Page 131 of Crushed By Love

The summer internship is two months long but hardly pays anything. After that I’m supposed to start back with classes at Columbia, classes paid for by the Laurences. What if I was able to get my old scholarship back? I could leave New York and start over. As far as I know, it never got revoked. My uncle convinced me to transfer colleges, but could I go back to Boston?

I’ve already lost Ethan. I’m going to lose my family if they don’t do the right thing. At least, I don’t see myself being close with them anymore. There’s nothing else keeping me in Manhattan.

Opening my laptop, I research the grant program for foster kids, and after reading through some hopeful information about my age and status, I shoot out a couple of emails. One to my old case worker and one to my previous college.

And then I do what I’ve been afraid of for far too long—I type my mother’s real name into the search bar. Her maiden name and not the one she changed it to. The name that could’ve been mine had things been different. Not Laurence. Not Davis.

Astor.

I always thought of her as Josephine Davis, but she was Josephine Astor for most of her life, nicknamed Josie, and only changed it when she became estranged from the family. I don’t know why she changed her last name beyond that, like maybe she chose Davis because it belonged to my father, or maybe she picked something random and generic to protect me from him so he couldn’t find us. There’s no information on who he could be and he’s not on my birth certificate. All I do know is that she got pregnant with me while in active addiction. That’s probably why I’m so much smaller than my family members even though I look like them. As a toddler I was pulled out of a drug home when she overdosed and died.

I got out of there. She never did.

Pictures of a beautiful young woman flood the computer screen. A woman who was full of life. A woman who used to look just like I do now, young and full of possibility. A woman that my aunt knew as her little sister. She was Josie. Josie Astor.

And I cry.

Did she have anxiety too? Did she ask for help? What led her to the path that ultimately killed her? I don’t think I’ll ever have all the answers and I decide that’s okay. I can live without knowing all the sad details because the point is that I do get to live. And I can live for the young woman on my computer screen whose life was cut short. I will make the healthy choices that she couldn’t, carving a path that’s all my own. She was my mother, after all. I’d like to believe it’s what she would’ve wanted for her daughter.

Fifty-Nine

It happens fast—six weeks later and I’ve officially wrapped up my life in Manhattan. I’ve switched colleges and can use my old scholarship to pay for school. I’ve finished my internship with Laurence International and packed up my bedroom. My uncle’s presumption of death hearing is set for next month, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not taking any money even if I get offered something. It’s no secret that I’m leaving but there’s nothing anyone can do to stop me.

Last month I unblocked Ethan’s number and sent him an apology text, but he never replied. I called Cooper shortly after and he told me that Ethan was out on bail but under house arrest and that I shouldn’t contact him again. Ethan will be the one to contact me when he’s ready—if he’s ever ready. I’m starting to think I’ll never see him again.

I’ve pled Ethan’s case to Sybil, Amelia, and Hayes on more than one occasion, but they won’t budge. I won’t budge on my feelings about it either. There’s nothing left to do but leave Manhattan and start over.

Again.

I roll my suitcase out into the family room and find Sybil sitting primly on the couch. “So that’s it? You’re really leaving?” She eyes me up and down, hurt crumpling her pretty face.

“Yes, I really am.”

Ethan wanted me to choose him and in a way, I am, but I’m also choosing myself. I don’t want to be like them and staying here would slowly chip away at me until I resembled them on the inside and not just the outside. They lead lives of vindictiveness and anger and making decisions based on grudges and social status. I can’t do that to myself, so if it means I have to be on my own out in Boston again, then so be it.

“I’m going to miss you.” I can tell she means it.

“I’m going to miss you too.” I also mean it and wish things could be different.

“Can I at least ride with you to the train station?” She stands and motions to my suitcase, but I shake my head.

“This is something I need to do on my own.”

She looks away, gazing out the window to the city skyline. “You’re braver than me. I’m ashamed of my actions.”

“So do something about it,” I try. “Ethan was your love once too. Don’t you still care about him? This isn’t fair, so go talk to the police or someone in the prosecutor’s office and tell them the truth.”

“I can’t. I promised Mom.”

“Keeping a promise for something like this isn’t noble. It’s actually the opposite.”

A tear slips down her face and her chin wobbles. “I know.”

I let out a breath and wheel my suitcase over the door. This is it. This is goodbye. But a knock sounds on the door and I open it with a frown.

Amelia and Hayes are standing on the other side.

I’ve barely seen Hayes all summer but he’s looking at me like he’s happy to see me and Amelia is her normal self. Maybe they came to say goodbye? That’s fine. As angry as I am, I still care about them, but I wish they would’ve brought Chandler along. He’s still my favorite, especially after everything that’s happened. He’s the best of us. We should all try to be more like Chandler. If we were, maybe we wouldn’t be saying goodbye right now.

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