Turns out, I should have listened to that doubt.
20
I should’ve knownTopher wouldn’t show up.
The driver pulled up right on time at three-thirty, just like Topher had promised, but the back seat? Empty.
“Mr. Brodie’s been delayed with work,” the driver said, all polite and professional. I forced a smile, nodding as my chest tightened with frustration.He’d promised.
I’d spent way too long getting ready for this, changing my outfit at least a dozen times before settling on something that made me feel both confident and professional. And yet, there I was, sitting in an empty car, already deflated before I even arrived.
That was precisely why I shouldn’t fall for him. The way his absence reduced me to a simmering, frustrated idiot who was waiting, hoping for something that wasn’t coming. It was infuriating. He’d promised, and sure, the tour might seem small to someone else, but it wasn’t to me.
The ride to Tulane was a rollercoaster of nerves and barely contained anger.He didn’t even text me.My brain cycled through every possible excuse he might have, but none of them made me feel better. I didn’twantto care this much, but I did. Annoyingly, deeply, I cared. He said he’d be there, and instead, he chose work. Again.
I stared out the window, mentally fast-forwarding through what a future with him would look like. It would be a life of missed dates and canceled plans.
I imagined all the milestones he would miss.“Your graduation? Totally there... unless there’s a last-minute board meeting. You get it, right?”Or our wedding:“I have a conference call. So, can I miss the ceremony as long as I make the reception? Or is it the other way around?”
And kids? Forget about making all their soccer games and dance recitals.“I know I missed the birth, but hey, I acquired a new company and made a billion dollars while you were pushing, so really, we both achieved something life-changing today.”
I snorted, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. But at least I’d be set for life financially—emotionally neglected, sure—but I wouldn’t have to worry about money.
The more I thought about it, the more obvious it became. This was a sign.Don’t fall for him. You can’t fall for him.Because this wasn’t about him missing one event—it was about what it meant. It was about broken promises and priorities, and right then, it was clear where I stood.
When we pulled up to Tulane, I hovered at the entrance, doubt gnawing at me.What am I even doing here?A college dropout about to walk into a graduate school open house. I almost turned right back around, but something made me stop. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and stepped inside.
To my surprise, the tour was good. Better than good. The more I listened, the more I realized how manageable it all sounded. I could finish my undergraduate degree through their returning-student program and, if I played my cards right, go straight into grad school. The hybrid schedule? That was a game-changer. I wouldn’t have to upend my entire life. I could work, study, and find a balance. It wasn’t the terrifying leap I’d imagined.
It felt doable.
And then came the real kicker—a fellowship program. It would cover full tuition, plus leave me with enough money to live on while I complete my degree. I felt like a lightbulb had gone off in my head. I could finish school. I could make this happen.
By the end of the tour, I felt lighter, almost hopeful. And all the way back to Josephine’s house, I allowed myself to dream. Maybe things were turning around for me.
But as soon as I stepped through the door, my mood soured as I remembered that Topher hadn’t been there. Not for me. Not for any of it.
Sinking into the couch, a knot of disappointment tightened in my stomach. I opened my texts, scrolling through, hoping for an apology or an excuse,anythingto soften the blow of his absence. But there was nothing.
There was no way I could sit there and let the frustration eat me alive, so I headed to the kitchen and started prepping dinner. Maybe chopping vegetables would help me focus on something other than the fact that Topher had stood me up.
I was halfway through slicing an onion when Josephine wandered in. She leaned her hip against the counter. “Well, somebody’s having feelings. Should I give y’all a minute? You and the onion seem to be working through something.”
I forced a laugh.
Josephine smiled. “Baby, nobody cuts an onion that aggressively unless there’s a story.”
My shoulders sagged. “I don’t have a story.”
She tapped the counter twice. “Well, when you feel like telling the story you don’t have, I’ll be here.”
I shrugged. “I needed a distraction.”
Josephine peered over my shoulder. “At least you’re being productive. I remember one time when I needed a distraction, and I impulsively bought a dozen giant inflatable skeletons. Life-sized, glowing in the dark, each one worse than the last. You can imagine how wellthatwent over with the neighbors.”
“Skeletons? How did they not chase you out of the neighborhood?”
She smirked. “Oh, I didn’t stop at just skeletons. I dressed them up in Saints jerseys and arranged them to march across my lawn like they were in the world’s creepiest second-line parade. Complete with trumpets and trombones. And, of course, they played ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’ on repeat. I wasfullyprepared for angry letters from the HOA when the skeletons wouldn’t stop ‘marching.’”
