by Gina Azzi
“I’m sorry,” she says again, putting her ice down and pushing her hair back, out of her face. “I hate crying.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I whisper conspiratorially.
She laughs.
“What’s up?” I try again.
She shakes her head gently and lets out a large breath, a whoosh escaping between her lips. It reminds me of the yoga breathing Coach makes us practice every now and then. Lila squares her shoulders and faces me. “My parents, they got divorced last year. But still, everything is always drama with them. My brother just told me my dad is going on vacation with his girlfriend, aka the woman he cheated on my mom with. And obviously, my mom isn’t dealing well with it. At all. Anyway, I … I don’t know. I guess I just got overwhelmed by the whole thing and having just left to move here and …” She trails off, shrugging her shoulders. But her words are clear, resolute, even though her chin quivers slightly.
Shit.
Not at all what I was expecting.
I thought maybe the program wasn’t going well, the internship seemed too challenging, she was homesick, but not this.
Her shoulders sag with her confession and she trains her eyes back on the table, her fingers picking at the paper of her ice cup.
“I’m sorry,” I say sincerely. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and pull her toward me, settling her between my legs, scooping her frame into my arms like a football, hugging her protectively to my chest.
Her body tenses for a moment before she relaxes, resting her head against my chest. She breathes in and out slowly. She’s trying not to cry.
“If you cry, it will be our little secret,” I tell her, running my hand up and down her back. Her skin is warm through the thin cotton of her tank top. My fingers brush against her shoulder gently, and I watch fascinated as tiny goose bumps form on her skin. I pull her closer.
She nods into my chest, and I hear her tiny sniffles as she cries softly. Poor girl. New school, tough program, new people, and her dad drops this bombshell on her. It must be difficult to be so far from her friends and home at a time like this.
I can’t imagine if Mamma and Dad ever separated. I would be devastated at the loss of our family unit. Loosing Jared was unbearable, but I always respected his decision to serve our country. I could never respect Dad for bailing on Mamma. Not that the thought has ever crossed my mind. I’ve seen the way Dad looks at Mamma; the way he kisses her shoulder when she’s standing at the stove, cooking; how his eyes light up when he sees her after walking in the front door after work. And I’ve always appreciated the tiny things Mamma does for Dad to let him know that she’s thinking of him. The extra care she takes to pack his favorite lunches on Fridays, the way she seamlessly blended into his life and family even though the Wilkins’ traditions are so different from the girlhood lifestyle Mamma experienced growing up in Georgia. I’ve always known my parents share an incredible love.
I look down at the top of Lila’s head and run my fingers over her hair. It must be difficult to lose faith in a parent.
After a few moments, she pulls away and wipes her fingers against her eyes. She looks up at me and smiles sheepishly. “Thanks. I didn’t mean to go all weepy on you. Not great first date material, huh?” She freezes suddenly as if realizing her slip. “I mean, you know—”
I cut her off, putting the poor girl out of her misery. “It’s a great first date.” I reassure her. “You’re being real and I want to get to know the real you.”
She looks me square in the eyes, the blush of her embarrassment evident on her cheeks. “Thanks, Cade.”
I nod. “Your ice is melting,” I say to save her from her own discomfort.
She smiles gratefully, picking up her ice again.
“I’m really sorry about your parents. That’s a tough one, especially being so far from home.”
She nods. “I guess I knew it was coming. I mean, they divorced last year. It’s not like I never expected my dad to move on with his life and date. It’s just, it’s different when it actually happens. And I worry about my mom. And the timing of everything.” She sighs. “My brother called right before you messaged.”
I nod. “You have a brother? Older or younger?”
“Older.” Her smile is sincere. “Brandon. He’s the best.”
Tightness grips my chest. Jared was the best.
“Do you have any siblings?” she asks me.
I shake my head. I hate telling anyone about Jared, hate talking about it at all. But after she was so honest with me, I want to be real with her. I look over at her and smile lightly. “I did. I had an older brother too. Jared. He passed away last year in Iraq. He was a Marine.”
