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“Hey,” I say. “How’s it going?” The ectopic pregnancy is behind her, so I hope she’s not having any more residual effects. Jackson waits, watching me expectantly, his face mirroring my concern the longer I listen.
Ella explains what just happened, and I feel my blood pressure plummeting by the second, making me feel light-headed. I drop onto Jackson’s sofa and fight the urge to cry.
“Okay. We’re gonna figure this out. I’m so sorry, El,” I tell her, clearing my throat to keep the fear and concern from my voice.
She tells me it’s okay, but it’s not. By the time I hang up the phone, Jackson is sitting next to me with his hand on my thigh.
“What happened?” The concern on his face breaks my heart. Breaks it because I know how he’s going to react to what I’m about to say.
“I need to go back to Berkeley.”
“O-kay…” He waits for me to explain, but the wheels in my head are turning, sorting through what I need to do in the next twenty-four hours. I don’t want to drag him into my problems. “Can I help?”
I don’t see how he can. I inhale deeply and let my breath out slowly, trying to calm my nerves to no avail. “I screwed up.” It’s the understatement of the century.
“Talk to me, Ruby. What happened?” He lifts my hand and wraps it in his. The warmth of him soothes me, but I don’t want to be soothed. This is all my fault.
“The resident advisor found my viniculture in Ella’s closet because it exploded. The kids in the room next door smelled it, and Ella wasn’t there, so they opened the door. Glass and wine was everywhere.”
He nods with the dawning of recognition—this is not good anywhere, let alone in a university dorm that I’m not supposed to be sharing with a student. “Let me guess—there actuallyarerules against making wine in a student dorm.”
“Yes, and Ella is under age twenty-one, so there’s that, but I still don’t know what I did wrong. Why did it explode?”
It takes me a moment to recognize the sound coming from the man next to me. Then I realize it’s quiet laughter. “Do you know how much I love you right now? You’ve got the university up your ass, and your nerd brain is still thinking about exploding grapes.”
My attempt at a laugh sounds hollow, even though I appreciate that he appreciates me. I decide I’ll think much better after I eat one of the cookies we baked, so I go back to the kitchen and grab two. I take a bite of one and hand the other to Jackson. As soon as the sugar hits my tongue, the gears in my brain click into place.
I smack a hand against my forehead when I realize what I did wrong. “It was the sugar. I think I added it without potassium sorbate to stabilize it, and the fermentation started all over again. Too much CO2 and the pressure blew the glass apart. I was rushing. I can’t believe I forgot the stabilizer.”
I’m mainly talking to myself, but Jackson is gamely nodding. He’s already told me he only knows the business side of wine making, but he’s just being polite. I’m so mad at myself that I can barely see straight.
He puts an arm around my shoulders, and I want to get lost in the feel of him. It’s the one thing that blunts all the stresses in my life that exist outside of this house.
But maybe that’s the problem. I’ve been escaping here and neglecting my outside life, and my sister is suffering for it.
“Ella’s going to lose her housing. It’s all my fault.”
He nods on a long blink, understanding registering in his sober features. “I’m sure you didn’t intentionally flout the rules.”
“No, I didn’t even think. Ofcourseit wouldn’t be allowed in a student dorm. So stupid.” I slip out from under Jackson’s arm and start pacing in the kitchen, mind whirling as I decide what to do first. Apologize on behalf of Ella? Try to lobby for her to keep her housing?
“Could you tell them it’s yours? Maybe they’ll understand, and she can stay on campus.”
I shake my head. “It’s already been decided. She has a week to pack up and find another place to live. Which is impossible in Berkeley. Not enough housing, and part of her scholarship was a partial payment for the dorms.”
He opens his mouth and then presses his lips together. “I-I want to help you…”
“No, please don’t offer to pay for an apartment for her. I need to figure this out on my own.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You wanted to,” I warn.
“And would that be so bad? If I have the means and I want to help, why wouldn’t you accept that? It’s out of love, not obligation.”
Hearing the wordlovepierces my heart. I love him too—I feel it in the depths of my soul—and it’s overwhelming. I put my hands over my face, blotting out the daylight so I can figure out what to do next.
“I just…can’t.”
