by Rhonda Helms
Thankfully, he’d kept walking past, not seeing me. Crisis averted, barely. But the uneasiness had lingered with me for hours afterward. Since then, I was careful about my communication with Nick outside the math building.
I’d briefly mentioned to Nick that my parents were working on a project here, but I wasn’t quite ready for them to meet. Not yet, not when we were still so new . . . and had to keep things on the down low.
This was quite possibly the biggest secret I’d ever kept. And while I savored my stolen moments with Nick, I wanted more. I grew impatient for the semester to end so I didn’t have to sneak around any longer. Every day I was with him, it was more and more difficult to not vocalize that. But I’d agreed to these terms and I couldn’t complain about it now.
I’d known from the start what I was getting into.
After finishing psychology of stress one afternoon, I got to the apartment complex and whipped my door open. “Honey, I’m home!” I’d seen Casey’s car in the parking lot, so I figured she was here.
“Hey! How was your day?” Casey waved at me from the table. Seated beside her was a short, pretty brunette; they had textbooks spilled all over the table’s surface. The girl offered me a polite smile and head nod.
“It was fabulous,” I declared as I tossed my backpack on the couch. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge. Took a deep swig and then sighed in pleasure.
When I turned around, Casey was eyeing me with a brow raised. “Hm. Really? Even psychology? You seem awfully chipper for coming out of a class you loathe.”
I shrugged. “It’s getting better.” Okay, I was actually riding high from having gotten a sweet text from Nick earlier, but she didn’t need to know that.
That keen, knowing look was still in Casey’s eyes, but she said, “Megan, this is Amanda. We had philosophy together last semester and bonded over our misery. Amanda, this is my roommate, Megan.”
I stuck out a hand and shook hers. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too. We’re studying for midterms—you’re welcome to join us.” She waved a hand at the chair across from them.
I grimaced. “I can’t believe it’s that time of the semester.” The year had been flying by. It was already early March, and midterm week was next week.
“Graduation is just around the corner for you two, isn’t it?” Amanda asked. “I thought Casey mentioned you’re done at the end of this semester too . . . is that right?”
I took the chair across from them and set my soda on the table. “It is. I can hardly wrap my head around it.”
In between everything else, I’d been getting my graduation details sorted out. Cap and gown orders. Announcements. Exchanging texts with my dad about the cookout he wanted to host in celebration.
Would Nick be able to come? I wanted to invite him. But some of my friends on campus would be there. Maybe I could invite a few of my other profs too, just as a courtesy. So it wouldn’t look like I singled him out. Then I could suss out what my parents thought of him before telling them we were dating.
“That’s awesome. You must be thrilled.” She grinned, and her eyes sparkled with warmth. I could see why Casey liked hanging out with her. She was bubbly but not obnoxiously so. “Okay, I’d better get back to this. I can’t bomb this class or my folks will kill me.” Amanda tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and ducked her head to study more.
Casey’s eyes met mine. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. In that moment, I wanted to confess to her. Tell her all the stuff that had been weighing on my mind, in my heart.
I was falling hard for my professor, and there was no way to stop it. Somehow, with his wide smiles and big brain and skilled hands, he’d wormed his way into my life.
Thankfully Amanda was there, or else I’d have probably spilled the beans.
I stood and gave them both a shaky smile. “I think I might take a nap,” I said as I turned. I didn’t want Casey to read the secret on my face. With her unassuming and gentle ways, she’d get me talking before I realized what was happening.
I retreated into my room and flopped on my bed. Stared at the ceiling, eyed the clusters of photos on my walls. Lots of party pics, me posing with other girls, with countless goofy guys. The parties were fun to go to, sure.
But those experiences didn’t stick with me the way the last couple of weeks with Nick had. I’d turned down a few party invites from Nadia and a couple of other casual friends to spend more time with him. Patrick had texted me once or twice, messages filled with cringe-worthy errors, but had apparently gotten the gist of my lack of interest and left me alone. I certainly wasn’t missing out; I’d deleted him from my phone.
