Page 32 of Yours

“Yeah,” I say. “Do you know what happened? Why her mom left?”

Higgs shakes his head.

My mind reels with questions, but at the same time a flood of anger washes through me. It wasn’t Darcy’s fault that her mom was the way she was. She didn’t ask for that. People had no right to make her feel bad. Then I think about Milton, and how he surely knew the impact, and why he was so adamant she leave for school.

I shake my head in disgust. No wonder Darcy’s so upside-down about her desires and her body. I feel like an ass. I should have been more careful with her. I should have known more about her history. I mean, what we shared felt so right, but what if she’s off at school doubting herself, doubting us?

As soon as I get back to Willow Creek, I try to call Darcy. I don’t know what I’m going to say but I just have to hear her voice. But she doesn’t answer.

Darcy

“You should come,” Tiffany urges from my doorway, though I can tell she doesn’t really want me to. Since the date with Cory, I haven’t gone out with her or Willow, and she’s getting tired of asking.

“I gotta write this paper,” I say, turning back to my laptop.

“It’s not due till after Thanksgiving,” she says.

“I know,” I say, flipping through my notes to find a reference.

Eventually, I hear her sigh and shuffle back to her room. A while later, the front door closes and I’m once again alone.

Tiffany and Willow are both going home for Thanksgiving, but I’m staying here. After my unexpected trip home in September to take care of my dad, we can’t afford another plane ticket. I’ll go back for the Christmas break, which is only two and a half weeks away. Our dining hall is serving a full Thanksgiving dinner, but I’ll just stay home. I’m actually relieved that I get to be alone for a while. It’ll be good for me; I could use the extra time to study.

That night, my phone rings. It’s Brian again. I can’t answer it. After all that time waiting for him to text or call, now it just makes me think of what Cory said. Brian won’t want to be anywhere near me if he finds out what happened. He’ll think like Cory does, and I can’t bear it. I just wish he’d stop calling, though I’ll still have to face him at Christmas.

On Thanksgiving Day, my phone rings. I’m in the middle of reviewing the Kreb’s Cycle with my music on, so don’t hear it until the last minute. It’s my dad. I know he’s calling to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving, but I can’t hear his voice right now. Every time we talk, it makes me feel like my skin’s too tight for my body.

I haven’t told anyone about Cory. It’s my fault, after all. In quiz section, Cory ignores me, which suits me fine. I keep wondering if Ellis gave him my number. Every time this thought arises, I focus harder on my studies, but at night when I lay in bed, the words float in front of my eyes:slut, whore, tease. What if I’m just like my mother? What if all this studying and working hard will only get me to wherever she came from?

My dad calls back awhile later, and I’m in the middle of eating a pizza I heated in our oven while readingFire on the Mountainfor my post-colonial English course for the third time.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he says in a jovial voice.

“Same to you,” I say, swallowing my pizza with a sip of beer. My roommates all prefer mixers or microbrews but I’m happy with my Coors. Normally I don’t buy beer, but tonight seemed like an exception, so I bought a six pack. “Did you have fun at Grace and Joe’s?” I ask. Grace and Joe are our next-door neighbors and have been hosting my dad—and me, when I’m home—to holiday meals since I can remember.

“Stuffed good and proper,” my dad says. “Brian’s here bringing in more wood. You wanna talk to him?”

“Maybe later,” I say. The idea of Brian taking care of my dad fills me with an ache. I remember the three of us eating dinner together during my visit, the entire time unable to stand the wait to get into Brian’s arms. But things are different now, more complicated, and I’m scared that what I’ve done has changed things forever.

We talk about school for a while. I tell him about my poetry class project and all the memorizing I’m doing for my biology final.

“Don’t work too hard, now,” he says.

“I won’t,” I auto-reply.

“I don’t like that you’re all by yourself,” he says.

“Really, it’s okay,” I say.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asks, his voice gruff.

My dad’s never asked me about boys before. I wince. “I just don’t,” I say, my voice louder than I intended.

“You’re a smart, beautiful girl. Any guy would be lucky to be with you.”

“Stop, okay?” I feel tears blur my eyes and swipe them away.

“I know things were hard for you growing up. But it’s in the past, all right? You can be who you are. They can’t hurt you now.”

---