Fragile Little Things ✓

30 beginnings

Indie

A FEW DAYS INTO the new year and things feel different. Like this year could actually be better this time, not just another pile of fake resolutions and desolation. I’m making progress with my anatomy notes, and I feel like I can actually push myself to pass the class. And even if I can’t, I have to. There’s too much at stake.

I’m busy jotting down the concepts I still have to go over when my study timer goes off on my phone and I’m forced to pick it up. I find messages from Mae offering me some freshly baked brownies and then fifteen minutes later saying Scarlett finished them with a “sorry” tacked at the end. There are a few texts from Jem, too.

He’s been busy at work and I’ve been busy with studying. We havenʼt been able to see each other in a few days, so weʼve been texting. About anything and everything. Family, our hopes and dreams. Some that might never come true — like me owning the flower shop or him designing his own car. About if I hate my dad for leaving — I don’t, and if he hates his dad for starting a life without his mom — he doesn’t. Not anymore, at least.

I open his texts at the speed of light, mentally cursing myself for not picking up my phone sooner.

#
10:17am

JEM: Out in five?

#
1:32pm

JEM: You good?

#
3:56pm

1 Missed Call from JEM

I clamp down on my jaw and feel like sucker punching myself for leaving him hanging for so long. Biting my lip, I pace my room as I mull over different responses, eventually giving up and just typing out a message and hitting send. 

#
4:45pm

ME: Sorry. Was studying

#
4:48pm

JEM: Take a break. I’m on my way.

On his way? My heart leaps. It takes him like five minutes to get here. Instead of wasting time trying to dissuade him, I figure, what the hell. Itʼs not like I didnʼt want to go with him, and heʼs right, I could use a break. I mean, I did study for almost eight hours straight.

I stumble out of my chair, my legs are a little numb from sitting in my chair for so long. My fuzzy slippers sliding across the wooden floors as I race to my closet. I dig out a cream sweater and light wash denim jeans from the depths of my wardrobe. I’m halfway through shoving on a pair of Docs when there’s a knock at the door.

“I’m coming!”

I keep pushing my left foot into my shoe, while hopping across the house to get the door. Stopping halfway, I finally get my foot in and attempt to tie the lace.

Bending over, I tie my lace in the sloppiest and quickest manner, resulting in it looking like a sad, small bow. I could leave it untied and run to answer the door, but previous experiences proved that wrong. The scar on my arm can prove it. With my tied shoes, I rush to the door.

Before I rest my hand on the doorknob, I suck in a deep breath, pulling at my sweater and tucking the wild strands of hair behind my ears. Finally, I open the door and the sight of fresh flowers greets me. Daisies. I drag my gaze up to a slightly flushed Jem, flakes of snow lightly dusting his black jacket.

“Hey,” he says, and a puff of white air expels from his mouth.

Itʼs the first time Iʼve seen him since New Yearʼs Eve, when he pulled me into that penthouse room and took me to places I thought only ever existed in books and movies. It 's easier to get over things through text. Now, seeing him in front of me makes me want to curl up in a ball and let my heated cheeks burn me to death. Somehow, I manage to meet his silver gaze. “Hey.”