“What do you mean? What did he say?”
“Oh no, darling. I can’t tell you that.” She pats my leg with a smile.
“Well, what can you tell me?”
She takes another slow sip of her coffee with her eyebrows raised, letting me know that she’s stalling. The anticipation begins crawling across my skin. I absently scratch my arm, shifting uncomfortably, and I’m suddenly very aware of how cold the leather couch is beneath me.
“Aunty Lo, what’s going on?” I ask.
I follow her every movement as she sets her coffee on the table in front of her and then leans her elbow back on thecouch, far too casually for how quickly my heart is beating. It’s a calming tactic, and I see right through it. She’s trying to appear at ease in hopes I’ll follow suit.
Not my MO.
“I’m moving.”
God. Rip that fucking Band-Aid off, why don’t you? I blink… I think. I’m not sure if I’m even breathing at this point. I sit, frozen, staring at her and waiting for the impact of her words to hit me.
“I got offered a new position at Berkeley, and you know I?—”
“I’m sorry. Berkeley as in, Berkeley,California?”
One of her jeweled covered hands reaches for mine. She continues talking about the opportunity, reminding me that she never planned on staying in Linden Creek as long as she has.
“So… You’re leaving me.” I can’t make eye contact with her anymore. I’m not sure if it comes out as more of a question or an accusation. I’m not even sure how I mean it.
“I’m not leavingyou, Savannah. You know I don’t do well in one place for too long.” Her stack of bracelets jingle when she shakes my hand, trying to get my attention. “I will always be here when you need me. Now, I’ll just be a phone call away.”
“Right.”
“You can come visit me in sunny California during the summer, and I’ll always come back to spend Christmas with you and Leo. Plus, it will make the time we spend together that much more special.”
I exhale, and there it is. The weight sucker-punches me like a fastball to the sternum. She’s leaving. The woman who isn’t my mom, but who provides some comfort in her absence, is leaving. She’s my aunt, who chose to live a child-free life. It’s not her responsibility to ease the ache I carry in my heart, and I would never purposefully make her feel badfor doing what’s best for herself. She knows me. She knows this will be hard for me— hence the way she’s approached me.
I finally meet her glassy eyes and force a smile. “I’m really happy for you, Aunt Lo.” I nod my head, probably a little too much in an attempt to be convincing, and after a quick hug and an excuse about not wanting to be late for my interview, I take off to my car.
The door hasn’t even fully shut before the first wave of tears rack my body.
If it were possible to explode from nervous energy, I’m positive I would combust right now. The conference room where I am waiting quickly fills with thoughts that I can’t seem to shut off or make any sense of. My aunt is leaving. Something is going on with Noah that he doesn’t want to talk to me about. I’ve decided to tell my dad that I’m dating his star player. And I’m waiting for an interview that I’ve already subconsciously written off, but if I don’t get it, I’ll be pissed with myself.
A knock sounds on the door, but it is clearly just a courtesy since a man walks in without waiting for my response. A man whose name I’m now realizing I forgot. Love that for me.
“Ms. Alvarez, it’s nice to finally meet you.” He smiles, making his way down to the end of the long table. I would have sat at the chair closest to the door, but when Shelly brought me into this room lined with whiteboards, I found a black portfolio and a sleek black pen at the head of the table, and a mini water bottle at the seat next to it. I assumed I was supposed to sit all the way down here, which is only adding to my annoyance.
I inhale slowly through my nose, knowing full well that I’m letting my uncomfortable feelings about everything elseoutside these four walls impact my feelings about this interview.
You’re being a psycho. An unreasonable psycho. Reel it in.
I smile at the man—hoping that somehow his name will come to me— and stand, extending my hand to him. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Thank you for meeting with me.”
‘After I bailed on you,’ isn’t said, but it’s implied.
“Of course, of course.” He sits down, opening a portfolio that holds a single sheet of paper. “Let’s see here.” His posture is relaxed as he leans toward the table, looking over the paper that is either interview questions or my resume—neither of which I feel great about. “Ms. Alvarez, are you a journalism major?”
“Yes. I’m currently taking entertainment journalism, but in the fall, I’ll be able to take sports journalism, which I know an internship is required for, so I wanted to get a jump start in hopes that I could get in with the team I’m most excited to work with.” I lift a hand in his direction—and okay, that last part was a lie, but his smile doesn’t change, so I’ll assume he’s none the wiser.
“Well, Ms. Alvarez, I think—” He continues talking, and I try to keep my face neutral, but I’m caught off guard by the continuous use of my last name. Not that I came in here at the top of my game—because any small inconvenience could really send me over the edge right now—but why does he keep saying my name like that? He’s a coach; I’m sure he calls everyone on the team by their last names, so it’s second nature to him, but it feels like he’s trying to remind me—or himself—who I am.
His lips are still moving as he writes something down and it dawns on me when he says my name again.
