lips, the smell of vanilla and sandalwood invading my senses. Whatever this year would hold, whatever emotions lay ahead, at least I could face them knowing I wasn’t alone.
I had this camp. I had Grant. In the end, that’s all I’d really need.
Epilogue
“And that was basically my summer,” I said, sitting forward in the oversized chair. “What do you think? Have I made progress?”
Dr. Heichman stared at me behind his glasses, his pen frozen against his notebook. He’d asked, “What did you do this summer, Alex?” and I’d given him the most accurate answer I could think of. If he wanted the shortened version, he should’ve given me a time limit.
He cleared his throat and set his pen down. “Well, it sounds like you did tremendous soul-searching,” he said. “I’ll agree there are still things for us to work on, but you’re getting there. This has been a definite step in the right direction.”
“It’s been a leap,” I said, flicking my attention toward the old-fashioned clock on the edge of his desk. I hadn’t used up the full hour my parents paid for, but it was close enough. Much better than my pre-camp time.
He followed my attention to the clock, his brow arching. “Would I be pushing my luck if I asked you to continue discussing your summer?”
“That’s pretty much it,” I said, standing. “Went there. Came back. Currently trying to show everyone how much I’ve changed.”
“That will take time.”
“I’ve got plenty of it,” I said.
I grabbed the complimentary bottle of water and walked across the room, pausing in front of the new portrait on the opposite wall. Gone was the horrible Rembrandt knockoff. In its place, a more colorful seascape.
“Who did this one?” I said, pointing to the painting.
“A local artist named Sczcotchy.”
I glanced at the canvas again. The mixture of blues and greens captured the complexity of an ocean, while oranges and golds shimmered behind it, reflecting sunlight through the depths.
“I like it,” I said. “It’s good. Much better than the Rembrandt.”
“I took your suggestion,” he said, a small smile threatening his otherwise-neutral expression.
I grinned to myself and clutched the doorknob, opening the door to a mostly empty lobby. Inside, reading the newest Good Housekeeping magazine, was my mom, sitting in the same chair as always. She looked up from the pages, her eyes meeting mine.
“We’re done,” I said. “And I’m happy to report I made it almost the entire hour.”
“Did you really?” she said, glancing at her watch. “Who are you and what did you do with my daughter?”
“Same me, just tweaked a little from all those Yoga for the Soul sessions I had to do while I was away.”
“You did yoga?”
“Nope,” I said. “I tried it once and was miserable. You should know me better than that.”
She chuckled and tossed the magazine on the coffee table in front of her. Her heels click-clacked as we made our way to the exit.
Outside, late August’s heat left everything sticky. My mom’s car, parked along the sidewalk, glistened beneath the afternoon sun. The lights flashed to life as I reached the passenger side. She slid into her seat, buckling the seat belt as I reached for mine.
“Early dinner?” she said, pulling the car onto the same downtown street we’d driven a million times before.
“Long as it’s Ellie’s Café,” I said. I shifted, taking my phone from my back pocket. A text from Grant had appeared on the screen. My heart fluttered. We were a couple of weeks from being out of camp, and my feelings hadn’t changed. Maybe there was hope for us.
Grant: Plane landed. I’ll be on campus in less than fifteen. FaceTime date tonight?
“He make it safe?” my mom said, earning my attention.
“Currently on his way to campus,” I said, typing out a response.
Me: Only if we can coordinate with Ben & Jerry’s
Grant: And I’m taking a detour to United right now;)
I stowed my phone out of sight. My mom’s gaze was steady and unmoving. The idea of me having a boyfriend was still an adjustment for her, but Loraine had helped ease her and my dad into it. Who could make a better case than someone who’d known Grant since he was fourteen?
No one. Loraine was my best bet.
“So remind me: He’s a freshman at Tech?”
“Sophomore,” I said. “Sports-management major. I think he’d minor in business if he could, but rumor has it he’s trying to get on as a manager for the basketball team this year. I don’t think he’ll have time.”
“Sounds like he has