Tides of the Heart (Crestwood Chronicles #1)

Chapter 28

In the following weeks, two more letters arrive.

The first is a rejection from the program in Colorado, which isn't a surprise. The university there has some amazing paleontologists, but I realized after I'd applied that their interests and mine didn't align as nicely as I'd like. Apparently, they thought the same. The second is from Crestwood U. This comes in a much larger, more robust envelope, and includes an enthusiastic acceptance—which is also not a surprise. Crestwood has a reputation for encouraging scholars to remain with the alma mater throughout their studies, provided a program in their field exists.

With my options thus narrowed, it should be easy to make a choice, but I find myself caught firmly in the vice of indecision. 

Rather than speak to someone who could help me parse things out and see clearly, like Professor MacDowell, my guidance counselor, or my faculty adviser, I retreat into my tightly coiled shell of anxiety and shut everyone out. 

Nobody notices—or so it seems.

It makes sense that I'd be preoccupied this close to graduation, though I've polished the final draft of my dissertation until it shone and I'd only taken two courses this term.

One thread among the increasingly thick silver lining of being disowned is that I no longer had to worry about my dad's demand that I study something 'useful' as well as my passion. I'd almost dropped my second major in accounting entirely, but my counselor convinced me to keep it as a minor, for which I'd already completed the requirements. That left me with a single elective and a one unit 'life skills' course to take.

The latter was basically 'Adulting 101' and was offered to prospective graduates. It might seem silly, but there's a lot that gets taken for granted as stuff 'everyone knows,' that people forget they actually learned somewhere, whether from a parent, teacher, friend, or first-hand experience. And sure, most of what is covered could be found with a simple Google search, but 'you don't know what you don't know,' as they say, and people don't seek information they don't know they need. From time management, to nutrition and fitness, to budgeting, to what to look for in a new apartment, the class is a wealth of small, useful tips.

As April bleeds into May, I realize I've been living with Hazel and his dad for almost five months. Whenever I mention moving out or paying rent, MacDowell dissuades me, convincing me that helping with housework and contributing to meals is more than adequate. Hazel, meanwhile, has been unusually busy, researching the career path he's chosen, working as a lifeguard at a local pool, and part-timing at a surf-shop in town. I'm so preoccupied with my own problems, it takes a while to realize he's been avoiding me.

One evening, when his dad is out having dinner with Professor Valentino and Hazel gets back late from his job at the surf shop, I confront him in the kitchen as he reheats a plate of leftover Mexican food in the microwave.

"We're not dating."

He stops watching the plate spin and turns to look at me, a slight crease between his brows and cautious curiosity lighting his blue eyes.

"Sadly, I'm aware."

"You can date other people, if you want to."

"Oh. Yeah." He shrugs and turns back as the microwave beeps, extracting his plate of steaming leftovers. "So can you, I guess."

He mumbles the last bit as he grabs a Coke Zero from the fridge.

"I don't want to date anyone else," I say.

He turns again, plate and Coke in hand, his expression full of renewed hope. "You don't?"

My throat feels tight, but I keep my tone gentle despite the scratch in my voice. "No. I don't want to complicate things when I might not even be here in a few months."