Luscious is the name of the salon Gwen and her mom plan to open once they save enough money. It’s Gwen’s dream, and the only thing I can think of she can relate to.
“Okay,” she says, nodding, and I can see she’s trying to accept it. “What about Wesley? What am I supposed to tell him?”
I grab the note off my desk, folding it up. “Give him this.” I hand it to her. “Don’t tell him where to find me. Just tell him he can have everything. I’m okay with it.”
Gwen eyes me closely. “Are you sure that’s true?” Her voice is slightly whiny. “What about The Heart, Doll?”
“He gets everything,” I stress.
“I think you’re making a mistake. It feels like you’re quitting a few feet from the finish line.”
I swing one leg over the windowsill. “It doesn’t matter. This isn’t a race I ever cared about winning.”
I climb onto the ladder carefully, wary of the last time I was on one of these things.
“Harland wanted more for you than this,” Gwen says, shaking her head. “What would he say now?”
She’s digging the knife in deep, but I’m actually glad she asked. I need to say this out loud. “Harland wanted me get my degree. That’s the only promise I made to him, and it will still be met. I’m not planning to drop out now.”
“But he wanted you to have the ability to research. To do what you’re passionate about without money getting in the way. If you leave now, you may not ever find that for yourself.”
“He made those choices when I didn’t know what choices to make for myself. I’m an adult now, Gwen. Making mistakes is a part of life.”
Hearing myself say that is strangely reassuring. It lets me know I’m making the right decision.
Gwen leans out the window, and I give her a hug. “What about all your stuff?” she asks me.
“I’ll get it later.”
“Am I allowed to visit?”
“As long as Styler isn’t too much of an ass.” I start climbing down, unable to avoid thinking of Wesley as I do. Every time I see a ladder I’m going to think of him now.
“He was always an ass,” Gwen groans and turns her lips down in a pout. “I still can’t believe he’s taking you from me.”
Her expression makes me smile. “I’m kicking and screaming on the inside.”
I hop down from the last leg and wave bye to Gwen. “Be safe!” she shouts. “And call me as soon as you find your phone!”
“I will,” I promise, and then turn around to face the car. Memories of Styler trying to feel me up inside of it make me want to turn right back around. He is the part of my life I want to be over, and yet here I am, back at square one.
This map better be worth it.
CHAPTER TEN
WESLEY
My phone rings. I see my mom’s picture on the screen, and I don’t answer right away. Each ring pierces my eardrums with guilt. She told me to call her as soon as I landed, but I never did.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie.” She lets out a relieved sigh. “It’s good to hear your voice. I thought by now you would’ve called. I was worried.”
“Yeah, um sorry about that. Things have been hectic here.” It’s a weak excuse, but it’s the best I can come up with.
“You should always make time for your mother.”
Running a hand through my hair, I stare up at the ceiling and try not to groan out loud. Guilt trips are my mom’s specialty. No one can bullshit their way around that woman. “I swear I was just about to call you.”
“Mmm hmm. I bet,” she says dryly. “So how was your trip?”
“It was a success.”
Something is shining on my bedroom floor. I kneel down, realizing it’s Dahlia’s glasses. They must’ve slipped out of my pocket sometime last night.
“Find anything?”
“Actually, yeah. We excavated a lot of old bones and artifacts next to the town’s river. Everything we found predates the Roman Empire.”
“That sounds amazing, sweetie. I’m happy for you.”
That’s all a lie. Anything that reminds her of my dad and Sam upsets her, so I don’t go into many details about my trips or my classes. I love her for saying it though. She’s trying to be happy for me. Trying is more than I’m used to from her.
“How’s everything in Nashville?” I idly twirl the pair of glasses between my fingers. “Are you and Mandy doing okay?”
“Oh we’re fine.” Her voice softens at the change of subject. “Mandy starts kindergarten next week, and Paul got a promotion at work. Life is pretty great right now. No complaints.”
“That’s good to hear.”
She deserves the life she has now, and the ability to say she’s doing great. There was a time she was anything but. When Dad left, our family fell out of balance. We didn’t think it could get much worse, but I guess the adage is true. It can always get worse. And when Sam died, it crippled us. Any family we may have been shattered with his death. My mom and I walked around like zombies for months, purposeless. We were living, breathing, functioning people, but we died right along with Sam.
Not long after, Mom met Paul, and she found direction. Life for her had meaning again. I’ll always be grateful for that.
“I hope you’re coming home for Thanksgiving,” she says cheerfully. “We’re all excited to see you.”
Home.
That word doesn’t ring true for me in the same way she means it. Everything about my mom feels separate from me now. My family was the one we shared with Sam and Dad. That family doesn’t exist anymore.
“I’ll be there,” I promise.
“Good.”
“Hey, Mom?”
“Yes?”
I pry open the glasses and look through them. Just as I thought, they’re not prescription. “When Dad was alive…did he ever talk about Dahlia?”
That name rolls off my lips with new definition.
Dahlia. It’s never sounded this way before, never had so much energy attached to it.
“Why do you ask?”
