Rowe looks like she wants to throw up, and I don’t know if it’s all of the change being thrown at her at once, fear of having to travel to a place like the Bahamas over Thanksgiving, in a plane, over water, or the fact that she will lose one more connection to Josh. “Can Rowe come home with me?” I hear myself saying it before I even have time to think it through, but when I feel her hand thread even tighter through my fingers, I know I have to keep going. I’m her life raft right now. “I mean, for the holiday. Like you said, you guys haven’t had much alone time. And…it might be nice to have a vacation, you know…on your own? And well, my parents really would love to have her come. And we don’t do anything very formal. I’d like her to come. I…I’d like it a lot.”
I don’t know who looks happier about my idea—Rowe or her mother, who has actual tears developing in her eyes. She looks at Tom and nods, signaling her approval, and Tom turns to his daughter with his shoulders scrunched and his brow pinched.
“Rowe? Would you be okay with that? I mean, we don’t really do anything formal either, and your grandparents aren’t coming over this year. It would just be the three of us anyhow,” he asks.
Rowe looks from her parents to me and then to her lap, her lip tucked between her teeth before she finally looks up at me, her eyes reaching inside to my heart and squeezing. “Are you sure it’s okay? I mean, that your family would want me?”
“We want you,” I say, leaning a little closer and whispering the rest. “I want you. Please, come home with me.”
“Okay,” she says, a slow smile taking over and dispelling the nerves and worry that were just battling against her. Then she turns quickly to her mom. “But, can I see the house? One last time—before you sell it? I mean, if someone buys it before my semester’s done, can I come home just once to say goodbye?” Rowe swallows hard, and her mom reaches across the table to take her daughter’s hand while she nods yes.
Rowe
My home is gone. My home is gone. My home is gone. I have said this in my head, over and over, all night. I don’t know what it means other than the fact that I can never go back. And I don’t really want to go back…do I?
There’s a part of me that feels like I have been in a fantasy world, playing dress up like I did when I was a little girl. I’m playing college. And when I’m done with this, I’ll go back to what I was before. Except that was never the point, was it? I suppose what I’m going through is no different from the other thousands of students walking to classes, living in apartments and dorms, and calling their parents on the phone less and less as months turn into semesters and then into years.
But those other students don’t have pasts like mine, with scars covering their bodies and their hearts—and a first love that has dominated their every thought for almost a thousand days.
“Are you okay?” Nate asks, his thumb gently tugging at my chin while we lie in each other’s arms in his pink bedroom—just one more scene in my fantasyland.
“Yes. No…I’m not sure. Is that…bad?” I ask, tucking my head under his chin to feel safe.
“Yes. No. I’m not sure,” he says with a light chuckle. I don’t know if he really understands, but he pretends well enough. “I’m glad you’re coming home with me for Thanksgiving. I’m selfish.”
“I’m glad I’m coming home with you, too,” I say, and most of me is truly glad.
“San Diego really is nice. They have beaches,” he says, and I smile against his skin.
“I love beaches. Or, I think I do. I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen one,” I say almost laughing.
“You’re kidding?” he says, pulling back a little to look in my eyes, and I just shake my head no, confirming for him.
“There’s a lot I haven’t seen or done,” I say, my face flushing a little remembering the last first that Nate gave to me.
“So it would seem,” he teases, but his teasing is short. “We should make a list. I’d like to be a part of more firsts.”
“Okay,” I say, doing my best to force my brain to focus on anything other than my old bedroom, and my old boyfriend who lives only a few blocks away. “I can’t drive.”
“Wha?” Nate says, the sound of his voice soothing as his neck presses lightly over my ear.
“Never learned. Then, just sort of never needed to get anywhere. Permit expired, and ta da! I’m a lame teenager,” I say.
“Yeah, you’re pretty lame,” he says, unable to hold in the small laugh that vibrates in his chest. “Good thing you have a cool boyfriend. I’ll teach you…over Thanksgiving.”