“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: rhys.delane01@founders.edu
To: evelyn.miller13@founders.edu
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.
“We’re prepared for you, Evelyn,” she tells me, motioning me inside. While she takes her seat amongst the other professors, I stand on the side of the stage, removing my coat. I’m tucking my fingers beneath the brim of my slouchy beret when I see a familiar body duck into the auditorium.
Rhys.
He’s here.
His searching sea blue lock on mine and then he gives me an encouraging nod. “Take off the hat,” he mouths before going to sit behind Professor Cameron, who turns and hands him a clipboard. My hands are so numb I barely feel my fingers as I place my hat by my coat.
The performance is similar to my midterm—I take the stage and state my name and sing each piece of music—but everything else seems to fade as I look out at Rhys.
When did he get back? Why didn’t he at least warn me he’d be here? And most importantly, will he stay?
When he leaves during my last song, my chest burns. My heart is beating erratically by the time I sing my last note, and Professor Cameron gives me one of her tight-lipped smiles.
“Thank you so much, Ms. Miller. Your final grade will be posted in the student portal shortly after the end of the semester.” With those words, she releases me, and I burst into the hallway breathing harshly.
My phone vibrates in my coat pocket. I pull it out and glance down at it. A surge of uncertainty mixed with anticipation and fear goes through me at the sight of Rhys’ simple text.
Will practice room #4 work for you?
Taking the path that I’ve walked so many times already this year, I get down to the basement level in thirty seconds flat. I’m almost afraid that he won’t be here yet, but when I open the door to the room where I first fell all over myself for him, Rhys is sitting behind the piano. He’s playing a song—“Yesterday” again—and I stand perfectly still in the doorway, letting his voice and the music and my own feelings wash over me. When he’s finished, he looks up at me, his eyes full of emotion.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” I whisper brokenly, and he shakes his head and scoots the bench away from the piano, giving me a clear view of every inch of him.