by Scott, S. L.
“I feel it when we’re not together that way, too.” Her smile allows me to drop my defenses, and the rush of relief is welcome. “Though now I know why people fixate on it. Studying it is way different from the act itself. Do I sound silly?”
“No. Not at all. It’s a beautiful way to connect with someone you love, and it sounds like that’s what it is for you. Seeing you two together, there’s no hiding the love you share.” Our hands entwine, and she adds, “It’s written in every glance.” Her smile is gentle and sincere.
“You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad? You’re twenty years old and a senior making straight A’s at an Ivy League university. You’ve found someone who treats you like you deserve, someone who makes you smile from within, and someone who supports your dreams. Joshua talked about you more than himself. What more could I want than for you to be with someone who treats you like a priority?”
I get up to hug her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Just make sure you’re using protection.”
“Ugh. I knew it was too good to be true,” I reply, horrified as I settle across from her.
Shrugging unapologetically, she says, “I wouldn’t be a good parent if I didn’t at least say it.”
“You’ve always been a good parent, Mom.”
“Thank you. Now about your dad—”
Worry clenches my gut. “If it’s okay, can we not talk about him right now? I just want to enjoy this time with you instead.”
“Of course.” Leaning over, she rubs my arm. “I’m so happy for you, Chloe. I just have one question.” I wait for her to ask, “Why is a towel hanging over the window?” I start laughing, wholeheartedly.
Knowing she supports not only me but also Joshua and me as a couple has me feeling lighter. I was prepared for her to react to me being in love, to dating a man who has become a part of my plans, but what I never expected was to find an ally, and today we did.
22
Chloe
A few months was all it took for this little apartment a few streets from campus, the shops, and the diner to morph from mine into ours.
I’m not sure when he stopped returning to his mom’s, probably when Dwayne Evans moved in. He found a new home next to Frankie on the windowsill, and Joshua found one with me. It probably happened quick, like we fell for each other. We were caught in the tide and pulled out to sea before we realized how deep we had gotten. We lost our bearings as we lost ourselves in each other.
I don’t have one regret.
Except one that forms a lump in my throat as I report to the front of the auditorium after class as requested. Again. Gripping the straps of my backpack, I say, “Hi, you wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes,” Professor Tracey says, appearing frazzled as she flips through her bulky bag. Finally looking up, she stills her hands. “I was surprised to see the last assignment you submitted. It wasn’t up to your usual standards.”
Panic sets in as I ramble off an excuse, “I fulfilled the essay requirements. I even went over it twice.”
“I’ve not known you to settle for the bare minimum and wanted to check in with you. Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine.” My voice squeaks defensively. “I thought the requirements were met.”
“I give a lot of room for interpretation in the requirements of my class, but your grades have been slipping with each assignment.” She pulls a folder from the bag. I recognize it instantly by the title as mine. Although we submit projects online, she’s old-school and prints everything out. “Actually, you’re missing the key sheet, which was vital to the explanation of the topic you decided to pursue. Due to that missing element, I’ve had to fail you on this assignment.”
My gut twists. “Fail me?” I ask, staring at the red F marked on the front.
“There’s time to bring it up. I suggest you spend more time on the remaining syllabus and making sure you’re better prepared for the tests.”
Wrapping my arms over my stomach, I feel my legs go shaky underneath me. “Can I still get an A for the class if I do that?”
Her shoulders fall, matching mine. “This particular assignment was weighted heavier than the remaining ones. So unfortunately, no. You can earn a B if you work hard, though.”
“B? But—”
“That’s all, Miss Fox.” Her attention pivots to another student waiting a few feet away, leaving me standing there.
With the folder in my hand, I walk toward the door, numbness setting in. My steps are slow at first and then pick up until shame drives my motivation to get home.
The door has barely shut when my phone rings, giving me time to collapse and process this. Dropping my stuff on my desk, I dig out my phone and pause. Dad.
That’s odd.
It’s about to go to voicemail, and I’m tempted to let it. The timing couldn’t be worse, but I have a feeling it can’t be better for him. I answer because I know he won’t stop calling until I do. “Dad, hi?”
“Glad I caught you, Chloe.”
Heading into the kitchen, I stop to ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I have a consult in five minutes, but this is the only break I have. Busy day.”
He’s a workaholic, another reason for the marriage to my mom failing. “Aren’t they all?” I try to humor him, but it doesn’t work, so I add, “What’s going on?”
I smile when I see the bonsai trees sitting next to the sink. Joshua takes such good care of them. I pick Frankie up in one hand and return her to the sill.
“Your score arrived today,” he replies.
“What score?” I retrieve Dwayne Evans.
“The MCAT practice test you took last month.” My feet stop, leaving me shocked between the couch and the coffee table. Oh, crap. How could I forget the scores are sent to permanent addresses. He continues, “I’m concerned, Chloe. You only have a few months before the test. With this score, you’ll be lucky to get accepted to any of the top medical schools.”
“It’s that bad?” I ask, setting the plant down on the table and then pacing the length of my living room. I stumble over the toe of Joshua’s sneaker left behind the couch. Recovering, I bend down and pick it up to return it to its partner by the door.
