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Mom and Dad listen quietly over the speakerphone the whole time.But there’s no yelling. No shouting. No swearing.
Actually, my parents are overly understanding about my situation…to the point that it hurts.
“Hey there, don’t let it get you down,” my mother says in that syrupy sympathetic voice of hers. “We are proud of you for even trying, sweetie.”
Dad cuts in. “There will be more med schools. And I’m sure Felix will help you fill out more application forms.”
“Right. Yeah.” I head to the sink and soap up my hands.
“And just know that we love you no matter what,” Mom adds.
“I love you, too,” I say, my voice quivering as I wipe my hands on a damp towel.
Even though my parents mean well, I get off the phone feeling shitty.
It’s like they know I’m not good enough to succeed, so they’re just satisfied with me being the loser. I don’t want to be the loser anymore. I don’t want to be the one who barely skates by. I don’t want to be the one who has to work twice as hard at everything, but still fails in the end.
Pushing the cutting board aside, I drop my forehead to the counter…and I cry.
And let me tell you, it’s an ugly, ugly cry. It’s the first time since my plans came crashing down that I’ve really let myselffeel.No holding back.
I’m sniffing and slobbering all over the counter when I hear the front door slam down the hall.
Shit! Can I catch a break?
In a frantic hurry, I straighten up and face the cabinets. Using my sleeve, I quickly wipe at my eyes and my gross, runny nose.
When I’m satisfied that my face is no longer leaking, I turn around just in time to see my new roommate stroll in with grocery bags dangling from his bulging arms, frowning at his phone.
And I may be puffy-eyed and covered in snot and brimming with overwhelming emotions, but damn, Dr. Pretty Boy is rocking that messy look.
He’s rocking itsogood.
Disheveled hair. Crooked tie. Rumpled button down. A tiny scuff on his shiny leather shoe. Hell—even his fading black eye is kind of hot.
As I mentally eat him up, my mind blanks out. Wait—what is it I was crying about again?
9
MASON
Iclimb out of my car, grab the bags of groceries I picked up, and carry them on my arms while I frown at my phone’s screen.
Zara: Come over after work
Zara: I’ll make you a sandwich. And we can have sex or something
After a long day at my new job, the last thing I need is my ex-girlfriend bugging me. But that’s exactly what Zara is doing, blowing up my phone with her ridiculous propositions.
Looks like my ex is yet to figure out that I left town. Okay, fine. I’ve only been gone for a day. But I quit my old jobbeforeshe and I even broke up. How does she not know that?
Because the woman never listened to a damn thing I ever said, that’s how.
I wanted to give her a home, a family, a future together. Meanwhile, ‘a sandwich and some sex’ is pretty much the extent of what she was capable of offering in return. Talk about giving the bare minimum. Saying she made me feel unappreciated is an understatement. It sucks that I wasted so many years in that relationship.
But she and I are over for good now. When I left Honey Hill, I drew a line in the sand. No more going back and forth with Zara. I’m done.
New town, new Mason.