“He never spoke about her to me. Then again, we barely spoke.” I stare at the glasses, trying to dissect my own thoughts. “It’s just…she must’ve been important to him.”
The line goes quiet for a long moment. I shouldn’t have mentioned Dahlia to my mom. This is a mistake.
“She’s the daughter of his girlfriend, sweetie. That’s all I know.”
“What happened to her, his girlfriend?”
“I’m not sure. You know I don’t like to talk about them.”
Talking about the other woman can’t be easy. My mom avoids the subject entirely. Avoidance is something I’ve learned from her over the years. Instead of demanding to know why my dad chose to do what he did, I ignored him. He wanted to walk out on us? Fine. I’d cut him off like he was no one to me.
Now I wonder if I should’ve asked more questions. If nothing else, someone should’ve forced him to admit what he did was wrong.
“Why the sudden interest in her anyway?” My mom asks a little too sharply. “Did something happen?”
“I thought you wanted me to shut up about her.”
“I did—I do, but you’ve never asked about her before. I’m curious.”
I could tell my mom I never really saw Dahlia Reynolds before. I could tell her my roommate was hidden beneath the cloud of hate and bitterness I held for my dad. I could also tell her that cloud is stripping itself away, little by little, and now I am so fucking fascinated by the person I once overlooked.
But I don’t say any of those things.
“I don’t know, Mom. Just making conversation.”
She doesn’t press me for more, thank God. All she does is ask a few more questions about school, and then we hang up.
Setting the glasses down on my desk, I leave my bedroom, feeling restless. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I weave through the hallways towards Dahlia’s bedroom. Since I’m still not sure where it is, it takes me a wh
ile to find it.
I knock on the door, but no one answers.
“Dahlia?” I call out.
Still no answer. Only silence.
“She’s not here.”
I turn around, finding Gwen behind me.
“Do you know where she went?”
She studies me for a moment, frowning, then digs inside the pocket of her apron. “Here, she asked me to give you this.”
She hands me a folded up piece of notebook paper. I open it up to see a few lines scrawled across it.
Sorry for the short notice, but I’ve decided to move out. I understand this exempts me from Harland’s will. –Dahlia
I have to read the words several times before the meaning sinks in. “What the hell is this?” I ask Gwen, still staring at the note as if it’s written in another language. “She moved out?”
Fidgeting with her hair, Gwen nods. “Yeah…this morning.”
I crinkle up the note and open the door to Dahlia’s room. Seeing is believing, and I need to see this for myself.
There’s no one inside.
I look around, my mouth parting in disbelief. The room is tidy, except for random pieces of clothing lying on the bed and floor. I peek inside the closet, finding a bunch of unused hangers and a few winter coats.
“She’s planning to get the rest of her stuff later.”
I forgot Gwen was standing there. Her eyes drift around the room in a sad way.
“Fuck that,” I say, startling her. “She’s coming back here. Now. There’s no way I’m letting her give up a fortune for no reason.”
“She won’t come back.” Gwen pries at the strings on her apron. “Trust me, we’ve been friends most of our lives, and I know Doll very well. This whole situation sucks, but she won’t change her mind.”
“Why?” I demand, stepping closer to her. “Tell me why she left. Is it because of me?”
Gwen looks up at me, her brows dipping together. “Why would it be because of you?”
“It’s not?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “But I’d like to know why you automatically jumped to that conclusion. What happened yesterday?”
I rub the back of my neck, more confused than ever. If Dahlia leaving had nothing to do with me, than why did she go? “Look, just tell me where she is.”
“I can’t,” Gwen says, hugging her arms to her chest. “I don’t know.”
“You’re a shitty liar.”
“Well I can’t tell you!”
I blink, shocked to hear someone yell at me. I’m not used to it. My defenses immediately go up, and my first instinct is to yell back at Gwen, but I stop myself. Arguing won’t accomplish anything. It won’t help me find Dahlia any sooner.
“Listen,” I say in a softer voice. “Your employer is gone now, which leaves you potentially jobless.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious. Is this what getting the axe feels like?”
“No, that’s not what I’m—just tell me where she is, Gwen. I’ll let you keep your job, I swear.”
Her chests drops, and she stares at the floor. She stays like that for a moment, thinking, and I worry she still won’t tell me. I’ve never been so on edge in my life, waiting for her to speak.
“I can’t give you her new address,” she finally says. “But I can tell you where she’ll be at four o’ clock today.”
It’s better than nothing. “Fine.”
“Every Tuesday and Thursday she goes to Professor Barakat’s class.”
Barakat?
Why does that name seem familiar? “Wait a second, he teaches one of the capsule classes. If she’s an anthropology major, she would’ve taken his class in one of her first semesters.”
Gwen shrugs one shoulder. “From what she told me, his class had a huge impact on her. She sits in the back of the classroom where no one notices her and listens to him lecture.”
I look down at my watch. Four o’clock is still six hours away. It’s going to be the longest six hours of my life. “Thanks, Gwen.”