Lila winces. “Cade, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She reaches over and gently places her hand on my arm.
I shake my head. “It’s okay. It’s a fair question.”
“You wear his dog tags,” she comments.
“How did you know that?”
“I saw them at the airport. I thought maybe you were military too.”
I smile at her. “Nope. Just Jared. Want to go for a drive?” I change the subject.
“Sure,” she agrees, standing up.
I toss our melting paper cups in the garbage can and follow her back to my truck where I open the door for her. Jared would be proud. So would Dad.
When I start the engine, she leans over and fiddles with the radio, settling on a random station. “Jingle Bell Rock” comes on, and we both start singing, loudly and off-key. In moments, we are cracking up.
“Christmas music! Now?”
“What station did you pick?” I ask her.
“I have no idea, but I wasn’t expecting this.” She hums along with the chorus. “Christmas is my absolute favorite. Best time of the year. I love December and winter and snow and everything that comes along with Christmas.”
I peek over at her and her face is open and clear. Happy.
“What’s your favorite Christmas song?” she asks.
“Dominic the Donkey.”
“Oh my God!” She snorts with laughter.
And just like that, the heaviness of our previous conversation dissipates. Suddenly, we are just two college kids on a casual date on a random Wednesday, talking about family holidays, sharing silly stories, and funny anecdotes. Lila offers wild tales of her best friends—Mia, Emma, and Maura—and their college shenanigans. I have her cracking up with the best pranks my football team has carried out over the past few seasons.
Too soon, I am pulling in front of her dorm, parking the truck.
Lila unclicks her seatbelt and turns the radio down. “Thank you for tonight, Cade. Truly, I appreciate it and I had a lot of fun. I’m sorry I cried.”
I laugh, reaching out to tuck a wave of her hair behind her shoulder. “Yeah, well, you hurt my ego a bit. No one’s actually cried on a date with me before.”
She smiles ruefully. “Glad I could be a first for you.”
I chuckle, sliding my palm over her shoulder. “I had fun too. We’ll have to do it again sometime soon.”
She nods. Then she catches me completely off guard by leaning over the center console. Her eyes flick up to meet mine and then down as she gazes at my lips, tilting her head and placing her hand against my cheek. Her palm is soft against the coarseness of my stubble. She breathes in the tiniest inhale and before I can react, she presses her lips against mine.
A girl who makes the first move.
Lila is incredible.
I lean into her touch, my hand falls off her shoulder and wraps around her back, pulling her closer. I deepen the kiss, slanting my mouth over hers and tracing the seam of her lips with my tongue. She opens her mouth leisurely and our tongues meet, dancing around each other, slow and sweet. She’s refreshing, pure, like the first snowflake in winter.
After a moment, she leans back, smiling at me. “Goodnight, Cade.”
“Night, Lila.” I squeeze the back of her neck gently before removing my hand from her softness.
She leans over quickly and kisses me one more time. “Good luck on Saturday.”
I smile at her as she exits the car and hurries up the steps to her dorm, disappearing inside.
The taste of cherry ice lingers on my lips.
Chapter Eight
Lila
“You kissed him! After you cried!” Emma shrieks, her face filling the entire computer screen.
As soon as Cade dropped me off, I was dying to tell someone about our date, our kiss. About how awesome I am for making the first move! With Kristen still MIA, I tried Emma, Maura, and Mia on Google hangout.
Now I recount the tale, trying to gloss over the news of Dad taking Brenda on vacation and my subsequent meltdown. But of course my friends aren’t letting that go.
“I know. It was kind of mortifying.”
“Did you ugly-cry?” Maura asks. “Or was it like one glistening tear sliding down your pale cheek?”
Mia snorts.
“I hope more like a glistening tear.”
Emma waves her hand. “Then your fine.”
Maura nods in agreement.
“How was the kiss?” Mia asks.
I smile, pressing my fingers to my mouth, remembering the feel of Cade’s lips.
“Oh my God!” Emma points at the screen. “You’re blushing!”