“Worse. I’m worried. I really expected more.” His disappointment resonates through the line. “I’ve emailed you a copy. I suggest you spend time figuring out what went wrong. If we need to hire a tutor, we will.”
Beyond being hit sideways by this news, I’m not sure what to say. I have no excuse other than I didn’t study as much as I should have. “I’ll study more. I’ll study all Thanksgiving and Christmas break as well. You don’t need to worry—”
“It’s too late for that. You handle this, or I will.”
Readjusting the phone to my ear, the shell starting to ache from the pressure, I huff. “I’m a senior in college. I think I can handle—”
“Then do it!” The pounding of his fist against that mahogany desk I was scared of sitting on the other side of growing up still triggers fear. “This is not the time to throw away a lifetime of hard work for some boy who doesn’t care about your future.”
Stunned, my feet grow roots to the wood beneath them. My breath is shallow as my mind reels from his words. “He cares.” The tremble overwhelms my voice, but I push forth. “This is not about him. He wants nothing more—”
“Then to catch a Fox.”
“That’s not true,” I reply, shaking my head. “You don’t know Joshua. He likes me for me. He didn’t know my last name when we met. He didn’t know about you or our family when we started dating.”
“Then what does he know?”
“He knows me, Dad.”
“I don’t believe that’s all there is to it. Don’t be naïve. They always want something.” They? Joshua, the love of my life, has been relegated to a “they.” If the bad grade didn’t make me feel sick, that does. I pause to take a deep breath, needing the moment to control the emotions that want to
rage. “Chloe?”
“He wants me. I know it’s hard to believe, but that’s all.” Swallowing pains my throat. I move to the window and look out, wishing he was coming home after class instead of going to work. “Nothing more.”
His heavy breath is heard through the line before he says, “Do you not understand that you are a Fox through and through—the money, the reputation, the properties, the future? If he gets you, he gets everything.”
My knees waver under me, so I grip the corner of the wall and slide down to sit on the floor, my chest as hollow as my legs right now. I don’t have words or explanations. Nothing will make him understand how Joshua and I feel about each other. He’s never looked at me with dollar signs in his eyes. He sees me in the sunrise a new day brings—hope for the future—and love in the present. “You have a consult,” I remind, needing to end this before he hears me cry.
“Keep your goals in focus,” he says, his tone calm but firm. “The finish line is within sight, Chloe.”
“Okay.” It’s all I can muster.
“You’re signed up for another practice test when you’re home for the holidays. Prepare for it. We’ll talk soon.” He disconnects, leaving me hanging in the silence.
I sit there staring at the phone in my hand for I don’t know how long, and I start to doubt myself and my decisions. I haven’t lost my drive, but I’ve lost my routine.
Stress lodges in my chest before the sunsets and remains until it’s pitch black in my apartment.
Maybe running will help alleviate it. That’s what I used to do. Before Joshua. Changing my clothes, I then tighten my laces and turn on the treadmill. I’ve stopped using it every day, and I know I’m going to be punished for it before this session is over. I want to be, though. I want to feed the stress inside me through every footstep.
The first mile is hard, the drag on the belt beneath my feet noticeable compared to the lightness of running outside with Joshua on the weekends.
An F.
I push through two miles.
A bad test score.
Three miles.
Defeat from disappointing my father sinks in.
Tears form in my eyes on mile four, my failures sliding down my cheeks.
By the fifth mile, I’m angry again.
At myself.
At Joshua.
At my dad.
At the damn pressure he puts on me.
At everything.
I’m losing my edge, my drive. The top of my workout pants dig into the soft flesh of my waist. Bad grades and I’ve gained weight. I guess I noticed a few things were tighter, but I thought it was bloat, not weight gain. I’m not sure when that happened, but I have a feeling I know when it started.
I don’t quit. I run faster, pushing myself harder until my lungs burn and my throat goes dry. I hit the stop button before I fall apart. On the verge of collapsing, I welcome the pain, the fight to control my breath, and the emptiness I feel in my belly knowing I was all in on hitting a goal again.
This is how I need to face every obstacle.
Although I’ve tried to come to terms with my changing body and being happy over burning through my feelings, none of that fixed my slipping grades or served me well on the test. Nor will anger, but it will help drive it. Getting back to my old habits is the only way to save my GPA.
Just after eleven thirty, I look up to the sound of the key entering the lock. I watch as Joshua sneaks in. “Hi.”
When he discovers me on the couch, he says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Something in the air between us has changed. I’m not sure if it’s my mood, the phone call, or the bad grade, but I can feel it infiltrating our space. “How was work?” I watch as he sets down another white bag, just like the others he brings home after each shift. Anger toward him teeters on my tongue, so I bite it.
Scrubbing his face after locking up, he replies, “Long. Why are you out here? Why are you still up?”
“Studying.”
His eyes stay steady on me for a long moment. I’m sure he’s searching for the source of the irritation he hears in my voice. The apartment has become his in all senses of how he eases into his nighttime routine. Getting a glass of water from the tap. Unpacking the bag. He moves around like he owns the place. Holding up what looks like soup, he asks, “Want some?”
