Glimpse: Book One of the Glimpse Quartet, page 20
She leans toward the passenger window to get a better look at me, her body contorted over the seatbelt. “Damn. I thought it would be here by now.”
“It’s fine. I have a promising career in waitressing.” I can see it now: four years from today, I’ll still be working with Ashley. Maybe someday we’ll even get promoted. Then I can come home and put my mom to bed before I contemplate jumping into the Pacific.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I add, so she doesn’t have to think of another platitude. With one last tight smile, she drives away, leaving me to sulk into the house alone.
Homework is impossible with my mind racing, bringing up every possible worst-case scenario. Instead I reach for my book and settle in, distracting myself with possible conspiracy theories to explain Liam and Vaughn while I read.
At some point the front door swings open, followed by the sound of screeching chairs against linoleum when my mother stumbles inside. I clap a pillow over my ears and try to ignore the sound, dropping the book on the floor.
When I hear the faint sound of tires on the gravel, it does not register at first. But then they stop at the trailer and drive off in the other direction, and I am on my feet.
Sure enough, the back of the mail truck disappears up the road when I reach my window.
I do not bother to put on shoes before I race outside, yanking open the little door to find it stuffed full. My heart thuds in my ears as I finger past a smattering of bills to get to two large packets.
Inside, I drop everything on the kitchen table and pick up the first packet, knowing they don’t send packets to the rejects. The first one is from Stanford. Careful not to tear the paper with my over-excited fingers, I pull out the first page and scream when I read the first page, clamping a hand over my mouth in case my mother heard me.
Tears well in my eyes, and I press my lips together, reaching for the second packet even though nothing can beat Stanford.
My breath hitches when I see the name on the second envelope reads Rhode Island School of Design. I can’t bring myself to open it, dropping it back on the table like a live snake. With everything going on lately I forgot I ever applied.
Taking both envelopes to my room, I pull out my phone and dial Gia’s number before I can think about the second envelope too much.
“Hello?” she answers almost immediately.
My chest feels tight while I pace my room, rubbing one hand over the back of my neck. “I got in. To Stanford.”
The screaming that follows on her end is so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear.
“Oh my god. This is seriously the best day ever.” I can hear the muffled sounds of her mother telling her to quiet down from upstairs. But Gia will not be silenced, yelling a continual string of congratulations.
“I can’t believe it.” I shrug, unsure of the pit in my stomach that grows bigger by the second. I should be over the moon, like she is. I should be chanting and doing a victory lap, but instead I’m holding back nausea.
“This means we can turn our summer trip into a tour. Holy shit, have you told your mom?” Even through the phone I can feel her face shift as soon as she asks the question.
“She’s…” I look toward the door, ignoring the stinging in my eyes. “She’s not home.”
Gia is quick to console me, shooting off a dozen facts about the campus to distract me.
“I’m just sad we’ll be so far away.” Three thousand miles is hardly the kind of commute I can make on the weekend. We’ll have the summers if she comes back to Ash Wood between semesters, but I know she’d rather stay full time.
The impending loneliness grips me. What good are sand and beaches if I don’t know anyone?
“Not even. I’ll be spending my summers in Cali with you.” She has an easy solution for everything.
“Sounds like a plan.” I force myself to laugh, knowing there’s not a chance in hell I can afford to live in California unless it’s in a cardboard box.
Something breaks in the background while she shuffles, swearing under her breath. “I’ve gotta go to dinner with my parents or I’d come over with ice cream. But we’re celebrating soon and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Have fun with your parents.” The sick feeling in my gut persists long after she hangs up—even after I spend hours reading through the Stanford packet to burn every last line into my memory.
When I applied to Rhode Island, I had no intention of getting in. It was always a long shot, and I figured there was little to no risk. If anything, I expected the rejection to help me accept a future in biology.
Now that I have it in my hands, I can’t bring myself to open it. There was never supposed to be an alternative. It was supposed to be Stanford or bust, and anything else was a consolation prize.
If my mother were anywhere near coherent, I might tell her about Stanford. But after the sketchbook incident, I would tell her I’ve decided to join a cult before I would tell her about Rhode Island.
After hours of going back and forth, I decide to spend my pent-up energy on a run. Changing into leggings and a t-shirt, and grabbing a light jacket before I can forget, I head outside with my headphones in. Light rain patters on the ground, invisible apart from the wet spots it leaves.
Turning right at the intersection, I head toward the coast with music blaring in my ears, unaware of the song that plays. With all the time I spent online looking at the campus, it is near impossible to keep from imagining a different scene before me, with the Providence River serving as the centerpiece.
Pushing myself to run faster, I focus on the vibrations of my feet on the pavement. My heart feels split in two, half of it waiting in California with the remains of my father, and the other half three thousand miles away.
When my lungs start to ache. I slow to a stop beneath a grove of trees, marveling at the soft light that penetrates the clouds. It’s a short walk from here to Jackson Pier, where I take the stairs down to the beach.
The air down here is cool and smells faintly of salt and seaweed. Waves roll over the sand in unsteady beats while the rain drips over my face and soaks through my clothes.
