Page 90 of From Now On

So far, all I have isHey. Which is a solid, predictable start, but not very memorable. I could suggest grabbing coffee, I guess, but that seems too…basic. I’m hoping she’ll fall in love with me, not encourage her thing for soy milk.

We’re not sleeping under the same roof anymore. Holt’s campus is small, but there’s no guarantee I’ll randomly run into Eve anytime soon. I want—need—to make a move, I just don’t know the right one.

I’ve been attracted to Eve ever since we first met, and I think a part of me thought I’d overhyped that moment in my head. Built her up as the dream girl who got away. Wanted her because I thought I’d never have her.

Maybe all of that was true. But the past week around Eve confirmed that anything—everything—I felt the night we met is still there.

I want her to know how much I wish that night had ended differently. How much I wish several recent nights had ended differently.

I addEveto the new message so it now reads:Hey, Eve.

Not much of an improvement.

Before I can come up with anything else to add, my phone lights up with a call from my mom.

“Hey, Mom,” I answer, then take another bite of my wrap.

I texted her the name of the hotel Eve suggested a few days ago, but haven’t spoken to her since returning to campus.

“Hi, honey.” I relax some when her voice sounds chipper. “How was the rest of your break?”

“It was great. The rental Aidan found was really nice, right on the water, so we hung out there most of the time. We went bowling, on a rainy day. Nothing too crazy, but it was nice to get away for a bit.”

“Nothing too crazy is what moms love to hear,” she tells me. “I’m glad you had fun, Hunter.”

“Yeah, me too.” I clear my throat. “How are…how are things there?”

“Oh, we’re doing fine. This weekend warmed up some, so I did some gardening. Your father went fishing and had a lot of luck, so we had your grandparents over for dinner.”

“Tell him about the size of the trout,” I hear my dad say.

“You can tell him when you talk to him,” my mom replies.

I smile, realizing they’re on their lunch break together. “That sounds nice, Mom.” I fiddle with the tortilla of my wrap, debating on whether to ask the next question. But I don’t trust my mom to bring it up if there is something to say. “Anything from Sean?”

“No, we haven’t heard from him. I tried calling last week. No answer.”

I blow out a long breath, relieved and also annoyed. Sean tends to disappear after a relapse, like our worry is driving him away. Alarm he only adds to, by taking off.

“I told him to stop calling you.”

“Mom…”

“No, Hunter. It isn’t fair to you. If he wants help, he can call us.”

I don’t argue with her. Mostly because Sean has proven over and over again that he’ll do whatever the hell he wants. He was always stubborn and contrarian, but it’s ten times worse when he’s on…whatever his drug of choice happens to be that night.

“How are your classes going?” she asks, in an obvious attempt to change the subject from my brother.

“They’re good,” I answer. “Busy. I have a lot of work to do on my thesis. But home stretch, you know.”

“Anything from grad schools yet?” There’s a hint of concern in my mom’s voice, and I realize she’s stressed I didn’t get in anywhere.

I rub at my shoulder. Driving all day yesterday and a second surfing trip didn’t help the spot I strained. “Uh, yeah. I got in.”

“Got in? Where?” She sounds thrilled, and I immediately feel like an asshole for keeping the news from her.

“Everywhere I applied. Stanford, Princeton, Yale, Columbia, Rochester, Washington University, Ohio State, Northwestern, UPenn, and UW.”

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