Chapter 7
Ichase sleep all night the evening after my audition at Lizbeth, but it evades me.
Instead, I oscillate between painting and checking social media.
It turns out Trey had been spot on. My most recent video has over a million views now.
Restlessly, I stare at the number, but it still doesn’t feel real.
Hell, the last forty-eight hours don’t feel real.
More like a dream, but even my subconscious wouldn’t have gotten this creative.
Which leaves only a handful of possible explanations: magic, divine intervention, or sheer dumb luck.
My eyes have disintegrated to dust in their sockets by the time the sun peeks over the horizon.
With nothing left to distract myself, I abandon the half-finished painting on my easel and go through the motions of getting ready an hour early.
I’m dressed in an unbuttoned flannel over a crop top, bootcut jeans, and white sneakers when I bound into the kitchen.
Dad’s there, already cooking breakfast while whistling tunelessly to himself.
He must not have been able to sleep either.
“Morning, Dad,” I say as I jump to sit on the granite countertop behind him.
“Good morning. Have you heard anything yet?” he asks over his shoulder as he nimbly cracks an egg into an oiled pan on the stovetop.
My response rides the coattails of a too-shallow exhale. “Not yet.”
“Waiting is the worst part,” he reassures me with a pointed, knowing look.
“I don’t know,” I mumble while picking at the chipped polish on my nails, “I think getting rejected would be worse.”
A muscle twitches beneath the skin of his clean-shaven jaw as he says, “Maeve, that school would be stupid not to recognize your talent.”
I chew on an already bleeding cuticle and avert my eyes.
Dad’s known about my talent for years, but he’s never reinforced it this much before.
My stomach twists uncomfortably, confused by the mixture of silent indignation and brazen pride flooding my veins.
I don’t know how to respond, so I keep my lips pressed firmly together.
Dad sets a veggie omelet next to me on the counter, and when its fragrant steam engulfs me, the cords that had tightened themselves around my insides loosen just a fraction. “Let’s eat together while we wait.”
A weak smile quivers upon my lips. “Okay.”
We walk into the dining room with our plates, and chat while we eat.
Mid-conversation, I realize I’ve spent more one-on-one quality time with Dad in the past twenty-four hours than I have in the last six years.
Ever since Gideon and Everly were born, I’ve been lucky to get small slivers of his time and attention.
So, if getting up at dawn is what it takes, I make a mental note to do it more often.
When our plates are empty, Dad makes us tea.
We’re sipping from steaming mugs when my phone dings on the table next to us.
The piping hot tea in my throat suddenly detours, finding my lungs and making me cough uncontrollably.
We lock gazes, my eyes watering profusely as I glance toward the phone. A tense silence envelops the room.
“Dad, I can’t look,” I finally say, panicked.
“Darling—”
I cut him off, chin trembling. “No, seriously, you’re going to have to look for me.”
His lips follow the downward curve of his eyebrows. “What if it’s just Noah checking in?” he asks.
I push my phone toward him. “Then tell him we’re waiting, and I’ll call him when we know if I got in.”
Though he reaches for my phone hesitantly, my pulse slows as he mutters a quiet, “All right.”
After I tell him my passcode, I watch him intently, registering every minute change in his facial expression.
He’s reading, brows furrowed, eyes moving far too slowly for my liking, and even though I know it takes him only a handful of seconds, to me, it feels like hours.
Anticipation blurs the world at the edges of my vision, my stomach suddenly dropping like I’m on the craziest rollercoaster of my life.
“You got in!”
The words echo in the space between my ears as Dad jumps out of his chair to run around the table. He captures me tightly in his arms and spins me round. Disoriented, it takes me a moment to realize he’s crying.
“You did it, Bug! You did it!” he exclaims jubilantly.
The realization hits me slower than it should have.
He hasn’t called me that since I was a young child.
Bug. A nickname he gave me during my short-lived obsession with caterpillars and butterflies.
Strangely enough, hearing the nickname revived sends my heart soaring higher than the acceptance does.
“What’s all the commotion about?” Mom asks, framed by the doorway and clad in her robe and slippers.
“She got in!” Dad’s grin is brighter than the sun. “Maeve’s going to art school!”
Mom squeals as she runs to hug me too. “Ahhh!” Once she has me in her clutches, she kisses me everywhere: cheeks, forehead, lips, eyelids, anywhere her lips can access.
Gideon and Everly show up shortly after, still in their pajamas. Before long, we’re all on the dining room floor in a dog pile, and I sear yet another new favorite moment into my memory.
When the rush of excitement fades, Dad reads the entire email to us.
They want me there for orientation on Friday—tomorrow—so that I can start classes on Monday.
Since I’m starting after the beginning of the semester, I’m sure they want me there as soon as possible so I don’t fall any further behind.
But still, this is all happening so fast. I feel like I’m standing in the eye of a tornado, watching my whole life get ripped up and strewn about.
I’m grateful, but I’m also incredibly overwhelmed.
Mom doesn’t hesitate to call off of work, and Dad lets the kids’ school know they won’t be coming in today.
“Today is family day,” they’d proudly declared.
Since I only have one day to pack, the entire family offers their help.
We buy cardboard boxes and drag several dusty pieces of luggage up from the basement.
We make three separate shopping trips, funded by the overnight success of my online shop, ensuring that I’ll have all of the essentials I need for dorm life.
Around three in the afternoon, we eat a late lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in my near-empty bedroom.
“But I’ll miss you,” Everly whines as her warm brown eyes fill with tears.
Massive, messy emotions seesaw back and forth in my mind––my desire to banish every source of sadness in my sister’s life wars with my desire to run full speed toward Lizbeth.
