I truly was. Summer’s dedication to her son, Milo, was admirable. I didn’t know all the details about how she came to be a single mother, but I knew there was no father in the picture. She was doing it all on her own.
And there I was, simply trying to get through college on myown, without a child, and still struggling. I could only imagine how difficult it was for her. Yet she always remained positive.
“Okay, before we get into the numbers, how are you doing?” Summer asked, taking a sip of her own iced coffee.
“You know me. Same old, same old,” I replied, picking up my drink. Hazelnut iced latte. Perfection.
Summer shook her head. “Flora, you are such a sweet omega. You really should try dating. University is one of the best places to meet alphas. There are so many options.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you really think I’m the kind of omega who should date?”
“I think youshouldbe dating, but I understand the concept is terrifying and that clinging to what you know is comfortable.”
“Comfortable?” I scoffed. “What do you think was comfortable about moving halfway across the country to study at a university I had never visited?” I relived the process, exhilarating and scary all at once. Every day had felt like I was walking on a tightrope, and I didn’t know if I’d ever find my footing
“Okay, I’ll admit that was brave. But you did that nearly two years ago. When are you going to branch out?”
“Once I’ve reached my goals—namely getting my degree,” I said pointedly.
Summer groaned. “Flora, I can’t have a social life because I’m a single mother. Why can’t I live vicariously through you?”
“Because you’re a social butterfly, and I’m not,” I told her.
“You don’t need to be a social butterfly to make a few close connections. There are also dating apps you can try if you don’t want to meet anyone out in public. Clubs are a good place to meet people, though…”
She had a point. I had downloaded the same dating app several times, trying to muster the courage to make a profile,but every time—before I even started looking for a picture to upload—I deleted it in a blind panic, usually hiding my phone and ignoring it for several hours in case potential dates would come crawling out of the screen.
Summer opened her mouth to speak, but paused when she noticed the small stack of letters on the coffee table.
“What are these?” she asked. “Love letters?” Her tone grew excited.
“Calm down,” I said, holding my hands up. “I’m pretty sure they’re just a prank from the mean girl who lives on the top floor.” I tried to sound certain, but my gaze flicked to the window, half-expecting to see some sign that we weren’t alone.
“She’s nursed a vendetta against me ever since our grocery deliveries coincided a few months ago, and the driver refused to walk her groceries up so many flights of stairs.”
Summer snorted. “Well, that’s her own problem. These letters are cute, though.”
I shook my head. The letters had been arriving for a few months, and they were always complimentary—far toocomplimentary. Between the secret admirer letters and the profiles my mother kept sending me of eligible alphas, I felt like I was drowning in potential matches, none of whom had two brain cells to rub together.
“It’s creepy. I’ve been feeling off all week, and they are just the cherry on top. Now, are you here to talk about my lack of a love life, or are you here to learn statistics?” I asked.
Summer pouted. “Can’t I do both? The sitter has my son for three whole hours.”
“Then we’d better use those three hours to make sure you’re completely up-to-date, so when he gets another virus from day care, you’re still on track.”
She groaned, sinking back into the armchair. “That’s a lowblow, Flora—but also very true. Okay, torture me with some numbers, then.”
The next day, I did all the normal things, going to class, studying in the library. My life was based on routine, and I didn’t mind one bit. It was safe, predictable.
Yet, for some reason, my routine wasn’t working. It didn't feel right.
I had gone straight home from the cafeteria. My plan had been to study for longer in the library, but I was feeling all kinds of itchy and wanted to be at home.
Only, something about home didn't feel right, either. From the moment I opened the door, there was an overwhelming sense of wrong. My skin felt too tight and annoying and my mind couldn’t settle.
Chewing on my thumbnail as I wandered around my apartment, I took in all the details that I was so used to. Had I left something in the wrong place? I sometimes forgot things. I still hadn’t found my notebook. I thought that I might have buried it in my nest, but perhaps I lost it while on campus.
I had been living in that same apartment for almost two years, so I knew it like the back of my hand. The problem was that nothing feltrightanymore. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, but everything felt slightly off.
