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I walk forward but stop with a few feet between us. Still confused by the comments, I hold on to the straps of my backpack for support. “I could ask the same of you?”
“What do you mean?” she asks of me this time. “I’m just saying that if I were you, I’d rather hang out in a big apartment with my boyfriend than with my roommate at our place in a tiny two-bedroom, one-bath. Guess that’s just me.”
Nothing about this feels good. In fact, it doesn’t feel like us at all. We don’t play dirty with each other, so I’m thrown off by what’s really going on. Moving closer, I lower my voice since so many people are around. “Are you starting a fight with me?”
“Why would I want to fight with you?” She grips the straps of her bag, but her eyes never leave mine. We’ve been friends forever and can sometimes be a little blunt, so I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt that she’s just curious and at target practice taking aim at the first real relationship I’ve ever had and the only one that’s mattered. “What’s going on with you, Lark? Why are you defensive?”
“I’m not,” I reply, my neck jerking back. Okay, maybe I am defensive, but how could I not after that accusation? It feels more like I’m protecting a relationship that came when I needed it most. I look at my watch. “I need to go, or I won’t make it before the door is locked. Do you want to talk about this later?”
“Go.” She playfully shoves me toward my building, like we weren’t caught in the crossfire of our changing friendship. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
I start for my building but know we need to talk about this soon before it becomes a whole thing between us. It’s never good to let things fester. “Let’s hang out later. I can stop by the store and grab a pizza.” I make the offer, but I still feel a little uneasy in the wake of the conversation we just had.
Her expression lifts, and she waves. “I’ll bring the wine.”
“See you at home tonight.” Jogging to my building, me and another kid make it just before the door is closed. I find an empty desk on the far side of the classroom and swing my backpack to the floor. I don’t have any classes with Harbor on Tuesdays or Thursdays, but I wish I did. But then again, maybe that’s exactly what we need—us spending some time apart.I don’t know.Amanda’s gotten in my head.
How’s it different from what I was suggesting to Harbor on the ride in today? I don’t have to wonder because I know the intention. That wasn’t about pushing Harbor away. It was about making sure I don’t sabotage my future.
I love spending my days in his arms, kissing him, loving that man like he’ll be the last I ever will. Surely, Amanda can see how happy he makes me. I dig out my laptop and start taking notes, but my thoughts keep veering back to what she said about the partying, and regarding the apartment. Did I detect an insinuation that he’s keeping me away from it on purpose?
Why would he do that?He lives alone. There’s no logical reason he would purposely be keeping me away. But just to overthink this even more, how is it that we’ve been dating for almost a month, and he hasn’t invited me over, not once?
Let it go, Lark.
I didn’t expect my day to derail before nine o’clock, but here I am with my thoughts and emotions nervously twisting in my belly. Have I been a bad friend to Amanda? To Dane? I haven’t seen him since I worked with him two weeks ago. We don’t get to hang out much anymore, not since he and Mia got back together and school reconvened.
I drop my head into my hands and rub my temples, knowing I don’t have the luxury to get sidetracked from my mission—getting into medical school. That must remain my top priority. I don’t want to let my dad down now.
Before my last class at two, I text Harbor:I’m going to see my dad after school, so I don’t need a ride home. I’ll walk from there. Love you.
I hop into my seat and am settling in when he replies:Love you.
Class feels longer today, the minutes dragging until we’re finally free. I stop at a water station to refill my bottle before trekking across campus and down a large hill. My thoughts are so scrambled today that I don’t realize I forgot to put my music buds in my ears until I’m halfway to the shop.
Two streets over and six blocks down, I walk in through an open bay and search for my dad. Carrig is wiping his hands on towels when he sees me. “Oh, what brings you by, Lark?” He’s only a year older than I am, but he’s been learning to fix cars from my dad for years now. It’s a dream of my dad’s, and since he had a daughter with no interest whatsoever in cars, he transferred that attention to Carrig. Thank God.
Apparently, Carrig gets lots of visitors of the female persuasion from what my dad says, though.Gripes about is more accurate.They become quite the distraction to Carrig and my dad has to kick them out when they become a thorn in his side.
“Just looking for my dad. Is he around?” He points toward the office, which is in the direction I’m already heading. Peeking through the glass, I see him on the phone. I wave when he looks up and then drop my backpack behind the reception counter.
I only spin in the chair once before my dad comes around the corner. “Good to see you, Pipsqueak. Is everything okay?”
I’d give him a hug, but not when he’s in his mechanic’s coveralls. I don’t want to stain my college sweatshirt. “Everything’s good.” I lean against the counter. “You know I’ve been dating Harbor for almost a month now.”
“It’s getting serious?”
“It’s been about a month. We hang out and get dinner together most nights.” I keep things general, leaving out some of the details. The last thing my dad wants to hear about is the other stuff I do with Harbor.
If he found out about that, Harbor wouldn’t survive the night, and I’d be headed to a convent. And we’re not even Catholic.
He starts typing on the computer, his attention stolen away. “What does that mean? You celebrate,” he says, glancing at me, “with a special dinner or something?”
Remembering that Harbor asked me this morning to have dinner with his parents, maybe that’s what hitting a month means. I shrug. “Not sure. I haven’t planned anything.” I let a minute pass by, taking another spin in the chair, and then ask, “What do you think about Harbor coming over for Sunday dinner?” I keep it as casual as I can because my dad doesn’t take well to disruptions in his routine. Resting his hands on the counter, he shifts his weight forward as he stares at me. I start to get nervous. Is it too soon, or will my dad always want it to be only the two of us? “We’ll still watch the game, but we can talk beforehand . . . and stuff.” God, I’m rambling.
“Okay.”
He moves around me, walking toward the garage. He knows I’ll follow. I’ve been following him around this shop my whole life, every day after school before I was old enough to stay at home alone, and then other times I’d come to do my homework at that very counter just to see him before dinner.
