Page 18 of Love Lies Bleeding

“Fine, I’ll have noodles and some veggie sticks and hummus as a snack later.”

“Better, but try and lay off the junk. I don’t want you to get sick. I can’t bear the thought of you so far away and needing me.”

My heart constricts with love for my mom, and I hear the worried tone in her voice. “I promise, Mom. Have you seen Lexi?”

I haven’t heard from my friend as much as I’d like, and I miss her. I want to tell her about Jake and all the feelings I have around this weird friendship we have that feels so much more but for some reason, I haven’t. Our calls are always short because she’s in a hurry or I am.

“She came in for a trim last week.”

“How is she?”

“She seems…. Fine.”

I sit up straighter, my instincts hearing more to my mom’s words. Fine is never good. “What aren’t you telling me, Mom?”

“Nothing, she just seemed in a rush to get back to that boyfriend of hers. I don’t like him, Cherry. He gives me a bad feeling in my stomach.”

My mom is the gentlest person I know, and she likes everyone, so for her to say she isn’t keen on Dean, Lexi’s boyfriend, says a lot.

“I know, Mom, me neither, but when I even broach the subject, she shuts down on me. She’s so into him.”

“Then don’t broach it, sweet girl, just be there for her, be her friend.”

A frown pulls at my brow as I fight my instincts to be submissive about any situation. “Wouldn’t a good friend be honest?”

“Sometimes yes, but sometimes part of being a good friend is being that soft place to land and for Lexi to know she has you, no matter what. If you criticize him and she isn’t ready to hear it, all it will do is cause her to push back or shut down, and then when she’s ready to talk, she won’t.”

I nod my head slowly, even though she can’t see me. “Smart or sneaky, I’m not sure which.”

“Both, sweetheart. You don’t raise a headstrong daughter without learning a few tricks.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Cherry Pie.”

“Are you okay?” I know she won’t tell me if she isn’t but I need to ask anyway. Since we lost my dad a few years back, our relationship has changed. We were always close, but now there’s this sense of protectiveness I feel too. We’re a unit, we literally held each other together when he was taken so suddenly.

“I’m fine. Stop worrying about me.”

“You first.”

“Never, I’m your mom. It’s my job to worry.”

I know that’s our role in life but I can’t help but worry. She fell apart when dad died, she was a mess. They adored each other to the point they were nauseating sometimes. It always embarrassed the hell out of me to see them acting so sappy and romantic, but secretly I loved how much they loved each other. I wanted that for myself until the day he died. I realized in that moment that loving so hard is such a monumental risk, because at any time that love can be ripped away and leave you struggling to mend the broken pieces.

“Have you met any cute boys yet, sweetie?”

“Okay, time to go. I love you, Mom.”

I’m smiling as we hang up, but my thoughts linger on home. Harvard is my dream, but even living this dream, which is everything I’d hoped for and more, doesn’t stomp out the homesickness.

Grabbing my bag, I head out, knowing that staying here will only make that worse. I lift my head, closing my eyes for a second as I suck in a breath of the cool fall weather. I adore this time of year when all the colors of nature are so rich and vibrant. Marianna and I had spent the last Saturday shopping for cute fall clothes. She’d become a good friend, but I knew I was holding back with her a little, too. Not because of her but because I found it hard to trust and her sister made it harder, but I was here and loving Harvard. I still pinch myself every time I get to walk into the library at Harvard. I made it, I actually did it.

The smell of books is comforting as I find an empty space at one of the large tables and get my books out. The smooth wood under my fingertips holds so much history and I wonder what it would say if it could talk, what stories it holds within the grain.

I notice a few students watching me, but as soon as I try and catch their eye they look away. It doesn’t bother me, not really, I’ve always been that person, the one who is either loved or hated and I’m okay with that. I’m myself and if people don’t like that, then fuck them. But this doesn’t feel like that, it feels different as if they’re looking at me because of who I am to Jake Marshall.

His reputation around school, along with that of his friend Mac, is almost God-like. They’re revered or feared, sometimes both. I get it, in some ways. Jake has this aura, this presence that instantly commands a room when he steps into it. An energy about him that makes everyone sit up and take notice no matter their age or gender. I can imagine him in the courtroom, in a few years’ time, making the jury eat up every word he utters like it’s candy. He’s going to go places and do amazing things with his life, I know it. I just don’t know if I have a place there or if I even want one.

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