With nothing left to say—I wasn’t going to beg for more—I opened the door. He hadn’t exactly fought for anything more years ago.
“Thanks again,” I whispered. With my head low, I ran to my door and quickly unlocked the dead bolt before the tears fell.
I’d made mistakes before, but this felt like something much larger than what had happened in New York, and that was devastating. But this—this felt like I was tossing away the only good thing I’d ever known, so I did the only thing I knew to do.
I searched for a cheap packet of Sour Patch Kids.
On Sunday, we were slammed at the Bean. With my hair stuck to the back of my damp neck and clenching my knees together because I had to pee so badly, I breathed out a desperate sigh of relief as Zara signaled for me to take a break.
On top of my disastrous date with Ben, if that’s what it was—our outing or dinner or whatever—I’d gotten my period. Every time I looked in the mirror, I obsessed over the giant zit on my forehead and how Hunnie had called out my white shorts. I wanted to follow up with her on the internship but was too chickenshit.
After using the bathroom, I sat down in one of the mismatched chairs in the back of the Bean by the patio doors, looking at my phone and willing it to ring. Then I remembered I was in Vermont and not New York. Thinking of the looks I would get for chatting on the phone inside the Bean made me laugh . . . until my phone actually did ring.
Slipping out the patio door, I picked up this call. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”
“Murphy.” She said my name grimly as usual.
I imagined her lips pursed as she said it. I could almost see her disdain, so deep that it must be creasing her Botoxed forehead.
“Hiya, Mom,” I said, not sure why I tried to add some cheerfulness.
“Please don’t hiya me. Your father and I are worried. When will you come back? You know he’s supporting the next candidate for governor, and we need you to attend some events with us. It will be good for you. We can clear you of all those rumors and maybe you’ll meet someone . . . decent.”
Pacing the parking lot, I wished I hadn’t answered. It was always the same thing. “Mom, it wasn’t a rumor. I lost my job because of something I did.”
“You told them you didn’t know he was a student there, so you’re cleared. It’s time to hold your head up and go about the life you’re supposed to live.”
Of course, I didn’t know when I met Preston Parker online that he was a transfer student at Columbia where I was an advisor. He’d said he was twenty-five before I went out with him. It was only for a few casual dates, and I had no idea what I was doing was wrong, but I did it. And then one thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, my reputation was ruined.
“Mom, listen. I’m here in Vermont, so don’t tell me what I need to be doing. If I’m right, you and Dad wanted me to leave.” Tears pricked painfully behind my eyes, so I thought about mud and rocks, hiking, and getting dirty to shake them off.
“We wanted you to take some space from us. Maybe go to the Bahamas and come back ready to be who we need you to be. Your family name is depending on it.”
“I didn’t have many choices, Mom. I had no money or job. I’d spent it all in New York on stuff I didn’t need because I thought there was more coming. But then you froze my trust fund.”
“Only until you did what we wanted.”
“Oh my God.” I stomped my foot, then quickly glanced around to make sure no one saw. Sure enough, standing twenty feet away was Ben Rooney, wearing his scrubs and looking freshly rumpled.
Closing my eyes, I willed him away. For the fastest second known to man, I worried about my hair, and then I remembered his challenge last night to let it all go. With my mom in my ear, it was even more difficult.
“Listen, Mom, I’m okay. I’m figuring out who I am and what I want in life, and discovering all of this on my own. I even have a lead on a social media position here.” I definitely need to call Hunnie. An internship is better than nothing.
“It doesn’t matter what you want. Don’t you get that, Murphy?”
That was my mom, Lyssa Landon, CEO of my destiny and staunch believer in we don’t have a choice in life.
“It does matter. I have to go,” I said, quickly disconnecting the call as Ben approached.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey. I’m on a quick break and have to get back in there. I can even take your mug, if you want.” I pointed to the red Yeti in his hand.
“Don’t be like that,” he said, not making eye contact.
“Like what? Like the help? That’s what I am. I make the coffee, and you drink it.”
“No, like we didn’t have words last night, and you’re taking them all personally. It’s obvious.”
“They were personal, Ben. I don’t think I could interpret it any other way.”
“I know. Shit,” he muttered and kicked some gravel with his foot. “I’m sorry. Listen, it was wrong of me. I can’t knock the way you were raised if I despised people doing the same to me.” Looking up, he said, “By the way, you okay? I saw you having some sort of hissy fit over here.”
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I just had the usual
