to untwist my tongue. “I love both. You guys pick. Um, are you sure it’s okay for me to join?”
“Yes,” they both say in unison, and the family resemblance is strong in this moment. They’re both determined, shoulders braced like I might argue with them. Meg stares at me sternly, like she’s daring me to lie about having other plans, and Duke…
Duke raises an eyebrow. It’s a secret gesture just for me. My fingers tremble as I press my hands against my thighs.
“Mexican,” I rasp.
Duke’s mouth quirks up at the corner. Lord, what I’d do to make him smile like that again. “My favorite. Okay, let’s head out before all the good tables are gone.”
Jumping up, I wobble to the faded old backpack by my desk. My legs are stiff from sitting for so long, and pins and needles prickle through my calves. I’m rummaging for my wallet when Duke calls to me from the doorway.
“Leave that, Clementine. I’ll get you back here safe and fed, I promise.”
I shouldn’t, I know that. I really shouldn’t rely on a man I just met; shouldn’t impose on him like that. Shouldn’t be a bother.
“Come on, honey,” he says softly, and just like that, my feet carry me to the door without permission. Duke snags my jacket from the hook and hands it to me before closing the door behind us. It’s quiet out here now, all the yelling from earlier transferred to some other part of campus.
Meg stretches her arms above her head, her spiked up dark hair flopping to one side, and she grins when our eyes meet.
“It’s gonna be a good year, Clementine. I can feel it.”
* * *
Dear diary,
I met a man today. The man, you know? The only man to ever make my body hum to life. When his eyes were on me, my heart thumped harder. My skin flushed warm. Even the tiny hairs on my arms prickled upright.
Obviously, he’s off limits. Way too old for me. My roommate’s dad? Who am I kidding? Even if he wanted me too—yeah, right—we could never act on it. That’d make me such a jerk.
But a crush doesn’t hurt anybody, does it?
That’s all this is. My first ever crush.
I’m sure it’ll fade in no time.