I shake my head as a numbness spreads through my chest.
I toss the book on my desk before falling into my chair. Both of my friends give each other concerned glances before starting up small talk that I completely ignore.
Will I ever get over her? Because right now it feels like I’ll be heartbroken forever. I’m just like the poor saps I used to laugh at. I let her get under my skin, and I risked everything. And in the end, I lost everything. I kept my job, but I lost her. And she is my everything.
She left her copy ofThe Great Gatsby. The special edition that I had gifted her, she just left it behind.
Like it was nothing to her.
Like I was nothing to her.
35
SUMMER
My car is packedwith all of my important stuff as I start the long journey ahead. I had gotten rid of most of my furniture and am hoping to buy some new pieces from thrift shops near my new apartment.
Milo is yowling her displeasure from the passenger seat. “I hate to break this to you,” I mutter. “But it’s going to be a long drive.”
I try to adjust the AC to make the ride as bearable as possible forher, and I make sure the radio is low so it doesn’t agitate her. I feed her a treat through the grate of her carrier to butter her up a bit, but she continues glaring at me as she crunches the treat between her teeth.
Trees pass by in a blur as I get on the highway. My eyes keep drifting to my rear-view mirror and what I’m leaving behind, and I have to peel them away so that I can focus on the road in front of me.
Another unpleasant meow rattles my eardrums. “I feel the same way,” I grumble at her.
Not even an hour passes before I take a deep breath and call someone I’ve been terrified to speak to since I decided to leave Cascadia University. I know this will be the hardest conversation I’ve had all week, but I can’t leave state lines without having it.
My mother answers on the fourth ring. I know she keeps her phone near her at all times, so her taking so long to answer is her proving a point.
“Summer?”
“Hi, Mom. I, uh, have something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?” she asks, no emotion in her voice, though I can tell her curiosity is piqued.
“I transferred,” I blurt out. She can freak out and yell, and then I can hang up and end this conversation as quickly as possible.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I transferred to the Monterey Bay Institute of Psychology.”
“Why would you do that? You were almost done!” she exclaims.
“I know. I know. It’s a long story that I really don’t have the energy to get into with you right now. I’ve made all the arrangements and can make the move on my own. I was just calling to tell you the decision I’d made.”
“Summer—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“I don’t want to argue, Mom,” I sigh, and she must hear the exhaustion in my voice because she stops. “I’ll get a job once I’m settled down there. You won’t have to help with tuition, transfer fees, or anything like that. I know we haven’t been on the best of terms since Thanksgiving, and I want you to know that I don’t expect anything from you.”
“Summer.” I can hear the hurt in her voice, and a small pang hits my heart. “I want to help. I want to understand why you’remaking these choices, but more importantly, I want you to feel safe telling me thesethings. Not telling me after everything is all said and done. I could’ve helped you with this. Whether it was helping work out a different solution or helping you move.”
Hot tears drip down my face, and I quickly rub them away even though she can’t see me. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Oh, honey,” she sighs. “I’m sorry for my behavior over Thanksgiving. Any excuse I have for not wanting your life to end up like mine… well, it doesn’t matter. I should have respected your wishes, and I should’ve reached out to you afterward.”
Tears start to blur my vision, and I signal to pull over to the side of the highway. “It was because of a boy,” I choke out, sounding like a pathetic teenager instead of a full-fledged adult.
“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” she says quietly.
