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“I’m so sorry to hear that, Zara. Losing your mom must have been really hard.”
“It was. But we got through it. Life has to go on.”
I sit on the window seat and look out over the fall colors and the picturesque campus. Our room is cozy and Isla already feels like a friend. The moment feels profound because…I did get through it. I’m here and a brand new chapter of my life is beginning. Life does go on and, right now, I’m ready for the newness of it all. “I better call my dad and let him know I’m all moved in. He’ll be waiting to hear from me.”
“My parents were the same. I ended up talking to them for almost an hour because they had so many questions. I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to take a quick shower before dinner.”
We share a bathroom with the other double room across the hall but our suite mates haven’t arrived yet.
I bring up my favorites list and press the call button. My dad picks up on the second ring. “Hi, honey.” I can picture him in his favorite chair with the TV on, watching replays. He would have muted it on the first ring.
“Hey, Daddy.”
“You got there okay? How’s the dorm?”
“It’s great. I’m all moved in and my roommate is really nice. You won’t believe this but her brother is on the team.”
“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t sound thrilled about this. “What’s his name?”
“Gabriel Dillon.”
“Gabriel’s my rising star running back. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”
“I ran into him and West as I was getting out of my car. They offered to move all my stuff from my car to the lobby of the dorm. They were very polite.”
He pauses for half a second and I already know what he’s about to say. “Good to hear. And now you need to stay far, far away from both of them. Those boys are both trouble for girls like you.”
“Girls like me?”
“Girls who are too young for seniors who play more than one field.”
“Dad, it’s very likely that I’m going to see, talk to and possibly even hang out with some of your players from time to time since I’m at the same college as they are. You’re going to need to get used to that.”
I can practically feel him shudder at the thought. “As long as that’s all you’re doing. You know the rule. No football players.”
I’ve had it drummed into me since I hit puberty that I was not allowed—under any circumstances whatsoever—to date a football player. He makes sure they have standards of behavior, but he also knows the tendencies of college football players, especially the ones at the top of their game. They’re usually popular, promiscuous and cocky. They know they can have the pick of almost any woman they want. My dad has—and will—make it clear to everyone concerned that that won’t include me. This is going to be the downside of going to college here at Hawthorne, but I always knew that and it wasn’t something I minded all that much.
Anyway, I’ve always pictured myself ending up with someone artistic, like myself. I’ve never really been into jocks. It goes without saying that I’ve never dated one, but I’ve never really dated anyone else either. My high school experience was more about surviving loss, making sure my dad and my sister were coping, and honing my artistic style. It takes a lot of work to produce paintings that don’t look totally derivative of someone else. I finally feel like I’m getting closer to developing a style that’s uniquely my own.
Plus my dad literally keeps a sawed-off shotgun in his gun safe. Living alone with him for the past two years has meant my romantic life basically has tumbleweeds rolling through it.
“Are the doors of the dorm locked? Do you feel safe there?”
“Yes, Dad, the doors are locked. It’s an all-girls dorm with high-tech security and RAs on duty twenty-four seven, which you already know. Don’t worry about me.” But it’s nothing new. If my dad got his way, I’d be wearing an armored suit and be locked in a fortified castle with SWAT-team guards. “I’ll be home on Sunday afternoon to cook you dinner, like I promised,” I remind him.
“Have I told you how proud of you I am, sweetheart?” He hardly ever calls me that, not since I was a little girl. But today is a big deal and our emotions are closer to the surface than usual.
Isla comes back in. She’s changed into a pair of black jeans and a blue sweater. She’s brushing out her long hair, which is still wet.
“We’re going to go get some dinner now.” I don’t bother mentioning who we’re going with. There’s nothing for him to worry about and giving him too many details would definitely stress him out. “What are you having?” I made him a week’s worth of meals and left them in the freezer. “Did you defrost some of that chicken parmesan I made for you?”
“Sure did. I’ll put it in the microwave.”
“I’ll see you in a few days, then. We can talk tomorrow if you want.”
“I’d like that, honey. Oh, and a letter came for you today.”
“What letter?”