She nods, reaching for a picture frame sitting on Dahlia’s dresser. “Hopefully you can talk some sense into her. I couldn’t.”
There’s a book that was sitting behind it, The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas. I pick it up, noticing the worn pages and binding.
Gwen sets down the picture frame, a soft smile on her face. “It’s her favorite. Don’t ask me why; I couldn’t get past the first chapter. The movie is way better.”
“What’s it about?”
“Treasure,” she answers simply. “And revenge. You’d probably like it.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I pay attention.” She walks to the door, pausing outside of it. “You know, the two of you are more alike than you’d think.”
“In what way?”
“In a lot of ways.” She looks at the book in my hands and says, “Take it with you. I’m sure she won’t mind you borrowing it.”
I look at the book, and then around the room again. People who move away don’t leave behind their favorite books or pictures of their best friends. Dahlia must’ve been in a hurry. It makes me wonder what caused her to leave like that, so spontaneously.
Gwen starts to leave, then stops again. “Oh, and don’t tell her I told you about Barakat’s class. She’ll kill me.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” She stares at me for a second, shaking her head. “What happened last night?”
She doesn’t expect an answer, walking away right after she asks the question. It seems more like she’s asking what happened to me—or maybe I’m just imagining it. Either way, I don’t have a fucking clue how to answer.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DOLL
Styler’s condo is exactly how I imagined it would be. Scents of stale beer and pizza hit me as I walk inside, keeping me hovering by the entrance, afraid to see where I’ll be living. So far I feel like running out the door and never coming back.
Styler carries my bag inside, tugging at my arm. “Don’t be shy.”
I look around at what I’ve given up my life for: Lawn chairs in place of furniture, beer cans scattered along every table surface, and desolate white walls. At least there’s a flat screen in the living room, which is the only thing that makes this place feel like a condo instead of a garage.
“It’s kind of messy,” Styler says, shoving garbage off one of the tables.
Two half naked girls with olive complexions emerge from the hallway, both appearing comfortable walking around in their underwear. He didn’t mention I’d be living with anyone else. “Is this her, Sty?” one of them asks.
He nods, looking at me. “This is Paola and Paulina,” he explains. “They’re sisters, and they share the third bedroom. Girls, this is my Dolly.”
“I asked you not to call me that,” I say under my breath.
Another girl with curly blonde hair walks into the room, this one slightly more dressed than the other two. She smiles at me, dimples imprinted in the sides of her cheeks. “Hey, I’m Jordan. Styler said you’ll be rooming with me until you change your mind and move into his bedroom.”
“That’s never gonna happen.” I slice into Styler with a hard look. “Funny, you didn’t mention I’d be living in a harem.”
“You know what you have to do to change that. Just say the word, and it’s me and you in a life of sweet monogamy.”
“You’re disgusting.”
He shrugs. “You didn’t always think so.”
“Everyone is allowed to make a few stupid decisions in high school.”
I study Styler closely. I don’t know what I ever saw in him. He’s the tall, dark, and handsome type, with big brown innocent looking eyes. Every once in a while he displays hints of intelligence too. But as far as appeal goes, that’s it for him.
“Look, Doll, this is what you’re signing up for,” Styler tells me point-blank. “Do you want the map or not?”
My
eyes drift around the condo again, and then at Jordan, who is smiling at me as if she’s met her new best friend. Paola and Paulina walk into the kitchen, whispering in Spanish and looking over their shoulder at me like I’m an alien species. I let out a sigh, my shoulders drooping.
This is going to be the semester from hell.
“Where’s my room?”
Styler’s whole face lights up. Lugging my bag over his shoulder, he heads down the hall, gesturing for me to follow. “This way.”
An invisible chain and shackle drags me with him. He stops at the first bedroom and swings the door open. Half the size of my former bedroom, there’s not much to offer inside. Twin beds sit opposite each other against the walls, separated by a dresser covered with clothes, makeup, and hair products. There’s a hairdryer lying on the floor, surrounded by towels and more clothes, a bra hanging on the closet door handle and several pairs of high heels scattered in front of it.
Hayes would have a panic attack if he were here.
“The bed on the far side is yours,” Styler says, dropping my bag beside it.
Jordan peeks inside the room from the doorway. “Hope you don’t mind, but I took the bed by the window. I smoke a blunt every morning. It wakes me up.”
“Oh…” I smile as sweetly as I can. “Um, the other bed is fine.”
This is a perfect example of being careful what you wish for. I was bitter at not getting the chance to live like a real student, and now it’s being thrown back in my face. Springs creak as I lower myself onto the bed. This is what I chose. I just have to remind myself it will all be over by Christmas.
Styler stares at me, his face still animated with excitement. “You can cook, right? I remember you used to talk about cooking with your mom all the time.”
I feel a sharp pang at the mention of my mom. She would be ashamed of me for doing this. “Yes, I know how to cook.”
“Awesome.” He rocks back on his heels. “I haven’t used the kitchen since moving in. Pizza and wings are all we eat around here.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding slowly. “I’ll cook something later. For now could you um, give me some space, Styler? I need to unpack.”
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