Barely Breathing (34 page)

I set down my ice cream and scooted closer, putting my arm around her shoulders to comfort her. She collapsed against me, and I gripped her tighter as she cried.

I couldn't exactly say why, but I didn't cry. Maybe I had hurt enough and I just needed to shut everything off―like she said I would. I continued to console her without allowing her sadness to seep in. I couldn't recollect a time we'd ever shared an affectionate embrace. But in that moment, I could barely feel her against me. So detached and outside myself, I was anything but
strong
.

I remained by her side and ran my hand over her dark hair, soothing her with comforting words, assuring her that it was okay to miss him. That
she
would be okay.

My mother finally raised her head, wiping the tears from her face. "Thank you." She tried to smile, but it was as if her cheeks were too tired and weak to lift. She took a deep breath and sat up on her own. "Birthdays suck in this house, huh?"

I raised my eyebrows, not knowing how to react.

She followed with, "I think I'm going to bed. I didn't sleep much last night, so I'm exhausted. See you in the morning?"

"Of course," I answered, watching her stand. I continued to look after her as she walked up the stairs to her room. I lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket over me, not ready to sleep yet.

A loud banging caused me to bolt upright with a start. It was silent in the dark. Perhaps I'd imagined it. Then the banging erupted at my door, making me jump. My heart beat in panic.

My room was so black, I couldn't even see the door. I blinked but still couldn't focus on a thing. I remained frozen in my bed.

A frantic voice yelled from the other side. It sounded like a child, a little girl. I fumbled with my blankets at the sound of her panicked voice. I stepped into the dark with the cool boards beneath my feet.

I couldn't make out what she was saying. Her pounding blocked out her words. I thought she was saying, "Get me out." She sounded so desperate. I needed to get to her.

I blindly searched for the door, my hands reaching out in front of me. I felt the hard surface with my finger tips. The wood shook violently beneath my hands as her small fists slammed against it. That's when I heard her scream, "Get out!"

I gasped. My eyes shot open. The television was on, and I was lying on the couch. My heart pounded in my chest. The fear in her voice still reverberated in my head. I sat up with my hands shaking.

I eyed the stairs, considering going to bed, but knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. I picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels, but her plea still echoed through my head, sending a chill throughout my body. I wrapped the blanket around me tighter.

I picked up my phone, not really thinking about what I was doing, but needing another voice in my head other than the little girl's.

Almost instantly I heard, "Hi. Can't sleep?"

My lips curled into a half smile at the sound of his voice. "No. You either?"

"Nope. What are you watching?" Jonathan asked.

26. Disappointment

"So, how's Rachel?"

"She's okay," I said, sitting on my bed, running my fingers along the patterns of my bedspread. "She's been lying low the past couple of weeks. She's focused all of her energy on teaching me how to cook―which is... disastrous. And I've been trying to teach her how to play basketball―which is even
more
disastrous."

He laughed. Just thinking of her chasing after the ball every time she’d lift her head and lose control made me smile.

"It sounds like the two of you are figuring things out."

"We're trying," I admitted. "It's not always easy. There are still tears every so often, but nothing ice cream can't fix." I paused and then added, "She misses you."

"I'm not so sure she misses
me
," Jonathan rebutted. "I think she misses being with someone."

"Whatever," I said, "I'm not going to argue with you. But I'm pretty convinced it's you."

He let out a breathy laugh, knowing I'd argued with him anyway.

"Sorry you didn't win the championship. It was a close game."

"Yup," I sighed, having replayed the last two minutes of the game in my head repeatedly over the last week and a half.

"That foul was a bad call."

"Wait. You were there?"

"Uh, yeah," he confessed slowly. "I had to know how it would end."

"Well, it ended, that's for sure. I wish you would've said something to me."

"I thought it would be awkward, you know, with Rachel."

"Yeah, maybe," I admitted reluctantly. “It’s just been a while since I've seen you."

"Maybe we should do something about that."

"Maybe."

"We should hang out sometime. Just... do something."

"Oh, yeah,
something
sounds fun," I teased. "I do that a lot, and I always have a blast."

"You're hilarious. But really, I'll pick a day and you'll just have to come along, to do whatever
something
I choose."

"Bring it," I taunted, making him laugh.

"So, tonight's the
big night
," he said with exaggerated excitement.

"Don't make fun," I threatened lightly. "It
is
a big night."

"Only because you're making it that way. Emma, let whatever's supposed to happen, happen."

"Great pep talk, thanks," I snapped sarcastically. "I don't want to talk about it; I might throw up on my phone, and I like this phone. I would hate to have to replace it.”

