Chapter 15 #2
“I’m never going to meet him, Michelle. Because he’s not going to be around long enough for that to happen.
You heard her—it’s them or us. And you may think you’re some toughie now that you’ve spent a month running wild, but you have no idea what awaits you out there.
I know you, Michelle. You wouldn’t last a year.
And then what? They’re not letting you back once you’re… soiled.”
“So, you’re going to dump Gavin? Just like that?”
“Yes. Just like that. And you wanna know why? Because he’s a fling. A good time. Easily replaced.” She jabbed a finger into my shoulder. “You went and did the one thing you can’t undo. You fell in love.”
Her accusation hit like a bomb. And she was right. I did love him. But, I feared, in this very specific situation, it wasn’t enough. I burst into tears.
Melanie’s defensive stance instantly softened. “Oh geez.” She hugged me. “Michelle, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Why is everyone so against this? Why can’t I fall for someone and everyone be happy for me? What’s wrong with this family?” I sobbed into her shoulder.
“You already know the answer. You’ve always known what’s expected of you. The sooner you accept it, the better.”
“And if I don’t accept it?”
She looked genuinely gutted. “Then I guess I’ll be on that plane alone.”
The finality of it all. I couldn’t lose Melanie. She’d been the one constant in my life. I had feelings for Scott, big ones, but I wasn’t so sure I could survive in his world. Melanie was right. She and I weren’t made for struggle.
I hugged her as tears slipped down my cheeks. “I know. I know. It hurts. And it’s not fair,” she said. “But I’m begging you: pick me. I need my baby sister by my side. And in time, with lots of shopping, we’ll forget all about our hot, middle-class, summertime studs.”
“Mine’s actually lower middle class,” I confessed, half laughing, half crying.
Her eyes widened. “Like, how low are we talking?”
“Like if Danny Zuko was a surf instructor.”
Melanie’s eyes widened, then the realization hit. “That’s why you were taking surf lessons! I didn’t put it together. You hate the ocean.”
I smiled. No more confirmation needed.
“Oh, my god, you little slut-puppy,” she said, cracking up.
I didn’t take offense because, honestly, it was a fairly accurate take on my weeks with Scott McKallister.
“And?”
“And what?”
“Was your surf instructor… satisfying?”
I bit my lip, smiling at the memory. “Very.”
Although I hadn’t said the words out loud, we both knew I’d be on the plane with Melanie tomorrow.
It was the right choice—maybe the only one—but I hadn’t expected the ache to sit so heavy.
I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water beat against my skin as last night replayed in soft, relentless flashes: Scott’s hands steady on my waist, his hot and hungry kiss, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing worth drowning for.
For one stolen moment I let myself sink into the memory, smiling through the steam.
But as the mirror fogged and the water cooled, reality crept back in.
If I had to let him go for the greater good, at least I wasn’t alone in the loss.
Melanie was giving up something too. Somehow, that shared hurt made the weight a fraction lighter.
Wrapped in a robe, combing out my damp hair, I noticed the two suitcases and carry-on already laid out on my bed.
By booking us on a flight tomorrow, Mother had left no room for second thoughts, no time for goodbyes.
Maybe it was for the best. I told myself practicality had won, that love wasn’t worth the risk of choosing wrong.
But what about the Rabid Jackal concert tonight? I’d already committed to going; I’d been looking forward to it all week. What would Scott think when I didn’t show?
There was a soft knock. The door opened a crack, and a familiar Eastern European accent slipped through. “Miss Carver, your mother asked me to help you get ready.”
More like keep watch. But I was in no position to refuse kindness.
“Yes, thank you,” I said. “Come in.”
Luzia stepped inside carrying a small plate. “I brought you something from the kitchen. Your favorite—paté with toast points. You eat. I dry.”
How could I argue with that? I thanked her and took a bite, suddenly ravenous. The hum of the blow dryer, the rhythmic tug of the round brush, and the fancy little sandwich in my hand worked together to quiet the storm inside me.
Our eyes met in the mirror. I wasn’t expecting what I saw: compassion, unguarded and deep. She’d heard everything in the study. She knew. I teared up.
“Everything will be all right, dragǎ mea,” she said softly, resting a hand on my shoulder. The touch was light and comforting, the way a mother might steady a child who’d scraped her knee.
“What does that mean, dragǎ mea?”
“My dear one.” Her smile was small, private. “You have a good heart. Don’t let anyone make you doubt it. The rest… it will find its way.”
