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It’s moments like this when I wonder if I should relegate photography to just a hobby. If it was a mistake to try to pursue it as a career in the first place. Photography felt like something totally different from the rest of my family. But even that’s managed to get snarled up in football. It’s no longer an escape I can claim wholly as my own.
I need to stop looking for an escape, I know. I’ve chosen to stay in Kluvberg, knowing it’s the epicenter of interest in my family. I’ve accepted the attention will be there, no matter what I do. And I feel increasingly guilty complaining about it. A girl in one of my classes this morning was talking about how she wasn’t able to find an internship anywhere in the city. Will overcame a challenging childhood to become a soccer star, only to have it taken away by one lie and a mistake.
I’m one semester from graduating. Weeks into an assignment that’s resulted in me attending more Kluvberg games than I have in years, not to mention a bruised ego and what feels suspiciously like a cracked heart. Now is not the time to second-guess how I got here. It’s time to fight for the career I want to have. Submitting the perfect photo to the EPAs is a major part of that. I need it to be one I’m proud of, like Professor Graf said.
I decide to stop into a coffee shop, needing a pick-me-up before driving home.
My phone vibrates in my pocket right before I reach the door. I pull it out quickly, deflating slightly when I see Saylor’s name on the screen. Will’s never called me before, only texted, so it was dumb to even…
I blow out a breath, then answer. “Hey!”
“Hey!” Saylor’s voice is just as chipper as mine is. Unlike mine, I don’t think her upbeat tone is forced. “How are you?”
“Great. Just headed to get a coffee.”
“That sounds lovely. Treat yourself, girl!”
I smile. “What’s up?”
“Just seeing if you’re free for dinner tomorrow night. I know last month’s get-together was…chaotic, but Gigi is sleeping better now. We won’t be zombie hosts, I promise.”
My laugh is automatic. So is the urge to say no.
I don’t want to spend the evening around two happy couples. Don’t want to justify my decisions to my parents or listen to more of Adler’s well-meaning but overprotective comments.
My brother has no idea what happened with Ansel, so it’s not fair for me to resent him for it. But part of me always has. And it’s worse this time, knowing that Will was right last weekend. Adler would freak out if he knew anything had happened between us. He would allow it to affect Will’s career. I’m mad at Will for caring about it so much—for caring about football more than he cares about me—but I’m mad at Adler too.
He was navigating high expectations and a bright spotlight that took over his teenage years. It’s understandable he never noticed mine were spent determining which girls actually wanted to be friends with me or which ones wanted him or crying over a guy who pursued me so he could film himself fucking Adler Beck’s sister. Telling Will I was a virgin dredged up a lot I’d spent years trying to forget.
Add in a crying baby, and it sounds like a headache of an evening.
But I love my family. These semi-regular dinners are the only time we all get together.
“Is it okay if I bring a date?” I ask impulsively.
Noah has been texting me recently, asking if I’m less busy. I doubt there will be any new spark that wasn’t there before, but meeting my family will be a dream come true for him. Practically a Good Samaritan act.
And his fanboying will hopefully keep my family occupied. Prevent them from asking me about the EPAs or how photographing for Kluvberg has gone. Two topics I really don’t feel like discussing.
“You met a new guy?” Saylor’s voice is high and excited.
“Sort of.” No need for Saylor to know he’s the guy who brought me to a Kluvberg scrimmage.
I never confided in her about anything related to Will while it was happening, so it seems pointless to say anything now that it’s over.
I haven’t seen or spoken to him since I snuck out of his apartment early the morning after we hooked up. He texted me five minutes after I left, which makes me think he was only pretending to be sleeping on the couch, telling me to message him when I was home safely.
A petty part of me wanted to ignore the text, but I didn’t. He liked the message and has sent nothing since.
“Of course you should bring him. I can’t wait to meet him!”
Maybe mentioning Noah was a mistake. But I’ve come this far. Too far to turn back now.
“Crap, Gigi just woke up. I’ll see you tomorrow night!”
Saylor hangs up before I can say another word.
TWENTY