My phone is in my hand before I can reason through it, closing my eyes while it rings.
“Blair?” Liam answers after one ring. How does he always do that?
“Hey,” I bite my lip and stare at the ocean, rethinking my decision now that I’ve heard him. “This is weird, but I want to talk to you. Can you meet me?”
I can already hear him shuffling on the other end, presumably on the way to his car. “Where at?” I feel guilty now, remembering the last time I called him. I ought to tell him there’s no drunken emergency.
“I’m on the beach. North of the pier.” He must know it’s not an emergency from the tone of my voice.
“On my way.” The line goes dead before I can say thank you, and I slip my hands into my jacket pockets while I wait. Wind rolls in off the sea, pummeling me and the cliff. I turn my back to it, pacing in the sand until I see a dark-haired figure walking toward me from the pier, head hung low.
A warm feeling spreads in my chest and I walk toward him while the horizon swallows the light.
“Are you here alone?” he asks when we meet in the middle. He sounds annoyed, his face drawn in frustration.
“Yeah,” I shrug, “why?” As if I haven’t been wandering town alone since I was eight.
He takes a deep breath through his nose, looking down at me through narrow eyes. “Last time we were here you were falling off a cliff.”
The memory sends a chill down my arms. How could I forget about that? And yet I haven’t thought about it much since. “Technically I was pushed.”
“That’s even worse.”
He has a point. I should invest in a taser or something if the strange spine-chilling nights are going to continue. But I didn’t come here to relive a near-death experience.
“Will you stop being you for a second and listen? I have news.”
I can tell he wants to press the issue, but he rolls his eyes and inclines his head down, raising his eyebrows in silent question.
“I got into college.” It still doesn’t feel real, like I’ll wake up tomorrow and check the mailbox all over again. “Two of them, actually,” I add, hence the dilemma.
“Two?” He smiles, his annoyance at my poor judgment momentarily forgotten. “Bravo. Which ones?”
The fierce pride in his voice gives me pause. How can he be so ambivalent at school and so open in private? “Stanford,” I answer, knowing it is the right choice. The only choice.
“Congratulations.” His sincerity is overwhelming as his hair slowly darkens in the light rain. I know when I tell him about Rhode Island it will be even more so, and suddenly I wish I had never called him. “And the other one?”
Taking a deep breath, I pull my shoulders in and avert my eyes to the water. “RISD. It’s the Rhode Island School of—”
“I’m familiar,” he nods, a huge smile forming on his face. “It’s the best program in the country—one of the best undergrad programs in the world, actually. Wow, Blair.” His eyes light up and he closes the distance between us, cupping my face in his hands for a moment before pulling me into a hug.
“Thank you,” I breathe, wrapping my arms around his neck before he lifts me and spins me around, oblivious to the fact that I am soaked with rain and sweat.
When he sets me down, he pulls off his jacket, which, unlike mine, is waterproof. “Here, take this. You’re freezing.” He helps me put it on and then rubs my arms, using the friction to warm me.
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
He waves my complaint away, running one hand through his hair as a nervous grin spreads over his face. “I can’t let you freeze to death before you get a chance to go to college.”
“Yeah, that would be a shame,” I agree, digging the toe of my shoe into the sand. Though it would save me from having to make the decision.
In the quiet that follows, his face changes. “I guess you’re stuck with opposite directions again, huh?”
How does he do that? Sometimes I swear he can read my mind. “I don’t know what to do. You’re the first person I’ve told.” And if I’m honest, the only person I want to tell. For all her silliness and big talk, Gia would tell me to go to Stanford. And she would be right.
“You didn’t tell your mom?”
A short, sarcastic laugh leaves me. “Even if I had, she wouldn’t remember. She was passed out when I opened the letters.” I doubt she’d welcome the news in either case, after what she did to my sketchbook.
I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance to tell her, or if I’ll just be gone one day and one day there will be no one home to put her to bed.
The thought is sobering. No matter where I get in, I can’t just leave her here like this. Liam puts a hand on my shoulder and cocks his head, his lips turned down. “What are you thinking?”
“That…” I search for the right words, rather than the truth. “That I’m so lucky to have this choice.”
“That’s true.” As if he knows what comes next, he takes my hands in his and waits for me to continue.
“So why does it feel so unfair?” I search his eyes, knowing I will not find answers in them. I thought it was torture waiting for the news. But it’s a special kind of hell to have my pick of dreams laid out in front of me and both hands tied behind my back.
He does not answer, knowing there is nothing he can say that will fix it. Instead, he puts his arms around me, resting his chin on my head. His skin is warm, even without his jacket and with the wind picking up.
“I don’t know why I’m even considering Rhode Island.” Nuzzling into his chest, I catch the familiar scent of teakwood and cinnamon. “It’s not like I could ever go there.”
“But you can’t stop thinking about it, either.” One of his hands moves to the back of my neck, and I shiver closer to him. Wind beats against us, but the thought of going home makes my stomach turn.
