Chapter 4 #2
“Jakeyyyy,” a cute blonde croons in the hallway.
She latches onto Jake’s arm and bats her eyelashes at him, trying to capture his attention.
Honestly, it’s super cringey. My nose wrinkles in distaste, but Jake seems unaffected by the display.
He smiles and greets her by name, which I tune out.
He spares me one last glance, then it seems I’m completely forgotten.
That’s fine. It’s good, actually. My to-do list is roughly a mile long.
Dinner: chicken and rice casserole in the fridge. Heat in oven @ 350 for 30 minutes.
Please make sure Hunter brushes his teeth!!
I’ll be home around midnight.
Love you! xoxo
The note from my mother comes off the fridge and goes straight into the trash.
She’s been working afternoon/evening shifts at the ER, which means I get to play mom after school a few days a week.
A groan rumbles through me as I stretch my arms above my head.
Only one more year of this, and then I’ll be at MIT and free from dealing with the gaps in my parents’ responsibilities.
The school bus screeches to a halt on our street, so I stand in the doorway and wave to the driver. If she doesn’t see someone home, she won’t let Hunter get off the bus, which is a pain to deal with.
Hunter comes barreling across the yard and slams into me, holding me in a tight hug.
“Whoa, buddy. Did you miss me today or something?”
He nods, then grabs my hand and leads me into the kitchen.
The house is quiet, other than the ticking of a clock, so his tiny voice fills the space pleasantly.
“Second grade feels so long and boring, Avery. I don’t want to go back tomorrow.
Or ever.” He pauses for a breath and then asks the question I knew was going to come. “Can I have a snack?”
Amused, I grab some grapes from the fridge and a bag of pretzels.
While he eats, I pepper him questions about his new class and who he played with during recess.
He tells me about a particularly intense game of tag with animated hands.
After a few minutes his brows pinch together. “Av, when is Dad coming back?”
I bite my lip. I hate this question. “Remember we looked at a map together, Hunter? Australia is really far away. He’s going to be there for eight weeks at least, while he works on his current movie.”
Hunter nods like he knew that was the answer, but he’s still disappointed to hear it anyway. “I wish he’d stop leaving.”
“You and me both, buddy.”
I love my parents. Truly. But their relationship is exhausting.
For years my dad stayed home with me while my mom finished medical school and residency.
After Hunter was born, he took local projects while she worked long ER hours.
Then a few years ago, they decided he should finally chase bigger roles, even if it meant traveling.
So while my mom was saving lives, my dad was flying around the world making movies, and somewhere in between they drifted apart.
They still love each other—sometimes the tension even disappears for a while—but because neither of them is willing to bend, the cycle always starts again.
This is precisely why Braden and I have schedules and goals. With enough determination and discipline, neither one of us will ever have to compromise our careers, AND we’ll always have time for each other. I can’t change my parents, but I can learn from their mistakes.
After making dinner, doing dishes, helping Hunter with his homework, and getting him to bed, I get ready for my date tonight. Today is Wednesday, one of our scheduled FaceTime days. Exciting!
After showering with my hair in a shower cap, I unbraid my hair and throw on some lip gloss.
In the mirror, I study myself the way Braden would see me.
The waves in my hair look fantastic, which is perfect.
Braden has always loved my long, honey-brown hair.
Sometimes while doing homework, he’d fiddle with a piece of it in this adorable way, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
I turn my head at an angle and decide some sparkle is needed to bring out my hazel eyes.
I run to my room and dig through my jewelry box until I find something bright and dangly.
Because of swimming, I rarely wear jewelry. It’s worth it for Braden though.
I settle on my plush comforter, pillows pumped and placed behind me, and wait with my phone in hand. It’s late on the East Coast, past midnight, but Braden insisted it would be fine. I trust his judgment.
Minutes tick by. I use my phone’s camera to check my hair again.
The yellow shirt I’m wearing washes out my skin in the dim light, nearly eliminating my freckles, so I hop up to change it to one in Braden’s favorite color (blue).
After replumping the pillows, I settle back to wait. And wait. And wait.
I worry at my lip and finally decide to try calling him, even though we’d decided he’d be the one to call me.
The phone rings… and rings… and rings. Voicemail.
Again. Same thing.
A third time. No answer.
What the heck? Braden wouldn't stand me up, would he?
He knew our schedule. Maybe he dropped his phone in a sewer grate, or maybe his roommate had a medical emergency and Braden had to drive him to the hospital.
Does MIT give tests this early in the year?
Maybe he had to cram already, and he was so focused he forgot to let me know.
There has to be an explanation for this.
But in the quiet stillness of my room, the thoughts won’t stop. What if he’s always going to be too busy for me? What if he’s meeting new girls at school? Could I be replaced that quickly? He’s only been gone a couple of weeks!
I toss the phone and cross my arms. The screen of my school tablet lights up on my desk. Desperate for a distraction, I cross the room and grab it.
Your connection is waiting!
What’s the worst that can happen? Anything is better than sitting here waiting for my MIA boyfriend to call me.
A quick tap opens the Connection Services text screen. My finger hovers uncertainly as I think of what to say.
80085 [Me]: Hey
That’s fine, right? I’m overthinking this.
It’s polite to start with a greeting, and I couldn’t care less if this random person thinks I’m clever.
This doesn’t mean anything—not really—and I have nothing to lose if this goes badly.
Worst case scenario: I go back to ignoring the Connection Services beta test. Easy peasy.
Bubbles pop up within seconds.