Chapter 31
I’m at the kitchen island three days later vigorously studying for my Calculus exam when my mother comes through the door. She’s talking on the phone. She’s hardly spoke to me since the meeting with my father. Obviously, she’s angry at me for setting her up. I’ve chosen to remain patient and wait until she’s ready to express her irritation. Though I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.
Cradling her phone to her ear, she steps in between the island and cupboards. “That’s sounds workable. I’ll call you closer to Christmas. Okay. Yes. Good bye.”
Though I’m very interested in whom she is talking to, I continue to crunch numbers.
“That was your father.” She drops her phone on the counter.
“Oh.” I pretend nonchalance and punch at my calculator.
“We’ve come to another tentative agreement until the divorce is finalized in February.” Her clipped tone clues me into how stressful talking about the divorce is for her. I remind myself that stress is better than giving up. I set my calculator down and give her my full attention.
“After the new year, he’ll pick up Jamie from school on Fridays and drop her off Sunday mornings. I’m hoping you’ll go there too and at least spend Friday night in the beginning.”
“You’ll be okay alone?” I ask and try to keep elation from my expression. Too much happiness at her finally giving in might freak her out.
She grips the counter. “I’d like Jamie to transition into this smoothly. He wants both of you to spend the twenty third and part of Christmas Eve at his house. I agreed.”
I nod and continue to keep a straight face, but inside I’m ecstatic. They are working things out. Well as much as things can be worked out at this point.
Her expression tightens as she leans over the counter. “Riley, I get why you did it, but don’t ever do something like that to me again.”
“Alright,” I simply say. We could argue but there’s no point to it. She’s doing the right thing and that was my purpose. Plus she’s facing her predicament. That more than anything has me thrilled.
She lets out a sigh and looks at my mess sprawled across the island. “You have exams tomorrow?”
“Two,” I say, reaching for my calculator. Philosophy should be an easy A, but I need to get at least an eighty percent to maintain a B in Calculus.
“Then I’ll cook dinner later.”
As she moves toward the laundry room, I can’t help a grin. Not because I don’t want to cook dinner, but because every day I see a little more of my mother coming back. It’s been about one month since the wine episode. She’s not her former self—she may never be—but she’s doing more and getting better. Like Romeo, little bit by little bit she’s starting to live again.
***
For the last two classes, Romeo and I have restricted our communication to simple hellos and nods. We proved a couple weeks ago that generic conversation was beyond us. I refrain from looking at him as much as possible and try to keep him from my thoughts. When he enters them, the almost healed scab of us on my heart rips open anew, leaving me on the bench in the skate park again. I’m looking forward to only running into him randomly at campus after today. I expect our paths will rarely cross. And sadly, I’m relieved by that future of us.
The exam keeps my mind from wandering, for the most part. Romeo moving or clearing his throat or tapping his pencil in thought pulls me back to him. I can finally, thankfully concentrate when he hands in his test. The rest of the test takes me about another forty-five minutes to finish then review. Confident about at least an eighty percent, I hand it in and leave the class for the last time. The thought makes me gleeful. Various reasons have me despising Calculus III.
I decide to head back to the main building instead of the parking lot. My Philosophy professor said he’d probably have the grades posted outside his office by the afternoon. I might as well check since I’m still here.
Though it hasn’t snowed—much to my sister’s dismay—yet, the air outside is frigid as I cross the commons. The cold temperature and wind has students crossing my path and moving quickly across the open space. I rush into the towered building that’s mostly professor’s offices and freeze in my tracks.
Romeo sits in a small seating area ahead of me. My world stops as he rubs his face with both hands. In between swipes, the scruff along his jawline is visible. His hair looks messy. His clothes wrinkled. Except for on stage, Romeo was never a slave to fashion, but he always looked well groomed and hot and a bit cocky. All of that is gone. The slump of his shoulders and his disarray paint another picture. A picture that hurts more than the girl sitting next to him with her hand on his slumped shoulder.
I’ve kept my gaze from him and now the sight of him so despondent has the broken pieces of my heart threatening to shatter.
Just as I’m turning around—the idea of seeing his eyes filled with pain has me desperate to flee—April looks up and her eyes narrow. I’m out in the frigid commons in seconds.
Unfortunately, as I get on the sidewalk leading to the parking lot, I hear, “Wait, Riley.”
I stop but don’t turn around. I’m surprised she remembered my name.
April steps in front of me. “Why are you doing this to him?”
Minutes ago, I’d hoped desperately at the awful sight of him that it wasn’t because of me. Now April’s demanding question has me feeling ill. “He told you about us?”
“Somewhat,” she says with a slight nod. “I guessed and he needed to open up, but he never said it was you. I just figured that out.” My staring at him like a deer in front of headlights must have given the who away. “What I can’t figure out is why someone wouldn’t want to be with him.” She rubs her arms covered in a thin sweater. She must have taken off after me without grabbing a coat.
“I’m not going to explain myself to you, April. I don’t even know you. But I will say I do want to be with Romeo. I just can’t.”
She watches me, probably trying to gage the pain that must be evident in my expression. The cold wind blows her long hair across her face as she leans closer to me and says lowly, “I don’t believe you.”
I rear back.
She flicks her curtain of hair back. “You know why?”
I don’t particularly care and I’m about to tell her off with a string of four letter words.
“If you truly wanted to be with him, you would make it happen.”
“Listen April—”
“No you listen, Riley. Half the girls on this campus are chasing after him, but he’s in love with you, and you’re throwing it away.”
I hold in a gasp. I’m assuming she’s assuming. I will not ask if he told her that, even if I want to, even if her words have my heart thudding like a drum. “Why are you telling me this shit?”
“Because I want to see him happy. And you’re obviously the one who can make him happy.”
My eyes bug out. Just lovely. This girl obviously deserves him. Not me. Why can’t Romeo love her? Why can’t Marcus love Chloe? Why can’t I love Marcus? Why is love such a cluster fuck?
She takes a step past me and says, “Just think about why you can’t real closely, Riley. You owe him that much.”
Refusing to cry, I stomp toward the parking lot. Every day is miserable without him. My heart is breaking too. Yet there’s not enough of it left to owe myself much less Romeo.