Something to Believe In

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Sorry.” I take a drink of my iced tea, having little appetite for the greasy pizza on my plate. “I must’ve zoned out.”

  He reaches across the table, past the salt and pepper shakers, and holds my hand. “I know you’ve had a terrible week. I’d happily stop blathering about my trip to New Orleans if I thought you’d share what’s going on in that head of yours.”

  Did I know about a trip to New Orleans? “When are you going to Louisiana?”

  His grip on my hand slackens. “You haven’t heard anything I’ve said. The fraternity’s got a charter bus, and we’re loading up and leaving next Friday. Will that interfere with your mom’s funeral?”

  “There won’t be a funeral.”

  “Why?”

  Him too? “Because I don’t want one. You were telling me about a trip?”

  He chews a bite of food longer than necessary. “The Delta Zetas are going too.”

  My hand freezes in the act of squeezing ranch dressing on my plate. “So, you’ll be hanging out with Riley Whats-her-name.”

  “She’ll be there, but I doubt we’ll be hanging out.” His cheeks dimple with that lopsided grin. “Jealous?”

  This is where I should say yes. Yet, I don’t feel jealous. All I feel is tired. So tired, I can’t even dredge up the energy to accuse Tate of blaming the fraternity on all the times he’s bailed on me. “I hope you have a good time.”

  His smile collapses. “I wish you would’ve taken me with you to the hospital last week. That’s not the sort of thing you should go through alone.”

  “I guess I didn’t have a frame of reference. It’s not like I’ve lost a mom before.” My voice sounds snappier than I mean it to. “But, thank you for all the calls.”

  “The ones you didn’t answer?”

  “I answered.”

  “One. You answered one call.”

  “I think we should focus on the quality and not the quantity. That’s what love does.”

  He pauses mid-bite. “Are we in love?”

  Oh, shoot. I walked right into that trap. I’ve rolled in a vat of steaks then charged right into a lion’s den. “This seems like a heavy conversation over cafeteria pizza.”

  “You gotta admit things have changed for us.”

  Why did I use the L-word? “I guess we’ve both changed quite a bit in the last two years.”

  “I mean lately—things have changed. Sometimes I wonder if you still feel the same way for me.”

  Here’s my chance. I could tell him my heart has shifted, and I’m just not feeling it. Tell him I want to take a break and not be his girlfriend. Tell him I know he probably feels the same.

  But I can’t. Not now.

  I don’t think I can handle one more change at the moment. Maybe when things calm down, I’ll think differently.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve been distant.” The pizza tastes like cardboard on my tongue, and it pains my nose to chew. “I’ve always been the tough girl—I’ve had to be. All those years with my mom, I had to suck it up and stuff down anything I felt that got in the way of survival. But this is new territory for me, and it’s made me feel…just overwhelmingly sad. I’m not sure how to process it all.”

  His fingers find mine again. “You could start by letting me in.”

  “I’m trying, Tate.”

  “Are you?”

  Anger flares like a struck match. “I’m doing the best I can.” I jerk back my hand and use it to scrub over my tired face. “What I’m telling you is I don’t know how to be this person who’s grieving and mad and bitter and sad all at once. I’ve lost my mother. She’s not coming back. I have to go pick up her ashes, which are poured into some fancy urn, and I don’t even know what to do with that. I’m eighteen. I shouldn’t be handed a vase of ashes. I don’t have a mantle to stick them on, and for the life of me, I can’t think of a proper place to scatter her remains. I’m tired, my nose aches, my face is swollen, and I didn’t know you were going to New Orleans because all I’ve known the last few weeks is school and hospital, hospital and school. Oh, and a play that doesn’t need or want me.” I stand and grab my backpack. “I need to go. I told the funeral home I’d pick Bobbie Ann up today. I’d hate to disappoint either one of them.”

  “Katie, wait.”

  I dispose of my tray and keep walking, knowing full well Tate’s not far behind.

  When I break through the cafeteria double doors, the sun blinds me, and I squint against what I believe is an excessive and insulting blast of brightness. Especially for someone who can’t wear sunglasses.

