Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(103)

"Well, if he knew where you were going, then this wouldn't be nearly as exciting," Vivian smiled. "I'm the only one who knows for a reason."

I didn't understand her tactics, to keep his acceptance letters from him until this night. The need to let the suspense build until I thought I was about to pass out. I wanted to scream, "Just tell us already!!" But of course I didn't. I remained still in the backseat, barely breathing.

When we arrived at the restaurant, we were escorted to a table in the corner with a little more privacy. Evan assisted in removing my jacket before taking off his own. My mouth crept into a big smile when he revealed his attire.

Beneath his tailored suit jacket, he wore the Stanford t-shirt I'd given him for Christmas.

"I didn't want there to be any misunderstandings about my choice," Evan explained with a smirk when he saw me beaming.

"Very clever," Vivian admired with a shine in her eyes. "I'm not sure your father will appreciate your sense of style, but I adore it."



       
         
       
        

"Me too," I added, feeling a little more confident at the sight of him wearing the t-shirt, like he already belonged there.

Vivian insisted we order while we waited for Stuart. I selected the dish she recommended, knowing I wouldn't be eating much of it. I had a feeling that regardless of where Evan wanted to go and what college accepted him, his father was going to have the final say. After all, it was his money putting Evan through college.

And then we waited.

Vivian drove the conversation without pause, but she couldn't keep Evan from checking his watch every few minutes. I remained quiet, listening and nodding―glancing over as Evan's face became tighter with each minute that passed. By the time our entrées were cleared, with more left on the plates than eaten, Evan was straining every muscle in his body to remain composed.

Vivian excused herself from the table, taking her cell phone with her.

"He's not coming," Evan concluded dryly under his breath. "He wants to make it perfectly clear he doesn't approve and won't support my decision."

I wanted to say the right thing to make him feel better, but I didn't. His father had deserted him on one of the most important nights of his life. What was there to say? Instead, I held his hand as he gripped it firmly, allowing me to just be there for him.

Vivian returned and smiled tensely. "Well, it doesn't appear that your father will be able to make it. I apologize. So there's no use in delaying the suspense.

"Evan, you chose Stanford, and they also chose you. Congratulations." She tried to appear happy for him, but Stuart's refusal to attend cursed the entire evening.

"Thank you," Evan accepted graciously, but his face still looked as though he'd bitten into something sour. I kept a worried eye upon him, feeling his hand tighten around mine.

I tried to smile as well, looking toward Vivian for reassurance―but I couldn't find any in her troubled eyes. Evan's choice to attend Stanford had divided their family, and that wasn't worthy of celebration.



I returned home that night deflated and confused. The one thing I wanted more than anything suddenly felt so selfish and wrong. And I wasn't sure how to make it right.

The house was dark when I entered. I flipped on the foyer lights and searched for signs that my mother had returned. Her car wasn't in the driveway. Her jacket wasn't in the closet.

I glanced at the clock and realized it was still early, so there wasn't need to worry... yet. I went upstairs to change and brush my teeth before returning to the living room and curling up on the couch to wait for her.



My eyes blinked open, and I pulled my head off the pillow, listening. I squinted to make out the glowing time on the cable box. It was after three in the morning. I quickly swept the blankets off to peer out the window, finding my car the only occupant of the driveway. I ran up the stairs and opened her door. Her bed sheets were still crumpled in her half hearted attempt to make her bed. She wasn't home. 

I was trying not to panic, but I kept thinking of the night when Jonathan and I had to pick her up at the bar. What if something happened to her? What if she tried to drive home? My heart pounded with each racing thought, flashing through all the horrific possibilities.

I paced the foyer, trying to decide what to do, then instinctively picked up my phone.

"Was it a shoe?" Jonathan teased on the other end.

"She's not home," I burst out. "It's after three in the morning, and she's not home yet. What if something happened to her? What if―"