My roommate had thought I was crazy. "You can finish your degree in Pittsburgh,” she'd said, helping me fold my clothes into suitcases. “They have college there. You don't have to drop out."
But Josh had wanted me with him immediately. There were apartments to tour, social events to attend. "You can go back anytime," he'd promised, kissing my forehead. "We're young. We have our whole lives ahead of us."
Five years and one divorce later, here I am, starting over, surrounded by kids who probably still get an allowance from their parents. Not that I’m any better, with my alimony lump sum that doesn’t change anything about my crushed dreams to start a family.
But I’ve also got to wrestle with drunk party hookups hollering to me from a booze cruise, surrounded by my ex’s teammates. I can’t escape it.
What did Tucker think would happen, calling to me like that with half the Fury around him? If he’d shown up at my apartment, alone, in the dark, I probably would have opened the door. But in public? I can’t even let myself imagine it.
"For tomorrow, please read chapters one through three and complete problem sets A through C," Dr. Khan says, jolting me back to the present. People around me start packing up, and I realize with horror that I've missed most of the lecture.
I shove my notebook into my bag and escape into the hallway, gulping air like I've been underwater. This was a mistake. All of it—coming back to school, thinking I could just pick up where I left off, believing I could build a new life after wasting so many years.
My phone buzzes with a text from Mel.
How's the first day of school? Made any friends to sit with at lunch?
Despite my panic, I smile.
Currently having an existential crisis. Want to meet for coffee in an hour? I need to vent.
Her response comes immediately.
Mel
Let’s grab lunch at Green Bowl in 45.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, feeling marginally better. At least I'm not entirely alone in this city.
Green Bowl is a trendy café near campus, with exposed brick and reclaimed wood, mismatched vintage furniture, and local art on the walls. Mel has already claimed our favorite corner table, the one with extra space for her wheelchair and power outlets for our laptops.
"That bad, huh?" she asks as I collapse into the chair across from her. Her law books are spread across half the table, color-coded tabs sticking out from every direction.
"Worse," I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "I understood maybe ten percent of what the professor said."
"First day jitters," Mel says, pushing a mug toward me. She's already ordered my usual—bush tea with honey. "You're smart, Sloane. You just need to get back into student mode."
"I don't think I remember how to be a student," I admit, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. "Everyone else seemed so... together. Taking notes on their laptops, asking intelligent questions. Meanwhile, I was having flashbacks to the day I dropped out."
Mel's expression softens. "Having regrets?"
I stare into my drink. "Not exactly. I mean, yes, I regret not finishing school back then. But at the time..." I trail off, remembering the excitement, the certainty that I was making the right choice. "At the time, it felt like an adventure."
"You were in love," Mel says simply. "People make decisions in love they wouldn't make otherwise."
"And look how that turned out." I take a sip of my tea, savoring the bitterness beneath the sweetness.
"First of all," Mel says, tapping her pen against her legal pad, “I know you feel a certain way about your settlement.” She was the one who recommended my lawyer and then held my hand and told me to say yes to the money. “Half his shit is legally yours, and holding onto that guilt isn't helping anyone, especially not you. Second, you're twenty-five, not ninety-five. You have plenty of time to build the life you want."
I know she's right, but the panic from the classroom still lingers. "I just don't know if I can do this. Statistics? What was I thinking?"
"That public health is important to you, and statistics is part of the package," Mel says pragmatically. "You'll get it. We'll study together. School and serenity, right?"
I pull out my textbook and flip it open. The symbols swim before my eyes, and I feel that wave of panic rising again.
"I don't know," I murmur. "Maybe I should?—"
The bell above the café door jingles, and I glance up reflexively.
