Book III of UNC Series
While it's known that there are five stages of grief, did you know that there are also five stages of love?
Bailey Nicholson dreamed of finishing her Master's degree and settling in Boston while working alongside her boyfriend...
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December
Snowflakes flutter in the air, dancing to the beat of their own rhythm as they cast down. Below, a few students huddle together, hugging their winter jackets tightly and tucking their faces behind their scarves. While I enjoy the encompassing heat in the comfort of my apartment.
I rest my forehead against the glass, shivering as a chill runs through me. My skin goes numb against the cold. I shove my hands into the pockets of my joggers as I continue to stare down at everyone milling about.
It's been weeks since I've been to my dad's place, weeks since I talked to him or my mother. I don't know what to say to either of them. I still haven't formed the right words to say in the days since. Everything I think of is constructed from my anger at being deceived and lied to. I keep telling myself I don't owe them anything, especially after I placed all my hopes on a woman who turned out to be a manipulative liar. But while my mother deserves the cold shoulder, my dad doesn't.
I simply don't know what to say to him or how to approach him. I want to apologize, but how could I when he could have told me the truth earlier instead of letting our relationship strain over the years. But then again, how can I say I would have reacted differently than he expected when I'm doing exactly that now that I'm supposed to be older and wiser.
I let out a heavy sigh that clogs my throat. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I lift my head from the glass, ignoring the pinprick pain of the rushed sensation to see that I'm getting a call from my mum.
All this time, I was excusing her intermittent calls and lack thereof on her busy work schedule. But I wonder if that was a lie, blaming her work schedule for why she hadn't called me frequently when really she simply didn't want to talk to me.
Was it truly wrong of me to expect that from her? Was I asking for too much?
Blondie says I was only asking for the bare minimum, but still, something nags within me that maybe I was expecting too much.
I let her call go to voicemail before leaning back against the window. My breath fogs the glass, eventually hindering my vision to stare out at the flurries of snow.
This time when my phone rings, it's Sophie. Guilt tugs my heart from my chest and sinks it to the deep pits of my stomach. An uneasy sensation courses through my veins, sending an uncomfortable pang across my chest. In avoiding my dad, I've been avoiding her as well. Thankfully, her swim lessons for her current level are complete, but I'm reverting back to the asshole I was when I ignored her as a toddler just to spite my dad.
I pinch my eyes shut, unable to take the guilt that consumes me as I answer the call. I wet my dry tongue and swallow to quench my cottonmouth, "Hey." Silence fills the line, deafening my ears. My throat rolls as I gulp down the boulder lodged in my throat. "Sophie."
"You finally decided I was worth answering the call." I flinch at her cold demeanour. She doesn't sound anything like my 12-year-old sister, but then again, can I really blame her?
