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My dad glances away from the computer and leans back in his chair, looking at me expectantly. “Your friends left?”
“Yeah. What’s tomorrow at nine?”
“We’re going to visit your mother. It’s a two-hour drive. I want to get an early start.”
“We are?” I figured it was a work thing he was taking me to, since my mom isn’t available for the “family man” image. “I thought you said she couldn’t have visitors until the end. It’s only been a week.”
“I said I would check. I did, and we can go tomorrow morning. Do you not want to?”
“I, uh—”Do I?Honestly, I’m not sure. My mom and I have never been close, and the past few years have built up plenty of resentment in our relationship. Enough issues that it’s hard to remember what it looked like before things got bad between her and my dad and our family essentially just became a façade. But once I leave for school, I won’t see her for months. I don’t want our last interaction to have been that trip home from the hospital. “Yeah, I guess so.”
My father nods. “Nine a.m. tomorrow. It won’t be a long visit. I need to be back here by two thirty for a phone call.”
“Okay.”
I shut the door quietly behind me and walk upstairs. The buzz of wine lingers in my system, flushing my skin as I change into sweatpants and flop onto my bed.
I scroll through my laptop for something to watch, but I’m not really registering anything on-screen.
There’s a part of me—big, not small—that wants to call Liam. That wants to know what he thinks about visiting my mom. That wants to talk to him, period.
But the wonderful thing about never putting myself out there with a guy has been never worrying about the fear of rejection. If I call Liam—if I let him know I have an investment, an interest in what happens between us—that’s a level of vulnerability I’ve never reached with a guy.
With anyone, really.
I was the most popular girl at Alleghany High. Everyone wanted to be friends with me, and that meant never worrying about someone’s response. At BU, it’s been easy to find a niche. The problem with Liam is he should reject me—the same way I should reject him—and not doing so is probably more of a cruelty than a kindness in the long run.
All my tired, tipsy self cares about is the short sprint, apparently, because I pick up my phone and tap on his name mid-thought before I can really think it through. I shut my laptop and tap my fingers impatiently on the cold metal, listening to the phone ring.
It rings and rings, long enough I think I’m headed to voicemail. After a quick internal debate on whether or not I should leave a message, I’m all ready to hang up.
Except, he answers. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
I sound shocked to be talking to him, and I know he catches it when he chuckles and says, “You called me.”
“Yeah, I know. I just…didn’t think you were going to answer.”
“I was in the shower. Grabbed my phone as soon as I could.”
“Oh.”
A long pause dangles after the syllable. Does that mean he’s naked, right now, on the phone talking to me? I picture water droplets journeying through chiseled abs, then down lower.
I should have FaceTimed him.
Liam laughs again, deep and low. Like he knows what I’m thinking.
“Everything okay?” His voice has changed. Now he’s serious. A little worried, maybe.
“Yeah, fine. I just…” I’m not sure exactly why I called him. And the reasons I do have aren’t exactly ones I want to admit. “I was bored—wondering—I mean not bored, bored. Like, there are things I could be doing. I just—”
I slap my free palm over my face, literally cringing. I can feel my insides shriveling.Thank GodI didn’t FaceTime him. What am I even saying right now?
“Some of my friends came over for dinner. I had some wine.”
“Uh-huh.” He’s teasing me again. I can hear the lilt in his voice, as something that sounds like clothing rustles in the background.
