Booker: No doubt, but I’d still prefer to never visit either of you behind bars. I just need to know that you’re both ok.
Fallon: Yeah. I’m sleeping on Sophie’s guest bed for the foreseeable future, and Em’s actually away at a dance competition. Mom’s with her, so she’s blissfully unaware of her husband’s latest assholery. And we both know mom’s favorite thing to be is blissfully unaware.
My sister’s not wrong. I learned the fine art of repress and ignore from the very best. It’s like my mom goes through life wearing a pair of blinders and if she doesn’t see it, she doesn’t have to deal with it. And on those occasions where she can’t pretend our family isn’t a dysfunctional mess, she just cries and begs us to forgive him. After all, he’s our dad and he loves us.
But does he?
Because from where I’m standing, he just wants to control us.
And I’m no expert on love or relationships, but that’s not it.
Booker: Let me know if you need anything. And listen, as soon as you walk across that stage and graduate, I think you should move into The Chapel. I know Bainbridge isn’t where you want to go, but at least live with us for the summer, ok?
Fallon: If I can’t crash at Sophie’s all summer, I’ll crash with you guys. Love you.
Booker: Love you.
I pocket my phone and keep walking on the path, but almost of their own volition, my feet turn left, and I find myself striding into Drip.
It’s not fair, and I know that. But I’m really just here for a green tea, at least that’s what I tell myself. And if I happen to see Ian and can apologize in person, all the better. Honestly, I really need to explain my situation. Ian’s a good guy. I’m sure he won’t like that my dad pulled me from the course, but I at least owe him the truth.
Drip is crowded, and there are a bunch of people working, but of course my gaze zeroes in on Ian. He’s at the other end of the shop, stocking the pastry case, but his eyes find mine.
Sometimes, it’s like we’re so in tune. Like we can sense each other’s presence or something. Or maybe not. Maybe that’s just me. Maybe he’s just a super nice guy, and I’m the needy creeper who won’t leave him alone.
I find a table in the corner and set my stuff down before walking up to the counter to order.
“Hey, Booker, long time no see,” Willa jokes.
“Hey, roomie. I didn’t know you were working this afternoon.”
“Yeah, I picked up a shift to help out, so Knox took Rose to Philly to have dinner with her Nona.”
“Nice,” I smile. It’s crazy. Knox has always been the definition of chaos, but since he and Willa reconnected and he found out he had a little girl, he’s been grounded. Not calm, exactly, but steady. And that’s a word I never thought I’d use to describe him.
“So what’ll it be, Booker? Hot tea? Iced tea? A protein shake?”
“You just said the magic words. I’ll take the Green Dream protein shake, thanks.” She rings me up and soon, I’m back at my table, working on my stats homework.
An hour flies by, and I’m cracking open my contemporary lit book, telling myself that I’m sticking around because I’m focused, and not because I’m waiting for Ian to take a break. Ollie and Santos walk in to grab coffees, and we shoot the crap for a couple minutes. They’re heading to the libraryfor a study group. I should probably join them. My protein shake is long gone, and though I’m getting some work done, I’m also spending a decent chunk of my time stealing glances at Ian. Joining my friends would be the perfect excuse to shove my books in my bag and get out of here.
But it’s like my butt is glued to my seat. I wave to the guys as they leave, and then to Willa as she finishes her shift. Before I know it, I’ve been here three hours and I’m all caught up for the week. I’m also a pathetic coward. The crowds have long since dissipated, and Ian’s standing behind the bar, wiping the counter and keeping things tidy. If I weren’t such a freaking headcase, I’d walk up to him and apologize in person. But again, it feels like there’s superglue on my sweats, and I stay rooted in my seat.
No wonder my dad has to micromanage my life. I’m certainly doing a crap job of it on my own.
* * *
Ian
Objectively speaking, Booker Zabek is a beautiful man: a jaw that looks like it was carved out of marble, broad shoulders, full lips. Eyes as blue as a winter skyline. Blond hair that always looks perfectly messy. A straight brow, high cheekbones. Guy might be a hockey player, but he has a perfect smile.
I could recite every detail about him, and that’s how I know I’m in trouble. Afterall, he’s a student in a class where I’m an assistant, and those are lines I won’t blur.
It was one thing when we were friends, but after he tore out of The Chapel last Friday night like his ass was on fire, I’m not so sure we are friends. All I know is that one minute we were hanging out, and then I mentioned our psych class and he flipped.
Maybe he thought I was scolding him for ditching a class?
Maybe it’s too weird to be friendly with your TA?
