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"It is." And I still haven't decided what field I want to go into after school.
Damn, she's looking at me expectantly. There's a softness in her eyes. This is something Mom knows—she knows how to get jobs as a woman in STEM—and she wants to help me.
Telling her I'm about to bail on spring break at home is going to crush her. It's not personal, really. She and Dad are sweet, supportive parents, even if they never really got my sense of humor, my style, or my taste in movies.
Okay, need to soften this blow. "I, uh, I was offered a gig for the next week and a half, and I think I should take it. But it means I'm leaving." Okay, judging from the way her eyes are turning down, there's the blow. Now to soften it. "But maybe we could meet up to shop for suits tomorrow, before I leave."
"We can go on my lunch break." Her brows arch with confusion. "What kind of gig?"
I can't tell her I'll be working with my rock star ex-boyfriend. I certainly can't tell her I'll be sharing a bus with four men and, possibly, an assortment of roadies.
I try not to lie, but this is one of those times where it's the only option. "The place in New York where I interned last summer. It's a really great opportunity, and I need the cash."
She presses her lips together. "Dad and I can always help with money."
"I know." But I'd rather feel self-reliant. "If I really need help, I'll ask."
"Okay."
"You can pick out my suit," I say.
Mom chuckles. "Violet, you know I only bring up your unique style because I worry about you."
I nod.
"Your makeup isn't my kind of thing, but you pull it off well."
I smile. "You really think so?"
She nods. "But you'll wash it off for job interviews?"
"I'll tone it down by ten percent."
"Twenty," she counters.
"Okay, twenty. And how about we watch a movie after dinner? Your pick?"
Mom lights up. "Of course, sweetie."
I can tell she isn't jazzed about me leaving, but I need to not be here.
I ask her questions about work until we're both lost in the web of office drama and gossip.
After we finish Away from Her, an incredibly depressing indie film about a man watching his wife suffer through Alzheimer's, Mom goes to bed, and I go to my room (Dad is still at work).
My walls are still deep purple—I painted them back in high school. My bed has the same purple and black comforter I've had for years.
The same one I had when I was with Ethan.
My parents have always worked long hours. Ethan and I had so many afternoons and evenings in this room.
When I close my eyes, I can feel the weight of his body sinking into mine. I can feel his lips on my neck, his hands under my skirt, his hard cock pressing against my pelvis.
I can see his eyes lighting up with desire as he touches me.
Worse, I can feel the affection, love, and trust that used to pour between us. I can feel the way he looked at me like he understood me, like I meant everything to him.
I don't want to be here. I want the money. Hell, I even want to see Mal, Joel, and Kit—I don't know the bassist well but he's always been courteous to me—again.
