I thought of the bruises I’d taken to the eye. “A little.”
“Jamie was over for dinner last night.” She combed her fingers through my hair, tender with the tangles. “He offered to fix the pothole in the driveway, and I asked him to stay for dinner.”
The thought of Jamie had tears pricking my eyes again, this time the sting far more painful.I want to be done. “I know.”
“He mentioned that you still haven’t heard back from NYU.”
Now I thought about the email in my inbox, stomach flipping.
“He helped Junie blow-dry the pages of your sketchbook.” Mom turned her head to look at me. “She felt really bad.”
I lifted my head from her shoulder, blinking. “Jamie saw my sketchbook?”
She nodded. “He asked me to encourage you further about doing something with your art. That he’s afraid you’re not going to college because… of how much responsibility you have here.”
Jamiesaid that? Quiet, non-confrontational Jamie? Jamie, who hadn’t even been able to tell me, his best friend, that he’d accepted his Columbia offer—he’d told my mom to her face that my responsibilities were holding me back?
I wasn’t sure whether to be upset or impressed. “He shouldn’t have said that to you.”
“Oh, it was quite cute the way he did it. Stuttering and half-muttered, like he couldn’t believe he was saying iteither.” There was a smile in Mom’s voice. “He cares about you, Daisy. You’ll say whatever you need to for the people you love.”
Except Jamie doesn’t love me, I thought, letting out a soft breath as I settled back against her shoulder. He loved me the way he loved Nellie—he’d go to bat for me, and he’d do things he didn’t want to for me, but he didn’t love me the way I loved him.
And I was sure that I did. At first, I’d believed Dalton—that I might’ve been confused between friendship and love. But itwasdifferent. I craved Jamie’s embrace in a way I didn’t crave Nellie’s. I felt seen by him in a way I hadn’t felt with Dalton.
And I wanted to kiss Jamie. Desperately. That, alone, put him distinctly out of thefriendzone.
“I want you to go to college,” Mom went on, giving our hands a squeeze. “Even if it’s not NYU, I want you to go somewhere in the fall, even if it’s just Fenton County Community. I want you to leave this house and experience life, Daisy—in the way you’ve always wanted to.”
“But you, the kids?—”
“We’ll be fine. Maybe you and I can work out the details over the summer, so we both feel comfortable with the plan come fall.” She looked into my eyes. “But I don’t want our family to be the reason you hold yourself back. I won’t allow it.”
I wanted to object again, but the words died on my lips at the little glare she gave me. It still felt wrong, selfish, to choose myself over the kids, even if she wastelling me to. But when I spoke, the words came out of me slowly. “I did… get an admissions update from NYU.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “What did it say?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t looked yet.”
She smacked my arm, making me jolt in surprise. “Daisy Carmichael, load your portal right this second.” As I reached for my phone, she muttered, “Haven’t looked yet—you’re ridiculous. And stubborn.”
And afraid. This was it—this email would not be a “hey, we need more time to review your application.” This email was either a door opening or locking shut, and the thought of either option left me near hyperventilating. My fingers trembled as I typed in my username and password, and I was sure that if I hadn’t had Mom’s shoulder to lean against, I would’ve collapsed in on myself entirely.
I was suddenly ninety-nine percent sure I was about to throw up. “You look,” I said, thrusting my phone to Mom.
She took it almost greedily, pressing theLog Inbutton.
In the lifetime it took for the page to load, I pictured a hand patting my back.There, there, I imagined a voice saying.You’re still the most talented artist I’ve ever met.
And the voice sounded a lot like Jamie’s.
Too much silence stretched, and I risked a peek over at Mom. Her eyes were on the screen, wide. She would’ve shrieked if I’d gotten in. She would’ve been more excited. She would’ve been?—
Mom turned the phone to face me. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that I could feel it bouncing in my eyes, and it took me a second to be able to read the words on the page.
…you have been admitted to the Tisch School of the Arts at New York University.
My gaze lifted from the screen to Mom, who’d begun to grin as I’d read. The tension built only for a second before we both let out a scream at the same time. The release in my chest was nothing like the pain that’d cracked apart the night before.
