Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,73

as me, and she stretched up to pull the handle of the toilet. “No, no need, I’m feeling much better.” Mom glanced up at me. Her mascara was smudged like a black eye under her lashes, her cheeks red and eyes swollen. “I’ve just been queasy for the past few days.”

I thought about the day she came home from work sick and napped the rest of the day. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“It’s just stress,” she assured me, holding a hand out. “Help me up.”

I got her to her feet, surprised by how weak her grip was. “Are you going back to the studio?”

Mom gave me a soft smile, like she enjoyed how concerned I was. She patted at her ratty bun, trying to smooth it down. “No, I canceled my afternoon sessions. I’m going to brush my teeth,” she told me, moving to close the door between us. “Do you want to make some lunch? Maybe sandwiches?”

Even though a moment like this would’ve normally bothered me, her asking for something when I hardly asked for anything, I hurried to agree.

I padded my way to the kitchen, the buzzing of Mom’s electric toothbrush buzzing growing fainter and fainter. I forced myself to think of other things. Not my article and definitely not Walsh.

So I thought of my parents. Like two pieces of fabric, Mom a wild floral pattern and Dad a thick piece of flannel. At one point, they fit together like puzzle pieces, perfect, sewed to perfection, but the more times they ripped apart, the less perfect it was each time, the stitches failing to hold.

For the first time in a long time, I wondered what it was like when Mom and Dad were young. Whether or not their love story was a spark of a connection or a slow burn. Did they quickly embrace the other’s strange quirks? Was it work that drove them apart? Dad’s late nights, Mom’s early mornings?

I’d grown up wondering if my love story was going to be like theirs. An echo of their music, a cover of their song. Doomed to relive their mistakes. I always wondered if it was inescapable, especially when I was with Scott. Resigned to only be around people who barely needed me.

And even now, I still wondered. But for the first time ever, when I thought about my love story, I didn’t feel discouraged. I actually felt…hopeful.

* * *

After sandwiches, I left Mom on the couch and retreated back to my room, falling on my bed. Lying there, I was barely breathing as I waited for a message from Walsh. But there was nothing. Not a single text, and not even a missed call.

Why wouldn’t he call? After two days, wouldn’t he have sent something? Wasn’t he thinking the same thing I was, constantly replaying Saturday night in his head?

Oh gosh, what if he wasn’t? What if that whole ordeal really meant nothing to him?

I let my phone fall to my chest, staring at the ceiling. A crack ran through the plaster near the light fixture, in the shape of a wiggly lightning bolt. I needed to grab a book and read, get my mind off everything, and just lose myself in the words. I was good at that. That was something I knew, not boys and ex-boyfriends and fake boyfriends and prospective boyfriends. That was all uncharted territory to me.

But the idea of Walsh not thinking twice about Saturday night left a tight pressure in my throat, like something was being pulled taut inside of me.

Was this all a game to him? Walsh? And Saturday night, just another game?

Ugh, I needed to just call him. Edith would tell me to call him. She’d tell me to stop being a chicken and just call him. Edith—

My phone vibrated, and it about flew out of my hand because I jerked it up so fast that my skin zapped alive. I answered it without even looking at the ID. “Hello?

“Hearing your voice sounds so weird!” Edith’s chipper voice rang out from the other line, much too high pitch for my low mood. “It’s been too long. How hath the dark ages been, young one?”

I groaned, disappointed.

“Sheesh, that bad? Oh, wait. You thought I was lover boy, didn’t you?” Edith clicked her tongue, a loud noise even through the cell phone. “Figures. Can I come in?”

“Come in where?”

“Into your house, silly. Your front door isn’t locked, but your mom’s car is home early for a Monday morning, and I wanted to