The next morning I was up bright and early, clutching a new envelope in my hand. This one held a change-of-major form that had been notarized at the last minute by the clerk at the bank, whom I’d found after frantically calling any institution in the Philadelphia metro area that might have one on staff late on a Saturday afternoon. It was addressed to the Temple registrar and ready to drop off, along with the copy of the terms of the trust that Julianne had sent me.
I held my phone in my other hand. I knew that, in order to make this call, I had to believe it was more important to be who I truly was than the person someone else wanted me to be.
I’d already pulled Mom’s number up. Stared at the familiar digits. All I had to do was hit “send.” I took a deep breath. This time, no one was here with me. I was going to do this all on my own.
“Mom?” I breathed into the phone when she picked up. “I wanted to catch you before you went to Mass. I have something to tell you…”
The phone call lasted almost forty-five minutes and made Mom solidly late for Mass. First, she’d been shocked. Then she’d argued, begged, pleaded, and cried. She had invoked Dad’s memory and told me he would have been disappointed. Over and over again, I said I was sorry, but I knew Dad wouldn’t have wanted me to be miserable or set myself up for failure. I read her the line in the trust fund, explained what the change meant for me. How it would give me my life back. My happiness. My dream. The whole time I talked, I replayed those very same words from Cat and Hawk over and over again in my mind.
I didn’t know when — or even if — Mom would forgive me, but I did know that I couldn’t go at the pace I had been for the next ten or more years, and that if I did, I would never forgive myself.
Next, I took a deep breath, held up the phone and the letter, and snapped a picture of where I’d signed my name to change my major from Biology to Human Development and Family Science.
I’d spent an hour on the phone talking with Andi about how best to change my classes around. I’d need an extra year in school, all told, but now that I wasn’t going to med school, I should be covered. The awesome thing was that even though I’d be stuck in undergrad for an extra year, it would be mostly classes that really interested me and lots of interning doing exactly what I already knew I loved.
I admired the shot of the new major listed over my name next to the notary’s seal. Before I could change my mind, I typed Hawk’s name in the “to:” field. Then I shakily typed, Your move.
And hit send.
The icon at the bottom of the screen that told me he was typing popped up. Holy Hell. Hawk never texted.
About the business project. I’m taking care of it.
What?
You never cared anyway.
I wanted to reply, It’s my project too, but then I realized he was right. I hadn’t cared. And it had been his pet project, not mine.
Besides, the old Joey was the one who summarily freaked out over every little grade. The only reason I cared about business was passing the class and seeing Hawk.
So instead, I just typed, OK. But…still your move.
Then…nothing.
The one time in the known history of us that Hawk decided to pick up his phone and text me, and he decided to text the one most completely ambiguous thing possible. Frickin’ awesome.
Still, holding that signed-and-sealed change-of-major form and not knowing whether Hawk even cared that I had done it felt strangely awesome — strange because I had expected to be elated if he was happy and dejected if he didn’t care.
I still didn’t know if he cared — but now, I didn’t care if he cared. The idea of being a Human Development and Family Science major, the perfect thing for what I wanted to do with my life, felt so freeing, so incredible, so me, that Hawk didn’t even feel like part of the decision anymore. I knew in that moment that it was 100 percent my decision and 100 percent the right one.
But, as I glanced over at the envelope Olivia had handed to me, I let my eyes play over the words “Your move.” I knew deep in my heart that, even if Hawk wasn’t responsible for this decision, his presence in my life had been there for the beginning of it. That he’d helped me embrace the idea. Even if I’d hated him for it.
Two hours later, I sat in a big, cushy chair in a tattoo parlor that Steph’s boyfriend had recommended. She swore they did perfect work every time and she’d never seen an infection. When Cat and I arrived, the entire shop was pristine. The floor looked like they cleaned it every hour, and all the instruments were lined up on a spotless rolling table draped in a cloth, waiting to be unwrapped from their plastic.
This was safe enough even for pre-med Josephine Daly, and I hadn’t even bothered to bring her with me. I showed the design I’d found online to the artist, and she smiled.
“The tribal hawk. Represents decisiveness and initiative. Really nice.”
“That’s right. I just changed my major.” I beamed at her. I had never in my life felt so good about any decision, never wanted to shout anything from the rooftops more.
“You sure it’s staying changed?” she winked.
Cat squeezed my hand. “She’s sure.”
I pulled my bra strap to the side and pointed to the space just beneath my collarbone, almost all the way over to my shoulder. “Can you put it right there? Small?”
As the artist started to work, I clamped my mouth and eyes shut, especially when she got close to the bone. But once I adapted to the pain, I told her and Cat all about the hawk tattoo and my design choice. It was a series of swirls and lines that didn’t look much like a hawk at all if you weren’t paying attention, but when you got a little closer and looked for the way the lines intersected, you could see the effect. The same way that Hawk had shaped me — not that noticeable to most people, but if you paid attention, looked closely, got to know me, you’d definitely be able to see it.
He had taught me to be okay chasing my dreams, even if they weren’t exactly what someone else wanted them to be.
