When I wake up the next morning, I’m still wearing Ethan’s jacket.
I know it’s weird, but I’m not wearing it because it’s Ethan’s, I’m wearing it because it smells like home. There’s something masculine and clean, minty but herbaceous, and when I breath in deep enough, I’m sure I get a hit of the same laundry detergent we use at home. That’s all it is, a warm and comforting smell. When he’s not threatening people at the bar or being an arrogant asshole, it’s a good way to describe Ethan as well. Warm and comforting. Tugging his jacket up under my chin like a blanket, I replay the moment we shared outside halls last night. Why would he call Oliver a douche? Probably some chauvinistic Southern hangover, treating me like his little sister. Unfortunately, it’s physically impossible to get big brother vibes from a six-foot soccer player with emerald-green eyes and thick black hair that curls just so and—
An unexpected trill sounds somewhere on my desk and breaks my concentration, a hot flush running all the way through my body. It’s my mom’s ring.
‘Hello?’ I answer without searching for my earbuds, no time to waste.
Once I’d convinced her how difficult to make and receive calls on campus – and by convinced, I mean she called the school tomake sure I was telling the truth – we set up a schedule. This call is not on the schedule.
‘Mom? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?’
‘Right as rain, honey, I am just calling to say happy birthday. I’m sure you have lots of exciting plans with your new friends, I didn’t want to interrupt your day.’
‘I just figured we’d talk tonight like we usually do.’ I turn to check the time on my alarm clock. Ten a.m.. Which makes it five a.m. in Valley Springs. ‘It’s so early.’
‘It is?’ She sounds surprised, like she hadn’t realized. ‘I haven’t been sleeping so well since you left. I know you’re fine, you don’t have to say it, but I wake up in the middle of the night worrying about you and then I can’t get back to sleep.’
‘Oh, Mom,’ I say in a whisper. ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’
‘That’s my job, baby, and it’s full-time for life. Did your birthday card arrive on time?’
I clench my jaw, remembering the large pink envelope in my mail cubby yesterday. The one I didn’t want to take with me to my study date with Oliver and so was still down there in the porter’s lodge right now. I am a terrible daughter.
‘It did, thank you so much, I love it.’
‘And you know I hate to send a check as a gift, but I couldn’t face the post office this week. It’s not much, just a little something to remind you we’re thinking of you. Maybe you can buy yourself something nice, some new makeup? A little lipstick never hurt anyone. You always look so darling when you make an effort.’
In the background, I hear the sound of a car door unlocking, the double beep of her SUV.
‘Where are you?’ I ask, checking the time again.
‘Home. But a new Pilates studio opened downtown, I’m meeting Jocelyn there. If we make the six a.m. class, we have time to sneak in a Starbucks before I have to come home and get ready for church.’
‘You know you’re forty-two years old,’ I remind her. ‘You don’t need to sneak in a Starbucks.’
‘And you know what your daddy will say about wasting money on coffee when we’ve got your tuition to pay.’
At Marshall, my tuition was covered in full by my scholarship but at Hemden, the same amount of money didn’t even pay for a full semester. I worked all summer to cover my airfare and doubled my student loan, but they went into their savings to make up the rest of the payments and I feel sick to my stomach every time I think about it. I sit up, running my hand over the rough, canvas fabric of Ethan’s jacket, and let out a yawn.
‘Mia Meyers, was that a yawn? Are you still in bed?’
‘It was a late night,’ I reply quickly, pushing the jacket away. ‘I have a paper due and lost track of time.’
‘Lost track of time working on a paper or hanging out in bars?’
‘I was not hanging out in bars.’
The Mia who catches my eye in the mirror bites her lip, being extra careful not to tell any outright lies. I wasn’t hanging out in bars plural, I was hanging out in one bar, singular, and technically, I was working. At best it’s a lie of omission but if she told Dad I had a job behind a bar, he would fly me home in the cargo hold with all the confused dogs.
‘Why you had to disappear halfway around the world is a mystery to me.’ Mom chokes back a sob then adds on a sniff at the end for good measure. ‘I can only imagine how lonely you must be.’
Guilt is like a parasite. It burrows in and takes root then spreads and spreads and spreads. It’s not really me she’s thinking about and that makes it even worse. I don’t know how to make her feel better about herself.
‘I’m not lonely. Alice, the girl I told you about? She’s planning a birthday picnic for me.’
‘And why would she do a thing like that?’
‘Because she’s my friend?’ I suggest, wishing she didn’t sound so surprised. ‘Because it’s a nice thing to do?’