Nick and I had spent hours just talking about everything. Discussing our thoughts on politics and which way we leaned, and why. What we thought about the turmoil in the Middle East. The rampant commercialism of holidays.
But not all of our conversations were heavy. The other day, we spent a full fifteen minutes arguing mayonnaise versus Miracle Whip. There was also some debate over the best contemporary film directors. Not to mention our epic battle about the best old-school female hip-hop artists.
He stimulated me. I found myself reading more news, listening to NPR, trying to find snippets of topics we could discuss.
My phone buzzed. I dug it out.
Where are you right now? What are you doing?
A text from Nick. That familiar buzz started low in my belly and spread outward.
I’m in my apartment, lying in bed ;-) I texted back.
*Groan* you’re killing me. I’m in my office, working on next week’s midterm exams.
Any chance I can get an advance copy of ours? I laughed to myself, then added, That was totally a joke, btw. Don’t kick me. I’ll earn my good grades in your class the honest way. I took a picture of myself lying in bed, then sent it to him.
A few minutes later, I got a picture back of him. Nick was styled to perfection, his jaw cleanly shaved, the smooth front of his dress shirt pressed. I kinda wanted to muss him up, see him the way only I got to—slightly scruffy with a bit of bedhead. Eyes hooded and heated, locked on mine.
Send me something a little more risqué, I teased him. What would he do in response? We hadn’t progressed to sending naughty texts or anything, so I was kinda pushing the envelope here.
A moment later, my phone buzzed. He’d sent me the exact same shot, except this time the button at his collar was undone.
I laughed. Leave it to him to make a joke. Still, it was a good-looking picture. I saved both of them in my photo folder.
Good thing you stopped at one button, Mr. Edgy. Two, and I might have fainted, I typed back.
I’ll save the more risqué stuff for when we’re alone. ;-) See you tonight? I’m making General Tso’s . . . you know you can’t resist the power of my cooking.
One of my favorite dishes. He remembered. <3 I’ll be there.
I rested my phone on my belly with a happy sigh. Nick was invading every piece of my life. Even when we weren’t together, I was thinking about him. Just another two months, I told myself. Two months from now, we wouldn’t have to be secret.
It was all I could do to wait.
“So, I want you to do a little self-exploration for your homework this weekend,” Professor Morrow, my psychology of stress prof, said. He leaned against the front wall and crossed his skinny arms in front of him.
I heard a few smothered groans around me and bit my lower lip, suppressing an eye roll. We all knew what was coming. Morrow loved to assign us introspective reflections. He said it was his way of making the material “practical” for us. I understood it to a degree, but it was kinda awkward, knowing this man was probably drinking a glass of wine and reading the divulgences of my personal life.
I knew from listening to Nick gripe about a few papers he’d gotten in that they did talk about us—to their friends, significant others, even fellow professors. Dating a teacher had made me more aware than ever
of that.
Morrow shoved away from the wall and paced in front of the room. “We’ve been discussing stressors and how they impact us both physically and psychologically. For this assignment, I want you to examine your own life. Look at the various types of stressors you’re encountering right now—don’t forget good stress, by the way—and write which of the categories they fall under. Then pick a coping mechanism and apply it to one of your stressors over the next few days. Tell me how it impacted your level of stress, if it even did.” He scanned the room with the narrowed eyes of a well-seasoned educator. “Make this thoughtful and resonant, folks. Dig deep. But I don’t want to hear about anything illegal or immoral. I’d rather not have to call the police on my students. It’s been a good semester so far, so let’s keep that up.”
There were a few chuckles.
“And don’t just give me a few sentences of halfhearted crap either,” he continued in his usual droll voice. While I wasn’t a fan of this class, at least our prof was entertaining in a weird, dry way. “I can tell when you guys get lazy. Okay, have a good weekend, and I’ll see you next week for your midterm. Go forth and de-stress.”