I was eerily calm about the whole Hawk thing for the next two days. I daydreamed about him, yeah, and changing the dressing on my tattoo made it sort of inevitable that I’d think about him.
I’d dropped Orgo, and without that homework to do, I was able to chill out, watch TV, play with the neighbor’s new puppy, and get enough sleep. It actually forced me to consider how much of my screaming match with Hawk was fueled by sheer exhaustion.
But on Monday night, the night before the presentation, I couldn’t sleep at all. I’d forced myself not to text Hawk or go to his place. It was his move. I kept telling myself that whether he decided to take the chance was out of my control and that I didn’t want him if he didn’t take the project — or us — seriously.
Our business plan had been chosen for the first day of presentations, and we were the first ones scheduled to present on top of that. I was early, and I couldn’t help being nervous. My foot tapped the ground as, just like every other class day, it seemed like Hawk was going to be late. My heart sank.
Now that med school was no longer on the table — it was still hard to wrap my brain around that — I didn’t so much care about the project. I hadn’t even brought my backpack to class – just my purse. The final project was only 15 percent of our grade, and I’d gotten perfect scores for attendance and quizzes. Pre-med Joey would have been losing her shit over that many percentage points, but I could see the bigger picture now. Besides, my quiz grades were perfect. I may not have cared about the class, but I always did its assigned reading like a boss.
Professor Simon cleared his throat. “We’ll begin our presentations in just a few minutes, but first, I’d like to summarize this weekend’s reading.”
I sighed inwardly. Professor Simon was a nice guy, but his voice, with that smooth British accent, was one of the surest ways to doze off in this early morning class.
I had just about given up on Hawk ever getting there when the lights in the classroom went out. Tears stung my eyes, and I tried to figure o
ut what excuse I would make for having no project to present. I had known it was a possibility that I would say “your move” and he wouldn’t take it. But I fought against making assumptions. I’d learned my lesson with Hawk.
It was only when a projector started playing from the back of the room that I realized there was a screen pulled down behind Professor Simon.
A picture of Hawk’s bar from the outside filled the screen, and then the words “Joey and Hawk’s” rolled down over it.
I whipped my head around to see Hawk at the back of the classroom, smiling. He held his index finger up to his lips and motioned for me to turn back around.
More text popped up on the screen.
“Target Market — Previously Hawk’s Bar, Joey and Hawk’s will cater primarily to the campus populations of Temple and Drexel University who are looking for a casual, comfortable place to hang out. Like the majority of establishments that cater to the market, Joey and Hawk’s will be smoke-free, a change to the existing establishment, which will build its body of patrons quickly.”
The next screen made me smile even more.
“Service and Products — Joey and Hawk’s will feature impeccable service, delivered by a team of highly trained professionals who will prepare the staff to avoid any embarrassing behaviors, like fighting the kitchen staff when patrons are present.”
I giggled.
“The smoke-free surrounding is only the beginning. The bar will be furnished with furniture reminiscent of home, with spacious, comfortable seating and a performance space for local talent. Instead of featuring all alt-rock, as was the first suggestion of co-manager William Hawkins, the bar will feature a rotating performance schedule that incorporates all types of music, including jazz and spoken word poetry, even though Mr. Hawkins is inclined to think they are boring.”
The class laughed, and by now, half of them were sneaking glances at me instead of the screen.
“The menu is Mr. Hawkins’ pride. Putting a gourmet spin on American bar classics, it will feature Gruyère macaroni and cheese, Cajun spice-rubbed chicken, and ginger-garlic roasted potatoes, among other creations. Local college students will be happy to pay a little extra for a sophisticated taste of their staple favorites, and it will be upscale enough for them to bring dates and host casual fraternity and sorority events, although co-manager Miss Daly’s sorority, the sisters of Kappa Delta, will of course have first dibs on the facility.”
At that point, it was all I could do to keep from strutting to the back of the classroom, climbing on top of Hawk, and making out with him.
“One last screen,” his usual lazily gruff voice came from the back of the classroom.
“The Management — The restaurant will tentatively be co-managed by Mr. William Hawkins and Miss Josephine Daly. Though Mr. Hawkins took this class, in part, to learn some basic principles of business to hopefully grow his bar’s business and Miss Daly took this class only as a GEC, Miss Daly had some excellent insight into the potential for the bar to grow and advance into a full restaurant and well-known University City establishment. Mr. Hawkins regrets not taking her suggestions seriously from the start.
Mr. Hawkins plans to manage this establishment while working his way through a Bachelor’s degree in business, graduating in the next three years. He then plans to apply for funding to achieve his MBA, in order to attract investors and hopefully grow Joey and Hawk’s into a chain of campus hangouts across the nation.
This plan is pending final approval from Miss Daly, as her opinion matters greatly to Mr. Hawkins and is almost always right.”
The last words were replaced by a picture of Hawk and I sitting together on the couch in his apartment, surrounded by books and papers. It looked like a candid I had snapped because I liked the way my hair looked that day or something and had sent to him. It was captioned with the words, “We make a great team.”
