Page 22 of The Destined SEAL
He didn’t call me. “Oh,” I say. “He didn’t tell me why he couldn’t make it.” Do I sound desperate? Old Harper would call and demand answers. I know it wouldn’t be healthy for me to talk to him while I’m in any kind of emotional state, and guarding my heart is of the utmost importance. I can’t mess up what I have with Marcus. “Do you two talk frequently? You never mention him.”
He’s still smiling, and I take that as a good sign. “He’s on the right coast. So making commencement is a possibility, but I don’t think he can be certain he’ll be able to get out in time.” He sighs. “He didn’t tell me what he was doing either. I’m not sure that’s something he can tell anyone.” Marcus’s voice holds a tinge of admiration.
Ben would tell me. If I called.
“He said you guys hadn’t spoken in a while,” Marcus hedges, squeezing my hand again. “Today was the first time he called me. We don’t talk regularly.”
“Yeah, we’ve both been pretty busy. Me with exams. Him with killing people and saving the world. You know that’s not why I’m upset. It’s the move and everything. It’s a lot to plan for and think about.” Marcus will buy this lie. I know it. These are legitimate concerns.
He releases my hand and puts his arm around my shoulder instead. “We have this. The hard part is over now. You just have to show up tomorrow. Focus on that. Let me worry about moving. I’m the man. Let that be my job, okay?”
I nod against his chest, and I’m wrapped up in his sheets and arms and kisses in no time at all.
I’ve never been so nervous in my life. My black gown is oversized and smells like starch. The trees are beautiful in the Harvard Yard. The day is perfect, and everyone is happy—smiles as far as the eye can see. I’m fidgeting in my seat as I listen to the commencement speech. My mind wanders, though. It wants to think of everything else instead of what’s happening right now. In a moment I should be proud of, a moment I’ve waited my whole life for, I’m thinking about what could have been, what should have been.
It’s all so anticlimactic in nature. Maybe it’s supposed to be this way. An indication that you’ve finally grown up and realize how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things. When I was a sophomore in high school, I researched Harvard’s commencement procedures and glamorized it in the way most girls dream about their wedding day. “I’m here,” I whisper to myself, trying to force the awareness I crave. The graduate sitting next to me glances over and quickly away. I need to stop talking to myself.
I cover my mumbling by readjusting the dark maroon swath of fabric around my neck just as my cell phone buzzes in my hand. Taking a deep breath, I peek at the phone and see the text from Ben. It’s not words. Just a photo of two horribly drawn stick figures wearing graduation caps. Hot tears prick my eyes at the stupid drawing meant to calm me. It does, though. I feel calmer.
The speech finishes, and after another ravishing, uplifting speech from the valedictorian, we return to our houses to get our individual diplomas and have lunch with our guests. I’mdistracted, wallowing in a place of pride in my accomplishment but sorrow that this moment didn’t live up to what I dreamed of all these years.
“We’re so proud of you, honey,” Mom says, folding me in a hug. They’re always proud. I never give them a reason to be anything but proud. Maybe even to a detriment. Do they appreciate this straight and narrow life I live less because it’s what they’ve come to expect? Do I?
“Thanks, Mom,” I whisper.
She senses the melancholy like a bloodhound.
Squeezing me a touch tighter, she says, “You are the favorite part of my life.”
I kiss her cheek and pull away. The crowd of black and maroon cascades around us in a sea of humans. Everyone is warier now than they would have been before the attacks. Large groups like this aren’t something anyone likes. Even happy gatherings carry risk, and you have to balance the reward to compute if it’s worth it. I know at least twenty students who were having small parties at their homes with their parents and were forgoing commencement altogether. The thought is a reminder of my aunt, and my sadness deepens.
“Auntie would have loved to be here,” I say, my eyes turned down to the ground.
We find a bench that overlooks the yard in front of the house and sit. My father is happily engaging with any other parent who looks his way.
“She would have worn something tight and then bragged when the college boys looked her way,” Mom says, a small smile playing on her lips, and then laughs. “She wouldn’t have given them the time of day, though.”
My hands folded in my lap, I try to stifle all of the memories that contain my aunt. She was the first one to show me how to do my makeup, the first one to come to my aid when I chopped offmy hair and needed it to look…girly. My aunt was my feminine hero—the woman I secretly always wanted to be more like. She was confident in her looks and carried herself in a way that let everyone know she knew exactly who she was and what she wanted. “I bet she’s here, though. I just wish…” My words trail off as I see him. Through a throng of gowns and smiles.
Ben.
He’s buttoning the top button of his light blue dress shirt, while his eyes scan the crowd for what seems like forever, but I know it can only be seconds. His gaze, narrowed in a harried rush but so familiar and calming, lands on mine.
I cry. Because that’s what I do when I’m angry and relieved at the same time. Ben’s mouth quirks up to one side, and the crowd parts for him. He walks toward me, I stand, and his pace quickens. I take one step forward, and he stops in front of me. I’m aware people are staring at us, mostly because he’s so huge and out of place here, but I don’t care. Relief folds over me like a sedative.
I see him sweating and breathing heavily and wonder what he had to do to make it here.
“You got my text?” he asks, breathing out.
Wiping under my eyes, I grin. “I got it.”
He takes me in his arms, pulling me against his body, and finally. Finally, I celebrate.
Save the Only Dance
HARPER
I’m all alone.Standing against the glass wall like one of those geeky girls in the teen movies. The girl I told myself I wouldn’t be tonight. On the night of my senior prom. All of the disastrous dominoes fell in rapid succession. My date, a first-chair violinist in our high school’s competition orchestra, got the flu. When he called me to tell me this morning, he barely got the words out before vomiting in exaggerated stereo. He felt awful, both figuratively and literally, so I’m not that mad at him.
