Page 2 of Becoming Selfish

Marc not only became my best friend in Spain, but he became the best friend I’ve ever had. He told me all about his life in Minnesota. How his parents live in Indiana but own a house close to his campus, so they often visit. His mom married his stepdad when Marc was only three, and he has a stepbrother who is the same age named EJ. EJ plays hockey for their school and is well loved on campus, it seems. Marc also told me all about the girlfriend who broke up with him just two weeks before he left to study abroad and how they were together for three years. He had a feeling that she was cheating on him, and when he confronted her, instead of defending herself, she just broke up with him.

I told Marc I knew how he felt. I told him all about my ex-boyfriend. How I got back from seeing my mom in the hospital to find a woman’s bra on his bedroom floor. I told him I knew it wasn’t mine because I didn’t own anything that red and lacy. I told him how, when I confronted my ex about it, he not only confirmed that he was cheating, but that it was with my closest friend at the time. I told him that I not only lost my boyfriend and my friend that week, but that was also the week that I lost my mom. I told him how a few weeks later, I packed up all my things and came to Spain to study abroad. I told him that it was my first time out of California and how I never wanted to go back.

So, I didn’t.

That’s a lie, I did. But only for a short time.

I had to go back for about two months to handle my parents’ finances and sell my childhood home. After that, I packed up my car and started my drive to Minneapolis to begin grad school. Marc convinced me to move and get my MBA at the University of Minnesota, where he did his undergrad and got accepted into the graduate program. To be honest, it didn’t take much convincing. I wanted to get the hell away from California and all the memories I had from there.

So here I am, less than twenty miles to my exit. In the fifth state I’ve ever been to, all of which were visited while on this drive. I’m anxious as hell, excited to see my best friend, but mostly nervous. Up until eight months ago, I had never really been on my own. I felt like I was because I was the one taking care of my parents when each of them was sick, but I’ve never truly been on my own. I’ve never gotten to think about me and only me. I always had an ailing parent to worry about or a boyfriend who only cared about what he needed. It feels pretty freeing not to have to think about anyone besides myself. But it also feels selfish. I’ve never used that word to describe myself before, but maybe that’s exactly what I need to be. Selfish.

Chapter 1

Logan

This campus is enormous. It’s so much bigger than the small state school I graduated from back home. It takes me a good thirty minutes of driving around campus, stopping to ask for help on three separate occasions to find my dorms. The graduate school housing seems to be in a quieter part of campus, and I’m thankful for that. It’s not that I mind noise and other people partying; it’s just not what I’m into.

Pulling into a parking space, I grab my phone out of my purse to check the email about housing, needing to remind myself of my dorm number.

“C-13,” I say aloud in the hope that it’ll stick in my mind. It shouldn’t be that hard to remember—thirteen is my lucky number.

Along with my housing email, I have a missed text from Marc from about two hours ago.

M: I can’t believe you’re going to be in Minnesota today! I know you’re still a ways away, so let me know your ETA when you can. I’m planning to move into the dorms around 2:00. Let me know when you’re here so I can help you. See you soon.

I check the clock on the dashboard. It’s only 11:27. I want to tell Marc that I’m here already, but I don’t want him to rush over to help me unload my car because I can do it on my own.

L: Hey! I’m actually already here. I didn’t feel like stopping last night, so I just drove straight through. I don’t need help unpacking, so don’t rush over here. I’ll see you around 2:00.

I put my phone back in my purse and throw it over my shoulder. Grabbing just the essentials, I lock the car and head inside.

The first floor of the building is spacious and well lit. Desks line the walls under the windows and pool tables crowd the entryway’s right side. There are also two large couches, a coffee table, and a giant TV hanging on the wall.

Each side of the entryway has a staircase, and next to one of them is an elevator. I take the elevator, hoping that there will be some indication from the buttons what floor ‘C-13’ might be on. I step inside and, just as I had expected, some of the buttons are lettered instead of numbered. I press ‘C’ and wait for the doors to close.

Right as the door is about to shut, someone yells, “Hold the door, please!”

I put my hand between the closing doors to stop them, and a few seconds later, when the doors fully open again, a girl who looks about my age comes rushing into the elevator with her hands full.

“Thank you so much,” she huffs, out of breath.

“No problem. Do you need help carrying any of that?” I eye the pile she’s carrying in her hands.

Glancing down at her arms full of stuff, she shakes her head. “Oh, no. I’m good.”

“What floor do you need?” I ask while looking at the lettered buttons.

“C. I think? Is that even a floor number?” she laughs.

“Yeah, it is. That’s where I’m heading too.”

We ride in silence as I stare at the numbers and letters changing, indicating the floor we are currently on. “1...2...A...B...” The elevator dings at what seems to be the fifth floor. Why they don’t just number them all? I have no idea.

The doors open, and the girl with her hands full tries to exit the same time as me, but we can’t both fit through. Giving each other an awkward laugh, I tell her, “Go ahead.”

“Okay,” she says and walks through the doors.

I didn’t expect her just to say, “okay.” I kind of expected her to say “oh no, after you” or something to that effect, because that’s what I would have done. But I like that she just said “okay” and walked out. She’s confident it seems, and doesn’t feel the need to play the ‘pretend to be polite’ game.

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