Page 13 of Valentine's Kisses
I nearly jump out of my own skin when I hear my phone vibrating from my backpack. I’ve been ignoring Flynn’s texts all day, but thankfully he hasn’t tried to call. I dig through my books to get to my phone, praying and hoping I don’t see his name. I don’t know how I’ll feel having to reject his call. And I would reject it. The sound of his voice right now would be enough to destroy me.
Instead, the name on the screen reads Mom. My shoulders slump. That isn’t much better. I almost decline the call, but I know if I do, she’ll just call again. She has this thing about duty. She may not care much for me, but she feels like a call once a month will suffice for her not to be called a bad mom. And God knows my mother could never handle that label. She’s all about labels.
I swipe my finger across the screen hesitantly. “Hello?”
“Hi Gabrielle. It’s your mom. Just giving you a call to see how school is going. How are your classes?” Mom asks in a sober, tight tone.
I roll my eyes. My mother has always thought she has to announce herself on the phone. I cringe every time she does it. I don’t know if she does it because she’s genuinely just that out of touch with the way cell phones work, or because she has to remind herself that she is indeed my mother.
“They’re going okay. Got an A on that English paper we talked about last time.” A topic that took up most of our five-minute stilted conversation.
“That’s good. I suppose you are still taking those art classes though, right? Any chance you’ve reconsidered the accounting classes we talked about?” Her snippy tone tells me that she knows I haven’t. Round and round we go. This is how these painful convos always are.
“No, mom, I haven’t. I don’t think accounting is what I want to do.” I take a deep breath and forge on. “I think I’m a good artist. I enjoy it. It’s what I want to do with my life.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her response.
“Gabrielle, we’ve talked about this. Art is a waste of your time and our money.” Her anger is palpable, even through the phone. “Your sister would never have spent her time on such nonsense. Susanna was going to be a lawyer. She would have made you see reason.” She takes a shuddering breath. “I can’t believe you can’t just be more like her. You’re sisters. You should be serious like she was. Susanna knew that she needed to have a career that would sustain her.”
I fight back tears.Yes, Susanna knew that. She also knew that she had to be perfect for our parents to respect her. And she tried damn well to do it. In death, she finally succeeded. She’s a perfect saint now.
“Susanna loved my art, and she understood my need to express myself, Mom. I wish you would too.” I let out an exasperated breath.
“Yeah, well, I wish for a lot of things, but they never happen.” Her tone is dry and unbending.
I wonder if her wish is that I had been the one to die in that car accident. Hell, what am I saying? I know it’s her wish most days. The ache in my heart spreads throughout my body and I know I can’t take it anymore. It’s time for this phone call to end. I wish she would stop these “duty” calls so I could forget how much of a burden and disappointment I am. I just want to be happy. I just want to be myself and be loved for that. Is that too much to ask?
“Um, Mom, I have to go. I’m meeting up with my roommate for dinner. I’ll talk to you soon.” I realize I didn’t even make it through five minutes like usual. These talks are getting more and more difficult.
“Yes, well, I understand you’re very busy there. Too busy for us anyway. Have a good night, Gabrielle.” The phone clicks off and my fragile connection with my mother is broken.
No, I love you. No are you coming home for the weekend?I sit down on the floor and lean my head against my bed. There was a time when our family was happy. There was a time when we laughed together. When my dad would come home from work, and we would jump up in his arms and giggle. When we would help mom in the kitchen and make jokes while we cut the vegetables. When we could play board games together and my sister would cheat, and we would all tease her for it. Memories flash through my mind like flashes of lightening, leaving painful thunder in their wake. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to think about those times. Because it hurts so damn bad. And I have no one to blame but myself.
Flynn shouldn’t want me. He shouldn’t be with someone who can destroy lives the way I have. Most of all, he shouldn’t be with a person that caused the death of their own sister.
Chapter Fifteen
Decisions to Decide Your Life
I would sacrifice it all for her. -Flynn
Flynn
There are decisions you make that you know will change the course of your life. When I signed on to my first NHL team, I felt that way. When I chose to retire, I felt that irrevocable shift. And now, sitting outside Dean Hoffer’s office, I feel that way. I know that I’m making the right decision. No matter what happens from here on out, even if Gabrielle chooses to reject me again, I’ll have shown my commitment to her. If she needs to move on without me, at least I won’t be here to watch it.
I think about the letter I entrusted to her roommate. Convincing Hanna that I was indeed in love with Gabrielle and not simply playing games had been difficult, but once I told her what I was going to do, she agreed to give my letter to Gabrielle. One task down, one more mighty big one ahead of me. There is one day until Valentine’s Day and the day that hopefully I get to make her mine forever.
The dean’s secretary, Mrs. Winship, sends me another assessing look.
“He could be hours, you know? You didn’t have an appointment so he’s going to have very little time for you.” Hervoice is mildly annoyed, and she peers at me like an annoying insect from above her glasses.
I clear my throat. “I know. It’s really important though.”
She sighs and shuffles the papers on her desk. “It’s always “really important”,” she mutters.
An hour passes before the phone on her desk finally rings and she tells me to enter through the thick oak door leading to the dean’s private office.
Dean Hoffer doesn’t stand when I enter the room. He continues to write hurriedly on a piece of paper until he finally deigns to look up at me.