Tears welled up in my eyes.
With that, the picture faded out, and Hawk flipped on the lights at the back of the classroom.
“Ah, even though I made the video, most of the ideas and the figures you’ll find in the report are Joey’s. I did a lot of the writing, especially because I included some recipe samples.”
“Nicely done.” Professor Simon nodded and smiled, flipping through the project folder Hawk had handed him. I felt oddly calm about knowing nothing about what was in those pages. “Yes, I can see both of your work in here definitely. Beautiful teamwork.”
I cleared my throat. “Ah, if you’ll excuse us, Professor Simon. We just want to take a minute to regroup after the presentation.”
I tried to keep my voice and movements calm as I got up out of my chair, clutching my purse to my side, and headed to the door.
“Of course, of course. Our next group needs to set up anyway.” Hawk watched me approach, his eyes never leaving mine. It was like no one else was even in the classroom. When he got up and followed me, my heart stuttered and nearly stopped.
We made it halfway down the hallway before I turned around to look him in the eye.
But he just stood there watching me, too, not saying a word.
I took a shaky deep breath and finally asked, “What was that?” There was no inflection — no accusation or harshness. A serious, open question.
“That was me, taking my move.”
I could barely take a breath. “Why?”
“I missed you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I missed you being around. I missed…being with you. You know.”
Is that what this was about? Was it really just about the sex? “Please, Hawk. Then I’m no different than all the other girls you’ve been with.”
“Of course I’ve been with other girls. But there’s no one like you, Jo. With you, it’s just so easy.”
“What do you mean?” I asked in a trembling whisper.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
“No,” I said, my lip trembling. “You have to tell me.”
“It’s easy like… Christ, I don’t know. When I’m with you, I don’t think of anything else. I don’t worry. And I feel calm. We’re like to pieces to a puzzle. I mean, look at this project, Joey! I honestly felt like you were right next to me when I was putting it together. I…I always feel like you’re right next to me now. Challenging me to try harder, to do better.”
My heart sunk. “Hawk, I never meant you to feel like you weren’t good enough. I’ve changed, too, since I met you. I know now college degrees aren’t everything. Goals and plans aren’t everything. Especially if they’re unrealistic.”
Hawk shook his head. “But they are something. They’re solid, and they’re a future. I just had to listen to you more carefully, you know? And I’m so sorry for that. But I’ve changed too, and there’s no question that we would fit together if we would just bother to try.”
For four shallow breaths, I stared into those gorgeous blue eyes, round and watching mine with such hope in them I could have died.
“I did try,” I said. “I…I am trying. I care about you, Hawk. But you have to know…when I changed my major, it wasn’t because you told me to. It was the best thing for me — my decision.”
“Just like my application to the business school was for me,” Hawk said. “And the restaurant is, too. That doesn’t mean I’m not glad you’re part of it.”
He took two steps closer to me. I could have reached out and touched him.
“I really did do it for me,” I insisted. “I didn’t need you to yell at me to know I needed to change that major.”
“I figured that when you had a breakdown.” His rubbed the back of his head, and there his hair went again, doing that same adorable sticking-up-everywhere thing. “I just wanted to…I don’t know. I wanted you keep you from falling over the edge with the stress of something you just didn’t love. You weren’t meant to be a doctor. You would have hated it. It would have taken something away from how amazing you are, how passionate you are. I didn’t want to see that.�
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“I know that now. But I don’t need protecting.”
“I know.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of.”
He sucked in a breath as I stepped forward and pressed my hands against his chest.
“I know.”
His hands went around my waist.
“But this time,” I said, “you were right.”
He leaned his head down to mine and murmured, “I know,” right before he pressed his lips to mine.
We stood there for a few minutes, murmuring apologies and kissing and staring into each other’s eyes. Then Hawk’s gaze stopped right under my collarbone, where the white square of gauze stuck out just a tiny bit. He moved the collar of my button-down shirt over just enough to see it.
“What happened to you?”
I peeled back the dressing. The small, one-inch tattoo actually looked quite a bit more normal than it had even the night before.
“It’s a hawk. For conquering indecision. That’s what you helped me do. Learn how to live for myself and no one else.”
“Well,” he said, tenderly sealing the tape back over it, “maybe a little bit for me.”
I stood on tiptoes again to kiss him with a laugh. “Just a little bit. Only when you make it worth my while.”
I dug my fingers into his sides, right where I knew it would make him twitch with ticklishness, and he jumped. But in the next movement, he swept me into his arms and carried me all the way to his bike.
When we finally hit cruising speed, I pressed my lips up to his ear and said, “Your move.”
[Epilogue]
I swiped at my forehead with my arm. My hands were encased in paint-streaked gloves, and in the heat of Philadelphia in early May, painting the inside of Joey and Hawk’s was sweaty business.
It wasn’t really called “Joey and Hawk’s” — it was “Hawk’s Bar and Restaurant.” When we were alone, though, the memory of the class project that had brought us back together was super-romantic.
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