Page 39
“True. But not completely.”
Collin’s brows perk up, and he leans in closer like he’s suddenly riveted by my every word.
“I decided to apply to graduate school, to get my master’s in social work.”
“You finally decided who you want to be when you grow up!” He jumps up from the couch and crashes next to me on the chair—which cannot fit both of us.
I push at him. “Get off me, you lunatic!”
Instead, Collin scoops me up and sets me on his lap, my legs draping over the arm of the chair, and proceeds to give me a bear hug.
“Don’t you want to know where I’m going?” I squeak with the little air I have in my lungs.
He releases me. “Brown.”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
He pulls back. “Seriously? I always had you pegged as a nepo baby.”
I scoff at him. “I’ve always earned my place in this world. Been my own person—you should know that.”
Collin studies me a moment. “Speaking of… have you forgiven your dad?”
I shrug. “I’m trying to understand him. Why he did what he did. We’ve talked about it a few times, all the guilt he’s been carrying over the years.” I know that guilt.
“So where are you going? And why were you so nervous? I thought you might pass out.”
“Boston University. I guess because I’ll be further away from everyone.”
He suddenly gets it. “You mean further away from him. Sadie, you can’t keep waiting around until he decides he’s ready to come back. What if he never does?’
The tears are instantaneous. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Don’t you miss him?”
Collin wraps me in his arms. “Every day. But moving to Boston is a good thing. Even if it means letting go of a promise you made to someone who’s already broken his.”
I thought it’d be good to get back into my routine with morning runs, work, and some sort of workout after. I’m eating cleaner. That’s good, I guess. I honestly can’t figure out how Rachel functions on the little that she eats and the amount she socializes.
There I go thinking about her again. It doesn’t help that she’s called me a couple times over the past two days and I haven’t called her back. I’ve never been a phone talker. And I feel I need to prepare myself when I do take her call.
She still texts. Random pictures and memes. Nothing serious. She’s very rarely serious. Well, until she crosses that line of drinks. I’ve only seen it twice, and both times, the facade comes off to reveal a closet filled with memories and pain she’s been avoiding. Which is probably why I’ve stuck around longer than I should. Because I understand that need to forget, knowing how hard it is to not look back.
I pick up the envelope from my lawyer that’s been staring at me from my kitchen counter all week. Speaking of facing my past. Sometimes it shows up in the present, unwelcomed.
Just as I’ve read the section about meeting in Hollis next week, my phone rings. I nearly let it go to voicemail again, not in the mood for anyone after finally facing the demands of the letter.
When I see it’s Emma, I hit the green button instantly. This can’t be good.
“Hello? Emma? Is everything okay?”
“Um… not really.” There’s a quiver in her quiet voice. “Can you help me?”
“Of course. What's going on?” I’m reaching for my keys and jacket before she can respond.
“I need to pick up Rachel, but I don’t know where she is.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?”
I break a few traffic laws on my way to Decatur Street. My mind creates one terrible scene after another because Emma called me to help her get Rachel. Not Evan or Sara.