I say in what I hope is a convincing tone, “I’ll miss you too, Evie, but I promise I’ll come home to visit as often as I can.”
“And we’ll take trips to visit her at school too,” Mom adds. “After all, we’re going to want to see all the beautiful art your sister makes. Aren’t we?”
“Yeah,” Gideon agrees, head bobbing like a cherubic bobblehead. “We’ll make trips like we do for Gray!”
“Exactly,” Dad declares.
Everly nods as she wipes the moisture from her eyes. “Can I make a pretty picture for you to take with you?” she asks, gaze whirling on me.
“You want to draw me a picture?” I ask. She’s never offered to make me anything before.
She shakes her head emphatically. “No, silly. I’ll paint you a picture.”
Now it’s my turn to tear up. A fierce heat builds behind my eyes as I murmur, “I would love that.”
Everly and I spend the next thirty minutes going through all of my child-safe acrylic paints and picking out her favorite colors.
My phone rings after she’s started her project.
I answer it as Mom and Dad start carrying boxes down to the foyer, Gideon guiding them with flailing arms like an overexcited train conductor.
My voice is half a laugh as I say, “Hello?”
“Babe! What the hell?” Noah asks, concern lacing his voice. “Why haven’t I heard from you all day? Is it bad news?”
Shit. I completely forgot to call him and tell him I got in . . . and that they want me to be there tomorrow. This conversation isn’t going to go well.
“I’m so sorry, Noah. No, it’s great news. I got in! I’m sorry I forgot to call or text you. My family’s been helping me pack all day, so I’ve been really distracted,” I explain breathlessly.
“Babe, that’s great! I had no doubt they’d accept you. Wait—did you say packing?”
“Um—” I sigh. “So, here’s the thing. Because I’m starting so late in the semester, they want me to be there tomorrow for orientation.”
The line goes quiet for a moment. The muscles in my face pinch together as I cringe.
“So, we only have one more night?” His tone is somber, disappointed.
“Yes,” I whisper, struggling to breathe.
He clears his throat before muttering, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
The line goes dead and I run downstairs, calling, “Mom!”
“Yes?” she asks as she sets a box on top of a stack near the front door. Her eyebrows knit together as I drag her away from Dad and into the kitchen. “Honey, what is it?”
“Noah’s coming over,” I say.
She tilts her head as she registers my frantic expression. “All right?”
I swallow against the dryness in my mouth. “Can you, Dad, and the kids go somewhere for a while? Out to dinner maybe?”
“Maeve Adelyn, are you asking me to willingly leave my daughter home alone with her boyfriend?” Her dark gaze pierces right through the bullshit lie I was in the process of formulating in my head.
“Yes,” I admit pathetically. “We just need to say goodbye.”
She studies me a moment before responding, “Fine. We’ll leave to go pick up a pizza for dinner, but that’s all the time I’ll give you two alone, Maeve. After that, he’s welcome to stay and join us for your last night at home.”
“You got it.” The tightness in my chest loosens a bit. “He’s just upset that we only get one final night together before I have to leave. This has all happened so fast.”
“That’s the only reason I’m agreeing to this, Maeve,” she stresses, her voice stern.
“But even I have to admit, you both deserve a proper goodbye. Your lives are changing overnight.” The hard planes of her face soften.
“I’ll go tell your father,” she says before she kisses my cheek and exits the kitchen.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to quell the fluttering in my stomach, before running upstairs to freshen up.
I change clothes and brush through my tangles.
When I look at myself in the mirror, my face is flushed.
Don’t put the cart before the horse, I tell myself sternly.
Just because we’re getting time alone and we’re both feeling emotional doesn’t mean anything out of the ordinary is going to happen.
After all, we’ve been intimate plenty of times before.
Then why do the stakes feel so much higher tonight?
A quick inhale hisses past my teeth as I hear Mom calling from the foyer, “Goodbye, honey! We’re going to pick up the pizza. We’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
“Bye!” I call back.
“Why doesn’t she just come with us?” I hear Dad protest. “This might be our last family outing together for a while.”
“Quiet now. I have my reasons,” Mom retorts with so much sass it brings an instant smile to my face.
I listen as the van backs out of the driveway and sigh, falling onto my bed. A few minutes later, I hear Noah’s car pull up. Like a reflex, I fly off the bed and bound down the stairs before wrenching the front door open to find Noah just as flushed as I am.
“Where are your parents?” he asks. “Their car—”
My lips cut his question off.
His hands are pinning me against the wall before I can even register that he’s already abandoned his jacket on the floor. My hands trail over his shoulders as I pull him closer, and his tongue slides greedily along mine.
“I’m going to miss you so much,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Shush,” I urge, capturing his lips with mine once more.
Desire clutches me so tight that I almost forget to breathe, and when we finally break apart, we’re both panting heavily. I grab Noah’s warm, callused hand and climb the stairs. When we make it to my room, he takes in the boxes, the empty walls, the clean closet, and his face crumples.
“No,” I plead. “No sadness. Not right now. We can be sad tomorrow.”
He nods and studies me. His gaze isn’t judgmental or appraising. It’s loving.
My fingers move to the elastic of my pajama shorts first, then to the straps of my tank top. When I’m finished, I’m standing in my underwear before him. And still, his gaze worships me.
Transfixed, I watch as he pulls his shirt over his head and discards it on the floor. When I embrace him once more, the heat of his skin sears mine—everywhere—each point of contact electrifying.
“I love you,” Noah declares as I drag him toward the bed.
My reply comes easily. “I love you too.”
Our lips meet a thousand times, and our bodies connect in a way I didn’t even know was possible before tonight, despite all the sex we’d had in the past. The connection is desperate, bone-deep.
And when he walks away from me later that evening, I know this night will be etched on my heart forever.