I didn’t realize how exhausted I am until I collapse onto it. As soon as my eyes are closed, I fall asleep. But a couple hours later, in the dead of night, something stirs me awake.
“Scoot over.” It’s Carmen’s voice whispering in my ear.
She slides onto the couch, her back molding against my front. My eyes catch her clock in the dim lighting. It’s half past three in the morning.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Can’t sleep?”
She snuggles against me. Mellow satisfaction beats through my chest.
“No, I could sleep fine. I just thought I’d sleep better next to you.”
I nuzzle my face against the back of her hair and pull in a slow breath. Pure relaxation and contentment slide through me.
I loop my arm around her waist and tuck her close.
Carmen made it clear at the beginning that this wasn’t supposed to turn into a relationship. But she was the one who got out of bed to come to me.
31
CARMEN
After a long shift at Last Word, I fall backward onto my couch. I reach for my phone to put it on the coffee table. When I pull it from my pocket, the screen lights up.
It’s an incoming call. From my mom.
As I look at the word displayed on my phone, it’s curious how little anxiety accompanies it.
For a long time, the way I left things with my parents before moving to Cedar Shade was a constant source of background stress. And that moment weeks ago when they walked into the café out of nowhere had my anxiety shooting through the roof.
Maybe it’s because I knew they still disapproved of my decision, that they judged me and thought I was making a terrible mistake … and maybe I still wasn’t totally convinced that they were wrong.
But as I look at my mom’s incoming phone call with calm, I fully realize, maybe for the first time, that now I am convinced they were wrong.
I knew that dropping out, moving away, and giving my writing a real chance was something Ihadto do, but I guess I wasn’t totally secure in the belief that it was therightthing to do.
Now, I realize I am. Fully.
What changed?
Jamie.
The name flashes in my mind like a whisper.
Something about that being the answer does pop my stress level. To avoid thinking too deeply about it, I slide my mom’s call open.
“Hey, mom,” I answer. My ears are surprised at the breeziness of my tone.
My mom’s voice, though, is less blasé. There’s a heft to it, like making this call was something she had to build herself up to doing. “Hello, Carmen.”
“What’s up?”
A pause on her end of the line. “I felt I needed to call you.”
Uh, yeah, hence the call. I don’t make that quip, though. My mom and I don’t really have the kind of relationship where we quip at each other.
Maybe one day?
Other things in my life have changed for the better recently. Maybe my relationship with my parents can, too. Eventually.
