Page 70 of Romeo

Jasper: What happened?

Me: Nothing happened.

Jasper: You only say that when something happened.

I frowned at his annoyingly perceptive words as my thumbs hovered over the screen. I could’ve ignored him, and he probably would’ve let me. Somehow, knowing that made me want to tell him more.

Me: I got another rejection letter.

Jasper: From a college?

Me: Scholarship.

There was a pause before his answer appeared.

Jasper: I’m sorry.

Me: It’s fine.

Jasper: Stop doing that.

My eyebrows pulled together.

Me: Doing what?

Jasper: Calling things fine because you don’t want anyone to see they hurt.

I had to read it twice. There were days I really hated how much attention that man paid. How he saw me from halfway across the country.

Me: Maybe I don’t want to talk about it.

Jasper: Then I’ll sit here quietly.

Me: Over text?

Jasper: I’m talented.

A smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.

Me: You really would, wouldn’t you?

Jasper: As long as you need.

The smile faded—not because the answer bothered me, but because I believed him.

I put the phone down and looked at my calculus book again. He hadn’t demanded that I tell him more. He hadn’t offered unsolicited advice or tried to convince me the rejection didn’t matter.

He’d just stay.

That shouldn’t have felt as unfamiliar as it did.

“Fiona, honey, can you set the table?” Granny called from the stove. “Everyone will be here soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I stood, grateful for something to do with my hands, and started pulling plates from the cabinet.

Friday dinner at Granny’s had become one of those things nobody officially called a tradition even though everybody knew better than to make other plans. The family descended, the kids took over the house, and whatever peace Granny had enjoyed disappeared until everyone finally went home.