“How many brothers do you have again?”
“Three.”
“Wow. I’m an only child. I can’t imagine a life with one sibling, much less three.”
“It was never a quiet household.”
“Your poor mother.”
“Poor nothing.” He blows a raspberry. “My mother loved being a boy mom and having a house full of dirty, obnoxious boys. I think she wanted at least two more, but my dad felt like four was plenty.”
I try to picture a young Mac playing with his brothers, an adoring mother looking on. I bet he was a cute, mischievous child.
The wind bites at my cheeks and nose. It smells like fall, earthy and wet like it just rained. I bury my face into my jacket collar until we make it to the cafeteria.
“Hey, just a couple days until the album release,” Mac says as he pulls open the door for me.
“I am so excited.”
“We’re listening together, right?”
“Didn’t you just say you’d be at home for the rest of the break?”
“Ah, shit.” He stops in the middle of the lunchroom. “Can you wait ’til we can listen to it together? Or I can— Well, shit. Are you going home for the break?”
“No. I usually pick up some work-study shifts around campus—whatever is open, ya know. Too far for just a couple days off.” Plus, my mom will probably be working. My dad would appreciate the company, but I like the quiet of the campus, and it’s fun to get to work other odd jobs for a couple of days.
“You should come home with me,” Mac says.
I stop breathing for long enough that when I do finally exhale it comes out like a heavy sigh. “What?”
“I just mean for dinner. We can just stay one night and do the album listen on Friday and then come back. There’s tons of guest space at my house, and—” He must realize what he’s saying because he pauses with an “oh shit” look on his face.
“Can I think about it?”
I already know how I feel about it. I feel it in my gut immediately.Yes.I want to spend more time with Mac. It’s such a girlfriend thing to do, but for some reason that doesn’t scare me. It’s a yes that reverberates through all of me.
Andthatis what scares me.
“Yeah, of course. I didn’t mean…I was just thinking…for the album, but also you said you’re not going home and maybe you wanted a home-cooked meal for Thanksgiving. I don’t know what they serve here on campus, but it can’t be that good. No pressure. Just let me know by, like, Wednesday night. I’ll drive home on Thursday morning.”
I nod, pressing my lips together and bringing to mind all the reasons it’s a bad idea to go home with Mac for Thanksgiving. His family might not be very welcoming. What if his brothers are mean? What if I’m uncomfortable? I couldn’t leave easily.
But most of those reasons feel flimsy. I’d get to spend so much time with Mac—in the car, sitting next to him at a family dinner, listening to the new Black Phantom album together. All the opportunities to be close, to get to know him better… It’s tempting.
But that immediate yes gives me pause. I think I like Mac more than I’m ready to admit, and it happened kind of fast. Letting go of the past was the crack of the avalanche, and now snow is tumbling and trees are being ripped up by their roots and I feel about as chaotic inside as a landslide.
We both get food and claim a small table by a window with our trays. We eat in silence for the most part, the crowd of students and professors filling the space around us. Mac grins at me from across the table, his eyes meeting mine. I give him a small smile, dropping my eyes to my bag of chips. When I peek up, he’s still looking at me, beaming. A balloon inflates behind my sternum. I feel so light I worry I might float away.
“I got my scholarship application in,” he says with a proud smile, breaking the silence.
The balloon pops, the rubber snapping inside my chest. Why does he have to bring this up?
“I know it’s kind of early, but I started writing the essay and—”
“Why are you even applying for the scholarship?” My words come out sharp. Staccato. I drop my fork with more intensity than I mean to. I haven’t thought about the scholarship in a few days, but it all comes rushing back to me now. My mom’s lie. The fact that I’m screwed without this scholarship or any other that I applied for. And the mere mention of it brings all that up with a sour taste in the back of my throat. I may have let go of what happened between us freshman year, but if Mac wins this scholarship over me and I can’t stay in school because of it? I see red, and I’m not able to control myself. “You don’t need it. You live off-campus. I assume your parents don’t have any trouble paying your tuition. What the hell do you even need the scholarship for?”
The smile slides right off Mac’s face.Shit.I was too judgmental, too mean. When I get angry that quickly I have no control over what I say—I just lose it. And now, seeing the effect of my words, of my tone and my anger, I want to take it all back. I want to rewind and take a deep breath. I might still ask the question, but not with the same venom.
