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“If?” she says, the one word the only one she notes.
If she only knew how I’d give up everything just to be with her. I’d trade my life for hers if it meant making her dreams come true. Nothing else matters but us. I say, “When we’re in our eightiestogether.” I stare into her watery eyes. “I don’t want you always worried about the next step. You’ll never owe me money. I’ll give it to you freely.”
“Like you once said, no good deed goes unpunished, so we need to be ration—”
“No, we don’t. We can be as irrational as we want to be. If being with you is the punishment, punish away.” I come around to her and drag the tips of my fingers over her bare thigh. With her sleep shorts riding high, I reach the bend in her leg, tempted, even while having uncomfortable conversations, to slip sideways between her legs.
She takes my free hand and turns it over. Bending down, she kisses my palm. “I love being irrational with you, babe. We’ve done everything fast, thrown the odds out the window, and followed our hearts. But—”
I pull back and swing my arm away in frustration. “Fuck that. I don’t give a fuck about playing by other people’s rules. I have money. I have trust funds. Three actually and those don’t include my parents’ bank accounts. So no, I’ll be as irrational as I want to be if it means we stay together.”
Her mouth hangs open as her green eyes shine under the kitchen lights. The quicksand of my emotions starts sucking me under, so I back up, staring at her, knowing I just committed sins against her nature.
She laughs, which is a pleasant surprise, and says, “You have more money than sense. You know that, babe? I don’t even know what to say to that. I can’t wrap my head around blowing off reality to live in la-la land or in some unattainable fantasy world that gives freedom from worries, even for one day, much less for a longer period.” She slides off the stool and comes to me. Wrapping her arms around my middle, she leans her head on my chest. Not long enough. Resting her chin there instead, she looks up at me. “Tell me what that freedom from worry feels like. I’m being genuine, Harbor. A part of becoming a doctor was the dream that I could taste that freedom one day. Is it worth it?”
I suddenly feel shitty for spending my days like I don’t have a care in the world. I guess I don’t, comparatively.
I have cares, but they’re all wrapped up in her. I may not know much about how her world truly rotates, but I do know that time is slipping away from us, burying us under what happens next instead of living in the present. I’d never say anything, but the day she heard from Yale is the last day I remember feeling how we used to be . . . normal in our relationship, and it’s all because of fucking money.
Always about money.
My fear, my true, deep-down, buried fear, is that I realize this plays out only one of two ways—she finds the money and we stay together, or she gives up her dream. If the latter happens, I don’t know what will happen to our relationship.
“I will do anything to keep us together.”
She presses herself against me as if she can’t get close enough. I understand the craving. It’s how I feel about her as well. Time is a ticking bomb, tricking us into thinking we’ll find the money for her dream to come true. But I’m starting to worry we won’t.
She whispers, “I can’t take your money.”
I already knew, but hearing her say it strikes a different chord. I kiss her head and hold her tight, knowing we’re headed into the unknown.
Hours later, it’s when she falls asleep in my arms, that I make up my mind. She won’t approve, and she won’t go along with it. I know what I must do.
* * *
My dad is still stuckin the conference room, so I wait in his office for my mom to arrive. She comes in, all smiles and arms spread wide for hugs. “It’s good to see you, Harbor.”
“You too, Mom.” Lark and I spend time with our families, together and alone. She’s taught me that no matter what, family is most important. I couldn’t agree more.
My parents pulled me from my own misery. They told me I mattered. Even when the lies took over the truth, they gave me a chance to come back from the ashes. They loved me privately despite the sins they thought I’d committed and got me help. They loved me publicly and came to my defense when everyone else pointed the finger at me.
I don’t want to disappoint them, but I’m worried I’m about to.
“No classes?” my mom asks, sitting in a chair next to mine and putting her bag on the floor.
“I have two hours on Thursdays at lunchtime.”
“Ah.” She starts to take off her coat and drapes it over the back of the chair. “It’s starting to warm, but we’re not quite there.”
“No, we aren’t.”
She looks at me, her eyes seeing the concern in mine. “I hope you’re okay.”
“I am.”
“And Lark?”
“She’s good.”