I got my stuff together and left the room, our homework assignment on my mind. Which stressor should I focus on? Midterms next week? Graduation in two months? I mean, it wasn’t like I could write that I was seeing Nick. I could only imagine what the response to that would be.
Maybe I could drop by the work trailer and see my folks. Since I’d been so busy lately, I hadn’t seen much of them—plus I was in full-blown avoidance mode due to dating Nick and not wanting them to know—but Dad’s occasional texts told me the project was progressing well.
The sun shone brightly outside when I stepped out of the building, and the weather was pretty warm for this time of year, pushing fifty degrees. I heard water dripping from the trees as ice and snow melted. The ground was slushy and a gross brown, so I stuck to the sidewalks.
The trailer door was closed. I knocked—no answer.
Mom’s car was right there, parked in front of the trailer. Maybe she was walking around the site. I knew I wasn’t allowed to visit the site without a hard hat though. It was a hard and fast rule.
If the trailer was unlocked, I could snag one from there. She always kept a couple extra tucked away for visitors or anyone she spotted working without one. And it would be cool to see the progress being made anyway.
I tried the doorknob. It wasn’t locked, so I opened the door to a darkened trailer. When I flicked the switch, I saw the feet of a form lying on the end of the couch in the back. Was someone taking a nap? Hm, looked like my mom’s shoes on the floor.
I tiptoed over with a grin. Touched her shoulder. “Ooh, someone’s gonna be in trouble for napping on the job.”
I didn’t get a response.
I shook her shoulder harder. “Mom? Hey, wake up.”
There was a groggy groan, and then she tilted her head to look at me. Her eyes were glassy, and she gave a dopey smile. She looked a bit feverish. “Megan. Hey.”
“Are you sick? Do I need to take you to a doctor?”
She sat up and her head flopped a bit as she shifted to a sitting position on the couch. With a sloppy wave of her hand she said, “No, no, I’m fine.” Her words were slurred as if she’d been drinking, but she didn’t smell like booze.
I frowned. “Mom, did you take something? Is your back hurting?”
Her eyes closed and she leaned back to rest on the couch. Her head draped over the top. “I’m feelin’ good right now,” she said, then gave a slight giggle. “No pain, baby. No pain.”
Anger, quick and sharp, rushed through me, threaded with fear. I stepped away from her and looked under the desk for her purse. A quick peek inside confirmed that bottle of pills I’d seen before was still there. Only it was empty now.
I held it up in front of her. “How much did you take?”
She opened her eyes, squinted. Dropped her head back. “I dunno. I’m fine. Go away.”
“I’m not going away. You can’t be like this at work, Mom. This is dangerous. What if something were to happen? What if you got caught?” Panic made my chest tighten.
I couldn’t leave her here like this.
I dropped the empty pill bottle in her purse and fished out her car keys. “We’re leaving.” Should I take her to the ER? She didn’t seem like she was overdosing. Just flying high as a kite.
Should I call Dad? Part of me wanted to, but the other part thought I should wait for her to sober up and ask her what the hell was going on. First things first—I needed to get her home.
After slipping her feet into her shoes, I propped the trailer door open, then darted over and looped her arms over my neck. “Mom, you gotta help me,” I grunted as I lifted her off the couch.
She staggered against me, and I had a flash of carrying my drunk friends out of parties. This was so jacked up. I shoved that thought aside and got her down the trailer stairs as carefully as possible, then loaded into the passenger seat of her car.
The drive to my parents’ house was quiet. Mom had conked back out fast, her head lolling around in her seat. At every stoplight I checked her to make sure she wasn’t showing signs of getting worse. So far it seemed okay and she was stable.
But there was no way I could just drop her off and leave her like this.
That tightness in my chest remained while I hauled her inside. Took her to her bedroom and tugged off her shoes. Marched to the living room and confiscated the bottles out of her purse. Then I spent the next half hour combing the whole house to find another half-dozen bottles stowed in various spots.
