I can picture Ben running his hands through his hair, picture as it flops back against his forehead while he lets out a sigh.
“I know,” he agrees. “I know that. Every time I’ve tried, I imagine the worst possible reaction and I freeze. She’s asked me to go slow and I’ve gone anything but. I don’t want to push her away now when she’s doing so well.”
Doing so well?
They’re talking about me, they have to be.
“How many days was it?”
“Four thousand four hundred. I stopped counting when I proposed,” he replies.
“You stopped counting?” There’s a note of surprise in Dr. Bardot’s voice. “Do you still keep your journals?”
“Do I still have them? Yes. Do I still use them? No.”
“You’re that certain?” she asks.
There’s a long pause and I know I should leave. The appropriate thing to do would be to walk away and bring this up to Ben later. What I really want to do is walk away and shove this entire day way down deep into the recesses of my memories and never think about it again.
“I need to tell her,” he finally says, a non-answer to his mom’s question.
A chair screeches across the floor which is enough to spook me out of listening to any further conversation.
So I run. Backpack and all, I sprint across campus through the neighboring streets until I’m back at my apartment. If people stare, I don’t notice. I’m so locked in, so focused on getting anywhere but the psychology building, a full production ofSpamalotcould have been happening in the quad and I wouldn’t have noticed.
Once I let myself into the apartment, I drop my things and slide down the door until my ass hits the ground. I sit there, panting in a terrible attempt to catch my breath.
Only, I might be having a panic attack because I still can’t breathe. I rip my sweatshirt over my head and press my back against the door. My hands find the cool laminate below me and I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on the sensations around me. Ernest trots over, nudging me with his nose. I can tell he’s distressed so I scratch behind his ears, tugging him into my lap.
It takes a few minutes but I start to calm down, right as a knock sounds on the door behind me.
My traitorous heart immediately assumes it’s Ben, though there’s no way he’d be able to make it all the way here unless he also sprinted like a lunatic across town.
My adrenaline is crashing and I feel numb all over. I debate not answering the door but whoever it is knocks again. Slowly, I drag myself to standing, not even bothering to look through the peep hole before I answer.
Swinging the door open, I see the last person I ever expected to find on my doorstep.
“Dad?”
My mom’s advice is ringing in my ears as I leave her office. “Be honest with her, my cabbage.”
Be honest.
I am honest with Cole. Mostly.
I answer every question she asks. It’s the age-old conundrum: Is it a lie if it’s by omission?
Really it’s my attempt to protect her, to take things slow… ish.
Feeling antsy, I check my watch. She should be in classes the rest of the day but maybe I can let myself into her apartment,hang out there for a while, and have dinner ready for her when she gets home.
With a quick change in direction, I head toward Cole’s apartment. I’ve never thought twice about letting myself into her apartment but, in light of the conversation with Mom, my stomach flip-flops when I reach for the spare key I had made. Only, her door is already unlocked.
My brow furrows as I push the door open. “Colette?”
She steps around the corner, a look of shock on her face. “Cole, what’s wrong?”
There’s a flash of… is that frustration in her eyes? She looks as if she’s about to run into my arms but something stops her. I’m not sure if it’s my anxiety or the fact that she’s home when she’s meant to be in class, but it feels like the few feet between us is rapidly widening into a full on chasm.
