Page 25 of The Sweet Spot

“Classic, I suppose.” I allow a small smile. It’s hard to say no to her. “And small. Thanks.”

“No worries, girl,” she says, nodding her head toward Skye, who’s curled up on her bed. “We all need a little something today.”

Rather than scrambling up to my bunk with my drink, I sit with Skye, who sleeps below me. “Hey. You doing okay?””

“I don’t know.” She lets out a slow, shaky breath. “They’ve been talking about hospice.”

My heart squeezes painfully, and I reach out to take her hand. Skye’s dad was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and she’s been in the thick of family phone calls all week.

“You gonna have to defer next semester for sure?” I ask quietly.

Skye nods, looking down at her lap. “Pops might not have a lot of time. I need to be there with him…and for my mom.”

I take another sip, absorbing this. It’s been one blow after another for Skye. First, she found out her dad was terminally ill, and now she’s realizing she may not be coming back after Christmas break. Maybe not ever. She told me once that Santa Cruz was her dream school growing up, that she’d fallen in love with the city after visiting family here as a kid.

Skye was valedictorian of her senior class and won all sorts of grants and scholarships to UCSC. She’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and probably one of the prettiest. Leighton told her, during our first drunken bonding session, that she looked like a black Barbie with her smooth, brown skin, catty hazel eyes and symmetrical features…to which Skye replied, “but with natural hair, thank you very much.”

Now, just months after starting freshman year, she’s returning to St. Croix, the small, Caribbean island she’s from.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I squeeze her hand. “Let me know when you’re heading over to admissions, okay? I’ll go with you.”

“Okay.” She squeezes back, reaching for her drink. “It’ll probably be soon. Tomorrow, maybe.”

Silence falls, and the whispery flirting between Leighton and Noah dies down. I glance over at them just in time to see a little kiss. I look away, but Leighton sees anyway, shooting a rubber band at me. “How’d it go at the library?” she asks. “You finish that paper?”

“I did, thank God.” I take a small sip of mojito. “You study for your final yet?”

“Yes, ma’am. I had a free period around lunch, so I took advantage.” She closes her eyes, resting against Noah. “I’ll study a little more in the morning…I don’t have class until eleven.”

“Sterling’s been asking about you,” Noah says, petting Leighton’s hair. Their socked feet are entwined.

“Oh, yeah?” I swallow a sigh. Noah’s roommate Sterling is into me, has been since orientation week. He’s handsome, in a trust fund kind of way, and he’s intelligent, in a book smart kind of way, but there is not one iota of chemistry between us.

“Yeah. He wanted to come over tonight, but he has a major Econ paper due that he’s been putting off.” Noah angles his phone toward a pair of mini speakers on Leighton’s desk, filling our space with mellow, lo-fi beats.

Well, good. Had I come back to the room to find Sterling hanging around waiting for me, I would’ve been annoyed as hell because I’ve made it clear I’m not interested.

“You good?” Skye whispers, snickering.

I cut her a look. She knows what’s up, even if Noah over there is Mr. Oblivious. “Right as rain.”

My phone comes to life, glowing from within the bedsheets. It’s my mom.

Mom: I got something from Rodrigo in the mail today, addressed to you. Want me to hold on to it or send to the dorm?

Rodrigo, my old boss from the Sweet Spot? Frowning, I think back to my last, measly little paycheck. Maybe it was miscalculated, and I’m owed more—that would be freaking fantastic.

Wren: Hold on to it. I’ll stop by the studio Friday.

* * *

Snuggling into my favorite fleece hoodie, I walk briskly up the sidewalk and in the front door of Mom’s yoga studio. Maybe today will be the day I tell Mom about Arlo Janvier.

We’ve been emailing back and forth for months now. I know more about him than he does about me, like that he was born in France but lives in Manhattan. No wife, no kids. Except for me, that is. (And whatever other kids might have resulted from his sperm donations. It’s too weird to think about, so I try not to.) He has a rescue dog named Melvin and a kitten named Pamplemousse.

I told him I took French for two years in high school, but that’s about it.

I’ve always known that Arlo has green eyes and blond hair because my mother told me when I was younger (she chose her donor’s features) but we haven’t exchanged pictures yet. I feel like if I see myself in his face, it’ll make it all too real. I’m more comfortable here in the in-between, where Arlo is my dad only in theory.

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