How could she see goodness in me when I’d spent years barely seeing her? I’d passed her in hallways, accepted her silent service with the usual pleases and thank yous, never once asking who she was. Shame warmed my cheeks.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
Luzia paused mid-brushstroke, surprise flickering across her face. “Well… here.”
“I mean, when you’re not here. Where do you call home?”
“Romania, originally. I came here as a teenager with my family. A few years later, I married. I have two sons. They’re a bit older than you.”
“So they were kids when you started working for my parents?”
“Teenagers, actually.”
“But you’re always with my mother. When do you see them?”
She resumed brushing, slower now. “Why do you ask?”
“I should have asked before,” I said, feeling suddenly vulnerable.
“You’ve always been so nice to me, and I fear I’ve been…
dismissive. I grew up thinking the world turned for us, and that was that.
Lately, someone showed me there are whole lives I never noticed.
I’m sorry if I ever made you feel small. ”
For a moment she said nothing, just blinked in surprise, but then a smile formed and she said, “Nu e nimic, dragǎ mea. It’s nothing, my dear.”
Her words were soft and reassuring, letting me know if there had ever been any hard feelings, they were forgiven now.
Luzia started on my curls while openly sharing her life with me.
The story she told was heartbreaking. Her husband had passed away eight years ago, and with money tight, she’d taken a job with our family while her boys stayed behind under the care of their grandmother.
I watched her for expression. She gave none.
“Wasn’t that hard?” I asked. “Being away from them?”
“Very. Every night in the beginning, I cried myself to sleep. But we women…” She met my eyes again. “We must make difficult choices. I chose to provide. I couldn’t be there the way a mother longs to be, but I gave them a good life. College. A future. For that, I have no regrets.”
Her sacrifice stirred something in me. I thought of my mother’s cold precision, Melanie’s sharp edges, my own careful walls.
Then I thought of Luzia—crying alone in a strange house, rising every morning to serve a family that rarely saw her, all so her boys could have more.
That was strength. Not the brittle kind that demanded perfection, but the resilient kind that bent without breaking.
“That’s beautiful,” I said, wistfully.
Luzia’s smile returned, soft and knowing. “This someone who opened your eyes—the boy from the parking lot?”
My breath caught. “How did you know?”
“Your car is often parked there. I thought it was odd since I do all the shopping. Last week I saw you step out of his truck. He hugged you. You looked… so happy, dragǎ mea.”
Panic flared. “Did you tell my mother?”
She shook her head once. “No.”
“Why not?”
“What you do as an adult is yours. And Lydia…” She let the name hang, gentle but pointed. “She would not have taken kindly to your young man.”
“We got caught this morning,” I admitted.
“I heard.”
“She’s sending me away tomorrow. Forbidding me from seeing him.”
“I heard.”
“What else did you hear?”
She looked away, but only for a second. “Everything. But it doesn’t matter what I heard.
What matters is what I saw. In the parking lot, your young man stood there after you drove away.
He didn’t move for the longest time—just watched the road where you’d been.
When he finally turned back to his truck, he shook his head, smiling to himself like he couldn’t believe his luck. That’s when you know.”
“Know what?”
“That boy didn’t know anyone was watching him,” she leaned in, her voice low. “That’s when you know you’ve got a good one.”
Our eyes met in the mirror. I frowned. “I’m going to break his heart, Luzia.”
Maybe this was the hard decision she’d meant—the one that cost more than money or pride.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want Scott; I did.
But what if I chose him and it all fell apart?
He’d move on. Scott was used to starting over.
And me? I’d be left with nothing. No family.
No home. No place to land. The truth hit hard.
I wasn’t afraid of loving him. I was afraid of what would happen if love wasn’t enough.
She laid a hand on my shoulder—no judgment, only understanding. “Or maybe you’re going to give him the kind of goodbye that lets him keep the smile.”
I closed my eyes, knowing Luzia was right.
“I need to tell him myself,” I said. “He deserves that. But they’ve made sure I can’t. The plane’s tomorrow morning, and every minute until then is spoken for. They took the phone off my wall. I don’t know how—”
Luzia bit her lower lip, and her eyes darted toward the door. I could almost see the battle happening within her—duty versus heart.
“What?” I asked. “What do you know?”
“You did not hear this from me. Your parents are meeting friends for drinks at nine tonight.” She lowered her voice, conspiratorial. “I trust you can find your way out the back door.”