“So it was good?” Mia surmises.
I nod. “It was great. But do you think it’s bad that I made the first move?”
“Absolutely not.” Emma shakes her head, her bangs disheveled. “It’s not 1952. It’s totally fine for the girl to make the first move. Seize your independence!”
Maura smiles at Emma’s antics. “You’re fine, Li. Guys like a girl who can make a move, or a decision, every now and then.”
“I hope so,” I tell them.
“So what’s the deal with your dad and Brenda?” Mia asks.
I shrug. “I have no idea.”
“I abhor Brenda,” Emma announces.
Maura nods in agreement, raising a glass of red wine to her lips and taking a sip.
“You’re drinking wine? I should be drinking wine!” Mia says, noticing Maura’s glass.
“I’m sneaking wine. We’re technically dry already, even though the season doesn’t officially start until spring.” Maura rolls her eyes. “Besides, it’s too early for you.” She tosses her black curls behind her shoulder.
Maura is always in year-round intensive training. She’s takes it seriously, but after losing Adrian, she’s slacked off a bit and loosened up a lot. I think it’s good for her to take a break from her crazy, intense schedule, so I don’t comment.
“What time is it there anyway?” I ask Mia.
“Almost 9:00 AM.” She laughs. “I need to start getting ready for class soon.”
“I need to go to bed,” Maura adds. “I need to wake up in two hours for practice.”
“That’s disgusting,” Emma comments, straightening her bangs before pushing them out of her eyes.
“So how did you end the date?” Mia asks.
“With a goodnight kiss. Before I made my move, he said we should do it again sometime.”
“Promising.” Emma smiles.
“Tell us what he looks like.” Maura leans in eagerly.
“He’s hot.” I sigh.
“Details, lady!” Emma presses.
“He’s biracial, short hair, like a buzz cut. His eyes are gray. Dark gray. He pours a lot of emotion into his eyes and they get kind of stormy when he’s thinking.”
Mia giggles.
“Shh,” Maura says. “Go on.”
“His body is sick. Like all muscle and hard lines.”
Three mouths fall open.
Then we all start laughing.
“I miss you guys,” Mia whines.
“Me too,” Maura says. “I can’t believe you bitches all left me for the whole semester. I now have to actually socialize with the rowing team.”
I snort out a laugh. Maura talks a big game, but deep down rowing is her passion. Or there is no way she would have lasted this long competing at the level she does.
“Are you going to go to his game?” Emma asks.
I shrug.
“You have to go!” Mia yells, her chocolate eyes serious.
Maura nods in agreement.
“We’ll see. What about you guys? What’s happening?”
“Honestly, I have to go. I’m sorry! I’ll write with an update. Just know, I love it here, and you three need to come visit!” Mia says. “Baci.” She blows us kisses and signs off.
Maura sighs. “I better go too. At least I should try to sleep.” Her voice wavers for a moment, but then she covers it up. “I’ll catch up with you two soon. Send pics, Lila.” She levels me with a stare, eyes serious.
“I will.”
“Okay. Night.” Maura signs off.
“Are you tired?” I ask Emma.
“Eh.” She shrugs. “I’m more nervous. My internship starts on Monday.”
I nod, understanding the feeling. “What are you doing this weekend?”
“A bunch of us are going out bar hopping in Adam’s Morgan.”
“That sounds like fun.”
She smiles. “Let’s hope so! Maybe I’ll meet someone.”
“Tall, dark, and handsome?”
“Exactly! I’ll keep you posted. Go to the game, Lila.”
I smile at her.
“I’m glad you’re having fun.”
“Me too.”
“Okay, girl, I’m going to sign off too. Let’s chat soon.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Me more. Bye.”
I close the Google hangout and lean back into the plush seat in the common room. I’m the only person in here, and I’m grateful for the privacy to talk to my friends. It’s amazing how much they center me. Even just talking to them makes me feel better, calmer, more like myself. I’m incredibly lucky to have such a strong support system, even if I’m all the way in California.
