I press my palms into my eyes, and the tears trace down the sides of my wrists.
“We were in the living room. I threw it. I don’t remember anything else.”
Grant speaks, “Do you remember it hitting the table? Or the floor?”
“Nothing.”
He sighs, and if I weren’t already hopeless, the sound would’ve sent me spiraling. “I think you might have, by some crazy chance, thrown it into the gift bag I made for Clementine.”
I glance at the phone. I remember the bag being on the table. There was no sound of plastic knocking on wood, or onto the floor. His gift bag theory is possible. Ridiculous, but possible.
But I don’t want to lean into this light at the end of the tunnel without confirmation.
“You might be right. Can you check?”
He’s staticky through the speaker, but his pity still comes through. “I’m sorry, baby. I gave it to Clem as a road trip gift this morning. With the timing…” He sighs. “They should’ve just gotten to Pittsburgh.”
“Oh, fuck.” Rosie echoes my thoughts. The pessimistic part of my brain wishes Grant hadn’t told me where it is in the first place.
“I’m so screwed. I can’t believe it. This is all my fault.”
“It’s not. I should have checked the bag.”
“I shouldn’t have thrown it at you.”
“You’re not fully responsible.” But I am. Every decision up until this point has been mine. I lead myself here.
Despite how dejected I and the situation has become, his voice perks up. “I can fix it.”
“No you can’t, Grant. You’re the only reason I finished it in the first place. You’ve already done enough.”
“I’m serious. I think I can do this.” There’s shuffling on the other end of the phone, a faint second voice, and my eyebrow raises. I assumed he was at his apartment but it sounds otherwise. “I’ll call Heath and figure something out.”
There’s no point. Usually, I’m desperate to solve my problems and fight for solutions, but this is the final straw to send me over the edge. The situation is helpless, and I’m already accepting that this semester is over. Even the comfort knowingmy parents won’t hate me for this isn’t enough to mask how disappointed I am with myself.
“I have to turn it in tomorrow morning. It’s impossible.”
There’s more shuffling from the other side of the phone. More tears drip off my chin and puddle on my bedroom floor when Grant cuts through.
“Never doubt the things I would do for you, Lily.”
I replay his words as I lay across the cushions of our couch. The scratchy chenille is nothing like the plush cushions I find myself lost on at Grant’s place, but I settle into them. Rosie let me cry for an hour, ordered some food that doesn’t taste as good as usual, and patted my head when I told her I’m officially a failure.
That was a few hours ago. I check my phone for what feels like the millionth time, but there’s no sign of Grant or this miracle he claims he can make happen.
I sigh. Rosie emerges from her bedroom, messy hair redone into a clean ponytail. I told her to focus on her own studies and leave me to my pity party. Just because I’m going to fail, doesn’t mean she should, too.
Her body creates a shadow over me when she stands next to the couch, arms crossed and nose downturned.
“It’s been three hours. What have you been doing?”
“Waiting.” What else would I be doing?
“For what?”
I squint at her, confused. The answer is obvious. It’s the only one I have. “Grant.”
Her scoff causes me to sit up. My vision blurs for a second, lightheaded from the sudden change in position, but when it straightens, I see the disappointed look in her eyes.