“Am I a horrible person?” I ask, my voice so quiet I’m surprised he can hear me over the weather. I can feel him shaking his head before he runs his hands up and down my back in slow, rhythmic motions.
“Would an awful person be thinking about sacrificing something like this?” he asks. But the truth is, only part of me is ready. The other part longs to be thousands of miles away where I don’t have to bother with her anymore.
The sun has officially set, and already the waves look harsh beneath the glow of moonlight.
“I don’t want to take care of her anymore.” It is a relief to admit it, even if I feel like crap for thinking it. He pulls back just enough to look at me, tipping my chin up with his finger.
“It’s not supposed to be like this.” There is so much knowledge held in his face, I wonder what put it there. Parents are one of the many things he never told me about. But however he got here, he seems to understand more than anyone else. More than Gia, even.
“What am I going to do?” If I had only gotten into one of the programs, it would be a non-issue. Or, if I’d had the sense not to apply to Rhode Island in the first place, I wouldn't have to make the choice.
“I wish I had answers for you.” He rests his chin on my head again, his heart beating against my cheek while I stare at the ocean.
I should get home soon, but there is no one waiting to hold me there. So instead I breathe in his scent and close my eyes, pretending for a moment that we are just two people hugging on a beach.
“Thank you for coming,” I whisper. No matter how many doubts I have about him, I have never felt so safe.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Blair
“Wake up!” My mother pounces on my bed too early, a wild grin on her face.
“Who died?” My eyes flutter open, but it takes a moment for them to adjust. Black, messy curls hang around her face, but she looks beautiful—an unusual amount of life in her eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d even say she was sober.
“Time for breakfast!” She ambles off my bed, bouncing back and forth from one foot to the other while I check the alarm clock to find it’s ten till seven.
“How long have you been up?” Is it uppers now? Is that the next phase of my life with her?
“Your breakfast is getting cold.”
The last time she made me breakfast it ended in a three-day bender.
Slipping into sweatpants, I’m greeted by the smell of fresh pancakes in the kitchen—and from scratch, too. Bacon pops and crackles on the stove, flinging grease all over the counter.
“You know my birthday’s not until June, right?” I sit down at the table, still too wary to smile.
“Ha-ha. C’mon, you love pancakes.”
“Smells great, Mom.” My eyes scan the kitchen on instinct, prepared for empty pill bottles, a long-lost memory of my dad, or even a local paper. Anything that might have set her off.
“How’s the boy?” She grins, drumming her fingers on the table while we eat. The first bite literally melts in my mouth, tasting so much of home it brings the instant threat of tears to my eyes.
“Good, right?” Her smile lights up her whole face, her attention so fixed on me she’s either on something or stone cold sober.
This is different than “good day” mom. This is Mom before Dad died and a cannonball blew her life to smithereens. This is uncharted territory, and there’s no telling how long it will last.
“Are you okay?” It has to be asked, even if it kills her mood.
“You should ditch school.”
That can’t be a good sign. “I have homework due.”
She shrugs, daring me with dark eyes full of chaos. “One day won’t kill you.”
Stanford might beg to differ. On the one hand, my hanging out with her might prolong this random bout of abstinence.
On the other, I’m not sure I can take watching the wagon go up in flames again. She wiggles her eyebrows, pointing a piece of bacon at me.
“You know you want to.”
It’s not unlike a kid begging for dessert before dinner, but she’s every bit as intoxicating as I remember back in California. A deep ache grows in my belly, yearning for a reality I know I can’t have, no matter how pleasant she is right now.
Still…who am I to turn my nose up at a gift from the universe? “What are we going to do?”
“Anything we want!” She starts rattling off ideas, too fast for me to follow as she makes her way through the kitchen, making half-hearted attempts at cleaning up.
Resting my hand on my cheek while I watch her, I close my eyes against the recognizable flood of hope. It’s just one day. Just one good day .
“Let’s throw some clay,” she gasps, eyes so wide I can see a full ring of white around her irises.
“Sounds great,” I answer, pressing my lips together to keep my own smile from going out of control.
She kisses the top of my head before dancing to the sink to start the dishes. Shaking my head, I walk back to my room to change.
Ditching school today , I text Gia so she doesn’t show up to chauffeur me. Throwing my phone on my bed, I change out of my sweats, pulling on a pair of old jeans and a purple t-shirt I’m not especially fond of. I’m in the middle of lacing up my boots when my phone buzzes.
Delinquent. You okay ? Gia texts back.
Unclear. My mom wants to “hang out.”
She’s awake?
That’s what I said. Am I doing the right thing? Or is now the right time to stage an intervention?
Jealous . Text me if you need anything .
Wish me luck . I hope I don’t have to take her up on the offer.
“I’m waiting,” Mom calls from the kitchen, playful as ever.
Piling my hair in a messy bun, I grab my jacket and meet her in the kitchen, my steps a little too light.
Her light blue overalls are familiar, stained with every imaginable color of paint and frayed at the bottom where they hang just a little too long. I haven’t seen her wear them in close to a decade.
“So. How’s the boy?” she prods again, poking my side while gravel crunches beneath our feet.