I was so sick I almost threw up. Mom was hiding pills? And I didn’t recognize any of the people’s names on the labels. Where had she gotten them from? Had she stolen them?
I propped all the bottles on the coffee table, made a fresh pot of coffee and grabbed my phone. I wasn’t going to wait to talk to Mom before discussing this with my dad. He needed to know, now.
I dialed his number. On the second ring, he picked up.
“Hey, Megan,” he said in his usual jovial voice.
“Dad,” I began, swallowing. I sucked in a breath. “Can you come home? We need to talk right now.”
“What’s wrong?” In an instant, his voice grew sharp. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Hot tears pressed at the backs of my eyes. I blinked. “It’s Mom. I found some pills in her purse. . . .” I paused. “I think she has a problem. She was passed out on the couch in the trailer, and I brought her home. I don’t know what to do.” A sob ripped out of me.
In a clipped tone, he said, “I’m coming home right now. Stay there and keep an eye on her, please. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
We hung up. I put my phone on the table beside the bottles of pills. My head throbbed at the temples.
Dad had sounded angry. But he hadn’t sounded surprised. Like he’d known about this. Like I was the last person to really figure it out. And that realization ate away at my stomach like acid.
Chapter 15
“Anything in particular you wanna watch?” Nick asked me. “I have some movies on demand too.”
I settled closer into the crook of his arm and rested my head on his shoulder, watching as he clicked the remote and loaded it to a movie channel. His dog, Gloria, was settled at the bottom of the couch, totally conked out. “I don’t care. I just want to relax.” I’d done a long shift at the sandwich shop today, and the Sunday postchurch crowd had been a bit chaotic. But since I needed the extra work hours, I took it without complaining.
My feet throbbed. I kicked one leg to cross my other thigh and massaged the tender sole through my sock. Flexed my toes and sighed as I stretched the aching muscles.
My phone buzzed. I took it out and saw a message from Nadia. Girl, you still alive?? Haven’t seen your face in ages. Where you been?
I texted back, Just busy, sorry! We should catch up soon. For a moment I felt a twinge of guilt for not
hanging out with her and my other friends as much. But why would I go to some generic party when I could be alone with Nick? No comparison.
Nick settled on a recent thriller release, then put the remote down and grabbed my foot with his free hand. His thumb pressed right into the arch, and I released a long groan.
“That’s perfect, thank you,” I managed to say as I stuffed my phone in my pocket.
“I worked at a restaurant for a while through college. I remember those days. Long hours on your feet.”
“What did you do there?”
“Waited tables, mostly.” He moved up to the pads of my feet and stretched, pressed. His other hand caressed the curve of my shoulder.
“Ever had any terrible jobs?” My voice sounded breathless due to the feel of his hands on me. “When I was in high school, I babysat these demon kids down the road. They did everything they could to make those hours miserable. At least their parents paid me well.”
“Hm.” He paused, then shifted me so I was stretched out on the couch with my back against the arm and both feet in his lap. I shot him a grateful smile. “Not that I can think of. I was too busy with school to have a job, for the most part.”
“Oh, I forgot. You skipped ahead of all the other kids your age. How did that feel? Was it odd, being so young in comparison to everyone else?”
He scrunched his face up in thought. A shot rang out on the all-but-forgotten TV, and a feminine voice screamed. “I got used to it. Was teased a lot of course, especially since I didn’t hit puberty until around when I graduated from high school. I was what they call a ‘late bloomer.’ ”
I eyed the manly scruff on his face, the bold slashes of his cheekbones. “Really? That doesn’t seem likely.”
He crooked a grin, gave a casual shrug. “It was a while ago, so it doesn’t bug me anymore. But I used to will it to happen sometimes. For a long time, I just wanted to fit in instead of standing out so much. It was obvious I wasn’t one of them, and I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. Not a lot of people in my class wanted to hang with someone so much younger than them. And the people my own age were too busy hanging with others in their classes.”
