I’ve never worried what anyone else thought about me. Danielle knows what she signed up for, and the only reason she sticks around is because I’m all she knows. My life isn’t the only one that got fucked up because of my parents, Daniellegot dragged into it too. I wish I could change everything that happened. But I don’t have that power, so instead we’re stuck in this loveless relationship. Just like my parents. And their parents. And probably their parents before them.
No matter how much I want to break free from the cycle, it won’t happen. I’ll end up being just like my father. And that’s my worst fear of them all.
11
HUNTER
“Yeah, Mom. School is great! Everyone has been so nice and I like all my classes,” I lie jovially through the phone. My mom called for her weekly check-in. I can hear my dad in the background watching football on the TV. A feeling of homesickness washes over me; at least there, I have my mom and my dad. Here, I have no one.
“That’s great, honey! Anything else new?”
“I got a few more sales on my bookmarks. It’s not much but…” She blows a raspberry through the phone.
“Do not sell yourself short! It might not be much, but anything is better than nothing. What kind do they want?” That’s one thing I love the most about my mom—besides her homemade cookies—no matter what I do, I know she’ll support me. Even if it’s nothing lucrative, I’m not going to become the next millionaire off this, but knowing that my mom cares enough to ask makes me feel like I’m doing something worth my time. I explain the design, dried out flowers that I’m going to have to collect this week. I’ll probably snag them off a few of the plants blooming around campus. They won’t miss a few petals too much… hopefully.
“Do you want us to come there next weekend, or do you want to come home?” She asks, and I pause for a minute. My birthday is next weekend, the first weekend of September. Normal people probably celebrate with their friends by going out and doing whatever it is college students do. I’m going to be celebrating my nineteenth birthday with my parents and a dozen chocolate chip cookies.
“I want to come home. Does Dad mind picking me up?” I don’t have my car here, mostly because the cost of parking passes is outrageous, and anything I need is within walking distance of the campus.
“I don’t mind picking you up, son, just let me know when and where.” Discussing the pick-up plans, our conversation slowly dries out until I’m ready to hang up and go back to my room to work on homework. It’s been three weeks since the first day of school, and the professors are starting to increase the homework and reading load. That’s fine by me, I’ll take anything I can to distract myself from the loneliness.
“We love you, honey. Let us know if you need anything. We’re so excited to see you. It’s been too long since I’ve squeezed your neck.” I laugh into the phone.
“Mom, it’s been one month.”
“It’s also the longest you’ve ever been away from home!” Granted, that’s true.
“I’ll see you in a week, Mom, love you.”
Both she and Dad reply with their ownlove youand hang up. It’s Sunday, and that means I need to finish the reading for English tomorrow. The Epic we’re on is about power, and how having too much leads to the destruction of friendships along the way. I prefer romance, but deep-seated feelings aren’t bad either. Love, longing, and loss, even in platonic ways, are hard to swallow down and accept when they don’t work out the way you want them to.
“Hey!” a feminine voice calls out, and I keep walking. She’s not talking to me, and it would be embarrassing if I looked around to see who yelled.
“You! Hey! You!” A hand wraps around the strap of my backpack, my trek to the library interrupted. “Jesus, you walk fast. Slow down next time I yell at you, ’kay?” I glance down… Barely. Because the girl who just snatched me is almost as tall as me, with red hair and light green eyes. They almost hurt to look at, the light color pales in comparison against her tanned skin.
“Okay,” I respond, because what the heck else am I supposed to say?
“Where are you going? You’re not going to the library, are you? I see you there all the time.” I huff, pulling the strap of my backpack tighter.
“You totally were, but that’s okay. I’m there all the time, too. I’m a pre-med major, so I spend every moment I can studying, unless my friends want to hang out.”
“Pre-med? Sounds hard,” I offer awkwardly. This is why I don’t have friends, I don’t know how to talk to people.
“It totally is, but I like it. I want to be a doctor one day, but we’ll see. My mom wants to mold me into a trophy wife, but that sounds so boring. Imagine staying inside day in and day out and only going somewhere when your husband wants to.”
“That’s awful, she should support you.”
“Yeah, but it is what it is. Wanna study together? There’s a coffee shop like four blocks off campus, and they have the best lavender coffee. And it’s free refills.” Is she… Inviting me to hang out with her? I look around to see if there’s someone standing off to the side, waiting to point and laugh at me for getting my hopes up.
“Me?” I ask dumbly.
“Well, yeah. We might as well study together, keeping each other accountable, you know?” I smile what feels like my first real smile in weeks.
“Sure, yeah. Lead the way.”
She talks the whole way to the coffee shop, explaining how the ordering system works and the best drinks to get there. I appreciate the details because there’s nothing worse than trying a new spot and not knowing the right etiquette for ordering. She ranks all of her favorites and tells me the ones to stay away from.
“And whatever you do, donotget the chai. I love this place, but their chai tastes like dirt. It’s supposed to be made fresh, but just trust me,” she stage whispers before she opens the door, the AC blowing hard and gracing us with its presence when we walk in. It’s busier than I expected for a Sunday, most of the tables filled with students with their laptops out and headphones on. It looks like the library with the number of students here, but that makes sense, being so close to campus. It’s probably their main demographic.
