He didn’t have to tell me twice. Spinning on my heel, I took off to join my teammates.
ChapterFive
Willow
“Hey, sweetie, are you planning to be here for dinner tonight?”
My mother appeared in the doorway to my room, her eyes sweeping over me where I lay in my bed. I knew she was trying hard not to show judgement, but I saw it there just the same.
“As far as I know, yes.” I wriggled to sit up. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep very well last night. I just laid down to read for a minute, and I guess I dozed off.”
That wasn’t exactly a lie. I’d slept okay until the very first rays of sunlight had peeked into my window, and then I’d been wide awake, tossing and turning. At least, I’d tossed and turned until the nausea kicked in, at which point I’d laid as still as possible, wishing for something, anything, to make it all stop. To make it all go away . . .
“Are you worried that you haven’t heard from St. Barnabas yet?” Mom asked, leaning her shoulder against the doorjamb. “Or that you haven’t nailed down a doctoral program? Is that what’s keeping you up?”
I shrugged, not quite able to meet her gaze. “Maybe. I don’t know. Everything just feels very . . .” I tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make her worry. “I guess I feel a little unsettled right now. A little unsure of what comes next.”
My mother nodded. “That’s not unusual, considering that you’ve been full-speed ahead for the past four years. Maybe you just need more of a break than what you expected before you start making more big decisions.”
I swallowed back almost hysterical laughter.Big decisions. Ha!She didn’t know the half of it.
“I guess you might be right.” I stood up and stretched. “I think I’ll put on some clothes and go for a walk before dinner if that’s okay with you. Do you need help with anything?”
She shook her head. “Daddy just called me. He’s invited the quarterback over for a one-on-one. The good news is that at least I’m not feeding an entire team of football players. Not even just the offensive line or special teams. I’m going to make a lasagna—or maybe two—and hope that works. If you want to put together a salad when you get back from your walk, that would be awesome.”
I was pretty sure I could manage lettuce and veggies at this point in the day without gagging. “Sure. I’m happy to help. And I won’t be gone too long.”
“That’s fine, honey.” Mom paused before turning around to leave. “Willow, you know that Daddy and I are fine with whatever you decide to do next, right? I mean, if you are thinking that you want to take a year or two off from school before you launch into your doctorate work, you have our full support. Even if you wanted to live here with us for a while and work somewhere nearby . . .” She trailed off and lifted one shoulder. “We’d love that.”
I blinked back unexpected tears. Just over the past week, I’d become aware of the crazy emotional rollercoaster I was now riding. Tears one moment, laughter the next, terror and anxiety in between . . . it was ridiculous. I was so over it already. Seven more months of this—or however many months between now and childbirth—felt endless.
I cleared my throat. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate that. When I come up with a plan, a decision, I’ll talk to you guys, okay?”
“Of course.” My mother reached out and drew me into a quick hug. “There’s no rush on anything. You have all the time in the world.”
I somehow managed a smile of agreement, wishing that she was right. But the truth was that I could hear the ominous ticking of a clock that sounded a little louder each day.
* * *
“Do you need me to set the table?” I called from the kitchen sink as I washed my hands. “The salad’s all made. I covered it and put it in the fridge.”
“Thanks for that, sweetie. And no, thanks, I took care of the table while you were out.” Mom’s voice floated from the pantry. “I also put together some crackers and cheese. Why don’t you take that platter into the living room, and grab some glasses and the ice bucket, too? We don’t offer wine or beer to the cadets, even the ones who are legal. But you’re welcome to pour yourself a glass of Pinot if you want. I know I’m going to have some.”
I picked up the platter of artfully arranged cheese and the basket of crackers, gazing down on the food speculatively. The salad hadn’t rocked my delicate stomach, even if I’d had to breathe through my mouth while cutting the onions. And I could probably manage a cracker or two. But the cheese didn’t smell even the least bit appealing to me.
“I’ll take care of it,” I answered my mother, heading for the formal living room at the front of the house. “Let me know when you want me to pour your wine.”
It was still weird for me to see our familiar furniture in this strange new house. Over the years, my family had moved so often from one campus to another that I’d never gotten attached to any one home. But I was partial to the sofa and coffee table that had followed us all along the way. I remembered when we’d bought the couch—we’d just moved to Pennsylvania, and the old sleeper sofa that my mom had inherited from her own parents had finally given up the ghost. Since my brother and I were both teenagers by then, we’d been allowed to weigh in on the choice of the new furniture. I loved the wide, sturdy feel of both the couch and the matching chair. They were perfect for lounging on long Sunday afternoons, watching games with my dad—or pretending to watch while I was really reading a book.
The coffee table was antique, something my grandmother had treasured in her home before she’d passed away. When I set down the platter of cheese in the middle of the glossy wood, I remembered Gram teaching me how to dust and care for the old piece.
The doorbell rang, and I straightened, startled out of my memories. My dad yelled that he was getting it, which was a relief to me. I wasn’t all that excited about spending an evening listening to football talk, and I really didn’t need to make awkward small talk with one of my father’s players before dinner got underway. What would we have to discuss? I didn’t have one dang thing in common with any football player, let alone a player who was also a cadet.
I heard deep voices in the foyer, and then my heart sank as my dad urged his guest to go on into the living room while he brought out some drinks. Dammit, I was going to be stuck here playing hostess for a little bit after all. Just great. I glanced down at the loose, oversized T-shirt that I’d paired with black leggings. I couldn’t stand anything tight against my middle just now—jeans were torture. Before going on my walk, I’d pulled on a faded hoodie from my freshman year in college since it was chilly tonight.
Yeah. I definitely wasn’t going to win any fashion awards tonight. But I also didn’t give one single fuck about how I looked or whether or not I impressed some football-playing cadet.
I’d never known football players to walk with a light tread, and our visitor apparently was no exception. I took a deep breath and put on my best game face as he appeared in the doorway to the living room.
