Page 118 of The Tartan Thesis

YAAAAAAAS

I sigh and drop my phone on my desk with a clatter. Closing my eyes, I put my hands on my head, and breathe, counting to ten in an attempt to clear my mind. When I reluctantly open my eyes, someone is sitting on the edge of my desk. I jerk back so fast, my chair skids, one leg lifting.

“Christ,” Maeve says, catching my flailing arm before I tip, “didn’t think you scared so easy.”

“Neither did I,” I say as my heartbeat tries to level out.

She grabs my hand and attempts to tug me out of my seat.

“Up,” she commands, straining like she might actually be able to haul me out of the chair by force.

“Maeve,” I warn.

“Up,” she repeats, teeth set now. “Let’s go for a walk.”

I glance at the papers spread across my desk. I’m not making any progress here. I might as well get some sun.

With a sigh, I let her pull me up. Her hand stays wrapped around mine as we head for the door. Wrong hand. Wrong person.

A pang of sadness and loss burns through my chest. I really thought that night in Inverness was a sign I was finally getting the love story I’d always wanted. Kissing Torin, holding his hand. It’d been perfect.

But I was deluded.

The Pigeons were right that our split wasn’t all because of me. I played my part, and even if the words I threw at Torin were based in truth, I still could’ve handled it better.

I swallow and pull my hand free of Maeve’s before I can sink even farther into my misery.

We walk out through the creaking doors of the old building to a warm spring day. The sun is shining, and the campus is more lush than I’ve ever seen it. But the blooming trees and gardens do little to bring me out of my haze.

Students pass us, laughing, arguing, living their lives like nothing’s broken. I try to match their pace, but my head is still stuck in the way things were two weeks ago.

I exhale slowly, dragging my gaze up to the skyline, instead. The stone, the spires, the ancient city around us giving me some much-needed perspective.

Edinburgh has been here for centuries.

I’m just one of an untold number of people who have walked this ground since humans first began living here during the Bronze Age, and I feel a connection with each of them.

No, my house wasn’t burned by an invading Viking horde or English army, but I’ve had my own experiences here, and I now have ties to this place.

“So, do you want to tell me what’s going on with you and Torin?” Maeve asks. She’s blunt, I’ll give her that.

“Picked up on that, did ya?”

“Hard not to,” she says with a wince. “You avoid each other like the plague, and you’ve been silent as the grave for a fortnight. Out with it, or I’ll have to poke you again.”

“No poking necessary,” I say, putting my hands up to defend myself from a potential attack. “We went on a date, and it didn’t work.”

She stops walking.

I take two more steps before I realize, then turn back to find her staring at me, finger raised in warning. “That’s not going to suffice, Tex.”

“What do you want me to say, Maeve?” I ask, frustration creeping into my voice.

“I want you to tell me what really happened,” she says. “Two people who went on a date that ‘didn’t work’ don’t suddenly pretend like the other isn’t in the room.”

I sigh, still unsure of what happened myself.

“If you don’t tell me,” she says, wiggling her finger, “I’ll have to assume it’s something really embarrassing.”