  “I’m sorry,” Tate calls, earning the curious stares from groups of onlookers on the sidewalk. “Wait, please. Let me go with you to In Between.”

  “Are you sure you’re not too busy?” I whirl around, walking backward. “Don’t you have a fraternity event to go to or a brother in need? Maybe an impromptu scavenger hunt or a group study session?”

  “Would you stop for a second?”

  “You tell me I don’t let you in, but it’s kind of hard when you’re never around.”

  “Katie, stop.”

  “So, yeah, maybe we have drifted apart. But—oof!” My backside hits a mailbox, and down I go. I sit in a heap on the sidewalk and wait for the humiliation and tremors of pain to subside.

  “I tried to tell you.” Tate sits down beside me, completely ignoring the people trying to pass. “Did you dislocate something else?”

  “Just my ego.”

  “I miss you, you know.” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me close. “I’m sorry I’ve been an absent jerk lately. Please let me go to In Between with you.”

  “You don’t want to do that.”

  “I do.” Tate kisses my cheek. “It would be a dream date. Who needs a fancy restaurant?”

  I manage a smile, my nose hating me for it. “Not us. We’ve got the funeral home.”

  “You’ll let me tag along?”

  “Only because I wouldn’t want to deny you this level of fun.” And because I feel like I need to give Tate a little more me to make up for the weeks of all but ignoring him. “Your frat brothers will be writhing in jealousy.”

  “My trip to NOLA won’t even compare.” He pulls me to my feet and presses his mouth to mine. I wait for the butterflies to engage, the goosebumps to lock and load.

  Yet I feel nothing but the sting to my rear-end from its crash date with the mailbox. “Let’s go get my mom.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  If you want to freak out your roommate, just bring an urn of ashes to your dorm.

  “What is that?” Jemma asks the next afternoon.

  I inhale a bolstering breath and face her. “It’s my mom.” The silver urn is heavy in my hands as I pick it up. “Jemma, meet Bobbie Ann. Bobbie Ann, meet that roommate I told you about.” I whisper toward the container. “She’s frequently grumpy.”

  Jemma stares at the vessel, a foreigner among the laptop, papers, framed photos, and my Dr. Who mug collection. “You brought ashes—human remains—into this room?”

  “Yes. I did do that.”

  Violet stands behind Jemma, wringing her hands and failing to keep the concern off her face. “That’s…that’s your mom?”

  I pictured this going better, but there’s no accounting for urn reactions. “My mother was cremated, I picked her up yesterday, and since I don’t know where I want to scatter her ashes, she’s staying with me. What else was I supposed to do with her?”

  Jemma’s still sputtering. “Keep her in your car? Take her to your house?”

  I thought of both of those options, but neither seemed quite right. Hadn’t Mom and I had enough distance over the years? “Someone could break into my car, and I have an elephant of a dog at the house who destroys everything he’s not supposed to touch. The urn won’t be here long. As soon as I think of an appropriate place to leave the ashes, it’ll be gone.”

  “You know this has to be against some school rule or code,” Jemma says.

  “Probably. But ho
w will they know?” I arch a brow.

  “I’ll give you one week.” She lifts her chin with that arrogance she carried on the first day I met her. “If that urn’s not gone by then, I’ll have to report this. And if that stuff spills in here, you can bet I’ll be calling OSHA.”

  She probably has them on speed dial anyway. “Thank you for your understanding.” After returning Bobbie Ann to my desk, I climb up to my bunk with my phone, my script, and a bottle of water.

  Violet’s gentle voice catches me just before I shut everyone out with my music. “Any ideas for where your mom would like to be, um, buried?”

  “None.” All I’ve thought about since Tate and I returned last night from In Between is where to scatter the ashes. I’d lain awake all night, Googling ideas and brainstorming. Anything that looked cool was way too expensive. Sure, Mom would’ve liked to have seen the Northern Lights in an igloo in Iceland, but I don’t think she’d ever mentioned that as a dream vacation, and I don’t have an extra fifteen thousand dollars. I’ve made a list of parks, pit stops, and trailer parks we’d visited. I keep waiting for this genius idea to land in my brain and just feel right. So far, all I feel is disappointment because I don’t have a decent idea.

