Chapter 12
In the spring semester of my sophomore year at Westbrooke, I had hit a low unlike any other.
The days had started blending, a muddy mosaic of uninspired creation.
Homesickness became the film through which I saw the world.
I could have gone home. My parents wouldn’t have minded.
And my siblings would only tease me for as long as I could keep my tears in–and at that point, my record was thirty seconds.
I didn’t leave campus. A window for a bus ticket remained open on my laptop, though.
And the number for a private car service was written on my wrist every morning.
I walked through campus with a smile and an inescapable ache in my stomach.
I went on like that for a month before seeing David outside of the student center.
He was hurrying across the quad, a gym bag swung over one shoulder, books stacked in his hands.
His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and the familiarity of the gesture offered temporary relief to my constant ache.
The way his hair fell in his eyes made my lips twitch.
It wasn’t a smile, not yet. But it was enough to remind me I once had the capability of feeling something other than wayward and isolated.
David looked like home. He wore a worn tee from a local seafood restaurant where he’d bussed tables all junior and senior year.
The braid bracelet on his wrist came from an older woman who sold handfuls of them to hiking tourists every summer season.
If I got close enough, he’d probably smell like the mountains.
Westbrooke smelled so much of salt and sea that I missed the pine needles and oak trees.
I didn’t move closer, but I did pull out my phone. We’d exchanged numbers years ago for some group project that’d meant the world then and absolutely nothing now.
My finger had hovered over the send button. A message this late into our college career would be weird and perhaps a little desperate. What exactly did I want? And why did I think David Evans of all people could provide it?
But sending the text felt no less or more painful than the days I went through on autopilot. Seconds after I sent it, David pulled out his phone and stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at the screen for a moment before a small smile appeared.
David
Told you you’d miss me.
I snorted, recalling his warning when I vowed never to speak to him again after graduation.
It was a simple question. Doesn’t mean I miss you.
And I hadn’t. I’d missed our gray-bricked high school, rugged hiking trails, star-gazing watch parties, and community movie nights in the park. But I couldn’t have that and grow up, so talking to him would get me close enough.
David
You want tickets to a football game? You hate football.
I’m giving it a second chance.
David
Being away from the rest of the royal family forced you to expand your horizons, huh?
Careful.
David
Careful? You threatening me?
Possibly.
David
With what?
You want to risk finding out?
David
Yes, one thousand percent.
I’d bit my lip, fighting off a full smile. This was what I wanted, what I needed.
He’d taken my pause as a retreat and tried to reel me back in by texting,
I dare you.
There’d be no retreat. David and I were just getting started.
The Lagoon was a restaurant made wholly of stained-glass windows and overpriced poached eggs. It was the halfway point between Westbrooke and my hometown, a place my mother had heavily vetted as a worthy replacement for the usual place we “held court.”
Dad and my older brother, Adam, had an open invitation, but they never used it, citing that “court” was for those in charge, and they simply got in the way. The real reason was that they loathed the idea of being up on a weekend any time before 11 a.m..
On the other hand, my sisters and I were well-oiled cogs.
All of us focused on becoming the best of the best and being regimented.
And though I’d been picking at my hair all week, on the morning of breakfast, I felt no urge to reach for the thinning patch at the back of my head.
Because even if I still felt like a bumbling loser for not having the ball neatly laid out and my hiccup with Ren haunting every other thought, I knew Mom was going to wrap me into her arms like I was the reason the stars shone so bright.
My oldest sister, Aimee, would hum in approval of all my ideas.
She was basically a second mother, and that made her perpetually impressed with anything I accomplished since she’d known me during the time when I couldn’t hold my head up.
Logan would ask if I was getting enough sun and suggest I replace coffee with Haven’s green juice in my morning routine. And Rose…
Well, Rose and I stood on almost the same playing field.
At exactly eleven months older than me, she was more prone to take whatever I was doing and hold it up next to her to-do list to see if we aligned.
We shared the same temperament, which led to the same hang-ups.
If I were to argue with a family member —which was almost concerningly rare considering how often we got together— it would be her ninety-eight percent of the time.
