Taking me home to his mom’s was enough to spark the idea but when it came down to it, he chose me and that feels good. That for once, I’m enough for someone. That I’m not aninconvenience or less than. I’m not here for when there isn’t someone better.
Colson isn’t putting his life ahead of mine. Instead, we’ve decided to walk parallel. I understand that at times, we might not be at the same speed as the other, but when that happens, we’ll deal with it the best way we know how.
I don’t want to think too far into the future, because yes, he does have a lot going on. His mom needs someone to help her get through her issues with addiction, and he needs to come to terms with that and maybe there’s other stuff I don’t fully know yet. I don’t want to think that it’d be enough to tear us apart. Rather, I like to think that no matter what comes our way, our connection will always survive it. Even if it may get buried beneath the rubble sometimes, we’ll raise our linked fists together in victory. Always.
Because at the end of the day, he’s him and I’m me. We’reus,and what we have is worthy of discovery, of trial and error.
I follow the trail from the daycare building to the parking lot then weave through the grass to the main street. I make it back to the apartment twenty-five minutes later and am shucking my early childhood education textbooks on the desk before plopping my bookbag on the floor next to it when my phone rings. My stomach sweeps low, hoping for Colson. Work has had him out of bed too early all week, and while I love the kisses he sprinkles all over my face before he leaves, it’s not nearly enough.
It’s only been a week since Thanksgiving but I’m desperate for time with him outside of the few hours we get each evening, and maybe I’m not being grateful enough, but I’ll never apologize for wanting more time with him. Not when it feels so good to be with him. Not when he looks at me like I’ve hung the stars and given him all the light he needs in his world.
Disappointment hits quickly when I check the caller ID. Just as fast as it comes, though, it leaves because Olive is the next best person to talk to.
“Olive Garden,” I greet when I swipe and connect to the video call.
“Tell me again how I’ve earned that nickname.”
I smile at my sister’s annoyed voice. “You really don’t remember?”
She rubs her temples, her brown hair up in a messy bun. “No. I’ve had my head in a textbook all day and I can’t think past anything related to kinesiology.”
“Sounds right up your alley.”
“I like dancing, Vi. Not learning about all the different ways your body moves and the science behind it. Now refresh my memory. Please. I’m begging you.”
I laugh and flop back on my bed. “One time when you were like six, we went to an Olive Garden to eat, and Mom and Dad left without you.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my god. That’s right. They forgot about me!”
“Well, to be fair, they asked me to hold your hand and…I didn’t.”
“I don’t think that makes it any better.”
“We came back for you, but the funny part was that they didn’t realize you were gone until we were half a block down the road and Dad asked if we were buckled in tight.”
“What?! Weren’t they supposed to buckle me in?”
“No, by that point, you buckled yourself in, so it didn’t cross their minds. Anyway, when you didn’t respond, he pulled over, and all I kept saying was Olive Garden over and over again until they pulled back into the parking lot and ran inside for you.” I laugh, thinking back on it. “None of us realized you were gone until that moment.”
Olive purses her lips like she’s offended.
“They never gave me the job of holding your hand after that.”
“Thank God for that.” She sighs. “You have no idea how much I was looking forward to hearing your voice. These professors are giving assignment after assignment. You probably won’t believe it, but I’ve barely been in the studio this week.”
As always, concern hits me first because I never want to see Olive as low as I have in the past. She’s too remarkable to let life get to her so severely. I only hope that her course load isn’t too much. “Are you managing?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s stressful.” She grimaces, and I can’t help but raise concern over it.
“Spill whatever it is you’re not telling me.”
“I may or may not be doing not so great in one of my classes.”
I take a moment to repeat the words in my head because her choice of words is confusing at first. “You’re failing?”
“It’s not that bad. Yet.”
I sit up on my bed, holding the phone and checking her face closer than I did when I answered. I look for worry lines. Lack of sleep under her eyes. Anything that will tell me how she’s really doing. “Can you get a tutor?”