  Jemma stalks into the bathroom and slams the door. I guess she doesn’t want to be part of the Bobbie Ann Parker Ash-Spreading Think Tank.

  I can’t imagine why not.

  “Did you and Tate have some good conversations on your little road trip?” Violet climbs up my ladder bearing a box of fruit snacks and settles in beside me.

  I reach in and take a bag. These things are so gross, yet so oddly satisfying. “We didn’t argue, so that’s an improvement.” Our drive hadn’t been too bad, though it also wasn’t like old times. He’d done most of the talking, while I counted road signs and wondered if he regretted coming along.

  “I think I see Tate more than you do,” Violet says. “Our sorority’s hosting a pancakes-and-pajamas event in the morning. All the fraternities will be there.”

  “You sound excited about that.”

  “My mom keeps asking for photos from our events, so at least it’s another photo opp to please her.”

  “It’s pancakes. What’s not to like?”

  Violet leans her back against the wall and slumps. “The newspaper staff is taking a trip to Channel 5 Action News. The station’s even gonna give some helicopter rides with the traffic guy. If I go to the breakfast, I’ll have to miss that.”

  “Is it a class requirement?”

  “No, but it sounds amazing. And it’s with fellow writer nerds.”

  “Then go.”

  Her cheeks puff in an exasperated breath. “I can’t. If I miss one more sorority function, I’m on probation.”

  I know probation. I had a rap sheet by the time I was twelve. “You’re a third-generation Kappa Zeta. Pretty sure they’re not gonna reprimand you too badly.”

  “It’s not them I’m afraid of. It’s my mom.”

  “Don’t tell her.”

  “She’s gonna find out. Trust me.”

  “You could go rogue and quit the sorority. You don’t even like it.”

  “I like my sorority sisters. Some of the events are fun, but it’s definitely not where my heart’s at. It’s keeping me from activities I actually want to do.” She pops a strawberry fruit snack in her mouth then rests her head on my shoulder while she smacks in my ear. “College isn’t what I thought it would be.”

  “Same, girl. Same. Who’d have thought I’d be living in the honors dorm, seeing less of Tate than when he lived hours away, and schlepping around an urn of ashes?”

  “Jemma will calm down. She just hates her orderly world disturbed.”

  “College life is nothing but one constant disturbance.”

  Violet laughs. “The disturbance in two weeks will be of epic proportions. You get to meet my parents.”

  “Are they coming for a visit?”

  She sits up and crisscrosses her legs. “It’s Parent Day.” She frowns at my look of confusion. “End of September? Does this sound familiar?”

  “Not even a little.” But I’ve had a lot going on. We could’ve entered World War III, and I’m not sure I would’ve clued in. “Sorority parents are coming to school?”

  “No. The university invites all parents of freshmen. They can meet the instructors, tour the campus. There’s also a picnic.”

  Tattered shreds of a conversation with James and Millie drifts to the forefront of my mind. I think they did mention something about this. Yikes—this could be bad. “It’ll be cool to meet your folks.”

  “Cool? It’s a disaster. My dad could show up with his new girlfriend, my mom will act like campus royalty, and the two will fight like cats and dogs. And the worst part is my mom will spend half the day with the sorority for old time’s sake, and she’s gonna find out how many events I’ve missed. I’ll be in so much trouble.”

  “It’s not like you’re skipping class.” My eyes narrow. “Right?”

  “Of course not!” Violet’s cheeks flush crimson at the very thought. “Just social gatherings.”

  “Surely, she’ll understand.”

  “You don’t know Alison Carrington Newbury.”

  My phone buzzes, and a familiar face pops on the screen.

  Charlie.

  “Ohhh.” Violet grabs the phone and hands it to me. “You have a hot boy calling you. That must be nice.”

  I silence the ringer. “He’s an old friend.”

  Violet taps a nail to her lips. “Does Tate know this old friend calls?”

  “I don’t think I’ve mentioned it.”