Today, especially, I prepped for a battle, manning myself with a freshly steamed blouse and white skirt.
“I’ll never understand the need to dress up to go to breakfast with family,” Haven said around a yawn as I was on my way out.
“It’s what we’re most comfortable with.” I shrugged. We’d tried doing a casual, sweatshirt and loose jeans kind of meal, and the whole time we’d fidgeted and lost track of where the conversation had been going.
“Never understand,” she repeated, lying her head back down on her pillow to catch a few more hours of sleep.
The morning sky was painted pink when Logan’s black sedan pulled up on the curb to get me.
“Sorry, traffic’s a nightmare,” she said, an explanation for her two-minute lateness.
“There’s a game on campus this afternoon.” I slipped into the seat.
“Jeez.” She pulled back onto the road slowly, ever cautious, ever vigilant.
“You got this.” I clicked on my seatbelt, watching the rearview with her as a fast car nearly clipped our side.
Logan chewed on her bottom lip, going silent so she could focus on making it out of the university area and onto the highway.
I dug my fingers into my seat until we were safely merged and in the flow of traffic.
Logan was a highway driver, far more confident going eighty miles per hour on a long stretch of road than thirty-five miles per hour on a local street.
My shoulders relaxed, and the unspoken, no-talking rule disappeared, blowing away with the blasting heat of the AC.
One day, I would be brave enough to talk about why she was hesitant behind the wheel and why it was my fault.
One day, maybe we’d admit that despite getting along so well, we also fueled one another’s anxieties and fears in a way no one else ever could.
Not today. The pain was still too heavy to lift off my shoulders today.
“I should warn you.” Logan reached to turn on the radio. Comforting smooth jazz flowed into the space.
Great. She was trying to keep my heart rate down.
“Why do people say that?” I wondered out loud. “Why don’t they just warn you?”
“Courtesy.” Logan shrugged. “It’s only polite.”
Every women lived for politeness. Politeness was like a second skin for us.
And it came as easily as breathing to me…
except when I was with a certain someone.
And since I’d got a taste of the opposite side of the coin, I craved it in moments like this.
David’s blunt rudeness released me from any leading anxiety.
I could never admit this out loud, but it was freeing in a way.
No tiptoeing around corners to avoid hard edges.
My lips stung at the memory of us in the kitchen.
His hand on my jaw, mouth coaxing me to let him in.
We hadn’t spoken since then. One week. It’s the longest we’ve gone without talking since we started texting again.
I hated it. I needed the space, but I hated it.
Missing him was embarrassing, wanting him was confusing.
“Mom knows about the text,” Logan said.
My sister’s warning temporarily eclipsed my worrying about my awkward standing with David. I slouched in my seat, wiping my hands over my face.
“But I don’t think it’s going to be that big of a deal.” Logan reached over in an attempt to pat my head, but snatched it away when she realized someone was trying to merge in front of her.
“Rose didn’t even say anything to me.” I unlocked my phone and scrolled through our texts just in case I’d missed something. In case we had some heart-to-heart I’d forgotten about.
“From what I can tell, it was a last-minute slip,” Logan said.
“From what you can tell? Were you there when she said it?”
She nodded. “We were shopping for engagement dresses.”
“Engagement dresses?” I asked. “So, I’m really the last person to hear that Ren’s proposing?”
Logan winced, ashamed of the secret. “It was a touchy subject and a very new development. We all wanted to wait until we could be together to tell you in person. So we could be there for you both.”
I sighed. “I don’t need anyone to be there for me. I don’t care about Ren and Rose. Also, who buys an engagement dress? Aren’t engagements a surprise?”
Logan gave me a look. “You know Rose would never in a million years stoop to being surprised.”
“Not even for something romantic?” I asked, though it was a lost cause. Rose had been planning her own birthday parties since she was six years old. She made color-coded activity sheets for vacations. And placed name cards on tables for big family get-togethers.
“She’s nervous about seeing you,” Logan said. “That’s why she told Mom about the text. Rose thinks you’re mad at her.”