Jonathan laughed again. "Fine. We won't talk about it. But don't let his dad get to you, no matter what."

"I won't," I sighed, knowing that Stuart Mathews was the most intimidating man on the planet―there was no way I was
not
going to let him get to me. He scared the crap out of me!

"Tell me what happens. The suspense is already killing me," he taunted, sounding overly dramatic.

"Ha ha," I jeered. "I gotta go. Don't be surprised if I call you at three a.m. with a nightmare about being stepped on by a giant men's dress shoe. I'd name a brand, but I have no idea what men wear."

"I'll be waiting," Jonathan chuckled. "Bye, Emma."

I watched as
Call Ended
flashed across my screen, trying to summon the courage to prepare for dinner with Evan and his parents. It would’ve been better if Jared could have helped deflect the tension―he always seemed to know what to say to make the most serious situations seem light and uncomplicated. But he couldn't drive up from Cornell in the middle of the week.

"What are you wearing?" my mother asked from my open door. I looked up in surprise, wondering how long she'd been standing there.

"Uh, I was thinking the grey pants with the white blouse," I answered, motioning toward the two items hanging on the back of my closet. The pants were serious, like I was going to interview for a law firm serious. But the short sleeved blouse with the puffy capped sleeves was light and airy, keeping it a little more fun.

"Pants?" my mother questioned.

"I'm going to be so nervous. I'll be sweating like crazy. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to sweat behind your knees with a skirt on? It's pretty disgusting actually."

My mother laughed. "Don't be nervous. I'm positive everything will work out for you both."

"You've never met his father," I groaned.

"Well, he can't be any worse than your grandmother," my mother countered with a roll of her eyes. I stopped and looked at her. I had no idea I had a grandmother. Carol and George never mentioned anyone, nor did my mother until this second. I was always under the impression that my grandparents had passed before I was born. Maybe that's what she meant―past tense.

She didn't notice my stunned face. Or perhaps she chose to ignore it.

"Are you going to take a shower? It's getting late."

"Oh, yeah," I answered, jumping up from my bed, abandoning the phone that I still grasped in my hand on the bedspread. I gathered what I needed for the bathroom and moved past my mother down the hall.

After styling my hair in soft curls and dressing in my serious, but not too serious, attire, I was ready. Or at least, I
looked
ready. Sara would've been proud.

My phone beeped. I turned toward my bed, but it wasn't where I’d left it. Scanning the room, I found it on my dresser. I cocked my head curiously and picked it up to see,
On your way?

Leaving now
, I texted back before rushing down the stairs.

"Good luck," my mother offered from the top of the stairs, dressed in a short skirt and camisole.

"Going out?" I deduced.

"I'm overdue," she replied. "No reason to stay in on a Thursday night." Her voice sounded off, a little strained. She smirked and added, "Besides, it's April Fool's Day. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Everything," I said to myself before saying, "Well, have fun," out loud. She turned and went back in her room. I paused in front of the coat closet, wondering if I should be concerned that she was going out. I took a breath and decided to focus on one nerve-racking situation at a time. I grabbed my coat and headed out the door.

When I arrived at the Mathews', Vivian was stepping onto the porch wearing a long white coat and holding a small black clutch.

"Perfect timing, Emily," Vivian greeted, taking a key out of her purse. "Evan, we're ready."

Evan appeared, looking very polished, his overcoat covering what I assumed was a suit. I smiled at his shiny dress shoes, recollecting my nightmare prediction.

Dinners with the Mathews always made me nervous―fearing I'd say the wrong thing or embarrass Evan with my lack of social skills. But tonight I was a wreck. I was convinced I wouldn't be able to eat at all.

"Evan, would you mind driving?" Vivian requested, handing him the key to her BMW.

"Sure," Evan replied. Before heading to the car, he walked over and wrapped his arms around me. "You look amazing. A little pale, but still amazing. You can breathe you know."

"Not yet," I murmured from within his coat. He kissed the top of my head before opening the car door for me.

"This is such an exciting night," Vivian stated from the passenger seat as we drove to the restaurant. "I hope we don't have to wait too long for your father to arrive."

"It doesn't matter if he's there," Evan told her. "He's not going to like where I'm going unless it's Yale."

"Evan," Vivian warned, "don't be that way. He only wants what's best for you, and he will come around to accepting your decision. He may need more time, that's all."

"Yeah, four years," Evan mumbled loud enough for us to hear.

"Wait. You already know where you're going?"

"I already know where I
want
to go," Evan corrected. "I just need my mother to tell us if I'm going there or not. She's really great at keeping secrets, even from my father."

"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.