  “Then, he sounds like more than an old friend.”

  “Nope. Strictly platonic.”

  “No hanky panky?”

  “No hanky or panky. Charlie’s checked on me a few times since my mom got bad.”

  “He sounds very nice. Is there a romantic history there?”

  “Not much of one.” On paper, there really wasn’t much there. We’d tried dating, and it hadn’t worked. Then Tate came along, and Charlie starte dating someone. “I’d never cheat on Tate.”

  “Are you going to call Charlie back?”

  “No.” I turn the phone over, so I don’t see that Charlie’s now calling back. “I don’t think I will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Six mornings later, I hit snooze on my phone again.

  “Turn that thing off, Katie!” Jemma yells. “I’ve listened to your alarm for a solid hour.”

  I roll over in my bed and tug the covers beneath my chin. So cozy, so tired. Fatigue is a rip current, pulling me under, making it impossible to swim to the surface.

  “Katie?” calls Violet from below. “You’re gonna be late for class—again.” Her voice is a constant apology. “For the third day in a row.”

  Brushing a tangle of hair out of my face, I squint against the morning sun and slowly push myself to a seated position. “What time is it?”

  “Time to get new roommates,” Jemma snaps.

  “She doesn’t mean that.” Violet scowls at our grouchy friend. “But you don’t need to miss class. Last night you said you had a test.”

  Crap!

  I zip down the ladder like a fireman on a greasy pole. “Where are my pants? Has anyone seen two matching shoes? They don’t have to both be mine.” Flinging open a drawer, I dig like a madwoman for a bra.

  Jemma pops a granola bar in her mouth. “Maybe you should see a campus counselor.”

  “Will she know where my undergarments ran off to?”

  “You’re a mess,” Jemma says. “Did you even shower yesterday?”

  My brain cramps with the effort of recalling yesterday. “Back off. I’m fine.” Though my breath isn’t. Colgate, here I come.

  “You’ve been staying up all hours of the night, keeping your light on.” Jemma fires off my sins, ever the heavy-handed judge.

  “I have a lot to do.” I jump into the bathroom and grab my toothbrush. “I’
m memorizing stupid, inane facts for my theater class and learning a few hundred lines I’m never gonna need for a part I’m never gonna be.” My brain is the consistency of three-day-old cafeteria leftovers.

  Jemma stands in the bathroom doorway as I brush my pearly whites. “And another thing, you need to find a home for your mom’s ashes.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m serious, Katie.”

  I talk around a mouthful of foam. “So am I, Jemma.”

  “It’s weird to have a dead person in our room.”

  “Jemma!” Violet exclaims from the room, probably clutching her chest in shock.

  “How hard is it to relocate an urn?”

  “If I knew where to take my mom, I would’ve done it by now.”

  Jemma’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Do you need ideas?”

  “No.”

  “The ocean? The mountains? A garden? Any place that’s not ten feet away from where I sleep?”

  “It’s not like I’m not trying to find a place.” I spit into the sink and spin to face my roommate. “I’ve been wracking my brain. And when I think of something, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, give me some grace here, would you?” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’m trying, okay?” Throwing down my toothbrush, I shove past her and grab my backpack.

  “Well, try harder!”

  Urban legend says if a professor is over ten minutes late, you get to leave.

  Reality says you stay and wait it out, lest he shows up and gives you a zero for skipping.

  I mutter a prayer of thanks when I settle into my seat in Theater 101 and learn Dr. Maddox has yet to arrive.

  “You lucked out.” Jeremy removes his coffee from the empty desk beside him. “I saved you a seat. Weird thing though, your grandma’s not here yet either.”

  That is odd.

  I fire off a text to Maxine but get no immediate response. Maybe her Uber got stuck in traffic.

  “Are you ready for the test?” Jeremy asks.

  “Right now, I can’t think of a single thing I’m ready for.” I glance down at my chest, double-checking I remembered to put on that bra. “None of these theater facts will stick in my head. First Roman play? No idea. The century the Ancient Greeks presented their first drama? First? Second? No clue!”