“But… you told me you were going to Erin’s?”
Instead of telling her that she’d come to that conclusion by herself—that I’d only mentioned Erin once, that she’d never bothered to verify what I was actually doing over Thanksgiving break—I lied. It was easier for both of us that way.
“Coming home was a last-minute decision. No big deal.”
She started jabbering about the things we needed to do over the break—I was due for a dental appointment, and my truck’s registration would expire in January. “Do you need an appointment with Kevin, or have you found a stylist there?” she asked.
Instead of answering her question, I blurted it all out—Buck’s assault in the parking lot, Lucas saving me, Buck raping another girl, the charges we were pressing, the upcoming criminal case. There was no stopping it, once it started.
At first I thought she hadn’t heard me, and I gripped my phone, thinking I’m not repeating all of that, if she’s too damned busy decorating for her party to listen to me for ten seconds.
And then she choked out, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She knew why, I think. I didn’t need to say it. They hadn’t been the best parents; they hadn’t been the worst, either.
I sighed. “I’m telling you now.”
She was silent for another strained moment, but I heard her moving through the house. They were hosting their annual catered holiday party on Saturday, and I knew how control-freak and anal Mom was about the house being perfect for that. Growing up, I’d learned to make myself scarce during the entire week leading up to that party.
“I’m calling Marty right now to tell him I’m not coming in tomorrow.” Marty was Mom’s boss at her software consulting firm. “I can be there by eleven.” I recognized the sound of her dragging her wheeled suitcase out from the closet under the stairs.
I gaped into the phone for a moment before sputtering to life. “No—no, Mom, I’m fine. I’ll be home in less than a week.”
Her voice shook when she answered, shocking me further. “I’m so sorry, Jacqueline.” She said my name as though she was trying to find some way to touch me through the phone. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” My God, I thought, she’s crying? My mother wasn’t a crier. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when you came home. You needed me and I wasn’t here.”
Alone in my room, I sat on my bed, dazed. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s not like you knew.” She’d known about my breakup with Kennedy… but I was ready to let that go, too. “You raised me to be strong, right? I’m good.” I realized as I said it that it was true.
“Can I—can I set up an appointment for you, with my therapist? Or one of her partners, if you’d rather?”
I’d forgotten Mom’s occasional therapy sessions. She’d been diagnosed with an eating disorder when I was really young. I didn’t even know what it was—bulimia, anorexia? We’d never really talked about it.
“Sure. That would be good.”
She sighed, and I thought I heard relief. I’d given her something to do.
***
After we finished several cartons of Chinese takeout and a conversation about how we chose our respective majors, Lucas fished his iPod from his front pocket and handed me the earbuds. “I want you to hear this band I just found. You might like them.” We were sitting on the floor with our backs to my bed. Once I was plugged in, he pushed play, watching me as I listened.
His eyes locked with mine as the music swelled in my ears. I couldn’t hear anything outside of it, couldn’t see anything but his eyes on me. He leaned closer and I inhaled the soothing scent of him. Cupping my face in his hand, he moved his mouth to mine, kissing me at a leisurely pace that somehow matched the rhythm of the song. He tasted like the wintergreen Tic Tacs he’d been sucking on.
Handing me the iPod, he picked me up, deposited me on the bed and lay next to me, drawing me into his arms and kissing me until the first song bled into the next, and the next. When he pulled back to trace a finger over the edge of my ear, I removed an earbud and handed it to him. We lay side-by-side on my narrow dorm bed—the length of which only just accommodated the length of his body comfortably—listening together, immersed. He opened a new playlist, and I knew that the song he chose was something for me—beyond a band he wanted to share, or something for us to discuss musically.
My heart reached for him as we listened, staring at each other, and I felt the threads of connection between us—fragile filaments, so easily snapped. Like the poem etched into his side, we were each curving to fit inside the other, and this melting and reshaping could be deeper, more resilient. I wondered if he felt it, and when I listened to the lyrics of this song that he chose, I thought maybe he did. Now don't laugh ’cause I just might be… the soft curve in your hardline.
The hallway outside my door was mostly silent, finally, after a day of people packing up and moving out that had begun early. We talked—recent history only—and Lucas relayed the story of how Francis came to be his roommate. “He showed up at the door one night, demanding to be let in. Napped on the sofa for an hour, then demanded to be let out. It turned into a nightly ritual, with him staying longer and longer, until at some point I realized he’d moved in. He’s basically the most brazen squatter ever.”
I laughed and he kissed me, laughing, too. Still smiling, he kissed me again, hands wandering over my waist and hip. As we started to make out, I panted out the fact that Erin wasn’t leaving campus until tomorrow—and therefore could walk in any moment.