I didn’t realize I was staring through him until my eyes started to burn. I blink rapidly and turn back to the F on my essay facing up on the table. “No.”
“You seem upset.”
“You think?”
“Hm.” The short reaction has me looking at him again. “Did you eat tonight?”
“Food? That’s what you’re asking me about?”
He sets the container down. “Yes.”
I narrow my eyes, my gut twisting. “Food. Food. Food. Is that all you care about?” I slam my hand down on the papers, but no satisfaction is found. Pushing up, I storm into the bedroom.
“What’s wrong, Chloe?”
Anger spirals inside me, whipping me around. “You don’t ask about my grades. Or, or, or my plans.”
Confusion runs through the lines of his forehead as his brows tip together. “We talk about school.” He starts toward me but is smart enough to keep some distance. “All the time.”
“Not enough,” I reply, rolling my eyes as my hands plant themselves on my hips.
“We don’t talk about it enough? For who? You? Your dad? We study every fucking night.”
“Don’t turn this around on us. You’re to blame.” This time, his head jolts back. “You blindsided me and—”
“Because we met?” The confusion is wiped clean by an ember from my fire sparking one inside his eyes.
“Yes. I had a plan—”
“You still have it, Chloe.” He asks, “Let me guess, you got a bad grade, and you’re blaming me? That’s rich.” He scoffs. “You’re starting a fight with me to take the blame off yourself.” His arms go wide. “Go ahead, baby. Hit me with your best shot.”
Frustration strangles my rationale, and I angle my chin up, glaring at him. “You think this is about you?”
“I have no idea what this is about.” A dull chuckle follows, breathing life into his anger. “But you need to grind this out on someone, so go for it. I’m right fucking here.”
Fisting my hands, the invasion of his wrath unwelcome, and there’s no peace going to be found on this battleground. “This is pointless.”
“What does that fucking mean?” he asks, trailing me. “What are you actually mad about?”
Standing in the bathroom, I yell, “Don’t swear at me!”
“Then don’t take your bad mood out on me. You’re looking for a fight, and you found one, but I’m tired, and I want to go to bed. If you don’t want me here, then I’ll go to my place.”
A gasp burns my throat. “Just like that? You leave at the first sign of trouble?”
“There’s no trouble, Chloe. I just don’t know what the fuck we’re fighting about. I came in and asked if you wanted some fucking soup.”
“Maybe it’s the way you were judging me in your tone with your ‘hm.’”
“My hm was too judging?”
“This is what I mean. I can’t think logically around you.”
“I can’t either, but I’m okay with it because I love you, and we don’t have to make sense up here,” he says, tapping my head. “Because in here, we do.” He taps my chest. His sweet words lessen the tension inside me, but when he moves closer, there’s still more fight running through my veins, so I pull back. “Tell me what happened. Get it out, babe.”
“All this food you’re bringing home is making me fat.”
Silence fills the space between us, and after a beat of us staring at each other, he looks down, rubbing the bridge of his nose. When he finally lifts his eyes to mine, his expression isn’t tight, but patient—the opposite of what I expect from anyone in his position. He licks his lips, and then says, “You’ve never f
ailed at anything, and you apparently got a bad grade. It’s screwing with your head.” His touch to my cheek is cautious as he closes the distance. “You’re not fat. Don’t put how you see yourself on me. I think you can afford to eat dessert or carbs or whatever you want for dinner, lunch, or for breakfast. You need new eyes. You’re healthy.”
Kissing my hand, he adds. “You’re intelligent.” His hands slide over my hips. “Sexy.” Lips at my ear, he whispers, “Caring,” softening my stance. The scrape of his scruffy cheek against my sensitive skin sends goose bumps across the tops of my arms as I shed the armor and lay down my weapons. “You don’t have to be perfect at everything. You’re already perfect to me.”
The hurricane inside me dies down as fast as it grew. I rest my palms on his chest and finally look into his eyes, feeling like crap for starting this war. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. We’re on the same team. So next time, how about we talk about it instead?”
Slipping my arms around him, I rest my head on his shoulder. I feel awful for so many things today, but for picking this fight with him tops that list. Tilting his head to the side, he lifts my chin with his finger and then kisses my wobbling lower lip. “Don’t cry. I’m not mad.”
“Everything is neat and orderly in my life,” I say, sniffling, “except you, but you know what? I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“We never have played by other people’s rules. I like us how we are. Let’s not change for anyone.”
My body begins melting from how good this man is. He loves me, and I love him. “Okay.”
Rubbing his thumb over my cheek, he asks, “Tell me what happened today?”
“You called it. I got a bad grade, and I need to study more.”
“Then we’ll study more.”
I could go on and tell him about my dad, but what’s the point in upsetting him more than I have. We’ll just have to prove that our love won’t ruin my plan but improve my life.
Hugging him as much as I can, I need to feel him, feel our hearts beating together once again. “Thank you.”
“I’m always on your side. Don’t lose sight of that, even if you’re mad.” Taking my hand, he kisses each knuckle before turning it to place a kiss on my wrist. With his head bowed and his eyes closed, his lips remain against the soft, pale skin. “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo.”