Jordan: I'm sorry.
Me: For what?
Jordan: For not giving you what you wanted. What we both wanted.
Me: It's fine. You can ruin my reputation anytime you like in Houston. No one would know me there.
My phone rings immediately. "Sabrina, what are you saying?"
Yes. I'll move in with you.
He's silent for a beat. "Baby…"
"I love you Jordan Farrington."
He groans. "How the fuck am I supposed to survive tonight without crawling through your window to make you scream that?"
I chuckle. "I don't know, Jordan. Maybe you're not meant to survive it. Maybe you're meant to do exactly that, so you can meet my father while you're making me come."
"Okay. That's it. I'm hanging up right fucking now."
"Geez, calm down," I say, grinning. "I only said I love you."
He's silent for a moment, and then, "Fuck school night. Tomorrow, you're sleeping with me."
My stomach clenches, heat pooling low. "Fuck yes!"
"Language, ma'am!"
"Don't you fucking start, Jordan Farrington."
His deep chuckle sends ripples down my spine. "Goodnight, Sabrina."
"I love you."
He makes a pained sound, like it's physically hurting him not to say more, not to get out of his car and sneak through my window. He waits for me to hang up first. Always the gentleman, even when he's barely holding on.
I end the call and stare at my phone for a long moment before setting it down. Then I climb into bed, pulling the covers up, but sleep feels impossible.
Everything changed tonight.
Graduation. Houston. Yale. Moving in with him.
Four months ago, I was just Sabrina Wells—a girl who worked at Pizza Fiesta, a girl who took photos for the yearbook, a girl whose biggest dream was maybe Nevada State College and maybe a job at a real gallery someday.
Now I'm the girl who's moving to Texas with a man I'm desperately in love with. The girl who said yes to living with someone before she's even finished high school. The girl who's actually considering Yale—Yale—like that's something girls like me get to do.
I'm terrified. But also excited for our life in Houston. I imagine busy days with stolen kisses over breakfast. Late-nightconversations about everything and nothing. Lazy weekend mornings in bed. Him protecting me, every time.
And so, I'll dare to choose a future that's bigger and scarier than anything I ever let myself imagine.
12
Momcookslikeit’sThanksgiving and Christmas rolled into one.
The table is overflowing—roast chicken glistening with herbs, mashed potatoes, asparagus drizzled with butter, rich gravy, three kinds of salad, and something in the oven bubbling like a cinnamon-sugar spell.
It's too much food for four people. But when Mom’s nervous, she cooks. When she’s scared, she feeds you like it might fix things.