I stand up and stretch, checking the time. Nearly midnight. I guess I should turn in too.
Tomorrow promises a long day of changing bedpans.
* * *
The rest of the week passes quickly with a few intermittent text messages from Cade and one fantastic Instagram photo of Mia tossing coins into the Trevi Fountain.
Finally, Saturday has arrived and with it, the weekend. But more importantly, it’s game day! Sam scored the Three Amigos tickets to the game and insisted that Kristen and I attend, tailgating included.
“You have to go to his game,” he tells me, flipping through the clothes hanging in my closet. “It will give you something to talk about the next time you kiss, I mean, see each other.”
“I don’t even know when I’ll see him again. I don’t want to seem like I’m stalking him.”
“Oh please. Be real. There will be like seventy thousand people at the game today. Everyone goes. You would be a weirdo for not going.” He flips through another shirt, pausing to look at the graphic design closely. “You really have no cool clothes.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks, fashionista.”
Kristen walks into our dorm room, the door banging loudly behind her as it smacks against the wall.
“Look what I got!” she squeals, holding up a bag from the campus bookstore.
“More notebooks?” Sam guesses.
“Stickers and color pens?” I chime in.
“No,” Kristen huffs, emptying the contents of the bag on her bed. “Game day gear!” She holds up a few tank tops, baseball caps, and other gold and plum accessories.
“You’re a savior.” Sam sighs, exiting my closet and dropping dramatically next to me on my bed. “You seriously have nothing that is gold or plum. No Astor colors at all,” he tsks.
“Well, now she does,” Kristen says, holding up a cute off-the shoulder white top that says Astor across the front in Astor plum outlined by Astor gold. Mustang colors.
“Love this!” Sam grabs the s
hirt. “Wear it with tight jeans … eh, it’s too hot. Okay, denim shorts, but not those cut-off ones you wore yesterday, the ones with the cuffs on the bottom. And flip-flops. Or boots with the laces open and untied. Yes, I like that look.” He hands the shirt to me. “What are you wearing?” he asks Kristen pointedly. “I have a reputation to maintain, you know?” he says in response to my eye roll.
Kristen holds up a plum tank that says Mustangs in gold up the left side.
“Perfect.” Sam nods in approval. “Okay.” He claps, standing up. “You girls get dressed and hot. I’ll meet you in thirty so we can start tailgating. Victory is ours!” He smiles, pumping his fist in the air and yelling a war cry.
Kristen makes a fist pump and echoes Sam’s chant. She peels off her shirt before Sam closes our dorm door. “Today is going to be awesome. I haven’t been to a real football game in ages. My school has hockey.” She makes a face.
I laugh, her enthusiasm and excitement too much to ignore. “Today will be great.”
I walk into my closet and pull my phone out of my back pocket to change. I quickly scan the front screen and am pleasantly surprised to see a message from Cade. And not so psyched to see a message from my dad.
Cade: Hey, are you coming to the game today?
My heart rate picks up. He wants to know if I’m coming to his game today. That means he wants me to be there right? I smile.
Dad: Lila, please stop ignoring my calls. We need to talk. Call me today.
I roll my eyes and childishly stick my tongue out at his message. I delete it. I don’t want to talk to my dad and have him ruin my idea of my family, listening to him crush the happy memories I have left with three simple words.
I moved on.
Although Brandon already filled me in on the details, I’m still not ready to hear it from him. Not yet. I know my parents are divorced. But, like every kid of divorced parents that I know, I still awkwardly hold out hope that they will get back together, despite all of their issues. That Dad will change his ways. That Mom will force him to be more open and honest. That things will work out like they did in that old Lindsay Lohan movie from the nineties, The Parent Trap.
And if that doesn’t happen, then it’s just easier to pretend. Pretend that Mom is coping. Pretend that Dad is being sympathetic and understanding to her feelings. Pretend to have all the appropriate reactions of a twenty-one-year-old dealing with her parents’ divorce. Because really, what’s the alternative? Sit around and cry? I’m not a child.
