Page 98 of Break my Heart
“Hmm. Guess you’re right. Speaking of classes, how are they going this semester?”
“They’re fine,” I say with a noncommittal shrug, avoiding his probing gaze. His desk is cluttered with papers, the remnants of what looks like an intense game analysis. His laptop is open next to his desktop, and I can see a familiar spreadsheet on the screen with stats and player rankings.
The disarray makes me itch to straighten it out, but I resist the urge. I learned enough in therapy to understand that controlling my surroundings is one way I cope when everything feels like it’s falling apart.
“Any closer to figuring out a major?” Dad presses. “You’re almost through your first year. It’s about time to decide, don’t you think?”
I shift on the chair. “No, I haven’t made any decisions.”
Even though I’m twenty-one years old, I only started college last fall, which makes me a freshman. Most of my classes are general education. Biology, English, math, psychology, and a graphic arts class.
The concern lurking in his eyes has guilt mushrooming up inside me for not having an answer. For not having my life figured out. For still being a mess.
“You could always visit the career counseling center and speak to someone.”
I shake my head, brushing off the suggestion. “I’m not interested in talking to anyone else.” I force myself to add, “At least not right now.”
Just as he’s about to push the subject, the door swings open and Mom breezes in, a large paper bag in her hands and a bright smile on her face.
“Hi!” she chirps, setting the bag down on Dad’s desk. “I didn’t think you’d beat me here! I thought you had class.”
“He let us out early,” I repeat, my tone softening as I watch her move around the room. There’s a certain warmth to my mom that makes everything seem a little less overwhelming.
“Perfect timing!” She plants a quick kiss on Dad’s cheek.
They’ve always been so in love. Always holding hands or sitting next to one another. There were times when I’d walk into the kitchen and find them hugging or kissing. When I was younger, their affectionate displays embarrassed me. I remember grumbling under my breath that they needed to keep their hands to themselves. Now, I think it’s sweet that after twenty-five years, they’re still so in love.
Mom turns to me, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from my face before kissing my forehead. The gesture is so familiar and comforting, that some of the tension drains from my body.
She unpacks the subs, placing them on the desk next to the drinks. Turkey and swiss for Dad, tuna for her, and an Italian for me. The smell makes my stomach rumble, and we settle into a familiar rhythm of conversation while eating.
Dad doesn’t bring up my lack of major again, and for that, I’m grateful. The pressure to figure out my path forward weighs heavily on me. It feels like my entire life has been about skating, and now that it’s gone, I have no idea what to fill the void with.
The thought leaves me feeling empty.
Adrift.
It doesn’t take Dad long to demolish his sandwich, and soon he’s finishing off half of Mom’s as well. The casual banter shifts to hockey, with Dad detailing the upcoming schedule, and Mom talking about her new job. For a while, I let the conversation flow around me, attempting to ignore the nagging unease at the back of my mind.
The restlessness that’s been there for weeks.
Ever since Nathan resurfaced.
I still haven’t mentioned the messages to them.
The last thing I want is for Dad to fly off the handle or Mom to blame herself again. The concern that was a constant presence in her eyes has finally faded. I’m loath to do anything that will disrupt it.
I’ve stopped responding to the texts. My hope is that he’ll get bored and leave me alone. I ignore the little voice that nags at the back of my brain, reminding me it has yet to occur.
After a quick glance at my phone, I push to my feet. “I should probably head out. Thanks for lunch, Mom. We should do this more often.”
Her gaze flicks to my dad. A second or two of silent communication passes between them. I’ve seen it before. Especially after they found out about my relationship with Nathan.
A pit of unease blooms at the bottom of my belly. My gaze shifts from one to the other before narrowing. “What’s going on?”
When Dad remains silent, Mom gives him a nod of encouragement. “Tell her.”
It’s carefully that I lower myself back to my seat as my tone escalates. “Tell me what?”