Page 5 of Rule Breakers Fall Hardest

Is it too much to ask to be loved for who I am by my own mother?

God, what would she be like if I were bigger? Would she resort to pressuring me into even more drastic measures like surgery?

Sadly, it wouldn’t surprise me.

You are not and will not become the product of her problems.

With a deep breath in, then back out, I focus on that phrase. In the past, moments like this would lead me to binge or even starve myself. Anymore, though, I canmostlylet her words roll off my back.

I open my laptop, determined to focus on the essay I’m working on for my nutrition class. I have my mom to thank for my chosen career path. Not that I’ll ever have to work. Not with the money I’ll inherit from my dad, the heir to an entire hotel chain empire, as well as my mom, a successful nepo-baby model.

It’s because of her that I’m pursuing this career path, a split between nutrition and therapy. I want to help people like her and maybe, in the process, save little girls from a life like I’ve led due to my mother’s issues.

I’ve only written a few sentences, poor ones at that, when the door to the shared dorm space bangs open.

I stand up, my desk chair wheeling away.

“We’re through! For real this time!” My roommate and best friend slams the door in the face of her on-again, off-again boyfriend. Storming through the open area between our rooms, she kicks her shoes off and lets out a small scream. “Oh,” she says when she catches sight of me standing in the doorway of my room. “I didn’t think you’d be back yet. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.”

I never met Beatrice “Bertie” Carthwright before we were tossed together as roommates, but we clicked and became instant best friends. It’s a wonder we never met before, with our families moving in similar social circles. Her family name is emblazoned on the packaging of one of the oldest candy bars in America. A person can’t go into a grocery store or gas station without seeing a Carthwright Bar.

She runs her fingers through her hair in agitation. “He drives me nuts.”

I struggle not to laugh from my perch in the doorway. “I’m aware.”

Bertie and Tommy’s relationship is volatile, to say the least. It’s not abusive in any way, but they’re both the jealous type and like to play games. See how far they can push the other’s buttons. Tommy isn’t abadguy, but he’s nottheguy for her. She just hasn’t seen that yet.

As her light blue eyes fill with tears, she wiggles her nose in an effort to keep them at bay.

“We’re really done this time. I mean it.” She throws her hands out in an X motion. “Done. I amdone.”

“What did he do?” I move away from the door and envelop my friend in a hug. She’s one of very few people on this campus who actually likes me. I don’t know what I’d do without her. While her ups and downs with Tommy can be exhausting, I want to be there for her like she has for me.

“He was flirting with Margo Thompson. Do you know her? Strawberry-blond hair?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, I don’t.”

Her lip quivers. “He said it was to make me jealous, but how did he know I’d be coming into the dorm at the exact moment? Huh? Answer: he didn’t,” she rambles, hiccupping through her cries. “I hate boys.”

Forgetting about my essay for the time being, I hug her closer and give her a solid pat on the back. “Go shower and put on comfy clothes. I’ll make brownies. We still have vanilla ice cream, right?”

“We should.”

“Good. Now go.” I shoo her out of the space and to the bathroom.

I’m not the best baker, but boxed brownies are pretty foolproof. I pull the box from the cabinet and dig around for our baking pan. The dorms at Aldridge are set up like apartments, with the bedrooms surrounding the living and kitchen area. The units in this building have either two or four bedrooms and share a single bathroom. We lucked out with a two-bedroom dorm, thank God. I’m not sure I’d survive living with three other girls.

I have the brownies in the oven and the sink full of dirty dishes when Bertie opens the bathroom door and a cloud of steam escapes.

“I already feel better.” She inhales a lungful of air as she shuffles into her room.

I’m glad one of us does. My brain keeps seesawing between my conversation with Daire and my mother.

He wasn’t lying when he said my mom always pictured the two of us getting married. Stupidly, I did too. For far too long. I shake my head to rid myself of the memories of a much younger Daire and me. He hung the moon and stars and all the planets in the sky when we were little. I thought he could do no wrong.

Until he did.

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