“You will.” Cline tips the bowl back, chugs the remainder of the milk and then lets out a heinous burp. “You’re almost a genius. Like, right under genius. Just a few points away. You can make this work. Plus, it’s your dream job. And let’s face it, what else are you going to do?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” My mom had told me to focus on school this year, and if I got the internship, I wouldn’t have to get a job, which was the plan for this semester. I hate to put her in this position, but something like this could legitimately get me a job immediately after graduation.
“We should celebrate. Sep’s coming up this weekend. Let’s go get drinks … get rowdy. School starts soon, man, and you’ve been locked up in your room like some sort of hermit for the last month.” He’s hovering by the refrigerator, his hand resting on the handle. We’re both quiet for about a minute before he speaks again, this time a little quieter than before. “Do you think Audrey’s going to come back to school like her dad said she was?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. She talks to you more than she does to me. I don’t even know if I should text her to tell her about today.”
“You should. She’ll want to know. Maybe you can slip in a question about when she’ll be back. Ask if she needs help moving. That’s smooth.”
“Let’s think about this logically. She already signed up for classes. She has to be coming back. It’s just a matter of where she’ll be staying …” I’m staring at him, and I swear we both have the same look on our faces, because we’re both hoping that she’ll come back, but neither of us know for sure. Nothing with her is guaranteed.
An idea begins to take form in my mind, and I move to my bedroom to change clothes and grab a notepad and join Cline in the living room. Before he can turn the TV on, I snatch the remote and throw it across the room.
“A simple, ‘I’m not in the mood’ would have sufficed,” he says with a look of shock.
I lean back on our less foul-smelling sofa and prop my feet up on our coffee table, sending some bottles rattling as they move backward. “Tell me some stories about Audrey when you guys were younger. Don’t leave anything out.”
As soon as he opens his mouth, I begin to write.
The semester is about to begin, and suddenly the campus is crawling with people again. It’s unsettling how easily these students, new and old, are moving in and going about their business like nothing life changing happened over the summer. And I guess it hadn’t. Not for them, at least.
They didn’t meet Audrey and come to know her the way that I did. They didn’t spend days and nights in cars and beaches, hotel rooms and houses with her. They didn’t watch her spiral down to the rock bottom and get left behind after all was said and done. They probably went to Florida, got drunk, laid, and tan.
Last weekend, I traveled home to see my mom, and the first thing she asked about was Audrey. I told her everything, and she listened with wide eyes, and a hand over her heart. She held me afterward, as if she was afraid I was going to break or something. As if I had already experienced too much loss in my life, and what happened a couple months prior would only exacerbate that. From my perspective, it made me stronger. I looked death in the face. It only served to make me see things more clearly.
I told her the truth. “I lied to you about the game I’m making. The one I got the internship for is a war game based on those letters Dad wrote to you when he was deployed.” My explanation was as detailed as I could make it without getting too far in and over her head. When I mentioned that the main character was based off of him, she brushed her curls away from her face and took a deep breath, extending her palm.
“Let me see.”
I didn’t hesitate. There’s a part of me that knew she would ask, so I was prepared to show her. When I pulled the picture up, she exhaled and her eyes narrowed, straining as she stared hard at my laptop screen.
“Incredible,” she said, shaking her head, amazed. “It looks just like him. He would have loved this.”
“Yeah?” I closed the computer and set it down on the table, then wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.
She punched me in the arm. “That’s for lying to me.” Then she leaned in and kissed my cheek. “That’s for being an amazing kid.” When she placed both hands on my cheeks and stared hard into my eyes I almost flinched. “Does this mean you’re not making that game for Audrey? I’m telling you, it will make you a fortune, son.”
I didn’t give her a straight answer to that question. The subject of my newest project hasn’t given her consent or seen the final result, so I am saving a public reveal until she gives the proper okay to do so.