A year is a really long time.
The plan has always been to get a job and establish myself, so I wouldn’t be completely dependent on Jordan, but it’s a ridiculous amount of time for us to live under my father’s strict rules. No sleepovers. Curfews. A constant battle for acceptance.
I don’t know how I can ask it of him, but I also don’t want to be responsible for my dad having a heart attack or something. I know it’s manipulative and ridiculous but there has to be some middle ground. Maybe a few months instead of a year. Once Jordan gets through hockey season he’ll have more time and we can work on my dad together.
Right?
“I’m going to bed,” I say quietly. “I had a long day and need to get some sleep.”
“All right, honey. Get some rest. Just think about what I said, okay?”
“I will. Good night, Mom.”
I trudge up to my room and throw myself on the bed.
The last thing I want to do is wait a year before…what? Moving in with Jordan? Getting engaged? I don’t even know what that timeline means. Is there anything that’s going to make my father truly accept him and what will be different in three months, six months, or even a year?
He’s always struggled with his blood pressure, but I assumed he was under a doctor’s care or taking medication for it. I didn’t realize he was stubborn about that too.
Anxiety winds its way through my psyche, and I stare at the ceiling for a long time, my chest tight and my stomach in knots.
I don’t want to lose Jordan but I don’t want to blow up my relationship with my parents either. Ivy and I put them through a lot when we were younger. My pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage followed almost immediately by Ivy’s pregnancy and her boyfriend’s disappearance. My parents handled everything so she could have the baby and still graduate from high school. None of it has been easy, but we’re a family and we all pitched in.
Now we’re past all that so it seems unfair that Dad is still imposing such oppressive and controlling rules. It’s his house, but he has to know I could move out. Or maybe that’s what he wants—for me to discover that Jordan doesn’t really want me.
I’m so damn confused.
I reach for my phone and try to figure out who I can talk to. I’m friendly with both Chloe and Juliet, and have their numbers, but I don’t know if I can vent to either of them about this.
Merrill won’t be helpful because she already thinks my dad is overbearing and ridiculous. She believes I should have moved out at eighteen, even if it meant delaying going to college.
It’s a little embarrassing to realize how few friends I have.
Of course, the person I should be talking to about all of this is Jordan.
But he’s out of town and focusing on hockey. Besides, he thinks my dad is over-the-top too.
There isn’t a single unbiased person in my life, and it’s kind of depressing.
My phone buzzes and I smile at Jordan’s name on the screen.
JORDAN: Hey, beautiful. How was your day?
It’s like he knew I needed him.
VICTORIA: It was very long and then the store alarm wouldn’t set. It was a whole thing. But I’m home now. Going to bed in a few.
JORDAN: Okay. I just wanted to say hi and tell you I love you.
VICTORIA: You should call me when you say that.
My phone rings a second later, and I smile as I answer.
“That was fast.”
“I love you.” His voice is rich and warm and some of the day’s stress melts away.
“The sound of your voice when you say that never gets old,” I whisper gruffly.
