But nothing about this feels okay, and I’m not sure how it ever could again.
The last of the hard outer shell I thought I’d constructed so well is shattered. The first tears fell as soon as I walked away from Benny, and they’ve been unstoppable since. Holed up in my sad, tiny dorm room, I pull out my meager supply of sandwich fixings for a sad, tiny dinner for one. The tears continue as I change into pajamas long before the sun has set and crawl into bed, feeling more sorry for myself than ever. They keep on coming as I pull out my phone to tell Clara and Natalie about what happened, and they only pour harder when I find a bunch of texts and missed calls from Benny.
Somehow, I know the messages won’t be hateful. If I know the boy at all, he probably regretted the last thing he said to me before the words were even out of his mouth. Still, I read them with one eye shut, as if that will ease whatever potential blows await.
Benny:Reese, I’m so sorry. Please call me back.
Benny:I shouldn’t have said all that. You’re allowed to feel how you feel
Benny:I wish we could talk about this on the phone or in person but since there’s probably a better chance of you reading these in the meantime, I’m gonna keep sending them
Benny:I keep going over everything we said and I feel like there’s some kind of disconnect
Benny:What I was excited to tell you is that I finally talked to my parents this morning and it actually went well. I told them I’m staying in Seattle. They aren’t thrilled or anything but they didn’t seem too mad at meeither. I hope eventually you might be happy about ittoo
Benny:Please let’s talk about this. I want to know everything you heard or think you heard. I want to make it better. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready
Hell’s bells.
I don’t know what to make of all this. On the one hand, he wasn’t excited to tell me about getting the fall internship. But does that mean he didn’t get the fall internship and I didn’t hear what I think I did? Or I heard right, but he wasn’t excited to tell me that part? Or he wasn’tgoingto tell me that part?
I’m not sure what the answer is. But Benny was also onto something when he said that I’m scared. I’ve been wrong about people before, in super-damaging, life-altering ways. It isn’t hard for me to believe that I’ve put too much faith in Benny all this time. I can’t determine which of my instincts to trust in these circumstances. There are the ones that have told me for years to assume the worst, especially of guys. To look out for myself because I can’t be sure anyone else is going to.
But then there are the instincts that I’ve had about Benny, the ones that told me that despite first impressions and superficial appearances, he is the real deal. He is worth trusting, worth believing, worth loving—
Whoa. Did I just think the L-word?
I throw off the covers, feeling the need to get moving. So much is happening in my mind right now that I’m not able to pick out any one thing and address it. I want todosomething,makesomething, just to feel capable.
The kitchen.
I can go to the dorm kitchen and cook something. I’ve kept the sandwich-fixing stash close by for days I’m feeling lazy, butmost of my grocery haul lives in the kitchen, with a full-size fridge and stove and other necessities for cooking real grown-up food. What better time to flex the culinary muscles I’ve honed this summer? To do it all on my own, because I’m a capable, independent woman who darn wellcan?
I don’t even bother to change out of my pajamas—I’ve gotten the sense there aren’t many summer residents or at any rate not many who have the same schedule as me. I rarely see anyone else around. I grab my laptop and phone as I head out the door and up the stairs.
Once in the kitchen, I scan the fridge and cabinets and communal shelves for provisions other than my own. I think I’ll just be able to make do and satisfy a craving. Something that feels like comfort and family and warmth—biscuits.
I wish I had my mamaw’s recipe on hand, but with the time difference, she’s surely asleep by now, so I work off memory. I don’t have every ingredient I think I’ll need, but substitutions exist for a reason, right? And leaving out a quarter teaspoon of this or that shouldn’t make much difference.
Just as I’ve gathered everything on the counter, a call comes through from Natalie.
I pick up on the second ring. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Ugh, I’ve been in the barn for six hours. Six. Hours. I’m using you as an excuse to get away, told my parents we made plans to talk. You know they wouldn’t deny you anything.”
It’s true. Her parents have always had a soft spot where I’mconcerned, for reasons beyond me. While Nat dials Clara on three-way, I start measuring out flour, salt, and baking powder. Normally, I’d sift them together, but I can’t for the life of me find anything to sift with.
“Hello?” comes a raspy whisper on speakerphone.
“Uh, Clar? Have the pressures of nerd camp made you a chain smoker?” Nat’s tone tells me she’s cracking herself up and in spite of my still-watery eyes, I’m fighting a laugh too.
“Hold on,” Clara hisses. A few seconds later, we hear what sounds like a door shutting and heels clicking on hard floors. She clears her throat and continues at a normal volume. “Sorry, mock trial practice. I’m on the defense team.”
“We can talk later. No one needs to go to mock jail on my account,” Nat offers.
“Nah, I have co-counsel. He’s kind of an idiot and I’ve done all the work so far, so he can handle a few minutes on his own,” Clara says. “Maybe. So what’s up?”
“Hey, Clar,” I call, making my presence known. I’ve just poured the dry ingredients into a mixing bowl.
