Page 54 of From Asher, With Love

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come in and stay with you tonight,” he adds.

“That’s okay.” I look down and drag my finger across the back of his hand, holding his in mine. “I get it.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “My mom went out earlier, and I just want to make sure she comes home safely. I’m surprised she went out since she doesn’t get paid for another week.”

Asher texted me earlier asking if I could meet him outside instead of him sneaking into my room as usual. This is one of the only times his mother has decided to walk down the street from her trailer to one of the small bars in our town. Apparently, she only has thirty dollars in her account to last her the next week until she gets paid.

Keeping up with his promise, Asher still managed to come see me tonight before going back home to make sure his mom makes it back safely to her own bed.

“I wish your mom could see what her drinking is doing to you both,” I squeak out, the pain growing in my chest.

“Same.” He pauses before he adds, “But I don’t want to talk about her. I want to give you this.” He digs inside his coat pocket and pulls out a sheet of paper folded into a heart. Not cut but folded. “An early Valentine’s Day gift.”

“What is it?” I ask, my cheeks hurting from how hard I’m grinning.

“Open it,” he whispers, followed by a cloud of his breath. The tip of his nose is bright red, and his bottom lip quivers with the cold, his stare never breaking from the heart.

With shivering hands, I open it. The edge of the paper is frayed, as if it’s been torn from a spiral notebook, but tears sting the back of my eyes when I find myself staring back atmine.

“They’re yours,” he whispers.

“You drew my eyes?” I ask, sniffing. “When?”

“The first time you looked at me.” He chuckles. “Well, the first time you finally looked at me long enough to memorize them and draw them.”

I can’t stop smiling. He’s talking about the day I hid behind the tree when my mother buried her wedding ring. That’s what he must have written down when I watched him. I press the heart to my chest. “I love you.”

“I love you, Little Flower.”

“I thought I was going to have to wait until tomorrow night for my paper heart.” I grin.

Asher chuckles and gives me another kiss.

“Another round of acceptance letters go out soon,” I tell him, nerves getting the better of me.

“And yours will be one of them,” he reassures me. I don’t dive into the conversation any further both out of anxiety and helplessness. There’s nothing I can do but wait, and I know we both need to get home before our parents find us gone.

After giving Asher another long kiss, we both split off in opposite directions. I walk past a few of my neighbors’ houses before finally making it to my own.

My body feels heavy and tired. When I begin the climb up the trellis outside my bedroom window, I think about my father and what impact my leaving will have on his life—if any. He’s always kept a safe distance from me, never growing too close, keeping me at arm’s length. I was supposed to be the dutiful daughter of the highly regarded pharmaceutical CEO. I was supposed to stay within the boundaries he set since the day I was born. The fact my father agreed to my decision to go to NYU is merely a thin veil over the life I live between the four walls of this house.

My acceptance letter can’t come fast enough.

I climb through the window, hoping I can be as graceful as Asher usually is when he comes to visit me every night. I lift my leg and climb over the windowsill, my feet landing softly on the carpet.

I grit my teeth and wince, sliding the window down slowly. It glides quietly, and I sigh with relief, ready to crawl under the sheets of my bed.

When I turn around, I gasp. My hand flies to cover my mouth. The lights in my room are off, but my door is swung wide open, the light from the hallway casting a large glow.

“Dad. You scared me.” I press my palm flat against my chest, catching my breath.

He sits at the edge of my bed, facing the window I just crawled through. My heart plunks into my stomach when I look down and see he’s holding my box of paper hearts in his lap. He doesn’t speak and doesn’t move a single muscle.

I clear my throat. “Where’s Mom?”

“She’s in bed, asleep. Where have you been?” His eyes move past me to the window. He’s still clean shaven, his searing blue eyes glistening in the moonlight. A cloud of suspicion rolls through them, turning them a shade darker.

“Um…” I hold my breath and swallow. His face and body are barely covered in the shadow caused by the light in the hallway.

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