Say When - Micalea Smeltzer Page 0,43
about this, okay?”
A smile plays on his lips. “Okay.”
I let my fingers drop. “All right. That’s actually all I’ve got.”
“Can I speak now?” I give him a nod to continue. “I want you to know that you’re always in the position of power here. I know we’re both aware of the … the chemistry,” he settles on, “between us, and the last thing I ever want to do is take advantage of you. I’ll follow you’re lead.”
“Say when, right?” I smile.
“Say when you want me, when it’s too much or … say when it’s over.”
Chapter Fourteen
My vanilla latte is cold, but I sip at it anyway in the Starbucks down the block from the apartment complex. My laptop is in front of me, notes spread out beside me. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, it’s November and we’re a week away from the Thanksgiving holiday.
Molly and her family will be going to visit extended family in Wisconsin. I was supposed to be going back home and Atlas was going to come visit, but my grandpa got sick, so our parents have already headed north to Maine to be with him instead.
Across from me Molly rubs her temples, muttering under her breath as she scribbles something in her notebook. She looks stressed and rung out, dark circles beneath her eyes. I don’t think she’s been sleeping much. Sometimes I hear her pacing in her bedroom late at night, long after she said she was going to bed.
Our friendship lately feels even more strained, her temper short as we get closer and closer to fall finals.
I close my laptop and she looks up at the sound, her eyes wide and unfocused.
“We’re both losing our minds and there’s a football game tonight. We haven’t been to one yet so I think we should go.”
“Football?” she crinkles her nose. “I don’t know. I should really drive home tonight.”
“Drive home in the morning.” I’m nearly begging, I know, but I can’t help it. I only see her during the week and that’s when we’re at school. Even during the weekday evenings we’re both either busy with schoolwork or something else. We haven’t truly hung out for fun since this summer.
She toys with a scrap of paper at her side, nibbling nervously at her lip. “Let me ask my mom.”
I want to point out that we’re both eighteen and in college she doesn’t need to go to her mom for permission, but I bite my tongue. If that’s what it takes for her to feel better, then so be it.
She types out a text and sends it. While we wait for the reply, I start packing my stuff up, knowing regardless of the answer we need to get back to the apartment.
Molly surprises me by clearing her throat and saying, “I’m really sorry. I want you to know that.”
“Sorry?”
“Yeah.” She blows out a breath, stirring her bangs. “I know I’ve been the worst roommate ever and not much better of a friend.”
“I do enjoy the treats you bring home every Sunday.” I try to lighten the mood.
She cracks a tiny smile, resting her elbows on the table. “I know I’ve pushed you off every time you ask what’s wrong and frankly it’s because nothing’s wrong. I just feel lost, I guess.” She looks away, thinking. “I thought college would mean freedom but the closer we got to classes starting the more panicked I became because I don’t know what I want. I don’t know who I am or what I want to be or even where I want to be. It’s scary.”
“We’re all scared, Molly, and a little lost. I think even our parents feel that way sometimes. There’s no way to always have things figured out, and to think you can is dumb. It’s okay to not know but running away is never the answer. You know I’m here for you anytime.”
I reach across and place my hand over top hers. She gives a tiny half smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Her phone buzzes and she looks down at the screen. Her smile grows when she looks back at me. “Let’s go to that game.”
Decked out in the obnoxious shades of green and purple that are our school colors Molly and I make our way back to campus. I purchased tickets online since Molly was worried we might not get any otherwise.
“This way,” I direct, grabbing ahold of her sweatshirt and dragging her along like a parent might with their unruly toddler. I