Mom squeezes her eyes shut, and when she opens them she’s staring directly into mine. She doesn’t look away, and there’s a painful catch inside my chest. “Thank you for looking out for me, Evie. It ... it means a lot to have someone on my side.”
But now, I can’t help but wonder how she’ll feel after I’ve said what I need to tell her. I had hours to think on my way home from Richmond to Bristol, and I decided to come clean with my mother. From Rhys to the role I feel I played in my sister’s death—I was going to tell her everything.
“You might not like me very much after this, but here’s everything,” I whisper, and she stares at me confused. As I tell her about my relationship with Rhys, she listens without saying a word. She’s still staring into my eyes when I finish, and I wish I knew what emotions are pummeling through her. It might help me decide what I should say next. “Say something, Mom.”
“What do you want me to say?” Her voice is barely a whisper, and yet it seems to echo all around us.
“I don’t know. That you’re angry. That you hate me. That you think I betrayed Lily by wanting to be with Rhys.”
Mom races her hands over her face and through her brown hair. “Oh, Evie,” she sighs, “I’m not mad at you if that’s what you’re thinking.” She tilts her face down to look at me, revealing the tears threatening to spill at any moment. “It hurts—I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t—but only because it makes me think of your sister. I am not angry at you, though.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway. We broke up, so I think you’re safe,” I choke out, and before I realize what’s happening, Mom is out of her seat with her arms tucked tightly around me. It feels right, comforting, and I return her embrace, letting my mother hold me like she used to when I was smaller.
When Lily was still alive and nothing was a mess.
Cupping my chin, Mom bends her face close to mine. “I could never get any kind of satisfaction in you being unhappy. Surely you know that already.” When I nod, she clears her throat. “You said you have something else to tell me?”
Panic washes over me, but I force the words out before I’m unable to say them. “The day Lily died—it was my fault. She called me to pick her up, and I refused to do it. I told her to walk home.”
Mom blinks several times, and the next thing she says obliterates me. “I already know what you told her.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Neither of us breathes as we stare at each other. “What do you mean you already know?” I finally manage, and my mother releases me. She sits back down, keeping her stare straight ahead. Looking at the window like she had the day I told her I didn’t want to go to Lily’s funeral. “Mom?”
“You called here last year when you were drunk,” she explains. “It scared the hell out of me getting a call from you that late, but I listened to everything you had to say. You were inconsolable, crying about how Lily’s death was all your fault.” Mom takes a sip of her coffee and then wraps her trembling fingers tightly around the mug.
“I don’t believe that, just in case you were wondering. I blame Lily’s death on one person—and that’s neither you nor the boy from your college. I know it probably seems like I did, but I handled your sister’s passing ... badly.” She looks over to me, her eyes touching mine again and gives me a sad smile. “And I’m sorry for the way I handled things.”
So am I, but I push forward. “Did you tell Dad what I told you?”
She moves her head from side to side. “Some things are just better left unsaid.” With those words, Mom gets back up, smiling at me with tears racing down her face. “I’m starving. Maybe ... we can go grab something together? Just the two of us. And then after that we should probably figure out what to do about Thanksgiving.” She laughs sheepishly. “I haven’t even bought a turkey.”
Nodding, I swallow past the giant lump in my throat to say, “I’d love that.”
With the air clear between us, Thanksgiving goes smoothly. It’s just Mom and me, and we skip the traditional meal in favor of steak that she burns on the grill, but I don’t mind. As I prepare to go back to school on Sunday morning, she hugs me tightly. “I love you, Evie.” She clasps my face between her hands and kisses my forehead before adding, “I know you’ve doubted that, but I do.”
“I love you too.”
***
I return to Founders feeling like a thousand pounds have been lifted off my shoulders and I jump into the last full week of classes determined to, as Nathan always put it, make finals my bitch. Rhys doesn’t come back, but I try to tell myself that it’s for the best as I leave Professor Cameron’s office a few days before my final exam.
“What’s for the best?” a voice speaks up from beside me, and I look over to take in Nathan’s unruly red hair and bright blue eyes.
“That I transfer next semester,” I say gravely, and when his eyes bug, I grin. “Haven’t you learned by now—I’m too lazy for all that.”
“How are you feeling about the final?”
Grasping the bannister, I walk quickly down the stairs. “Hmm, considering Cameron just told me that my interpretation of the melismatic passage in “Vittoria Mio Core” reminds her of a baby goat—” I turn toward him, holding my thumb and forefinger apart and squinting at it—“I guess you can say I’m just a little bit nervous.”
He laughs, but when he sees that I’m one hundred percent serious, he shakes his head. “A baby goat? That’s a new one, even for the succubus.”
Putting Professor Cameron’s comment—which Mac later assures me is tame—out of my head, I practice like crazy over the next couple days. When it’s time for me to go back in front of the vocal department professors again, I’m nervous and shaking.
“You’re going to do great,” Corinne promises me, sipping slowly on her Red Bull as I get dressed for my performance. “Just don’t forget to breathe. I’d give you more advice than that, but since I can’t sing ... just breathe.”
The corners of my lip drag into a grin, and I face my roommate, holding my arms out. “Do I look professional?” She quickly takes in the sight of me from my cream-colored flats, to my slim chocolate brown pencil pants, and finally to the lacy blouse that matches my shoes, and nods. “Alright, if I’m not back before your next final, good luck!”
“You too. Seriously, you’ve got this.”
Grabbing my coat and an oversized knit beret to protect my ears from the chilly day, I head over to the music department. As I sit outside the smaller auditorium and wait for my turn to perform, I play on my phone, checking my email out of boredom and nervousness.
And then my heart stops when I find a message from Rhys.
From: [email protected]
Date: Fri, Dec 06, 2013 at 3:37 PM
Subject: Wrecked
Evelyn,
I’ve sat here typing and re-typing this message. My words have been angry, bitter, and guilty, but what it all tells me is this:
You have twisted yourself around my mind, and nothing—who you are or who I am—is enough to take that away. Even if it were possible, I don’t think I’d want it to happen. I can still feel you, taste you, smell you. You are everywhere, and I’ve thought about you until it seemed like you were the only thing that exists.
You have wrecked me—body and soul—and I know that can only mean one thing.
I am in love with you.
I am so in love with you I can’t even think straight anymore.
So the question is—what happens next?
My fingers are shaking so much that I nearly drop my phone as I read his message a few more times. He loves me. This isn’t the first time he’s told me that—he said as much the day he walked out of my room—but this is the one that really counts, the one that lets me know that maybe he and I aren’t done. It’s the one that gives me hope. I start to send him a message back asking when we can actually talk and sort through this, but then Professor Cameron comes out of the auditorium.