“Don’t let it go to your head,” she warns, but keeps her tone light. I can hear her nails tapping against a counter as she lets her mind whir from thought to thought. “I know you love her,” she says quietly. “I could see it when you two came to visit. But… I just want you to talk to her before you make any sort of rash decision when it comes to your career.”
“I—”
“She might not want you to, Asher,” she cuts me off. “Summer doesn’t seem like the kind of girl that would let you walk away from a career that you love.”
“It’s my choice, Juliet?—”
She cuts me off again. “It is,” she agrees. “But do you think there’s any possibility that you could end up resenting her for having to leave the job that you worked so hard for? You attended Cascadia University and knew you wanted to teach there before you’d even gotten your Master’s. Even if it’s youridea to quit, or you think you won’t resent her in the end… is that something you can be sure of?”
I want to say yes, but I know what Juliet is asking. How can I know that I won’t resent Summer for the loss of this job? Because I am the one in the wrong. I have the power position above Summer, and even though I hadn’t used that position to get her to do something she didn’t want to… I’m older. I’m the professor.
If anyone should be punished here, it should be me, not her.
“I have to do this,” I tell my sister, no room for argument in my tone. “I’ll find another university that I love, but I won’t find another woman to love like her.”
“As long as you’re sure,” Juliet responds, but I can hear the smallest tint of approval in her words.
“I’m sure.”
33
SUMMER
It’s been a few dayssince my meeting with Dean Callahan. I’ve spent most of those days curled up in bed with Milo, pretending like I wasn’t floundering with everything that had transpired.
I feel bad for ignoring Asher, but I’m not sure what to say to him. It doesn’t feel like there’s any solution to the problem we’re in.
I feel terrible. I feel responsible. I initiated what transpired in that car, and it makes me sick to think that someone had photographed us in such a vulnerable state.
If I had just let Asher take me out to dinner, the evidence wouldn’t have been so damning. We could’ve made some half-assed excuse that no one would be able to punish us for without more concrete proof.
I feel like I have a hundred different things I can beat myself up for.
A sharp knock echoes through my space. Milo grumbles but remains fast asleep amongst all of my blankets. I look aroundmy apartment, which has fallen into complete disarray. Dishes are piled in the sink, and empty take-out containers litter the counter and floor near my bed. The plants along the windowsill are drying out and on the verge of dying. Paperwork is scattered across my comforter along with the tangled cord attached to my laptop.
God, I’m disgusting.
I groan as I push myself to my feet, my joints popping as I stretch sore, unused muscles. Milo mews in annoyance at the loss of body heat while I make my way to the door, stepping over the debris on the floor.
“Sam?” I mumble as I open the door to see my best friend standing in the hall.
“Summer,” he sighs in relief. “You missed our group therapy today. Are you sick? You never play hooky.”
I shake my head, tears welling in my eyes. I wave him inside, but he pulls me into a hug first. I grip him back as the first sob wracks my body.
“What happened?” he asks quietly as we both sit down on my bed. Milo jumps into my lap, butting her head against my hand with a soft meow, as if she’s comforting me.
“Someone sent pictures to the dean,” I respond, deciding that ripping the band-aid off is probably best.
His brow furrows in confusion. “Pictures?”
More tears race down my cheeks as embarrassment washes over me for what feels like the millionth time today. “Of Asher and me,” I hiccup.
“What kind of pictures?” he responds slowly. I can tell he’s trying not to make me even more upset, but I can also hear the dread in his voice.
“Of us in his car,” I cry. “Having sex.”
“Goddammit,” he groans. “Who the fuck would do something like that?” He pushes to his feet, anger quickly taking overall other emotions. “Who would photograph someone doing something so private?”
