Eighteen With A Chalkboard

Chapter 18: Uninvited

It's been over ten minutes of pacing in the cramped bathroom, and no amount of deep breathing is helping. I've gone over what I'll say, how I'll act, how I'll smile—but nothing feels right. Every imagined scenario ends the same way: awkward silence, forced laughter, or worse, Millie not saying anything at all.

My chest tightens, and I squeeze the sink for support, staring into the mirror. The reflection that stares back feels foreign. It's not me. My tie's too tight, my shirt's wrinkled from all the fidgeting, and I look more like a nervous kid at his first school dance than a university professor.

Why did I even come? The question echoes, but no answer comes. I can feel it—a tug somewhere deep in my chest—that familiar yearning to fix something, to prove something. To make Millie see me. But each breath reminds me how impossible that feels.

A sharp knock on the door interrupts my spiraling thoughts. I flinch, feeling my heart lurch in my throat.

"Jonathan, are you still in there?" Mr. Sage's voice is muffled, but the impatience seeps through.

"I'll be out in a second," I manage, trying to keep my voice steady. What will he think if I just stay in here forever?

His footsteps retreat, leaving me alone with my nerves again. I take one last look in the mirror, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, and try to steel myself. I can do this. I have to.

But for what? For Millie to acknowledge me? For Mr. Sage to approve of me? For myself to stop feeling like I'm stuck between who I was and who I'm supposed to be?

I open the door before I can lose my nerve and step into the hallway. The walls feel narrower, the air heavier, each step echoing as I walk toward the living room. My heart's pounding, but I force myself to keep going. You've been through worse. You can handle this.

As soon as I step into the room, all conversation stops. The weight of their eyes presses on me, and suddenly, I feel smaller than I did in the bathroom. But none of it matters because Millie is here. My eyes find her immediately, sitting on the edge of the couch, her face unreadable.

Her gaze flickers toward me—brief, almost hesitant—and then she looks away, her expression blank. I can't tell if she's angry, bored, or unhappy. Either way, it's like a punch to the gut.

I barely register Pawlett's voice chirping, "Hey, Jonathan!" before she grabs Millie's hand and pulls her toward the dining room.

I'm left standing there, feeling more alone in this room full of people than I did in the bathroom.

"Jonathan, look at you!" Mr. Robertson's booming voice breaks through my haze, and suddenly, he's in front of me, grabbing my hand in a firm shake. "You've grown up so fast!"

Both Luzza and Mr. Sage exchange puzzled glances, clearly not expecting this familiarity between us.

"I remember when you were this short," Mr. Robertson continues, holding his hand at waist level. "But now look at you—all grown up and quite the young man."

I plaster on a smile, trying to remember the polite version of myself. "Good to see you again, Mr. Robertson."

"Oh, come now, call me Jerry! How's your father doing?"

My chest tightens again, but this time for a different reason. "He's... he's doing well," I say, forcing the words out as casually as I can. I haven't talked to my dad in weeks, and the thought of mentioning him makes my stomach turn.

"Where do you two know each other from?" Luzza asks, curiously.

Mr. Sage gives me a questioning look as if he's piecing things together himself.